FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



279 



Of course, it hurts, Albert. I knew it 

 would when I said it, if you had a spark of 

 decency left in you. That is one reason 

 why I said it. I wanted to make you 

 ashamed of your hoggish conduct. Another 

 reason is that I am trying to educate all 

 sportsmen, and especially the younger gen- 

 eration, to a decent regard for the rights of 

 other people besides themselves. I am try- 

 ing to teach these young men to quit when 

 they get enough, and not to catch every fish, 

 or kill every bird or animal they can find, 

 without regard to the question of future sup- 

 ply. 



You say " We caught more fish than we 

 could use. Some of them died, and we 

 buried them. For this we are called hogs, 

 shoats, swine, etc." That's right, Albert. 

 Any man who catches more fish than he can 

 use, and lets them rot, is all these kinds of 

 an animal at once. 



If you were so greedy for gore that you 

 must keep on fishing, as long as you could 

 get a bite, why not return your fish to the 

 water as fast as you took them off the hooks 

 — after having secured enough for camp 

 use? Why keep on fishing, and killing 

 your fish? In such case, of course, you 

 must bury them to keep them from stinking 

 you out of camp, but you are certainly not 

 so fond of playing the role of grave-dig- 

 gers. 



Now, I should like to have every reader 

 of Recreation who approves of my criti- 

 cism on these men, and who disapproves of 

 their hoggish methods, write Mr. Albert T. 

 Summers, Decatur, 111., and tell him so in 

 good, plain English. It would be an object 

 lesson to him and his friends that they 

 would probably not forget as long as they 

 live. I hope the readers of Recreation 

 will bury them in letters and postal cards, 

 approving the course of Recreation in 

 this, as well as in all other cases of fish and 

 game hoggishness. 



Recreation stands for public sentiment 

 of the highest order, and I should like to 

 have these men taught that the great mass 

 of decent sportsmen are a unit against hog- 

 gishness of all forms. 



HUNTING IN MAINE. 



I have not missed a hunt for big game in 

 a dozen years, but last year's trip was a 

 little the best of all. The weather was 

 grand, game was abundant and hunting 

 easy. We left Detroit September 30th, and 

 3 days later were in the woods of .Maine. 



We began prospecting for signs, and be- 

 fore we got fairly started we jumped 2 deer. 

 Later, when returning to camp, we saw 2 

 more. We were not on the lookout, but 

 those deer allowed us to get within 100 feet 

 of them. We both fired, but the time was 

 too fast and we never touched them. 



The next morning we started out in ear- 

 nest and hunted carefully and slowly. After 

 about 3 hours of still hunting, while on a 



high, woody ridge, I saw a big buck below 

 us. 



A shot from my Savage dropped him. 

 My boy, Irving, was at my side by the time 

 the buck got on his feet again. He fired 

 and the buck went down for good. Pretty 

 well for a 15 year old, on his first trip. I 

 dressed the deer and dragged it to an old 

 logging road, close at hand. 



We hunted in the afternoon without see- 

 ing any game. Next morning we started 

 for our old home at Penobscot and arrived 

 at dinner lime. After a week's visit we out- 

 fitted for big game, or, in other words, 

 moose. 



We left the train at St. Croix station, 

 crossed the St. Croix river and went to the 

 camp of Chas. West, half a mile from the 

 station. Capt. West has 5 cottages, besides 

 the big cottage where we got our meals. 



I engaged Fred Shultz as guide, and we 

 started, with 4 days' rations, for the back 

 woods. We paddled up the St. Croix river 

 and across Lake St. Croix. Leaving our 

 canoe at the head of the lake, we shoul- 

 dered our packs and by night were in the 

 moose country. After getting wood for 

 the fire and boughs for our bed, Fred made 

 a birch bark moose horn, and just at dark, 

 on a little meadow near our camp, he gave 

 the call. 



A minute later a moose answered. Then 

 he broke something that sounded like a rail- 

 road tie, and his horns hit a hardwood tree 

 that, made a terrible rattle. About this time 

 I could taste my heart, and the way it 

 thumped was awful. It was quite dark, and 

 what little wind there was came from the 

 wrong direction. Fred's " ar-n-ork " did 

 not induce the moose to come within range. 

 The succeeding day we started out to see 

 where the moose was stopping; but found 

 that the Indian told the truth when he said, 

 " Moose he trabb'e, trabble, all time; don't 

 yard 't all." That was the way with this one. 

 A little after noon, with the wind blowing 

 in our faces and a fine rain falling, I heard 

 a slight noise. I stopped, and from behind 

 the upturned roots of a big tree an animal 

 trotted out toward us. I never before saw 

 anything like it, in the woods. 



I put a soft nose .303 bullet into the mid- 

 dle of his neck, and down he went. It was 

 a big bull caribou, with 14 points on his 

 horns. The following day we started for 

 West's camp and reached there, after a 

 hard paddle against a head wind on Lake 

 St. Croix, in time for dinner. We remained 

 there 2^2 days. Then leaving the buck and 

 caribou to be mounted, we took the West 

 bound train for home. Charles. 



HOW TO HOLD. 



Bridgeport, Ct. 



Editor Recreation: Mr. Ellis, of Den- 

 ver, desires a few points on duck shooting. 

 Perhaps I can help him a little. 



As he says he is a fair shot on other game, 



