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FOREST AND STREAM. 



For Forest and Stream. 

 GREAT NORTHERN PICKEREL. 

 (Esox Luciodes.) 



AMID the Thousand Isles that gem 

 St. Lawrence with a diadem, 

 When winds are soft and waves are calm, 

 And pine woods steep the air with balm, 

 The angler dreams away his daj r s, 

 Mid scenes beyond the poet's praise; 

 Wafted across that fairy flood, 

 He sees in Nature naught but good. 



"Mid islets, wood-embower'd and green, 

 The fisher comes when day is new, 



Lapp'd in Elysian dreams to float, 

 Enchanted in his light canoe. 



High up on drooping boughs entwin'd, 



The grapevine twists its garland wreath, 

 Or droops its purple clusters down 



To kiss the wooing wave beneath. 

 The red bird from the topmost branch 



Pours out its mellow burst of song; 

 The larks and blackbirds down the shore, 



Their sweet harmonious trills prolong, 

 And when the evening shades prevail 



The whippoorwill repeats its tale. 



Here is the angler's paradise, 

 ^ A dreamy, JEden-like retreat; 

 With balmy perfumes in the air, 



And wild flowers springing at the feet; 

 And far beneath the lucent deeps, 



The gay-hued, floating fish are seen, 

 Quick darting in the depths serene. 



Here Esox Luciodes dwells, 



With bristling teeth and mighty jaw, 

 Insatiate, savage, swift to seize 



The prey that feeds its hungry maw. 

 And here the angler's utmost skill 



Is task'd the struggling foe to kill, 

 To land him, gasping and supine, 



With humming reel and spinning line. 



I. McLellak. 



THE GREEN RIVER COUNTRY. 



♦ 



FROM where it rises— a little brook in Fremont's Peak — 

 the Green River rolls southward an impetuous torrent, 

 its volume constantly increasing as it receives the tribute 

 brought by a thousand channels from the lofty mountains 

 through which it flows. Its waters arc dark and black as 

 it sweeps through some narrow passage where the sun's 

 rays never penetrate, but assume when spread out in the 

 clear light of day the pale green color from which it takes 

 its name. 



It is a glorious river. The territory through which it 

 passes presents some of the most majestic scenery that our 

 country can afford. For miles it rushes through deep and 

 gloomy canons, whose precipitous sides offer no inequality 

 that might serve as the resting place for a bird; or through 

 stony valleys, where the water leaps and dashes against the 

 rocks as though they were enemies, that it would tear from 

 their beds and carry captive toward the Colorado. It roars 

 between high mountains, rock-ribbed and dark with their 

 evergreen foliage, or sublime with their mantles of ever- 

 lasting snows, and glides pleasantly through fertile valleys, 

 where Nature is the only husbandman and the deer and elk 

 the only cattle. 



Parks there are, where the tall pines and the cotton- 

 woods, with their silvery foliage, stand as if arrayed at the 

 command of the most skillful of gardeners; where green 

 meadows, dotted with clumps of "trees, or with little copses, 

 stretch away toward the rocky heights beyond and seem 

 almost to reveal the hand of man in the artistic beauty of 

 thdr design. But no gardener planted these towering- 

 trees, nor was human skill evoked to lay out these delight- 

 ful parks; the hand of a greater being than man is visible 

 in all these beauties — the hand of God. 



Each mile of the river's length presents fresh charms, 

 and the thoughtful mind is awed and purified by the con- 

 templation of these, some of the grandest works of Nature. 



Nor is animal life, in all its varied forms, wanting to 

 complete the picture. Here we have perhaps the finest 

 hunting ground in America. Owing to the rocky and 

 mountainous nature of the country it offers but little to 

 attract the farmer, and the few dwellers on the river are 

 the wandering trappers who, like the Indian, driven by the 

 constant influx of settlers from the plains and from the 

 eastern slope of the mountains toward the setting sun, find 

 here a resting place whence they will not soon be expelled. 

 These, however, are few in comparison with the myriads of 

 furred, feathered, and finned denizens of this wild region, 

 and cause but slight diminution in their numbers. The 

 brooks furnish trout by thousands — from half a pound to 

 four pounds in weight — active, plucky fish, that it is a 

 pleasure to hook and a satisfaction to land. Beaver are 

 very plentiful, and their dams may be found at intervals of 

 half a mile on every moderately large brook. Otter, too, 

 are trapped in considerable numbers every winter, though 

 not so numerous now as in former years. These, with the 

 mink and fisher, are the finer fur-bearing animals of the 

 country. The felidse are represented by the lynx and the 

 mountain lion, or cougar; the latter rarely seen, but some- 

 times making his presence felt by killing a calf or a colt 

 while the herds are out on the range. 



Deer and elk are numerous in the bottoms and on the 

 mountains, a few antelopes frequent the elevated plateaus 

 that occur from time to time along the river, while the 

 loftiest peaks afford a secure refuge to the wary mountain 

 sheep. When hunting along the river or some of its .tribu- 

 taries you will often notice the track of the ferocious griz- 

 zly, or of his smaller and more timid congeners, the black 

 and cinnamon bears; and should you desire a closer ac- 

 quaintance with these kings of the mountain it may be 



formed by following the tracks into the higher lands. 

 For the birds, who shall tell their numbers, or who shall 

 enumerate their varieties'? Sand-hill cranes, together with 

 geese and ducks in countless numbers pass over in spring 

 and autumn, and pause at various points to feed and rest. 

 Three species of grouse — the sage, the blue and the ruffed — 

 are found in the bottoms and on the mountain's sides, while 

 close beneath the snow line breeds the white tailed ptar- 

 migan. 



In fine, the sportsman or naturalist will find here much 

 to attract and delight him. And perhaps he may even be 

 tempted, as I once was, to sever for a time the ties that 

 bind him to his eastern home, and, building a little cabin, 

 settle in this country until he shall have exhausted its plea- 

 sures. 



But why shouldfjl attempt to awaken in other breasts the 

 enthusiasm I feel for this fascinating region, or to picture 

 to you the beauties of this fascinating river? To delineate 

 them aright would require the pen of a Buskin and the ex- 

 perience of a Powell. Its glories are only known to one 

 who, like the latter, has floated on its hurrying tide down 

 to where it unites with the Grand toJL'orm that mightier 

 stream, the Rio Colorado of the west. 



Fifty miles below the Union Pacific Railroad ' crossing 

 the river becomes wider, and its mad rush for [a while is 

 checked as it flows slowly through a broad valley. Here 

 its surface is dotted with little sand bars, against which the 

 water ripples with a gentle murmur, far different from its 

 usual angry roar. On the north and south the mountains, 

 stern and immutable in their rugged magnificence form an 

 almost continuous barrier, and seem to open unwillingly 

 the narrow channel through which the waters pass. On 

 the east the bluffs rise one after another in bare, gray 

 walls until they become part of the foothills and at last 

 run into the mountains a few miles away. On the west 

 the valley is bounded by a range of lofty buttes, almost 

 perpendicular on every side, but occasionally affording a 

 path by which an active climber may reach the summit. 

 The surface of the plateau is level and clothed with short 

 bunch grass, here and there diversified by a few tall weeds, 

 which wave wildly in the never-ceasing breeze. 



From this elevated post the country maybe seen stretched 

 out in a glorious panorama. The dark green ribbons, 

 which run back from the river in all^directions, showing 

 where the brooks descend from the higher land, contrast 

 finely with the silvery gray of the sage plains ; while the 

 cloud-capped mountains bej^ond, touched by the declining 

 sun, form a gorgeous setting i'cr the picture. 



Near the base of one of these buttes our camp is pitched. 

 Three or four tents, their white canvas showing bright 

 against the green willows, stand at a short distance from 

 the water. Four Government wagons are drawn up not 

 far off, and the baggage of the outfit lies on the ground 

 beside them. The horses and mules, dispersed over the 

 plain, are cropping the luxuriant herbage, tended by their 

 watchful herders, who occasionally drive in those that 

 stray too far, and prevent the more restless from wander- 

 ing away from camp. 



Around the glowing fire a dozen men arc stretched upon 

 the ground. Bearded, bronzed by exposure to all weathers, 

 and clothed in buckskin, you might take them all at first 

 glance for a party of trappers ; but their speech betrays 

 their occupation, and shows you that they are members of 

 some scientific expedition. 



The evening meal over, they have lighted their pipes, 

 and are discussing with animated voice and gesture the 

 various prizes obtained during the day. Some exult in 

 a new fossil, others examine some rare bird, others 

 still are looking over their tools, while two who are clean- 

 ing their rifles converse about to-morroAv's hunt, The two 



last are John N and myself. The last morsel of fresh 



meat in the camp has been consumed to-day, and we have 

 resolved to make an early start to-morrow morning and see 

 if we cannot renew the supply. So, soon after the sun 

 goes down we wrap our buffalo robes around us and ere 

 long are soundly asleep. 



The stars were shining brightly from the cloudless sky, 

 when we crossed the river and turning north, directed our 

 course up the stream. The wind blew chilly down from 

 the mountains, causing us to gather our blankets closer 

 about us we trotted silently along. At length we reached 

 a deep and rocky canon, where, on passing some days be- 

 fore we had noticed numerous tracks of deer and elk ; 

 here, turning away from the river, we commenced to as- 

 cend the heights. 



A silent ride of ' about two miles between the gloomy 

 locks brought us to the commencement of the timber just 

 as the light began to appear in the East. Pushing on 

 through this until we were well up on the mountain, we 

 came to a slight opening among the pines, where a little 

 Spring bubbling out of the ground fertilized a small extent 

 of land and nourished a rich growth of grass. Here we 

 halted and unsaddled our horses, and after picketing them 

 out to feed, started off to look for the game which we ex- 

 pected to find near at hand. 



We took the precaution to notice with the utmost care 

 the various landmarks that we passed on our way. This 

 was necessary for the reason that among those extensive 

 forests each tree looks so much like the next one that unless 

 great care is exercised the traveler becoming bewildered by 

 this similarity, is almost sure to lose his way. 



As we proceed through the sombre aisles of the forest 

 our moccasin-shod feet fall noiselessly upon Ihe thick car- 

 pet of fine needles with which the ground i b ; pread. The 

 breeze blows softly on our faces bringing with it the faint 

 damp odors of decaying vegetation and sought with a 



gentle rustling through the tops of the lofty pines. A 

 dim, uncertain light pervades the scene, rarely relieved by 

 a ray of sunlight, which breaks through the dense foliage 

 and flecks the ground with spangles of waving gold. The 

 raffed grouse, with sedate step and dignified bearing, stalks 

 a few paces away from our path, while the little pine squir- 

 rel, startled from the ground, hurries to some elevated 

 perch, whence he gazes at us with his round, black eyes, 

 wondering, no doubt, what the strange creatures are that 

 invade these mysterious solitudes. No sound is heard save 

 the whispering of the pines and the distant cry of the 

 Clarkes crow, borne faintly to our ears from the peaks above. 



At length we reach a spot where the trees grow farther 

 apart and the light becomes stronger, and as we round the 

 prostrate truak of a huge tree, an object catches our eye 

 which causes us suddenly to stand motionless as statues. 

 A fine two-year-old black tail buck is feeding on the edge 

 of the openiag not seventy-five yards from us. The wind 

 blowing from him to us has not notified him of our pres- 

 ence, nor have his eyes or ears warned him to hurry away 

 through the forest. We draw cautiously back to the shel- 

 ter of the fallen tree, John kneels, and, as the buck pre- 

 sents his side, fires. The crack of the rifle eohoes over the 

 mountain and is thrown back from a hundred crags. The 

 buck gives two or three sudden bounds and stands gazing 

 wildly around for a moment, and then moves slowly oft 

 through the trees. But we have seen the life blood pour- 

 ing from the wound behind his shoulder, and we know 

 that he will not go far before lying down, and that when 

 he lies clown he will never rise again. 



We step leisurely forward to the spot where he disap- 

 peared and find a thick trail of blood, and following this 

 for about thirty yards we come to the beautiful creature 

 lying dead, his muscles still quivering and the steaming 

 current just ceasing to flow. 



Half an hour is devoted to skinning and breaking up our 

 quarry, and as much more to the enjoyment of a cigarrette 

 as we recline on the soft pine needles and dreamily watch 

 the waving tree tops; and then seeing that the sun is ap-' 

 proaching the zenith, we resume our rifles and advance 

 again. Two or three little openings are passed revealing 

 nothing, and the afternoon is wearing away, when, as we 

 stand on the edge of another little glade consulting upon 

 the advisability of an immediate return, we see a large 

 buck and two does emerge from the woods on the other 

 side and walk down toward the little pool which lies half 

 way across the opening. They are three hundred yards 

 away, but if they continue to advance after drinking will 

 pass within shot of us. The; remain near the water, how- 

 ever, and we determine to crawl upon them. 



The grass, fortunately, is moderately high, and conceals 

 us as we creep slowly along. At length we are within one 

 hundred and fifty yards, the grass becomes shorter and we 

 can advance no nearer. We carefuily raise our heads 

 above the grass and fire together, and the two does drop. 

 The buck runs a few paces and stops and looks back to see 

 why his companions are not at his side. As he stands 

 broadside toward me, I raise up again, and, firing quickly, 

 have the satisfaction of seeing him come to his haunches. 

 We run gleefully up and administer the coup de grace to 

 John's doe, which he has shot through the shoulders, and 

 to the buck, which has a broken back. Then hastily bleed- 

 ing the game, we hurry off to bring up the horses. 



And we were none too soon in doing so. The time 

 taken in packing the loads, and in looking for John's 

 buck, which on our return we had almost missed, and the 

 fact that we had to walk, leading our burdened horses, de- 

 layed us so that the sun was setting as we emerged from 

 the timber. A little later and we should have been forced 

 to camp in the forest. No great hardship, you will say. 

 True, but we preferred the dinner that awaited us in camp 

 and our warm huff alo robes to dry deer meat and a single 

 blanket in the mountain. 



We hurried down the canon, and in a short time after 

 reaching the river bank were opposite the camp. Here our 

 shouts soon attracted the attention of the crowd around the 

 fire, and a couple of horses were led over to us by one of 

 the party, which we mounted and rode across the river. 

 And now while we enjoy our dinner by the cheerful fire- 

 light, some skin the last three deer and others tell us of 

 what they have done during the day and demand an ac- 

 count of our trip. This is soon given ; and when an hour 

 later the rising moon silvers the mountains, the plain and 

 the river, and floods the camp with its clear, pale light, 

 dimming the flickering rays of the fire, no sound breaks 

 the stillness of the air save the monotonous cropping of 

 the feeding herd and the low murmur of the water as it 

 ripples softly against' the banks; lenes msurri sub noctem. 



Onxis. 

 -«s-»^~ 



PRACTICAL FISH CULTURE. 



L, X UMBER ONE. 



UNDER this head the writer proposes to give full and. 

 complete instructions regarding the building ot 

 ponds, dams, screens and the manner of keeping trout, to- 

 gether with the modes of taking spawn, handling aud baton* 

 Lag it, the rearing of the young fish, their diseases and 

 enemies so far as known, and such other matters as may be 

 necessary to thoroughly post one that has not the slightest 

 knowledge of the first principles of fish-breeding, so that he 

 will be able to manage a trout farm successfully. Therefore, 

 the reader that is already well posted is informed that these 

 articles are for a much larger class who must perforce com- 

 mence at the A B C, and if he should be so well learned 

 that there is nothing possible for him to gain from the es 



