186 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aram 6, 1882. 



Black Creek Valley on this side of which is the densely wood- 

 :imp, a Famous place for rabbit hunting, which 'extends 

 from Graysville, half a dozen miles below us; on the farther 

 side of Black (reek the road ascends to the level and sandv 

 plateau of Ohio, As a background to this, a dark, blue 

 ridge of the Adirondaeks looms up, putting a frame, so to 

 speak, around the lovely view before us. 



The horses bake us at a lively gait across the valley, 

 through Ohio City, a good description of which is given 'in 

 Northrup's "Camps and Tramps ;" thence to Wilmurt Cor- 

 ner*, and two mile.- from Lhe latter place we cross the West 

 Canada and pull up in front of the Sportsmen's Home, kept 

 by Ed. Wilkinson, known to all who have been into this part 

 of the woods. We follow up the creek three miles to Evans', 

 at the forks, where the east and west branches unite and form 

 the West Canada. Again we cross the stream and. gradually 

 bearing to toe left, enter the woods by the Morckousevilie 

 road. 



Morehouse is seven miles from Evans', and passing through 

 the Wille, a little hfiyond were is the quaint old chapel 

 where Father llerbst was wont to hold forth, we enter the 

 woods again, go down a steep pitch, cross the east branch, 

 and drive up to Remonda's door, in front of which Horace 

 was asleep in a hammock. At my loud greeting he tumbled 

 out and ran to greet us. ••Thought you never were coming," 

 he said. '•There's an old friend of yours inside, with his 

 wife and a party of ladies. We've been waiting and waiting 

 for you fellows, and have got a trip all fixed; now you've 

 come, we'll start to-morrow morning." 



"Well, where are we gointr?" I asked "Pine Lake Upper 

 Stillwater, and Walton Falls." 



At this juncture a gentleman came out of the house whom 

 1 found was indeed an old friend — W. G. Sthnson, who now 

 has overcome the many obstacles necessarily encountered in 

 making any improvements in a place so far 'from civilization 

 and railroads, and has fitted up the old Beacraft House and 

 grounds so that if Giles Beacraft, the guide, ever comes back 

 from Wisconsin (wliich I hope he may), he never will recog- 

 nize the immense house as the same place from which he has 

 started to Walton Falls and Indian River on many a weary 

 tramp. A large addition has been built on the east side of 

 the house, with a veranda running the whole length; rooms 

 have been fitted up, plumbers, upholsterers, and painters 

 have been at work, until it is a perfect (rust what lie calls it) 

 Mountain Home. Parties can go from here to Indian River. 

 Wilmurt, Snag, Little Lock, Big Rock, and Twin Rock 

 lake*; you have the east branch almost at the door, and by 

 far the best and easiest trail to Pine, G Lakes and Walton 

 Falls starts from this point. Sthnson has fitted up the house 

 to accommodate fitly or sixty persons. I am going next 

 summer, with all my friends, to see him, and know we Shall 

 have a good time if he can have the making it; and if I 

 come in some evening from Pine Lake or the Stillwater, 

 tired and dirty, I know I can rest my weary body on the 

 veranda, and will have as whole-souled welcome as though 

 I were coming into the had on the west side, arrayed in white 

 duck and patent-leathers. 



Is it elegant? I am thankful it is not, for we came up 

 here to get rid of that for a time; but what is far better, it is 

 comfortable; and at night, after weary of sitting on the 

 broad veranda, watching the east branch flow lazily along 

 at your feet, you can lie down in a good bed, with whitest of 

 liuen, and be fanned to sleep by cool breezes from the side 

 of Mad Tom Mountain. But, where am I? 



About 4 o'clock that afternoon C , Horace and I walked 



from Remonda'b to the "burnt hill" Stillwater, one-half mile 

 below. We stiffened up our Osgood boat, got in it, and 

 rowed clown a mile to the "big spring hole," "where the 

 stream widens out and sets back, formimg a bttle bay. We 

 carefully anchored the boat and began whipping, but found 

 there were too many rods, so I stopped. C— — changed to 

 bait, and we left Horace to toss the fly. Surely, from the 

 looks of things, we ought to catch trout here; they are lying 

 on the cold springs in that bay, I know, for Horace showed 

 us a shingle on which was a sketch of a monster he killed 

 yesterday in this very spot, and the sketch was incomplete, 

 because he couldn't find a shingle long enough. Hal I 

 thought so; along cast drops a coachman far up into the 

 bay, there is a beautiful rise, and in an instant Horace, with 

 his ."), L a -oz. bamboo, is fighting a pound and a quarter trout. 

 Nearer he brings him, siowly reeling in until he can handle 

 him easily. As he nears us he does what every desperate 

 trout tries to do, rushes like a shot for the boat. "There was 

 but one thing to do — let the rod and trout fight it out; and 

 as Horace gave him the butt, the bamboo circled down, 

 down, until the tip nearly touched the water; then, slowly, 

 the strain lessened, tile tip began to straighten, and as he 

 brought the trout up I slipped the landing-net under him, 

 and tire next moment he lay gasping on the bottom of the 

 boat. 



We caught but eight trout, none so large as the first one. 

 At the head of the Stillwater we "closed up" the boat, as we 

 intend to take it with us to-morrow. At 11 A. M. the next 

 day we started, with Kemonda and Charlie Hoffrncister as 

 guides, and at Beaerafl's were, joined by Stimson, his wife 

 and a party of ladies. For the benefit of parties going in or 

 who desire" to go to Walton Fails (the name by which they 

 are known on ibis side of the mountains, and which,'! 

 think, for the sake of the old Walton Club, better than T 

 Lake Falls), I will 'jive the distances by this route. It is 

 four miles from Stimson's to Pine Lake, one mile across that, 

 lour lailes from Pine Lake to the Upper Stillwater, and two 

 miles from camp on the Upper Stillwater to Walton Falls, 

 making a total of eleven miles, three of which can be done 

 in a boat, leaving eight miles to walk. The trail is good, 

 very good, I may say, to Pine Lake, and fair the rest of the 

 way, and any one can go there with a guide. Once there, 

 and sitting at the base of the rocks, you will indeed say it's 

 a sight worth tramping a dozen miles to see. 



We reached camp al six o'clock; the guides soon bad sup- 

 per ready, and after a pipe turned in. Next morning at nine 

 o'clock we left for the falls. Horace took the ladies up 

 in a mile in the boat; we followed the trad and met 

 them as they landed. Rev. Mr. Z. has given so good a 

 description oi' the falls that I shall not attempt any. I do 

 flunk GOO feet an exaggerai ion of their height; the tall pine 

 standing on the top of the rocks actually looked no 

 larger than one of the "browse" euttingsl had in my pillow. 

 There is a deep pool at the base of the rocks, the sight of 

 wliich would tempi anyone to drop a line, yet no trout have 

 ever been taken from it, save in one instance. Two years 

 ago Rernouda was here With a party; tired of looking at the 

 falls they lounged on the banks of the pool. One of the 

 gentlemen suggested fishing. Remonda told him there were 

 no fish there; nevertheless, be rigged up, threw in. and, to 

 the* astonishment of all, pulled out a pound trout; the next 

 past landed oni thai weighed a half pound, but all the faith- 



ful angling that has been done there since that day has failed 

 to catch another fish. 



The party started for camp, C. and I to fish the east branch 

 down through the still water, which is just wide enough to 

 afford good casting for two. The trout were ravenous. 

 though the water was so clear and the day so cloudless that 

 along line was necessary to reach them" When half way 

 down Horace met us with the boat. We had seventy-four 

 fine trout, not large, but genuine brook trout and good sized. 

 Midway between the camp and Walton Falls is Bluff Moun- 

 tain, an immense ridge of bare rocks which looks as if if had 

 been cut in twain and one-half tumbled down into the deep 

 gorge below. That night, while sitting around the blazing 

 logs, Horace broke the silence with ; 



"Theodore, did you ever hear of a little lake away beyond 

 Bluff Mountain?" 



"Yes; but I've never been to it." 



"Do you think you could find it?" 



"Don't know; but Ed like to try." 



"To-morrow," said Horace, "1 propose an exploring ex- 

 pedition. Three years ago, in June, 1 found ice in the gorge 

 at the foot of Bluff Mountain, and I believe it is there all 

 summer. Let's go up through the gorge and from there over 

 the mountain to hunt for the lake. " 



We agreed to this, and early next morning started. 



In a short time we reached "the gorge and began to clamber 

 over the immense rocks, around which a little brook tumbles. 

 "keep your eyes open for ice," said Remonda; when about 

 half way up, we heard Horace who was in advance calling, 

 "Come "here!" and found him standing at the entrance of "a 

 cavern to which we afterwards gave his name as discoverer. 

 "Stand here a moment," he said. A draught came out cold 

 as one gets when the door of an ice house is suddenly opened. 

 - F'3el df that water painting to the lim stream— it was icy 

 cold. 



Remonda pushed on ahead, crawled out of sight, next 

 shouted for the axe, and soon appeared at the mouth of the 

 cavern and held in his hand a large chunk of ice. There 

 was no mistake about it and this, too, the 22d day of August. 

 We cut out enough to fill a pack basket, and sent" Hoffmeister 

 back to camp with it; all this time a dozen eagles that nest 

 on the inaccessible cliffs, were screeching and circiinsr over 

 our heads. Late in the afternoon we found the lake after a 

 hard tramp, there was no sign of its ever having been visited 

 by human beings. A diligent search failed to discover a 

 trail, a fire spot or an axe mark. From the number of signs 

 it must be a great resort for deer, and all around it were the 

 big, flat tracks of a large bear. We fished it as well as we 

 could from shore, but caught nothing. Named it from its 

 shape Balloon Lake, and hurried back to camp. 



The remainder of our stay at Stidwater camp was spent 

 in jack-shooting, fishing and" exploring. Any one who cares 

 for these diversions can stay here ten days ortwo weeks and 

 be busy, if inclined, every day. 



We "broke camp," came" out and fished Alder Brook, 

 which was alive with small trout. 



Since I was fourteen years of age I have spent my vaca- 

 tions in the woods. 1 know (only too well) of the "crowds 

 going in to the Saranac, St. Regis and Fulton chain, and 

 nowadays the almost universal reply to an inquiry about a 

 lake or stream is "fished to death." It is true, a great many 

 people come here in the course of a summer, yet it is vastly 

 different from the more t ravelled resorts. Why* Because the 

 majority of parties that come here go to Morehouse, Piseco, 

 Wilmurt, Pine and G lakes, all easy of access and in season 

 afford good sport; few go to Walton Falls, and in all there 

 never have been a dozen parties to Indian River and Twin 

 Rock Lake. It is a hard tramp of twelve mUes through the 

 woods to get there, but a gentleman, whom I know well, 

 took sixty pounds of trout from the latter in one afternoon, 

 and caught all of them on flies. 



Every summer you ask if any readers of Forest and 

 Stream know of a good fishing or camping ground, that 

 they tell of it for the benefit of others. I am" giving this in 

 advance of season, and mind you, don't want to impress 

 any one with the idea that the region is a "sportsman's par- 

 adise." Heretofore, parties have made their headquarters at 

 Hoffmeister's, Kassing's, Beacraft's or Remonda's, all good 

 stopping places. I have always stopped at Hoffmeister's. 

 The. three boys, August, Will and Charlie are, good guides 

 for the Morehouse. Sheriff and Pine Lake routes. 



Stand some evening at the rare sunset hour on the veran 

 da at Hoffmeister's. Across the valley of the East Branch 

 are Mad Tom and Signal mountains; farther down, the home 

 of Remonda, the guide, nestled among the bare rocks which 

 mark the trail to Wilmurt Lake; look down, far as you can, 

 the immense mountain ridge is always before you"; to the 

 left, the emerald of the woods is turning to myal purple 

 under the shadows of old Bald Face, and as slowly the sun 

 sinks down behind his rocky head, just so slowly the purple 

 creeps up the valley, along the ridge of Bethune, next to 

 Wilmmt and Signal Mountains and at last to Mad Tom's 

 crest. A ray of sunlight comes from behind Bald Face and 

 darts quickly along the ridge, slowly the purple chases it 

 back to the "old man." and with it Bends Mad Tom's good 

 night. The shadows deepen; back in the woods I hear the 

 call of a lonesome bird— darkness is coming on apace, 



My first trip in these woods was with the father, quiet, 

 honest John Hoffmeister, who mauy a chilly night has taken 

 his own blanket to cover me when the fire was out. There, 

 too, have been some who cannot lie there now, and the old 

 days come back to me, so that I don't feel at home in any 

 other place; and though Hoffmeister is sleeping in the little 

 churchyard down the valley, I think, sometimes, he comes 

 to the old house and brings his peace, for it has been there 

 with us always. Wa-uoo. 



! ! !— The New York Graphic, of March 14, contained an 

 alleged illustration of "Duck Shooting on Long Island." It 

 represents a gunner, seated in a battery and surrounded by 

 decoys, shooting one of three ducks which have been deeoyed 

 within range. "The intelligent writer of the Graphic remark- 

 in" upon the picture says: The sportsman in the sketch has 

 evidentfy struck a "bonanza." and one wonders why he 

 wastes powder when he can get all he wants by simply reach- 

 ing out his arms. Why, indeed? The Graphic man is not 

 the first who has wastedhis powder on wooden fowl. 



"NERSiirK's" Advice Wanted. — Minneapolis, Minn., 

 March 26, 1882. — Will you have the goodness for the benefit 

 of an invalid to ask "Nessmuk" to recommend one or two 

 locaUties "about the head waters of the Delaware aud 

 Susquehanna," for such cases as he has named Oregon Hill, 

 Pa., in Forest .and Stream for Dec. 29, 1881? If he will 

 kindly do so he will confer a great favor upon a Constant 

 Reader. 



^ttttpl ]§i§tarv. 



THE DRUMMING GROUSE. 



IF "Nessniuk's" doubt expressed in his pleasant letter 

 published in your issue of the 16th inst. is well founded, 

 I am a more favored person than I supposed myself to be, 

 for lam one of the ten who can truly say that they have 

 seen the "cock grouse fairly in the act' of drumming." But 

 I did not do it just as ' 'Nessn'iuk" prescribes, I hough I did look 

 up the drumming log, cleared away the intervening twigs 

 between it and a basswood stump and its sprouts, which 

 made a favorable point of observation, and furthermore 

 "blazed" a line by which I could approach it. I did not "get 

 out of bed on a frosty April morning before it was fairly 

 light," though by so doing I might have seen more. I went 

 later, and hearing the grouse drumming, crept on all fours 

 to the cluster of basswoods, following my blazed line, and I 

 saw him execute his drum solo. He' was just as watchful 

 and wary as "Nessmuk" says, and after two or three repe- 

 titions of the performance, he saw something suspicious and 



.„ getting 



well to the right of me where he could plainly see me, he 

 faded away into the gray of the bush and tree trunks, and I 

 saw no more of him that day. He or some of his family held 

 that same log for many springs, but for two years past it has 

 been deserted. Old age, the tick, or hawk, or owl, or fox, or 

 a charge of shot, has overtaken the actor, and the stage has 

 been vacant since 1879. Without looking out the ground as 

 "Nessmuk" directs, it is almost impossible to get sight of a 

 grouse drumming, at least when they are as wild as they are 

 here. But I did once get a short view of one drumming on 

 a rock, the crest of a ledge covering my approach. It may 

 be that my ears are very dull, but I never could detect any 

 difference in the sound whether the bird stood on a log or a 

 rock. Come to think of it, brother "Nessmuk," mv ears 

 must be dull, for I never could hear a grouse drum a* mile 

 away. I wish we might hear him drumming oftener and 

 nearer. 



To me it seems nonsense to attribute his decrease to the birds 

 ami beasts which pre v y upon him, forthey are not so plenty now 

 as when the woods were full of grouse. For two years I have 

 heard but one horned owl, and I take it he is a worse enemy 

 than the hawk, fox or skunk ; nor are there anymore ' 'pot-hunt- 

 ers." Formypart, if they will shoot only in open season 1 would 

 as soon risk the grouse "with the "pot-hunters" as with the 

 sportsman who shoots for a big bag. Leaving the treeing dog 

 out, and the dogs that will tree grouse are scarce, how many 

 sitting shots will the man get who stalks his birds, compared 

 with him who takes only flying shots over his pointer or 

 setter? One in ten; I think that is a liberal allowance. If 

 one sportsman gets two birds in five shots, he bags four birds 

 to the pot-hunter's one. Which does the most mischief? 

 They tell us that it is impossible for the merest bungler to 

 miss a sitting grouse, so we let our pot-hunter kill at every 

 shot. But every one who has ever targeted a "scatter gun" 

 knows that that is nonsense, and that no shotgun, no matter 

 how straight it is held, will always kill at every ordinary 

 range. 



I am more hopeful than "Nessmuk," for I believe that 

 the grouse will come again. Not so plenty as they once 

 were, for their coverts are yearly growing less, butlprophesy 

 that years will come in wliich "they will not be so scarce as 

 now. Ten years ago they were almost as hard to find here 

 as they are now. They gradually increased, and almost sud- 

 denly in 1877 became plentier than they had been for years. 

 The next year they were gone again. I cannot help hoping 

 to see I hem again, and am glad for the faith that is in me. 



I wonder ifit has happened elsewhere as it has here, that 

 the wrens have quite disappeared. I have not seen a com- 

 mon house wren for more than twenty-five years, though 

 when I was a boy, which was a good deal longer ago, they 

 were almost as plenty as robins, much more so than orioles, 

 then a rather noticeably rare bird, but now quite common. 

 I have pretty much given up hoping to see the wrens again, 

 but I will not give up the grouse yet, R. E. R. 



Does the Shrike Kill Young Quail?— Oskaloosa, 

 Iowa, March 21. — Editor Forest and Stream: I have read 

 with interest the several articles in your columns under the 

 heading "Enemies of Game Birds." I beg leave to present 

 still another enemy, which, if uot an enemy of game birds, 

 is certainly a most deadly enemy of our sweet little sous' birds. 

 I refer to "the tyrant shrike {CoUyrio hunalis) or, as it is justly 

 called, ' 'the butcher bird. " The hawk and the owl are intended 

 by nature to take life. They do it tosustain their own, and 

 their general build, beak and talons, betray their character to 

 all other animals. But the shrike is a cleat case of the decep- 

 tion which nature is supposed to despise, for, under an exterior 

 as innocent looking as that of the thrush, it disguises a nature as 

 bloodthirsty as that of the hawk. Its general form and color 

 is thai of a song bird, but its sharp claws aud hooked bill are 

 the indexes of its character. So far as my observation goes, 

 this bird lives almost if not entirely upon young and small 

 birds, and this being the case, what tenderer morsel could it 

 want than the young quail as yet unable to fly. I have no 

 doubt (although I do not know) that it destroys many quail 

 annually, at least it seems more reasonable to blame it than 

 the squirrel. I believe this bird is on the increase, as where 

 a few years ago I could only occasionally see one, I can now 

 see one almost any day. It pursues its prey relentlessly, 

 and, when captured, carries it in its claws to 'he nearest 

 thicket, where it is impaled on a thorn, hence the name 

 "butcher bird." While the shrike does no good, it does any 

 amount of harm by destroying birds which have a better 

 right to live than itself. Its mission on earth seems to be 

 death, and death should be its reward. So, when the sports- 

 man goes forth on his shooting excursions, he should keep 

 an eye open for the shrike, aud when lie sees a small ash- 

 colored bird with white markings, which seems to be sneak 

 iug around on some errand of mischief, he should bang 

 away, at close or long range, as the case may be. No matter 

 whether the bird be flying or sitting, it should be shot down, 

 for the death of a single one may mean an extra bag of quail 

 the next season. — Jeree. [it is, pei haps, too much to say 

 that the shrike does no good, for it undoubted]}- destroys 

 many field mice, besides killing great numbers of insects, and, 

 what many of our readers will consider not less important, 

 many English sparrows.] 



Rocirt, vnd. Me., March 27, 1882. — A dead woodcock was 

 picked up in the adjoining town of Camden on the 25th of 

 February. It had probably flown against the telegraph wire. 

 We have cold weather this'month, and others may have per- 

 ished from the cold.— J. W. 



