NEW YORK, THURSDAY, MAY 3, 1877. 



Sclecltd, 

 SONG OF BALT THE HUNTER 



THERE was an old hunter camped down by the kilt, 

 Who fished In this water and shot on that hill; 

 The forest for him had no danger nor gloom, 

 For all that he wanted was plenty of room. 

 Sftja ho, "The world's wide, there is room for us all, 

 Boom enough in the greenwood, if not in the hall. 

 Boom, boys, room, by the light of the moon, 

 For why shouldn't every mau enjoy his own room?* 1 



He wove his own mats, and hia shanty was spread 

 With tha skins he had dressed and stretched out overhead; 

 Fresh branches of hemlock made fragrant the floor 

 For his bed, as he sung when the dayllgh t was o'er, 

 "The world's wide enough, there is room for us all— 

 Booni enough in the greenwood if not in the hall. 



Boom, boys, room, by the light of the moon, 



For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room?" 



That spring now half-choked by the dust of the read. 

 Through a grove of tall maples once limpidly flowod; 

 By the rock whence it bubbles his kettle was hung, 

 Which their sap often flllad while the hunter he sang, 

 "The world's wide enough, there is room for us all — 

 Boom enough in the greenwood if not in the hall. 



Boom, boys, room, by the light of the moon, 



For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room?" 



And still sung the hunter, when one gloomy day 



He saw in the forest what saddened his lay; 



'Twas the rut which a heavy wheeled wagon had made, 



Where the greensward grew thick on the broad forest glade. 



"The world's wide enough, there is room for us all — 



Boom enough <n the greenwood if not in the hall. 



Boom, boys, room, by the light of the moon. 



For why shouldn't e% r ery man enjoy hia own room 1 /' 1 



He whistled his dog. and says he, "We can't stay; 

 I must shoulder my rifle, up traps, and away." 

 Next day through those maples the settler's ax rung, 

 While slowly the hunter trudged off as he sung, 

 "The world's wide enough, there is room for ua all- 

 Boom enough in the greenwood if not in the hall. 



Boom, boys, room, by the light of the moon, 



For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room?" 



For Forest and Stream. 



H£t[Qnt Jft&hmg in goutmuqsfqm 



j^olamdo, 



K — . — ■ 



ABOUT tie middle of last May, near sundown, as the 

 winds blew cold ofi the mountains to the south of us, 

 and a Bnow storm was raging apparently so near us as to 

 make the party draw their blankets and overcoats more 

 closely around them, Barlow and Sanderson's stage coach, 

 drawn by sis Buperb iron-grey horses, crossed the bridge 

 which spans the north fork of the Arkansas, and drew up for 

 the night in front of the stage stand kept by a Mr. Bayles — 

 a gentleman who knows how to entertain travelers and does 

 not care to rob them by exorbitant charges. The coach had 

 that morning left the pleasant little town of Canon City — 

 which takes its name from its location at the mouth of the 

 great Arkansas CaQon — and had toiled all day long up and 

 down the steep roads among these wild and majestic moun- 

 tains with only a short respite at dinner time for the eight 

 weary passengers within. So you may imagine it was not 

 an unpleasant thing to hear the driver say, as we stopped: 

 "Alight, gentlemen, we stay here for the night." 



I had not been much accustomed to mountain scenery, and 

 had all day long been busy looking at and admiring the sub- 

 lime and ever-changing panorama, but as I stepped out of 

 the stage and took a survey from this retreat on the banks of 

 the Arkansas, I could not avoid an expression of delight at 

 the pleasing scene, and a doubt as to whether nature had 

 provided many, if any, which excelled it. But it is not 

 within the province of this letter to expatiate largely on the 

 scenery of this country. Suffice itto say that old miners and 

 habitues of the Rocky Mountains, who have spent their 

 lives amid its peaks and eternal snows, claim that the part 

 of them which lie in Southwestern Colorado — that newly dis- 

 covered region of rich mines known as San Juan— are the 

 loftiest, the grandest and the most glorious of them all; 

 and I have no doubt of it. 



As we stepped upon the portico of this mountain hotel, a 

 fellow-passenger asked me if I would not try my hand with 

 him at fishing. I had, just before leaving St. Louis, bought 

 me a rude, cheap rod, and at Denver had laid in a meagre 

 supply of flies, while, at Pueblo, a gentleman had presented, 

 me with a small troller. It was quite late to think of fishing, 

 but as I never lag behind in this amusement, mid as I had 

 never caught a trout, much less soen one, I readily con- 

 sented and we at onoe started off. Jnat below the hotel the 



south fork empties into the main or north fork, the former of 

 which is spanned just above its mouth by a rustic footbridge. 

 To this point we directed our steps and crossed the tottering 

 structure with eyes wide open and care directing our steps. 

 On our way thither we met tho agent who had charge of 

 this section of the stage line and who made this his home. 

 He had been trying his luck with the trout, and was return- 

 ing without a single one. He assured us we had as well go 

 back, we could do no good, the wary fish would rise for 

 nothing, and seemed rather annoyed that we did not heed 

 his advice. Having gone thus far, we thought it best to try 

 it anyhow. 



The waters of the north fork were what a greenhorn calls 

 murky — that's my name for it ; those of the south fork were 

 clear as a crystal. Iconcluded to try myluckat the junction 

 of the two streams and just below the mouth of the south 

 fork. I had no idea of seeing the color of fish, however 

 anxious I was to do so, but putting on my little spoon or 

 troller, I, for the first time in my life, "whipped" the water 

 for a "bite." The water came dashing down like a regular 

 "mill tail," and my artificial bait was sometimes thrown 

 clear above the surface, and kept up such a bobbing and 

 bouncing on top of the waves I did not exactly seo how a 

 fish, ever so much inclined, could take hold of it. I did 

 not have to wait long before I saw an active fellow miss it 

 clear as a whistle. When he made his strike a receding 

 wave allowed the spoon to suddenly sink, and he passed en- 

 tirely over it. I had the buck ague in an instant. My rod 

 quivered like a reed in a storm. I had seen my first trout 

 and I wanted him — and I wanted him worse than I had ever 

 wanted a fish before. 



Directly, either the same fellow or another tried it, and 

 this time with better success, as he got hooked and I got 

 him out on the pebbly shore. I won't.attempt to tell how I 

 got him out. I don't know to this day how I got him out, 

 but I presume, from the peals of laughter I caused my part- 

 ner and another passenger w r ho had walked up to see our 

 luck, that I must have been very excited and very awk- 

 ward about it. But here he was ! My own, my first, my 

 lovely fellow ! I was proud of him. I was vain of the 

 achievement. The old fishermen who had lived long in 

 these mountains, who must of necessity know the habits of 

 this fish, who had first abandoned an unsuccessful effort to 

 entice him, and had warned me to abandon the chase, was, 

 indeed, very much mistaken. He did not know it all by a 

 long shot, and I should astonish the old gentleman on my 

 return to the hotel. The "tender foot" and the greenhorn 

 was too much for him. But I did not stop here; four more 

 were taken before night, and a snow storm, which drove 

 <2own the mountain into the valley, combined to force us to 

 quit, with great reluctance, and seek shelter. 



The old gentleman was indeed astonished when I threw 

 down the five trout at the kitchen door, and, it appeared to 

 me, a little chagrined that I had met with success where 

 failure had attended upon him. My companion had simply 

 baited with a piece of fresh beef and had not even had a 

 strike, though he had "thrown in" all around and about me, 

 and had invariably tried all the places from which I had 

 captured my fish. Most of the fellow-passengers came out 

 to look at the result of my first effort, and I stepped about 

 with quite a eonsequential air and feeling. On putting up 

 my rod and going into the house, the old gentleman was 

 anxious to see my bait. I showed it to him, and he declared 

 it wouldn't do; it was not the correct thing. I replied by 

 saying that I thought the correct thing was the thing that 

 would bring 'em, the thing at which they would generally 

 strike, but he declared to the last one could do no good with 

 such a trinket. 



Long before dawn the following morning I crept quietly 

 out of bed, slipped down stairs and out into the cold, bright 

 starlight night, rigged my rod and soon stood shivering and 

 with aching hands at my post of the former evening, trying 

 to entice the wary fish. But they would not come. They 

 were off their feed, or had during tho night concluded to 

 change their diet, for when at five o'clock the bell rang for 

 breakfast I had taken but one lone fellow. My pride was 

 somewhat humbled and I did not return to the hotel with 

 any great, flourish of trumpets. But the landlady had kindly 

 remembered me, and had Baved a mice fried trout, steaming 

 hot, and when the stage horn blew, warning the passengers 

 to mount, I was discussing the remains of my first catch. 



Two days after this, over at Del Norte, in the San Luis 

 valley, on the banks of the Eio Grande, I was introduced to 

 a ranchman living about two miles from town, who was re- 

 ported to be a great lover of fishing. Half upon his invita- 

 tion and half upon my own, I walked out to his house to 

 have a trial with him, He lived near tho river, on a small 

 crook that meandered and wound about through his ranch 



in a thousand crooks and turns, and occupied a conglomerate 

 abode, part adobe, part logs, and part dried skins hung up at 

 the openings for doors. He was somewhat Mormonish in 

 his tastes, having two wives, Mexican women — mother and 

 daughter— the latter a plump, round-faced and by no means 

 unattractive woman. These he at once set off to catch some 

 minnows for bait, while he and I walked off down to the river. 

 Learning that I was on my way to the mines with a view to 

 making a purchase if the outlook suited me, and having 

 some interests there for sale himself, he at once became 

 greatly interested in me, but not to that extent to flatter my 

 vanity by allowing me to beat him talcing fish. No, sir; if 

 there is any one thing which a fisherman won't do, if he can 

 help it, it is to allow another to beat him on the score. 



My luck forsook me. The waters of the Bio Grande wore 

 not congenial to me. My star was not out. The old fellow 

 skunked me. I watched him closely. I run my minnow on 

 my hook, as a boy runs on a worm, as he did; I fished deep 

 down with a heavy sinker, as he did; I appeared indifferent 

 whether I got a bite or not, as he did; and, finally, when at 

 last I got a nibble, I gave a tremendous jerk that would have 

 thrown the intruder whirring through the air the length of 

 my rod and line and nearly burst him open upon the sward 

 forty feet away, as he did, when I was mortified by the loud 

 peals of laughter, at my awkwardness, coming from the two 

 Mexican women, who sat crouching upon the ground near 

 by looking on. I don't think I should have been troubled 

 over the merriment of the old one, but I really could not 

 get over being laughed at by the young one. " It worries me 

 to this hour. 



But the season was hardly far enough advanced. The 

 fish had not come up in any great numbers. Besides, the 

 water was not at that time clear enough for trout to rise to 

 the fly. Later, say about the middle of June, is the best 

 time for fishing in the main river. At this time I passed on 

 up the Bio Grande to its source and tried my hand several 

 times without any success whatever. If others had not had 

 the same experience I should have suspected after Johnson 

 floored me that perhaps the fault were mine. But no one 

 caught fish as we went into the mines. 



Passing over the Sierra Madre, I dropped in at the little 

 mining town of Howardsville, on the Animas Kiver, one of 

 the most northern tributaries of the Colorado. Later I 

 moved four miles further up the Animas to Eureka, and 

 within some five miles of the source of the Animas, which 

 rises in one of those silver-laden mountains some twelve or 

 thirteen thousand feet above tide. There are no trout in 

 the Animas. Two reasons are given for this— one that its 

 waters are bo impregnated with destructive mineral fish 

 cannot exist in it; and the other that some great falls down 

 near the line of New Mexico prevent their coming up. The 

 former reason would be sufficient if the latter did not exist. 

 At Silverton, the county seat of San Juan County, and near the 

 soxithern boundary of tho county, the water of the river is so 

 strongly impregnated that it cannot be used, and the people 

 of that town have to get their supply from a small mountain 

 stream which they bring to them through an ordinury 

 irrigating ditch. 



About the 20th of June two of us packed a burro and 

 journeyed over to San Miguel Lake, some twenty miles 

 southwest of Silverton, not far from the line of Utah, and 

 one of the tributaries of the San Miguel River. It was the 

 hardest tramp of my life, and were I not writing about fish, 

 and to a sporting paper, would make a separate letter and go 

 into details. It may not be amiss to say that the trail was a 

 miserable one, over a very rugged mountain, the snow 

 line of which we unfortunately so timed ourselves to reach 

 at noon, when the crust would bear neither man nor beast. 

 We worried and tugged for two hours before reaching tho 

 summit — often all three of us nearly buried and floundering 

 in the snow at once — disgusted and about exhausted. Jack 

 had kept his temper first-rate and had all along responded to 

 our aid in helping him out, but when we started down the 

 mountain, and he fell through and stuck his nose, head and 

 ears under the snow, he felt his dignity insulted, and he ab- 

 solutely refused to go. So, to end the matter, we took off a 

 wagon cover wo had along for the purposes of a tent, spread 

 it down doubled, threw Mr. Jack over on it on his side, and 

 one taking hold of the sheet in front to pull, and the other 

 hold of the now quiet fellow's tail to steer, we went down 

 the mountain side at a good jog until we passed the snow 

 line. Whether Jack hud ever had a sleigh-ride before I can- 

 not say, but he really seemed to enjoy that one. 



The next morning at nine we were at a beauty of a lake, 

 about a mile long and half mile wide, very deep and, it 

 seemed to me, clear as water can become. Other parties 

 had been before us — mostly miners, passing this way between 

 the San Miguel gold placer mines and the quart?. 



