FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



203 



HUNTS WITH HIS CAMERA. 



I have often noticed that you roast game 

 hogs for killing game and 'taking a great 

 number of fish. As I hunt and fish only 

 with a camera, I am with you ; you can not 

 roast them enough. I hope the L. A. S. 

 will do all in its power to have bills passed 

 to prohibit shooting and fishing, so that 

 lovers of nature can go into the woods, 

 hear the birds sing and see them without 

 having them fly away at the sound of 

 voices. I am fond of walking in the woods 

 and of boating, but can see no pleasure in 

 tramping all day in rain and snow for the 

 sake of killing game. There is more pleas- 

 ure in watching birds than in shooting 

 them. In the West I have seen deer and 

 other game and have frightened them so 

 that hunters could not get a shot at them 

 except for trailing. I think it was one of 

 the best things I ever did for the game. 

 In Florida I have seen fish 6 to 30 

 inches long, have hunted turtles and 

 watched the Indians hunt alligators and en- 

 joyed it. but could see no sport in taking 

 more than enough for a meal. There is no 

 better sport than a long tramp in the coun- 

 try with the camera, going to some farm- 

 house for a good dinner of fresh vegetables / 

 salt pork, fresh bread and milk. 



One game hog is the hard working man 

 who can not go hunting when he would 

 like to ; so on Thanksgiving day he takes 

 his gun and 2 or 3 dogs, and, be it wet or 

 dry, shoots at anything he sees, not be- 

 cause he wants it for himself, but to get all 

 he can to show his friends. Of course he 

 must have a flask of whiskey to keep his 

 courage up. He starts home at dark, wet 

 muddy and drunk. If he has any game he 

 is foolish enough to show it. As a rule 

 these men are foreigners and don't care 

 much for the feelings, of others, but are not 

 so much to be blamed as pitied. Still they 

 should be taught, as otherwise they never 

 will know better. 



A Reader, Northampton, Mass. 



A VACATION TRIP. 



Last season a friend suggested that we 

 go to Maine for a hunting trip. We finally 

 decided on North Paris. Three of us 

 started from Boston the middle of Novem- 

 ber, with our hopes high and our trunks 

 filled with ammunition. We took the boat 

 to Portland and then the Grank Trunk to 

 West Paris, where we arrived about 9.30 

 a. m. Our host met us with a team and 

 gave us a pleasant ride of about 3 miles 

 through as picturesque scenery as is 

 found in that State. There were moun- 

 tains all around, dotted here and there 

 with lakes and brooks, and the farm houses 

 looked inviting and homelike. 



The next day we started out to see the 

 country. There was a lake near, contain- 



ing many fish, waiting to be caught, and 

 we saw a number of streams containing 

 brook trout. The country was alive with 

 grouse and rabbits, and deer were plenti- 

 ful, 2 or 3 being killed nearly every day 

 by the party, within 12 miles of the house. 

 Our host had log camps back in the woods 

 where one could stay 2 or 3 days at a 

 time, in the heart of the wildest nature. 



After we had been at the lake about 2 

 weeks the snow came and then we started 

 for the deer. When we wanted a few 

 hours' sport near, we took the dogs and 

 went into the swamp for rabbits, which 

 gave us lots of fun for little exertion. 

 After a day's tramp, it was good to sit 

 down to the appetizing dinner which our 

 hostess always had for us, whether early 

 or late, and then to smoke, discuss the 

 day's sport and the chance of more the 

 following day. 



When we had to say good-bye we left 

 with regret to return to our work ; but we 

 were improved in health by the outdoor 

 exercise and the excellent fare, and we had 

 many pleasant memories. 



W. E. Bollsdon, Roslindale, Mass. 



IN ONE ROUND. 



Some years ago I was in camp 25 or 50 

 miles Northeast of Flathead lake, in 

 Northwestern Montana, with only a cook 

 and a little Scotch terrier for company. 

 One Sunday morning I heard the cook pre- 

 paring breakfast. He had not called me. 

 Then suddenly the horses began to snort 

 and Fuzzy, the dog, took after something at 

 a great rate. The horses broke and bolted 

 down the rocky glade. I got my tools 

 ready, but could see nothing, so I called the 

 dog back, and then went after my favorite 

 horse. A bear had unmistakably called on 

 us. My only weapons were a Colts' 45 and 

 a heavy W. W. Greener 32 inch,' 10 gauge, 

 11 pound gun. I had 12 Berdan shells, with 

 SV2 drachms of powder and 24 No. 8 buck- 

 shot in each. 



I tied Fuzzy to a tree and took up the 

 bear's trail. The longer I followed, the 

 closer we came together, and by running 

 down hill and making all time count, after 

 8 or 9 miles I heard the grizzly turning rock 

 and making as much fuss as a pair of yoked 

 oxen. I got close, on level ground, then 

 said, 



"Hi, there." 



The bear stood up, full height, looked me 

 over, and I had to shoot. I hit the brond 

 neck, under the under jaw, so of course I 

 won the belt; but I took the advantap-p, 

 for I did not shake hands or choose a ref- 

 eree. Of course he had me on weight, was 

 more scientific, and was better built for a 

 scrapper in the ring. He was my last an- 

 tagonist in the ring. 



I rolled up the skin and claws, but could 



