302 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



|May 15, 1884 



SPORT IN THE APENNINES. 



WHILE spending some months in Tuscany, the luxuriant 

 garden of Italy, the ill health of a member of the family 

 caused us to seek for cooler air and complete rest in some 

 secluded spot high up the Apennines. The journey thither 

 ■was a thing to be remembered; what lovely drives over well 

 kept roads, up steeper and steeper grades, the roads winding 

 up apparently endless hills; a turn, and suddenly another 

 green valley would be seen, with quaint old stone-built farm 

 houses, with the old-fashioned tools lying around, telling 

 of patient and hard toil at the bosom oi' mother earth, cum- 

 bersome and clumsy ploughs, all but the ploughshare of 

 wood, and a job for four oxen to pull at, now at rest, however; 

 for were not the valleys smiling with the ripples of the wav- 

 ing wheat, and was not the Indian corn rising, green and 

 strong, and telling of plenty and of happiness? Every farm 

 house had several old walnut trees growing around it, or 

 some lofty old oak, towering, every inch a king, over the 

 many mulberry trees, food for the silk worms, another 

 source of richness. 



Higher and higher, and the mulberries ceased to grow, and 

 the grapevines were no more festooniug in rich garlands 

 from tree to tree, but instead now and then a straight cedar 

 would appear, or a tall spruce, or even, but more rarely, an 

 old pine would be seen looming up above other trees,' as if 

 foolishl} r it was challenging the ready woodman's axe. Fur- 

 ther on and the chestnut trees begin and increase in fre- 

 quency, and here and there a thin column of dark smoke 

 announces the spot where charcoal makers are at work. For 

 many, many miles do the chestnut trees surround the road, 

 and cover the hills everywhere, trees of great use, for the 

 wood serves as fuel or is made into charcoal, and the chest- 

 nuts are eaten, or collected and dried in the sun and ground 

 into flour, to form the principal staple of food of the Apen- 

 nine mountaineers. 



Later ou even the chestnut trees cease to thrive, and 

 cedars, pines, spruces, birches, sycamores, firs, maples, and 

 many others are growing thickly; the air is cooler and 

 balmy, with a faint but delightful odor of hidden violets 

 and little red wood strawberries. 



This journey having lasted a few days, we reached our 

 goal, a little, unpretentious inn nearly on the summit of one 

 of the lofty hills, where the breeze was cool and agreeable 

 and heavily laden with perfumes of Alpine flowers, and the 

 invalid felt as if new and purer blood was coursing through 

 her frame, and as if every inspiration was another w r ord 

 written on a new lease of life. 



Dinner at once and plentiful. The first dish, trout! 

 Trout indeed; and how 1 wanted to know all about them, 

 and where they were caught and how ; and could I fish for 

 them, and this and that, until the folks around had a faint 

 suspicion, becoming hourly more marked, that I was the 

 invalid, whose affliction was a mental one. I could see a 

 rod nowhere, and I found out that the way trout were caught 

 in the neighborhood was primitive, if not sportsmanlike, for 

 it consisted in one man holding a big landing net over any 

 hole in the rocks or under some old log, while another poked 

 in the hole with something like a hop-pole, resulting in an 

 occasional catch and many misses. 



I had a small rod with me; I have it still, and have been 

 a twin brother to it for years; I also had a few small snelled 

 hooks with me, and the next morning the few rare inhabit- 

 ants were amazed at seeing an otherwise sober-looking 

 American pursuing sundry roosters in quest of material for 

 flies. With surreptitious help from the ladies' bonnets 

 and a little waxed sewing silk, several gorgeous specimens 

 of fanciful entomology were soon at hand. 



Next morning I started with a small boy and we walked 

 a couple of miles to a mountain brook, quite a good sized 

 one, where the boy said there were "trote." We arrived at 

 one' lovely pool, and I put my rod up, and the boy was 

 astonished ; I placed the reel, he was amazed ; I placed a 

 couple of flies, "yellow rooster and ostrich" and "brown 

 rooster and ostrich" or some other colored rooster and 

 ostrich, the boy's eyes started out of their sockets, and in a 

 subdued way he said, "Maria Santa, e pazzo." Well, he may 

 have thought he had good reason to believe he was with a 

 lunatic. 1 whipped this pool, caught nothing, and the boy 

 smiled. I tried another, same luck, the boy laughed. I 

 tried another, and the boy looked as if he was thinking of 

 home, and about to cry. I was tired, took a rest; had 

 another cast on principle, and a rise. The fish gave a good 

 pull, and I being excited, gave another, and forgetting that 

 once upon a time I had been a good angler, made up my 

 mind to catch a trout before that boy, and 1 pulled again, 

 and it only took us a half an hour to disentangle the quarter- 

 pounder and the flies from a good sized maple tree whither 

 they had betaken themselves to flight. 



After this signal success, I went on, and finding better 

 pools higher up I managed to kill about a dozen handsome 

 fish, the largest a trifle over a pound and the smallest 

 about six or seven to the pound. We turned homeward, 

 and I felt proud, disgustingly proud no doubt, and very 

 happy. 1 placed my rod against the barn, and after a cheer- 

 ful evening went to bed. 



Next morning, as I rose early, I went to the barn; the 

 whole available population was there, looking on, much in- 

 terested in the description the small bov was giving of my 

 methods, and finally an old fellow shook his wise and ven- 

 erable pate, and declared he hardly believed it was right, 

 inasmuch as he knew it had never been done before. 



Many another good day's fishing did I have in those moun- 

 tain brooks, those rippUng and bubbling brooks, now tear- 

 ing down in the torrent bed and now calmly resting in some 

 deep, dark pool, under the shades of old trees; and the fun 

 was glorious, even with small results. 



A few days after I met the government forester, a charm- 

 ing and clever young Italian, a graduate of the School of 

 Forestry at Vallambrosa. He promised to take me with him 

 on his next trip up the wooded hills, and told me to take my 

 gun along. 



A day or two after we started off on a prospecting tour, 

 as he had to mark certain trees that were to be felled, and to 

 see some young trees he had planted recently. By his 

 learned talk and enthusiastic descriptions I saw how much 

 he loved the woods, how he was laboring to restore the for- 

 ests, and 1 never understood so well how much we in 

 America are to blame for our short sighted n< i iiligence of our 

 woods as after having explained the whole process of regener- 

 ation by my friend. For a few years only he had held his 

 position, and already he had established a huge nursery, 

 where thousands and thousands of young trees were being 

 Carefully reared, He had planted thousands about the hills, 



and had done a great work. He proudly stated that the sav- 

 ing to the government in repairs to the postal road from the 

 washing of its bed by mountain torrents, which he had 

 nearly stopped by tree-plant, covered a large slice of his ex- 

 penses. 



We had with us two lean hounds who had been rummaging 

 about, and suddenly gave voice, and were off like lightning. 

 The old guard with us said, "Una volpe," and we separated, 

 and waited wherever we thought we had a chance. After 

 three-quarters of an hour or more the deep baying sounded 

 nearer and nearer; after a while I heard a shot to my right, 

 and the young forester came up to me, dragging old reynard 

 by his brush. The guard skinned him there and then, and 

 we went on. Before the day was over I had a chance at a 

 couple of big hares, and bagged them both. 



As I reached home we saw all the villagers assembled, and 

 we saw they were looking at the body of a large wolf, that 

 had been killed in the morning by one of the shepherds high 

 up on the hills. 1 was told that he had killed a large num- 

 ber of sheep before he had succumbed to the big round ball 

 from the old five-foot smooth-bore. 



The invalid recovered and we went away. I had not 

 seen much sport, but I expected none, and I had had much 

 enjoyment; but the best of it was that I had seen the work 

 of one man, with little help, in the forests there. There are 

 thousands and thousands of us here that are interested in 

 ours. Shall we let them go to ruin? G. V. S. 



NkwYobk City. 



latut[xl Wffi ar U* 



THE CATBIRD. 



(Mimus Carolinensis.) 



THE vine tangles along the roadsides and in the swamps 

 are losing their rusty appearance, and the gray lengths 

 of Virginia creeper have thrust their tendril fingers into the 

 crannies of the rough bark, and are drawing themselves up 

 to the soft spring air and sunshine. Delicate green tufts of 

 miniature leaves are already quivering on every swaying 

 branch and twig, and soon their soft rustlings will come to 

 us on the wandering breeze. In the midst of all this spring 

 loveliness appears the catbird with his unostentatious suit of 

 sLvte-colored feather cloth. Unannounced he comes when 

 he arrives, and where from we know not, so well has he 

 kept the secret these many years. 



Scrupulously neat, his modest dress is none the worse for 

 wear, and his black cap is set as jauntily as ever on his saucy 

 little head. The old sparkle is still showing in his bright 

 eyes, and the quick flirts of his long tail evidence the work- 

 ings of the restless spirit that has alwavs pervaded his little 

 life. 



Curiosity is strongly developed in the catbird, for a more 

 inquisitive little chap it is hard to find. Walk quietly on the 

 borders of a wood, where the briers and vines have grown 

 and interlaced themselves through and through the bushes, 

 hanging in festoons from every sturdy sapling. Here, if you 

 remain quiet, you will see and hear much to interest you. 

 Confine your observations for the present to the subject of 

 our remarks, the others we may investigate at another time. 

 All is very still, and we see the midges hovering in a fantas- 

 tic dance about a shaft of sunlight that glances down into 

 this secluded spot. Hist! what was that? Churr! churr! 

 Ah! here he is, and half hidden in the leaves of an alder we 

 discover the sly fellow; so still he sits, that were it not for 

 the utterance of that cautious churr, churr, he would have 

 altogether escaped our notice. After a most careful examin- 

 ation of us, he runs swiftly up the trembling branch on 

 which he has been so quietly perched, and pausing an instant 

 to look back, flutters off for his mate. How carefully he 

 pilots her as they both return. Together they crouch in the 

 shade, while he seems to be telling her how it was he first 

 discovered us. As they approach more closely you see their 

 dusky wings open and shut in their nervous excitement, and 

 hear the quiet churr of encouragement as they draw closer 

 to the object of their curiosity. Let them see that they are 

 observed, and the bushes will ring with their alarm cry of 

 chse, chee. I have often had a pair of these buds attend* me 

 for a long distance through the woods, keeping pace with 

 me, now ahead, and now to one side, but ever silent, until a 

 sudden movement startling them, they would commence 

 their cries. 



They build a nest, much like that of a robin, in the 

 thickets among the briers, or on the borders of the woods or 

 swamps, and are also very fond of locating in the spruce and 

 hemlocks on the lawn. Housekeeping well under way, the 

 male bird will mount the topmost bough that bends above 

 his home, and ruffling himself into a fluffy ball of feathers, 

 he will pour out his little soul in song; low at first as though 

 afraid to trust his voice, his notes gradually increase in 

 power until the air is filled with the sweet trills and warb- 

 lings of this much maligned, because little understood, 

 songster, I find one fault with the rascal, however — while 

 the ear is ravished with his exquisite notes he will suddenly 

 utter one or two rasping cries, and entirely destroy the effect 

 of some of his most lovely passages. Morning and evening 

 are his favorite song times, and as he is a first cousin of the 

 mocking bird one is not surprised to recognize the notes of 

 many of our familiar birds, intermingled with his own. An 

 incessant bather, he is constantly spluttering about the bird 

 tank, and immensely does he appear to enjoy it. 



The sun has set and as the twilight lingers with a rosy 

 gloom, among the fleecy clouds we see our little friend 

 mounting the'topmost spray of his spruce, and presently his 

 pure voice floats out clear as a crystal among the multitude 

 of feathered choristers as they chant an evening hymn of 

 praise. One by one their little voices are hushed until 

 finally it is left almost alone with his music. Admonished at 

 last by the silence, that it is bed time, he ceases abruptly, 

 and with a quick dive, drops from his perch and joins his 

 mate, under the dark green boughs. A good-night to the 

 little fellow. WtLMOT. 



New York City. 



Crossbills in New Jersey. —Maple wood, N, J., May 

 8.— Editor Forest and Stream: A flock of a dozen or more 

 American red crossbills {Loxia anwricana) have frequented 

 this neighborhood for several weeks, feeding on coniferous 

 trees. April 28, I captured several specimens of both sexes. 

 On dissecting the females, I found eggs in a very undevel- 

 oped state, and the breast showing no signs of nesting. I 

 understand these birds breed early in spring. Are these 

 birds likely to be found in a flock while breeding?— C. B. 

 Kiker. [This species sometimes breeds in winter in the 

 northern New England States. Perhaps those you took had 

 already bred.] 



DEER IN THE ADIRONDACKS. 



BY C. H. MERRIAM, M.D. 



[From advance sheets of the Transactions of the Linnean Society of 



New York.] 



CarimuH Yirgiidanus (Bodd.) Gray. 



COMMON DEER; VIRGINIA. DEER; RED DEER; WHITE- 

 TAILED DEER. 



The Chase— Continued. 

 ^ THRIVING" consists in chasing a deer with hounds, 

 i~J and killing it, if possible, when it takes to water. 

 A deer is not much afraid of a dog, and when the latter 

 commences to bay on the track does not start off at once, 

 but waits till sure that the hound is really chasing it. It 

 then moves away at a brisk pace, rapidly distancing' its pur- 

 suer, and is apt to run several miles, circling through val- 

 leys and over hills, before taking to water. If now a stream 

 of any size is reached, the animal is liable to wade for a 

 considerable distance in order to throw the dog off the 

 scent. It then stops to listen, and if after a while the dog 

 again finds the track, will generally take a pretty straight 

 course for some neighboring lake, and swim it in order to 

 rid itself of the annoyance of being followed. Instead of 

 swimming, it sometimes skulks in shallow water near shore, 

 and in this way baffles the dog. 



The details of the hunt having been arranged over night, 

 the participants proceed, soon after daylight, to their respec- 

 tive posts, while the guide puts out the dogs. If the lake 

 about which the hunt centers is a large one, two or more 

 men are stationed at different points to watch it, while the 

 others make portages to adjacent lakes and ponds. The 

 guide commonly starts several dogs, each on a separate 

 track. Each watch-point is provided with a boat, and the 

 hunters keep a sharp look out, for the deer is frequently so 

 far ahead that it takes the water before the bay of the hound 

 comes within hearing. If the game is a doe or fawn, and 

 particularly if early in the season, the head alone is com- 

 monly seen above the surface, and at a distance it is likely 

 io be mistaken for a buck. A buck swims higher, and the 

 later the date the more of its body shows out of water. 

 Deer killed in September generally sink, but after this month 

 they usually float. This depends on the state of the pelage; 

 for when in the red coat they sink, while, on the contrary, 

 when the blue coat, which grows very rapidly, is an inch in 

 length, it will, as a rule, float the deer that carries it, and 

 this length is generally attained about the 1st of October. 



When a deer is seen swimming the lake, the hunter waits 

 till it has gone far enough from shore to give him an oppor- 

 tunity to head it off, before launching his boat and starting 

 in pursuit. By exercising a little caution and not hurrying 

 too much, he is often able to approach within easy range 

 without being observed; but, if the animal sights him or 

 hears any suspicious noise, it swims so fast that unless in a 

 large lake and some distance from shore, the hunter . has 

 great difficulty in overtaking it. 



When a large buck is overtaken and unexpectedly finds 

 that he is pursued, he suddenly turns toward the boat, with 

 a look of mingled astonishment and horror, rises high out 

 of water and snorts; then, facing about, makes a desperate 

 but usually fruitless effort to escape. 



In September it is not uncommon for a guide to drive the 

 deer about the lake till well nigh exhausted, and then catch 

 and hold it by the tail, so that it will not sink, while the 

 "sportsman" kills it! 



In driving, a hunt ordinarily lasts seven or eight hours, 

 and is apt to become a trifle monotonous, particularly for 

 those who do not happen to see a deer. It commonly has 

 this advantage, however, that there are at this season 

 (autumn) no flies to pester the watchman, who, if he can 

 manage to keep warm, and has enough to eat, may maintain 

 a tolerable degree of complacency. 



"Still -hunting," with us, consists in following a deer, by 

 its tracks on the ground, and in attempting to overtake and 

 shoot it, by daylight, in its home in the forest. It is some- 

 times, though rarely, practiced by our most skillful still- 

 hunters in summer and early autumn, after a recent rain has 

 so moistened the surface that the footprints can be traced. 

 But it is when the ground is covered with a few inches of 

 newly fallen snow, in November and December, that this 

 method of hunting is commonly resorted to. A rifle is the 

 weapon usually employed. 



In order that he may step as noiselessly as possible, the 

 hunter lays aside his boots, covers his feet with several pairs 

 of woolen stockings, and over them draws a pair of well- 

 made buckskin moccasins, Starting early in the morning, 

 he makes a circuit in search of fresh tracks, and if deer 

 are plenty, pays no attention to those of does and fawns, 

 but proceeds till the track of a large buck is discovered. 

 This he follows slowly and cautiously, taking care lest he 

 tread on some dead branch or in any way make a noise 

 that might alarm the wary deer. The animal often takes 

 fright and makes off at full speed before it has been seen at 

 all. This the hunter at once detects by the difference in the 

 track, the long spaces between footprints plainly showing 

 that it was on the run. He now throws off all restraint and 

 strikes into a brisk pace, for the deer is already likely to be 

 several miles away, and whatever noise is made cannot pos- 

 sibly reach its distant ears. When the tracks indicate that 

 the "deer has slackened its gait into a walk, and has, perhaps, 

 commenced to browse a little, then it i3 time to advance 

 again slowly and with great circumspection, for having been 

 once alarmed, it is even more on the alert than usual, and 

 can only be approacbad with the utmost care. 



It not unfrequently happens that the deer enters a swamp 

 where several others are feeding, in which case the snow is 

 apt to be so much cut up that it is impossible to follow the 

 original track unless its size serves to distinguish it; and 

 even then it may cross and recross its own path so many 

 times as to bewilder the hunter, who must now do one of 

 two things; either advance stealthily and noiselessly through 

 the swamp, without regard to the footprints, hoping by 

 chance to get a shot; or he must make a wide detour, cir- 

 cling around it, to see if the track he is after leads away in 

 any°direction. If it does not, he knows that the deer is still 

 in the swamp, and must return and attempt to find it. 

 Appreciating the difficulty of the undertaking, he moves 

 with great deliberation, his practiced eye penetrating, at 

 each step, every space and recess that the slight change 

 of position brings in view. To the left he observes 

 a prostrate maple, felled by the winds, and, know- 

 ing that deer are fond of the kind of browse it 

 affords, works cautiously toward it. The branches are 

 reached but no live thing is seen, and his eyes are bent in 

 other directions when— crash, crash, under his very nose, 

 and he is deluged with a shower of snow that, for the mo- 

 ment, completely blinds him. He may, or he may not, get 



