AN ANIMATED SANDHILL AND AN ALBINO DEER 



BY W. H. STEVENS 



"Better come with me this year, Fred," 

 said I to my old chum one August after- 

 noon as we sat talking over camping ex- 

 periences. 



"Nothing would suit me better if I could 

 only get away from business, old man, but 

 this year I am afraid it's impossible," he 

 replied. 



We had planned fall trips together many 

 seasons, but never were able to get away at 

 the same time. It looked as if this year 

 would be no exception to the rule, but the 

 gods favored us, and finally, one pleasant 

 October afternoon found us on the train 

 bound for Dead river. Changing from the 

 Maine Central at Farmington into the fussy 

 little narrow gauge, we reached our first 

 stopping place just in time to enjoy a good 

 supper. There we were met by 2 friends, 

 Will and Arthur, who were to go into the 

 woods with us. 



Next morning, early, we started for a 

 drive of 30 miles to the river, which we 

 reached early in the evening, having stopped 

 for dinner at Carrabassett station. The 

 scenery from Kingfield to Carrabassett is 

 beautiful. The road winds through the val- 

 ley of Carrabassett stream for some dis- 

 tance, high un on the hillside, with a clear 

 drop to the river on one side and an almost 

 perpendicular ledge on the other; then 

 through broad fields where it is not unusual 

 to see deer feeding along the edges of the 

 clearings. We saw no deer, but were for- 

 tunate enough to pick up a few grouse, 

 shooting them from the wagon. 



At Carrabassett, Dr. Paine, proprietor of 

 the hotel, has a game park with a variety 

 of wild animals. They have a large range, 

 including low and high wooded land, open, 

 and running brooks. There we saw good 

 specimens of bull and cow buffalo, and they 

 brought to our minds another animal, not 

 rare, unfortunately, but soon, we hope, 

 thanks to. the untiring efforts of Coquina, 

 t© become extinct — the game hog. 



At the station we heard rumors of a 

 6-mile log jam in Dead river, extending 

 to Long falls, the very place we had started 

 for. As events proved afterward, however, 

 that log jam was no Jonah. 



From Carrabassett the road ascends a 

 small mountain and is poor, and in places 

 too narrow for teams to pass. Six or 8 

 miles on are the " Ledges," well named ; 

 the camps being placed on the ledge 20 feet 

 above the road and back about 100 feet. 

 There is good hunting all through that sec- 

 tion. Two miles beyond is Parson's, a 

 large house and well located. Deer 

 are frequently seen from the house and 



moose can be successfully hunted on the 

 sides of Mt. Bigelow, close at hand. Just 

 beyond Parson's we turned down to the 

 river and transferred our luggage to the 

 boat in which we were to finish our trip. 

 Learning that the log jam was a certainty, 

 we started up river instead of down, hav- 

 ing no particular place in mind. There was 

 a bright moon and objects on the bank were 

 almost as clearly defined as in daylight. 

 Two deer were frightened from the bank; 

 ducks took flight; and muskrats splashed 

 at intervals. At half-past 11 we reached 

 the foot of Hurricane falls and decided to 

 finish the night there. Up went the tent, 

 a fire was built, and after a lunch we 

 rolled up in our blankets and were soon 

 asleep. 



When Arthur and I awoke it was day- 

 light and Billy and Fred were missing. 

 They soon returned, dragging in a deer, and 

 said we were well located and need go no 

 farther up the river. Most of the day was 

 passed in exploring the country in the vi- 

 cinity, making permanent camp and build- 

 ing a fireplace. A good spring was found 

 near camp, and a well satisfied quartet sat 

 down for an hour's rest, as we had been 

 hard at it all day. Just before sunset we 

 started out, each taking a different direc- 

 tion, and 8 o'clock saw 2 more deer hang- 

 ing in front of camp. The next day we got 

 2 and the third day another. 



One of our party got near enough to a 

 moose to hear him in the thick woods, but 

 could not get a shot. The following day 

 a 4-year-old bull was killed a mile below 

 camp by a visiting sportsman, one 30-30 

 soft point doing the work thoroughly. We 

 met several hunters and natives during our 

 trip who were prejudiced against the 30, 

 and in each case found the cause the same. 

 They had seen the effect of full patched bul- 

 lets only and the soft points were a revela- 

 tion to them. Our experience was certain- 

 ly favorable to the small bore, and showed 

 that the bullet will mushroom even if it 

 does not strike a x bone. 



It was the next to the last day in camp 

 that we had most cause to remember. The 

 night before, we sat in camp discussing the 

 % best place to strike for in the morning. 

 Billy and I had become well acquainted with 

 the country down river, and we advised 

 Fred to go down to a large clearing at the 

 farther end of which was a sand knoll. 

 There we had found fresh tracks every day 

 and some big ones, too. On his way down 

 he would cross a smaller clearing separated 

 from the other by a narrow stretch of 

 woods. We gave him explicit directions. 



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