FOREST AND STREAM. 



shoot wild fowl, are the yachts Palmer, Ibis, Dauntless, 

 Ideal, and Vindex. 



Alexander Hunter. 



Cobb's Island, Va., July 29th. 



[Our correspond nt has failed to mention how to reach Cobb's Island. 

 We supply the lurorination as given by a friend who visited the place 

 this summer, as follows f Take Old Dominion steamer from New York 

 to Norfolk, tbence across the Chesapeake to Cherrystone by steamer; 

 thence five^nilcs by stage to the Bay, and ten miles by steamer to 

 Cobb's. There is also a steamer from Washington. Hotel charges $3 

 per day; boatmen $3 on snipe; on grouse, ducks, etc., in the fall and 

 winter, $5 per day and half your birds. — Ed."] 



For Forest and Stream. 

 ^ OLD DA.YS AT MOOSEHEAD. 



IT was the writer's good fortune to spend part of the 

 summer of 1870 at the Kineo House, Moosehead Lake. 

 At the period of my arrival, about the middle of July, the 

 artisans were still busy upon the unfinished buildings. For 

 some days I was the only guest, and as the weather had set 

 in wet and stormy, I amused myself by driving a few nails 

 here and. there and generally noting progress. At the end 

 of a week or so of this enforced single blessedness came 

 other visitors, and by the middle of August a goodly num- 

 ber of ladies and gentlemen were ensconced in this delight- 

 fully quiet sylvan retreat. Those were Halcyon days, all 

 infesting cares laid away for the nonce, and our sole occu- 

 pation to catch trout and play whist in the evenings. 

 Among the well remembered guests and fellow anglers 

 were W. J. Slillman, Darly, of national fame, Thatcher 

 Magoun, of Boston, Mr. Moore and family, Dr. Foster and 

 Cassius Darling, of New York, the two latter little think- 

 ing tiiey were so soon to bid an eternal adieu to those pleas- 

 ant scenes and take their last trout in the waters of Moose- 

 head. 



i nad taken with me as pocket companions, Rooseveldt's 

 two volumes "S«|perior Fishing," and "Game Fish of the 

 North. " Both these works can be conscientiously recom- 

 mended to the novice as containing much valuable infor- 

 mation, and entertaining withal. They are wriiten con 

 amove and by a master of the art. For many years it had 

 been my habit to occasionally gdance over the contents 

 of these volumes in intervals of leisure, and as often as I 

 turned from the known to the unknown (salmon angling) 

 just so often did my conscience regularly smite me, and its 

 reiterated reproof ran somewhat thus: "Thou, Rusticus, 

 who, beginning upon tiny trout, with tiny hooks in tiny 

 brooks, at the tiny age of seven, hast since advanced by 

 slow and successive gradations to the dignity in eparable 

 from four-pound trout and 00-pound bass and drum. Thou, 

 1 say, hast never yet beguiled the true Monarch of all 

 Augledom; thou nast never yet captured the wary salmon. 

 From this standpoint thou ait but a wretched ignoramus. 

 In fact thou knuwest nothing whatever of true angling. 

 The supreme test thou habt never undergone; all that thou 

 hast hitherto accomplished is but as the foam and froth 

 upon the surface, which only hides from view the potent 

 and more generous beverage in the depths below. Unlike 

 Alexander, to thee a new held of conquest is open. Go 

 place thyself on the highest pedestal, then rest contented." 

 Thus conscience; and to its biting words of admonition 

 always replied in thought the chafing Rusticus. "I wilt, 

 by Jove! 1 will, sometime go a salmoniug." And he 

 went. How he went, whither he went, and whatheuuder- 

 went, shall haply appear in these pages ere the waxing 

 and waning ot many moons. 



Dear, charming, always lovely Moosehead; affording 

 good stoieof trout to the angler, game to the hunter, 

 studies to the artist, medicine to the sick, rest to the weary. 

 Though basely abandoned by thy former votary for newer 

 scenes and wilder waters, his memory oft foudly recurs to 

 thee and to the genial companions always found under 

 Kineo's sheltering roof. As lie writes he nas but tc lift lus 

 eyes from the paper to the wainscoting to be confronted 

 with panoramic views of Kineo Mansion and Mountain, of 

 Table Rock and .North Bay. On the rock is seen an angler, 

 rod in hand : 



Now deftly ply thy rod; with baited breath, 

 As t-now flakes eiiik, let fall thy feathery death; 

 'Tin Fair,, laud thou treadet-t. Mortal! pray 

 The JFaiiies lend thte immortal ukill to uay. 



All vain my appeal, unmoved behold him stand, 

 As turned to kione by the enchant f's magic wand; 

 Perchance some Merlin by Fay Vivien witched, 

 On bungling tyro wiLh his tackle hitched. 



Anglers are always companionable, (this is a plagiarism) 

 especially when teiling the story of "That big trout, you 

 know," at evening on the hotel piazza, or when the noon- 

 day heat compels a halt upon the grassy bank of some 

 mountaiu stream. At such times the angler waxes eloquent, 

 and bits of angling experience are made to do duty, 1 

 had almost said usque ad nauseam, but such broad as- 

 severation were untrue. Your genuine angler is a good, 

 listener. Who ever does or can lorget the localities and 

 incidents connected with his heaviest encounters? The 

 overhanging bank, the sharp edges of the jutting ledge, 

 the old gnarled stump with its projecting tantacles, the 

 menacing jam of driftwood at the loot of the pool, or the 

 forest tree fallen ju-t across it; are not all these indelibly 

 stamped on the angier's memory, incorporated with his 

 very existence? How then can the story of a friend's 

 triumphs, joys and sorrows, fail to command his best at- 

 tention? Can he not match each and every recounted in- 

 cident with something parallel, drawn fiom the tablets of 

 his own memory? Das he not time and again been 

 swayed by the sell same hopes and fears? .Now, swelling 

 wiin satisfaction at the successful capture of some aqueous 

 monarch, saved perhaps in extremis, and when all hope had 

 fled; and now almost irautic at the loss of a magnificent 

 rish, torturing himself with vain imaginings as to what 

 might have been had he adapted other than the losing 

 tactics : 



"Of all pad words of tongue or pen, 



The saadest are these— it might have been." 



Gentlemen of the Rod and Reel, we have all traveled the 

 same road, have enjoyed the same triumphs, suffered the 

 game disasters, and as the net result are bound together in 

 closest bonus of sympathy. 



And then, Rangeley. To omit mention of the Rangeley 

 waters in this connection would be like playing Hamlet, 

 Witu Hamlet lei t out. Canadian waters excepted, the 

 neigh oi hood of Indian Roek ailords fishing second to none 

 upon tins or any other continent. At least this was the 

 Case bclore civilization had invaded its sacred precincts, 

 and before it had planted in this primeval wilderness its 

 modern club houses and its patent new-fangled hatching 



machines. Let others speak for the present. Never shall I 

 forget the day of my introduction to the Simon pure 

 Rangeley trout. Time, the last week in September, 1861; 

 place, the old mill on Rangeley stream; dramatis persona, 

 a well known Boston turfman, Rusticus, and Charley Soule, 

 proprietor of Camp Kennebago, then unknown to either of 

 us save by reputation. Our party of four left Prescotts at 

 8 o'clock in the morning and after a slow and tedious 

 trip down the lake, taking on the way one small fish with a 

 spinner, disembarked at the usual point; and while two re- 

 mained behind to guard and see our impedimenta safe to 

 camp, our turfist and your servant set forth in advance. 

 The road was a common logging road, such as everywhere 

 abounds where the lumberer's axe has preceded. While 

 threading the left bank of the stream a spruce partridge 

 fell an easy prey, and we at length emerged into a small 

 clearing where stood at the water's edge an old saw- 

 mill, dismantled and long abandoned. As we approached 

 a tall gaunt form appeared from behind the mill, and with 

 the air of one who has found the sought for object, re- 

 marked that he was expecting us. After some desultory 

 conversation in regard to our chances for sport, he inquired 

 whether our party would like a fish or not for dinner, and 

 said he would get one immediately. With that he disap- 

 peared in the recesses of the mill and quickly reappeared 

 armed with a spear. Intent upon watching his operations, 

 I accompanied him, "while my companion continued his 

 line of march toward Indian Rock. Arrived at the pool 

 just below the old dam, into which was falling through 

 and over its few remaining timbers a considerable body of 

 water, our spearsman took position on the end of a strong 

 plank so placed as to project just over the very center of 

 the pool, its shore end being securely anchored and braced. 



For some ten minutes did he stand there, motionless and 

 statuesque, cautiously peering into the depths of the troubled 

 waters. He assured me he could see a number of small 

 trout, but felt sure, he said, "There were some big ones in 

 there, "and we want a iarge one you know." Anxious to 

 take a look at the small ones spoken of, I walked out upon 

 the plank but could distinguish nothing through the rushing 

 water. At length the wished for moment came, the spear 

 was cautiously sent downwards and held in position, a 

 moment's maneuvering followed, the blow was struck, and 

 the violent agitation ot the ashen shaft showed plainly that 

 the steel was driven home, and was fast to something pos- 

 sessing both size and strength. Not content with holding 

 the fish firmly against the bottom, to make all sure a heavy 

 grapple was lowered and in a few seconds securely hooked 

 under the jaws of the victim. Spear grapple and fish were 

 then slowly drawn to the surface, and in a moment more a 

 nine pound female trout was throbbingly gasping away her 

 last breaths upon the pebbly shore. 1 threw myself down 

 beside the dying beauty in rapt admiration, noted her per- 

 fect symmetry of form, the brightness of her spots, and 

 wonderingly propounded to him of the spear the interroga- 

 tory, whether he had ever before taken as large a trout. 

 The reply was a crusher. "Oh, yes — frequently — we have 

 them much larger in these waters." This statement was 

 verified a few days later by the production of 10 fish on the 

 morning of our departure, weighing from seven to 12 

 pounds each— only one or two of the latter size, however. 

 Since that day I have seen and taken many large fish, but 

 have never experienced the same stunning sensation as 

 then fastened upon me by the bank of Rangeley stream. It 

 was a revelation. 



Moosehead and Rangeley, twin gems in America's diadem 

 of lakes and lakelets! "Ambo pares piscibus; Arcades 

 am bo." May both and each, under the fostering care of 

 wise legislation and enforced protection, continue to furnish 

 our descendants with the same regal sport vouchsafed to 

 us of this day and generation. . Rusticus. 



TRAMPING 



For Foi'est and Stream. 

 IN THE CATSK1JLLS— 

 TRAMP II. 



[Concluded from August 17t7i.] 



SETTLING our knapsacks firmly on our shoulders we 

 entered Ulster from Sullivan county at the forks of 

 tne Neversink, on a road scarcely wide enough for the 

 passage of two vehicles. At our 'right hand the west 

 branch of the Neversink and on our left a towering mass 

 of rocks piled upon each other in the most promiscuous 

 manner, and this road and a solitary saw-mill the only 

 works of man in sight. Our next objective point Was 

 Shendaken Mountain, whose shapely outlines we could see 

 in the distance sharply defined against the clear blue sky, 

 and to the base of which we knew the road we were on 

 would lead us. Somewhere near where this road first 

 struck the base of the mountain we had been told there 

 was a path which crossed the mountain by the "Big Injun 

 pass;" bat the uncertainty of our finding the path was only 

 equalled by that of our getting any dinner on this side. 

 The distance to the foot of the mountain, which proved 

 to be about six miles, was quickly accomplished, for the 

 road (for this part of the country) was remarkably smooth, 

 and just as we began to look warily for an opening at the 

 roadside which might appear to be the beginning of the 

 path we were in search of we came upon a log hut, at the 

 door of which sat a young man smoking his pipe. Upon 

 making inquiry as to the whereabouts of "Big Injun" he, 

 with true mountaineer courtesy, volunteered his services 

 as guide, and as we walked on with him said he lived 

 about a quarter of a mile further on. The dinner question 

 being broached he said he could give us plenty of bread 

 and milk, if that would suit us, and invited us in and in- 

 troduced us to his family, which consisted of his wife and 

 the stoutest, most rosy-cheeked three -jear old baby I ever 

 saw, and here, in a house of logs— one roOm on the ground 

 floor and one above — our friend the barkcutter lived in true 

 rural simplicity, apparently as happy as mortal man could 

 be; still, he said he was getting rather tired of the woods, 

 and hoped by the next spring to be able to buy a small 

 farm in the central part of the county. After we had fin- 

 ished our dinner and praised the baby, to the evident satis- 

 faction of its mamma, our sylvan host led us a rhort dis- 

 tance from his house and pointed out the path which, he 

 said, if we followed for twelve miles, would take us over 

 the mountain, and bring us out on the line of the Roudout 

 and Oswego Railroad at "Big Injun' ' depot. 



We tramped up hill for some three miles, when we came 

 upon a clearing partially overgrown, in wnich were the ru- 

 ins of three log huts. From this point the ascent was more 

 steep and the path more rough, undl it became nothing 

 more than a way cut through the woods just wide enough 



for the passage of one vehicle, and thence on to the sum 

 mit we stepped and jumped from one rock and stone to 

 another, passing on the way the wreck of a wagon in which 

 some venturesome person had tried to make the journey 

 over the mountain after the snow had gone; the path be- 

 ing only intended for use during the winter, when the snow 

 is so deep as to cover the rocks and make a comparatively 

 smooth road. All the way up we had been skirting a i 01J J 

 the bank of the West Branch, and near the summit came 

 upon the true fountain head— a liitle spring gushing out 

 from the hillside in a clear stream scarcely six inches wide 

 A few rods further up and we stood on the top of the 

 mountain, while below us lay almost the whole of the 

 Esopus valley. Just over the backbone of the mountain 

 started a little stream, which plunging down its side joined 

 the Esopus Creek at its base. Along the bank of this bub- 

 bling, boiling little brook lay our way, and down it we 

 walked, relieving our tired limbs by bringing another set 

 of muscles into play. As we had paused upon the summit 

 viewing the beauty of the valley, hemmed in on the north 

 by ranges of hills, growing higher and higher until they 

 culminated in the well-known outlines of High Peak 

 Round Top, and the Hunter Mountains of the Catskili 

 range, we had noticed black clouds rising in the west and 

 when about one- third the way down the mountain side the 

 great splashing drops of an approaching thunder- shower 

 began to fall, and the rumble of the storm sounded nearer 

 and nearer. But we found shelter in an abandoned barn 

 just as the storm came down in all its fury. Squatting 

 down in a dry corner like a couple of veritable "big In- 

 juns" we drew our rubber blankets about our shoulders 

 and smoked the pipe of peace. 



"Tempus fidgeted," and soon we began to follow suit, 

 for having a holy horror of a new hotel at the temporary 

 terminus of an unfinished railroad, we were anxious to 

 catch the 6 p. m, train at "Big Injun" and ride down nine 

 miles to Phoenicia, where we knew there had been of old a 

 comfortable country tavern, which we hoped to find still 

 unswerved from its integrity by the railroad. We knew 

 we had some tour miles yet to travel to reach the depot, 

 and we also knew that walking down a flooded mountaiu 

 road in the midst of a thunder storm was about as wet 

 work as sliding down a cataract, with the added discom- 

 fort of feeling in duty bound to try and keep a foothold on. 

 slippery rocks and rolling cobblestones. So we waited till 

 the last possible moment, hoping for the rain to stop, but 

 it never thought of doing so, and at length Ingram, pro- 

 testing that we must not wait another moment, strapped 

 on his knapsack, drew his blanket over it and his shoul- 

 ders, and stepped to the door. He took but one glance at 

 the rushing torrent filling our only road to Big Injun, and 

 then plunged in. I followed, and at the first step the wa- 

 ter dammed itself up against my legs and soaked me to the 

 knees. After that 1 did not mind it much; there is a com- 

 fort in getting wet through after one has been paintully 

 anticipating such a catastrophe, for one feels that at last it 

 can be no worse. Without once sitting down to rest— in- 

 voluntary or otherwise — we came to the foot of the moun- 

 tain and" to the depot in little less than an hour, soaked as 

 to the lower limbs, but dry "above the belt," thanks to our 

 rubber blankets. We found just what we had expected— 

 a big white barn of a hotel, with a two-story piazza across 

 the front, and a bar-room filled with half drunken "navvys" 

 and bad tobacco smoke. Our first inquiry was for the 

 train, which we did not see ready to start, and were told it 

 left at 6 a. m. instead of 6 p. m. ■ As there was no help for 

 it we made the best of the situation, and engaging a room 

 soon had on dry clothes, and sent our wet ones to the 

 kitchen fire to be dried. 



The rain had stopped at about the save time we did, and 

 the sun came out from the clouds just as we two sons also 

 emerged from obscurity, dry clad, upon the front piazza of 

 the Big Injun Hotel. Seeing some men moving about un- 

 der a iarge tent which was pitched some little distance off 

 and close to the track, we strolled over to them and found 

 them to be three of the engineers who were building the 

 road. They were pleasant fellows, and we spent some 

 time in talking with them about the road, the difficulties 

 of its conttruciion, etc., when at length the moment which 

 both had been thinking of with dread but which neither 

 of us dared to speak ot, came and "the clamoroua tongue 

 of time" and a big brass bell told the hour for supper. We 

 had not fared sumptuously that day, were hungry, and felt 

 it was our duty to eat, but of that meal I forbare to speak, 

 save to say it would be impossible to tell which were the 

 more objectionable, the viands or the company, Yet I am 

 not squeamish about my food when roughing it, and when 

 occasion requires, can eat the saltiest of salt ham and sog- 

 giest of boiled potatoes with a two pronged steel fork in 

 the company of lumbermen and bark peelers, with as keen 

 a relish as ever I had for a meal at Sutherland's or Del- 

 monico's. But enough of Big Injun. We left it next 

 morning in the train, which should have gone just twelve 

 hours earlier to please our fancies, and breakfasted where 

 we had hoped to sup the night before— in Phoenicia, at the 

 foot of Stony Clove. The old tavern was there, but mine 

 host of bygone days was not; however, he seemed to have 

 left a .worthy successor. The Stony Clove is a narrow, ir- 

 regular ravine, with a boiling brook and a steep but good 

 road at its bottom. It comes down between mountains of 

 a goodly height to the Esopus Valley, and forms what may 

 be called the southeast doorway to the Catskili Mountains. 

 From Phoenicia, at its foot to Roggin's Hotel, some seven 

 miles on among the mountains, from its head is about 23 

 miles; and this we had laid out for our day's walk. It 

 was a perfect day for tramping, the sun shining brightly, 

 but not too warm, for the storm of the evening before had 

 left the air cool and bracing. We started off at about 8 

 o'clock. For eleven miles it was one steady up hill pull, 

 now on one side of the brook, now on the other. The 

 sunshine, the air, the views, the freedom from care and 

 from any thoughts save those of the glorious present, and 

 the recollections of many just such joyous days in the 

 past— but why descant? those who by nature do not enjoy 

 this cannot be made to understand it; and those who do 

 have only to call on memory to know what made it such easy 

 work tramping up those steep miles. At the end of those 

 eleven miles stands Lane's on a sort of plateau, and ironi 

 there four miles away brings one to the summit. Lane s is 

 not a hotel, but they take some boarders in the summer, 

 and any passer-by can generally be accommodated witu 

 something to eat. We stopped here at 11:30, and having 

 ordered dinner went down to the stream in front of tne 

 house and caught a few trout, but the Stony Clove broos 

 is pretty well worked each season, and the fish are sraau 

 and rather far between. . 



After dinner we started on again, taking it leisurely, wr 



