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Che Sportsman CTanvist, 
THE LOG OF THE BUCKTAIL. 
DOWN THE TIADATTON. 
fis call a bright, oe river 140 miles in length a creek, 
is & misnomer, Vherefore I abjure the name, ‘‘Big 
Pine Creek,” and use the Indian name, Tiadatton, which 
signifies River of Pines, and is especinlly appropriate. For, 
even at this day, after seventy-five years of lumber skinning, 
it is essentially a ‘River of Pines.” 
It is thirty-six years since I first chose this wild, beautiful 
stream, as my stamping and camping ground. At that time 
there were six sawmills, with their consequent boarding 
houses, between March Oreek and Round Island, Each mill 
employed from twenty to forty hands the year round. For 
fifteen miles the river runs between mountains where there 
never was and never can be anything in the way of settle- 
ment or agriculture. So long as the ‘‘clear pine” lasted this 
region was quite lively, The axe resounded from hill to 
hill. The clank and clang of the gang saw was incessant. 
When there came a ‘‘rafting flood,’ there was a constant 
procession of board rafts going down stream from daylight 
till dark. The whoop of the raftsmen was a constant 
quantity of hoodlum racket, 
Tt is quiet enough now. Of the 200 choppers, sawyets, 
hunters, ete,, nol one is left. Of the six mills and the board- 
ing houses there is not a vestige remaining, save one heavy 
timber that marks the site of Slide Island Dam, and two 
tumble-down stone chimneys that mark the spot where once 
stood the two Manchester boarding houses. It seems so 
strange that this region should be more wild, more lonely 
and silent to-day than it was thirty odd yearsago, But such 
is the fact, 
No man will ever know, eyen approximately, how many 
millions of pine lumber have been “‘rafted down” between 
these dark, fir-clad mountain spurs, To note the effect of 
this constant depletion of green timber is a part of my busi- 
ness. And what is the eitect? How is the region thus de- 
pleted altered or affected in, let us say, a period of three 
decades. It goes without saying that in one or two seasons 
a terrific fire clears off dry tops, limbs and the inflammable 
débris always left in the wake of the himberman. If the 
fire has been fierce enough to “kill the soil” the first after- 
growth is apt to be fire weeds as dense as hair on a dog, 
Then come the trailing blackberry, the fire cherry and small 
poplars or aspens, followed by serub oaks. Sometimcs the 
upright blackberry intervenes, followed by black and red 
raspberry vines, ‘The original timher is seldom or never re- 
produced. in less than twenty years there is a more dense 
growth of cover than was cut off by the lumberman, 
But the springs, the trout streams, the trout, the deer, have 
all suffered in the interim. They may and do recover to 
some extent, but the recovery is very slow. Where the land 
is susceptible of cultivation there is no chance of recovery. 
I can point to a score of hills that 1 have known at one time 
or ancther as little more than barren fire scalds, which are 
now covered with a dense growth of shrubs and timber, 
And the cover is better for game than it was thirty years 
ago; but the game is not there, for, as the hand of the lum- 
berman is raised, the two hands of modern civilization come 
down heayily armed with the fatal breechloader. The shy, 
persecuted wild things are fearfully put to it for a breathing 
spell in which to reproduce themselves, for the roar of the 
10 hore is quite apt to be heard in the closeseason. Perhaps 
eyen the open season would he sufficient, and violation of 
the law only hastens the time a little, 
Some such reflections as these pass through my mind as I 
leisurely fan the Bucktail down Marsh Creek into the Tia- 
datton, almost past ‘‘Plat Rock,” where I once stood on just 
such another bright June day, and took with the angle 450 
fine brook trout between sunup and sundown. 
a trout hog? Nota bit of it. The trout were coming upon 
the June rise. Had | held my hand off not a trout of them 
would be alive to-day, And they were all used. So under 
the brightest of skies and waters, | paddle down to the 
“Eddy.” Now the Eddy is an old favorite camping ground, 
not only with me, but with scores of outers and triends, with 
whom J have camped in the years long gone by. 
I land up on the right hand side, and spend an hour mak- 
ing camp. Itis an oid story. Hemlock bark for fire, hem- 
lock browse for bedding; the old shelter tent put up at a 
sharp pitch oyer along strong pole sharpened at each end, 
the smaller end being planted in the bark of a large spread- 
ing elm, the huge trunk of the tree making excellent back- 
ing for a camp-tire, saving thereby much labor in cutting and 
packing back logs; and long before sundown I have estab- 
lished a cosy woodland home, About all the home I should 
eyer need—if summer would but hold. An hour spent in 
picking browse, another in collecting night wood, and there 
is still daylight enough left to catch afew minnows and 
stretch an outline across the foot of the Eddy, for the outline 
is my weakness, and | seldom camp for a single night on the 
banks of the river without putting out a few hooks. It is 
something that one can look forward to. It includes the 
comforting elements of hope, expectancy and uncertainty ; 
also a possible breakfast of fresh fish. f like the outline, 
and if it be voted that this relezates me to the ranks of the 
pot-hunter, so be it. — 
In handling a canoe a pleasant, handy landing is of some 
importance, and this is quickly made by the aid of a couple 
of slabs held in place by as many stakes: a few feet of 
common trolling line by way of painter, and the Bucktail 
swings airily to her moorings, even as a thing of life. Never 
quite still, no matter how quiet the water; resting on the 
glassy surface like an egg-shell, and always in graceful mo- 
tion, but so gently, so softly, that at times she seems motion- 
less. {make it a point to moor a canoe where I ean lie indo- 
lently on a bed of browse, smoke and watch the graceful 
motion of the little craft, as by imperceptible degrees she 
fakes in every point of the compass. And while engaged in 
this laudable occupation it happens that I forget all about it 
The pipe tumbles on to the blanket, and I unconscicusly drop 
off into a sweet, healthy, unpremeditated sleep—to be awak 
ened by a nightmare dream that I am in the rapids of 
Niagara above tne falls, and paddling for dear life to catch 
onto Goat Island. With a spasmodic jerk I sit on my 
‘“thead’s antipodes,” and still the roar of the falls is in my 
ears; but only for a few seconds. My head gets level, and 
I remember where I am—at the Eddy, im camp for the first 
night of the season, aftera long and bitter winter. And 
below, on the opposite bank, a bright flashing light comes 
glinting and gleaming athwart the open spaces among the 
trees, followed by a buckling, clattering noise of wheels, and 
a dimly seen line of coal cars limned against the opposite 
Was I then! 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
mountain, Then comes the red stern-licht of the caboose, 
and in Jess than a minute the whole affair has faded into 
distance and silence. Yes, the Pine Creek Railroad is an 
accomplished fact. Once I would have staked my existence 
that no engineer could plan and build a railroad along these 
mountain sides. I giveit up. It is like a chapter from 
the Arabian Nights, 
Thirty years ago, I and my favorite hunting chum, ‘Kit 
Stowell,” were apt to spend the entire hunting season along’ 
this stream, and we often hugged ourselves with the argu- 
ment that here no farmer or settler would ever attempt to 
clear land, and no engineer could ever plan and build a rail- 
road, We knew that the high mountains were rich in coal, 
but three generations had paid taxes thereon und had never 
received one cent in return. The coal couldn’t be got at, 
and the lands were repeatedly sold for taxes. Here she 
comes at last—the fiery-eyed locomotiye, And the lands are 
worth $200 per acre. 
It is modern magic. ~ The magic of science. . 
A double steel ribbon is digged and planted in the steep, 
rocky mountain side, and almost hourly heavily laden coal 
trains go rattling and roaring: up stream, while long trains of 
bark, timber, boards and merchandise go down stream, to be 
placed where they will do most good. And six to eight light 
passenger trains go over the road every twenty-four hours at 
high speed, 
And clo I, an old woodsman, regret this? 
i rather Jike it. 
A train does not stop to go marauding about my camp, 
nosing around to steal whisky and loose duffle, as the old- 
time logger did. And I cannot see that the railroad inter- 
feres with the game or fish, I do not see why it should or 
could, Moreover, when I am ready to break camp I can 
step on to a car, fake a cushioned seat, and in an hour or two 
be at my own door. Only four years ago this would haye 
called for an exhaustive, all-day, up-and-down tramp with a 
heavy Joad. (1 think I won’t go back on railroads). 
Musing thus, and still smoking, I drop back on the fra- 
grant browse and again forget, to be again awakened by the 
clashing, clattering roar of a passing train. But this time I 
only rise on one elbow, watch the gleaming headlight flash 
by, and drop off to slamher before the train 1s out of hearing, 
to once more awaken at the first gleaming of daylight. Start- 
ing the dull embers into a lively blaze, I step into the Buck- 
tail, drop down a few yards, and overhaul the outline. The 
catch is not such as the conyentional outer is wont to boast 
of. Just two silver-bellied eels, one of them large. Ag I 
take them in I say, *‘Two days’ rations of first-rate fish. It 
is enough. More would he useless.” Then I go to camp, 
wash up, clean the camp, make a model fire and dress the 
eels. By the way, an eel is more easily and quickly dressed 
than any other fish, if you know the proper way. 
And itis yet only 5 A, M. The days are long on the 4th 
of June, I amuse myself by organizing the camp to my 
notion, and then cooking a plain meal in my best manner, 
Two slices of fish, parboiled, rolled in meal, and fried to a 
light brown; a mealy potato, a slice of brown bread and 
sweet butter, a cup of powerful coffee—thatis all. But the 
appetite. Where did I get it? I wish I had boiled another 
potato or fried more fish, I will get even at dinner time. 
There are fifteen hours of bright summer sunlight to pass 
somehow, before I shall again turnin. (I wish it were tifty 
instead of fifteen). When the camp is in order, dishes 
washed, and everything clean and neat, [ cut a long, slender 
rod, plant it firmly in the sand by the landing, with a bushy, 
genuine bucktail at the tip, as a camp signal. As the morn- 
ing passenger train dashes by, friendly hands are waved in 
recognition, while the signa] is frantically shaken in answer, 
and the train goes on its way Jeaving all silent and lonely as 
before. 
There is a long summer day before me. The thermometer 
must be high up in the eighties, and it is necessary to kill 
the time in some way, more or less enjoyable. Now while 
the little shady flat on the west side of the Eddy is one of the 
finest camping spots on the stream, it is open to the objec- 
tion that there is no available spring on that side, and your 
average Pennsylvanian always considers a cold, clear spring, 
the first. requisite of his camping ground. It happens that 
on the opposite side ef the Eddy, a cold spring comes dash- 
ing and plashing over cool, mossy rocks, to lose itself in the 
main stream. It is only pastime to paddle across whenever 
I want cold water. 
The heavy stone rip-rapping of the railroad affords an ex- 
cellent chance for a strong cache, which is indispensable in 
this region, for there is not a night during the open season 
in which you can lay by meat, fish or butter, where hedge- 
hogs and ‘coons will not find it. Their strength and persist- 
ency in digging out your larder is something surprising, I 
haye a butter cup with a tight-fitting cover, and a square tin 
case for keeping pork, also with a tight cover. Time and 
again I have had these tinsraided by raccoons, nosed around, 
wallowed in the mud, and moved yards away from the cache; 
but the covers stuck like burrs, and it must drive a ’coon 
frantic to work half the night in unearthing a butter cup 
and then with only one thickness of tin between his nose 
and the longed-for butter, be unable to get a taste of it. 
Unless the ‘coon dialect has plenty of cuss words I don’t see 
how he could ever get over it. j 
So I make a cache that Iam certain is strong enough this 
time, and make a neat package with linden leaves for the 
fish; and then, like an old school boy, make a neat little 
pond just above where the spring loses itself in the riyer. 
This is to keep minnows for bait. And the forenoon is not 
half spent, , Pi 
The sun beats dowu with scorching’ power on the placid 
waters of the Eddy. But up on the steep hillside 1 can see 
tall, heayy-topped, heavy-limbed hemlocks scattered around 
in a promiscuous sort of way. It is a good chance for 
browse. And so tying the blanket bag at one end, I go 
leisurely up the hill and kill a couple of hours collecting 
pine browse until the old blanket bag will hold no more. 
Then I paddle back to camp, ana arrange the bed until there 
is no chance for further improvement. And still it is not 
dinner time. I get out the rod and soon have a dozen and a 
half of minnows darting around the little pond waiting to be 
impaled for bait. a : be 
Dinner is a repetition of breakfast, with the addition of a 
Johnny cake, in the making of which I rather count myself 
an expert. It is easy to kill the next two or three hours— 
cleaning up dishes and snugging the camp, with dozing and 
smoking. Then I get out the set lines and cross over to the 
preserve to ‘‘string” the bait, and as I near the landing a 
large water snake comes directly from the little pond and 
swims clumsily across my bows. He is full to repletion, and 
has been stealing minnows past a doubt. But I do not kill 
him, I never killa harmless snake, Ido not admire him, 
but he is less offensive alive than dead. At the pond, with 
On the whole, 
CC a 
= |Smpr. 11, 1884. 
the head of a small sunfish in his mouth, is another and 
larger snake. He, too, is full to the neck, and not at all dis- 
posed to be scary or give ground. When I take the fish by 
the caudal fin and pull gently but steadily he gets himself 
together and pulls against ine with all his little strength, and 
when I finally drag the fish away from him he still remains 
in position, regarding me wickedly with his bright, bead- 
like eyes. When it was too late, 1 was sorry that I robbed 
him of his prey. It would be interesting to know if he, 
being already full to the neck, could manage to swallow a 
spiny sunfish three times as broad as his own head. 
It takes an hour to make good the lost bait, for there are 
only four left in the pond, and by the time [ haye tied the 
setlines it is getting dusk. Now, if I were a trout enthusiast 
TI could find very fair fly-fishing by going a couple of miles, 
but lam not. I had a surfeit of trout fishing and trout eat- 
ing when they were really abundant, and the fervor has left 
me, foreyer, Limagine. I am here to rest, cruise, and enjoy 
open-air life. 
The second night is one of sound sleep and healthful rest, 
scarcely broken by the roaring, rattling trains that go past 
almost hourly. In the early gray of the morning I get into 
the canoe and overhaul the outline, finding the catch rather 
a slim one for eighteen hooks, thirteen of them being bare. 
There are, however, three fine eels and a large white chub, 
the latter being a poor pan fish during warm weather. So, 
as he is lightly hooked, he is given his liberty. Also, on the 
last hook, just where the spring water turns around the rocks, 
there is a large trout hanging by the lip. As I judge her to: 
be a female, and as catching trout on setlines goes against. 
the stomach of my sense, she gets her liberty, and makes the 
most of it by dashing frantically up stream like an arrow. 
Long before sunrise the fish are dressed and snugly packed 
in moss and leaves. Then I paddle across to cache them and 
get out the others for breakfast, because, ‘‘first caught first 
cooked,” is a good rule for fish and fishing, 
It happens that the rule does not apply in the present in- 
stance, For, long before reaching the bank, I note-a couple 
of dirty-looking tin dishes and a lot of torn, muddy leaves 
and moss scattered loosely along the margin of the stream, 
The sharp-nosed ’coon has been there, and, as usual, hus 
undermined the cache. The soft sand is thickly studded 
with his fracks, looking for all the world like the footprints 
of adarky baby. The tracks of the fretful porcupine are 
also there, and I wonder how the two very different animals 
made it. Did they divvy up amicably, or did the sharp- 
nosed, sagacious ’coon get away with the entire steal? Or 
did the porcupine stand him off by dint of quills, which 
every wild animal dreads and avoids? And how did they 
feel about it when they found that the corner in pork and 
butter would not work, because the stock was ‘‘covered?” 
And the oyerted water snake that I left in quiet possession 
of the pool. Did they make a ‘‘lame duck’ of him, so to 
speak? J never shall know, The bright-eyed wood folk 
have their own mysterious exchange; but I do not get their 
reports regularly, and can only say that they beat me quite 
as often as I beat them. NESSMUK, 
Slatnyal History. 
ANTIDOTE FOR SERPENT’S VENOM, 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In your issue of Aug. 21, Mr. John Williamson speaks of 
the healing virtues of the plantain leaf for rattlesnake bites, 
Another remedy, which is, perhaps, not so easily obtainable 
but sure to have a beneficial effect if taken immediately 
after the bite, is simply a quart flask, or, if possible, what is 
yet better, a two quart flask of good whisky, into wi ich is 
put about a handful of pounded sassafras root. Shake 
thoroughly, cork tightly and you have ready for immediate 
use one of the most powerful as well as certain expellants of 
snake venom that is known, Jt should be taken not only in- 
ternally but externally as well by an application immediately 
to the wound. 
Of this valuable remedy I learned when on a trout fishing 
excursion through Sullivan county. I had returned home 
tired, wet and hungry, to the cabin of my backwoods host 
and had just prepared my fish to become a “‘party of the 
second part” in a trout supper when, happening by mere 
chance to look on what in a more modern structure would 
be known as the mantle, my eyes fell upon two very inter- 
esting objects. The first was a set of rattles, which num- 
bered fifteen; the second was the dried skin of an enormous 
copperhead, Of course, I asked the old man to tell me all 
about it, and he yery willingly unbosomed himself, He 
said that in the fall of 1877 he was hunting deer, and was 
creeping through the bushes endeavoring to flank a large 
buck when, without any other warning than the usual rattle, 
a rattlesnake, one of the largest of its species, sprang upon 
him, sinking its fangs deep into his leg, Quick as thought 
he killed it with his hunting knife, bound tightly the limb 
above and below the wound and made hasty tracks for his 
cabin, Arriving there, he applied the whisky and sassafras 
root in the manner previously described, and in about ten 
days he had recovered. ‘ 
On another occasion he was out trapping, when he was 
attacked by a copperhead, which bit him in the big toe of 
his left foot. This bite was treated to the same dose and in 
the same manner, and speedy recovery followed, while the 
skin and rattles were kept as trophies of his two snake ad- 
ventures. : Wu 
I also know a woman who was bitten in the foot while at 
the spring getting water, and who, after using the remedy, 
recovered fully and in a very short space of ane as 
PrrrspurGH, Pa., Aug. 24. 
In her book, ‘‘Snakes, Curiosities and Wonders of Serpent 
Life,” Miss Catherine C. Hopley writes on the subject of 
‘(The Venoms and their Remedies,” as follows: 
“To conceive of an antidote to snake poison in the true 
sense of the term,” Sir John Fayrer explains, “one must 
imagine a substance so subtle as to follow, overtake and 
neutralize the yenom in the blood; one that shall haye the 
power of counteracting and neutralizing the deadly influence 
it has exerted on the vital forces. Such a substance has still 
to be found and our present experience of the action of drugs 
does not lead to hopeful anticipation that we shall find it.’ 
With regard to the many drugs used in various countries 
for the enre of snake bite, it is curious to note that as a rule, 
they are procured from the most deadly plants. As like 
cures like, so poison cures poison. Pennyroyal, says Charas, 
was held to the nose of a viper, who, by turning and wrig- 
aling, labored hard to ayoid it, and in half an hour’s tim ¢ 
7 
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