A DAY IN THE ADIRONDACKS. 



J. RODEMEYER, JR. 



On the morning of the ioth our party met 

 at First Pond, about 3 miles from Baker's 

 Mills, in the township of North Creek, in 

 the Adirondacks. There were Dr. Ross, 

 his brothers Ellsworth, Taylor, and David 

 Ross, Charlie Baker and I. 



I was in the mountains for rest and 

 ozone, and had no intention of posing as a 

 deer slayer. However the desire to par- 

 ticipate in the sport, merely as an experi- 

 ence, came upon me through association 

 with these enthusiastic Nimrods, and 

 shortly before the hunt, Dr. Ross had taken 

 me out behind the barn and had in- 

 structed me as to which end of the gun was 

 the more dangerous. After a brief sea- 

 son of practice and a liberal expenditure 

 of ammunition, I became sufficiently skill- 

 ful to hit the barn almost every time, at 

 30 paces. 



We had secured the services of 2 guides, 

 Ike Davis and Frank Warren, both well 

 learned in wood-craft, and unerring rifle 

 shots. Ike carried a gun that might well 

 figure in the waking scene of Rip Van 

 Winkle — a dilapidated weapon, split, dented 

 and twisted, and sadly in need of " a new 

 stock, lock and barrel." But this gun al- 

 ways spoke to some purpose. 



" It'll shewt an' b'gravy, that's all I want 

 it to dew," said the philosophical Ike, fond- 

 ling the old stock affectionately. As the 

 game law gives a sportsman the privilege 

 of shooting only 2 deer in a season, Ike, 

 who never misses his aim, would have a 

 chance to " shewt " his old gun only twice 

 a year if his hunting were restricted to deer 

 alone. Yet he has developed a faculty for 

 finding dead deer in the mountains, after 

 he has run the limit of his " shewting " 

 license. 



First Pond is something over a mile long 

 and is nestled at the foot of a group of 

 mountains. At the Northern extremity, 

 and about 10 rods from the pond, is a 

 smaller body of water called the " Pug- 

 hole." There I was stationed " on watch," 

 by Ellsworth, who instructed me thus: 



" Sit perfectly still. You mustn't stir so 

 as to make the slightest noise. Don't 

 speak, don't sneeze, don't smoke, don't 

 breathe if you can help it. Don't read; 

 don't do anything but just sit and wait. If 

 the dogs start a deer, it is liable to run down 

 here and jump into the water, to lose its 

 scent. If you hear the hounds baying, close 

 at hand, steady yourself, in a firm position; 

 cock both barrels of your gun (they had 

 equipped me with a double-barreled shot- 

 gun, while the rest all had rifles), and hold 

 it to your shoulder in readiness to blaze 

 away. If you shoot a deer, just hoot and 



the rest of us will come and help you get 

 it in; but unless we hear from you, or you 

 hear from us, stay here until about 4 

 o'clock, then come into camp where we 

 will all meet." 



It was then about 7 o'clock in the morn- 

 ing, and unless I shot a deer, I was ex- 

 pected to sit there " like patience on a mon- 

 ument, smiling at grief," and endure the 

 sting of insects and the blazing glare of the 

 sun for 9 mortal hours! It was not long be- 

 fore the situation began to grow dull; then 

 tedious and finally well-nigh unendurable. 

 I could hear, at intervals, the far off baying 

 of hounds, and occasionally the faint report 

 of a rifle shot; but in view of the fact that 

 not a deer nor a dog came anywhere near 

 the Pug-hole that day, I began to harbor 

 the suspicion, which is not entirely allayed, 

 even now, that I was purposely stationed 

 there with malice aforethought, so that I 

 might not damage the prospects of the 

 party's success, and yet enjoy the fond de- 

 lusion that I was experiencing the pleasure 

 of a real deer hunt. I yearned for a smoke; 

 but beyond chewing the mouth-piece of my 

 pipe, I remained faithful to my instructions. 

 I had the latest Recreation in my pocket, 

 but remembered my orders and refrained 

 from reading. I pinched my nose to avoid 

 sneezing, when the water mirrored the daz- 

 zling sunshine into my eyes. 



I had been sitting there, on a stump, 

 about 4 hours, and both legs were sound 

 asleep and snoring, when suddenly I heard 

 the baying of hounds, apparently close at 

 hand and drawing nearer. In an instant I 

 was on my feet, my gun to my shoulder, 

 and had the most pronounced case of 

 " buck fever " ever read of. My knees were 

 knocking together with a vigor that 

 threatened to throw them out of joint. My 

 hair stood on end and my eyes bulged out 

 so they could look into each other. My 

 gun wobbled so that while I fully expected 

 to shoot at a deer within the next minute, 

 I realized I could not hit the side of a moun- 

 tain. To my wrought up imagination the 

 slightest movement of a bush or a twig 

 would have given it the aspect of a deer and 

 I would have blazed away at it. 



While I was thus posing in trembling ex- 

 pectancy, the sound of the dogs' baying 

 grew fainter and receded into the distance. 

 Thus the deer was saved. As I was prepar- 

 ing to seat myself for another session of 

 monotonous waiting, I heard a chuckle 

 just behind me, and a voice inquired, with 

 a mildly sarcastic inflection: 



" What did you expect to do — shcot a 

 deer without cocking your gun?" Ells- 

 worth had stolen up to see how I was obey- 



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