FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



357 



With my wife and little daughter I started 

 for Chelsea, Plainfield, and Orange, in Ver- 

 mont. While driving about Chelsea I no- 

 ticed, on a hillside, a little animal about the 

 size of our Virginia coon, apparently eating 

 clover. I asked the friend with me what it 

 was. He replied, with some surprise, " Why 

 it's a woodchuck. Didn't you ever see a 

 woodchuck before? " " No," said I. " I 

 am from Virginia, and we don't have them 

 there." He informed me they were a great 

 nuisance, and that everyone killed meant a 

 ton of hay saved for the farmer. I asked 

 if the farmers would object to my shooting 

 them, and was assured I would make a last- 

 ing friend of every farmer around if I killed 

 off his woodchucks. 



Immediately on our return to the village 

 I went to the gun store and bought the best 

 .38-56 Winchester rifle in stock, and 500 

 cartridges. After spending a few hours at 

 target practice and adjusting the sights, I 

 sallied forth to abridge the lives of wood- 

 chucks. I hunted them from Monday morn- 

 ing till Saturday night, walking some days 

 more than 10 miles. I usually took a lunch 

 with me and spent the noon hour eating 

 and napping in some orchard. We remained 

 several weeks at Plainfield, also several at 

 Orange. Everywhere I went I found wood- 

 chucks in abundance. My fame spread far 

 and wide and my name got into the local 

 papers. Everybody around seemed to know 

 me. The first question asked by almost 

 every man I met was, " How many wood- 

 chucks have you killed? " While standing 

 near a group of men, all of whom were 

 strangers to me, I heard one say, " There 

 he is." "Who?" asked another. "Why 

 the fellow who is killing all the wood- 

 chucks," was the reply. 



The highest number I killed in one day 

 was 12; 9 of which were shot in less than 

 an hour, on a hillside that was enveloped 

 in a passing cloud. As the clear spots ap- 

 peared I could see the little animals sitting 

 up like stumps all around. The largest one 

 I killed weighed a fraction over 16 pounds. 

 He was black and must have been several 

 years old. But I lost the greatest curiosity 

 of them all; it was almost white, probably 

 an albino. I was so anxious to get it that 

 I risked the shot at too great a distance, 

 and it got into its den. I spent many hours 

 watching for it afterward, but never saw 

 it again. How many did I kill? I don't 

 know. I am sure of only 149. I wounded 

 about 35 more that got into their dens; 

 those, of course, I could not count. How 

 many shots did I miss? I presume, quite 

 as many as I scored, but I had 3 months of 

 solid enjoyment; and, what is better still, 

 I returned to the city with hard muscles 

 and an excellent appetite. 



In the summer of '96 I again visited a 

 friend at the North. At 6 o'clock the morn- 

 ing after my arrival I was awakened by the 

 cry, " Come, get up, Captain ! Here are 9 



woodchucks, sitting up waiting for you! " 

 If worthy brother Aldrich could have seen 

 me spring out of bed, I am sure he would 

 nominate me for Supreme Would-be Ex- 

 terminator, in his beloved Order. 



Win. A. Bruce. 



RAPID EXTERMINATION OF RUFFED 

 GROUSE IN NEW YORK. 



E. I. HAINES, B.S. 



While making ornithological researches 

 in the Western Catskill mountains (Ulster 

 and Delaware counties), last summer I 

 noticed the rapid disappearance of the 

 ruffed grouse from that district. »The 

 Catskill region was, in past years, prob- 

 ably one of the best shooting grounds 

 in the Eastern States. These mountains 

 stilT retain much of their former beauty 

 and wildness, but the game that once 

 inhabited them is gone. What is the rea- 

 son? It is because of unwise game laws 

 and of the greed of men who call themselves 

 sportsmen, but who are only butchers. 

 Now that the large game has been killed 

 off, they are turning their attention to the 

 grouse, and these birds will soon be ex- 

 terminated. On August 16th every man 

 and boy who can carry a gun is shooting 

 grouse. If these birds cannot be found, the 

 gunners kill robins, meadowlarks, flickers 

 or any bird that takes their fancy. The folly 

 of this " summer law " can be easily seen. 

 The ruffed grouse is irregular in its nesting 

 habits, and often raises 2 or 3 broods in a 

 year. The nesting time is a month later in 

 the Catskills than nearer New York City; 

 so when the season opens, many grouse are 

 very young birds, and some are hardly able 

 to fly. Such young birds, when flushed, in- 

 variably tree, and can be killed as easily 

 with a stick as with a gun. In the vicinity 

 of Stamford, Delaware county, rifles are 

 used to shoot grouse. A gunner threw a 

 curious light on this seemingly sportsman- 

 like practice by saying: 



" I alius shoot quail [they call grouse 

 ' quail ' here] through the head with a 

 ball, at this season, so I kin have some- 

 thin' to eat. If I used shot I would only 

 have a pair of legs fur my trouble." 



This great slaughter of grouse around 

 Stamford, last summer, was fearful. Hun- 

 dreds were killed every day. And what 

 were these birds? Thin, mean looking 

 chickens, about the size of quails, and most 

 of them still in their pin feathers. Pot 

 shooting and market shooting is carried on 

 in direct defiance of law. Nobody is ever 

 arrested or fined because the game con- 

 stables are in league with the offenders. 

 Mr. A. M. Warner, game warden of Stam- 

 ford, complained bitterly of the " grouse 

 law," saying the birds were being surely and 

 rapidly exterminated by the untimely and 

 ceaseless slaughter. He did his best to stop 

 pot hunting, but the authorities at Delhi 



