April 23, 1885.1 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



247 



to be seen, and wonderfully effective and beautiful. Cer- 

 tainly this is the most wonderfully beautiful country in ail 

 the Kocky Mountains. 



Packing the deer on one of the mules we kept on down 

 tbe river, and during the afternoon reached its mouth, and 

 crossing the wide marshy bottom where several streams 

 poured into it from the east, started along the lake shore. 

 Here Mr. Hague and 1 stopped and climbed some high hills, 

 from which most superb views of the lake and the surround- 

 ing country were had. Here, somewhat to my surprise, I 

 found fresh elk sign very abundant, and also, what seemed 

 still more remarkable, some fresh bison signs. All accounts 

 agree in making the bison rare, if not almost extinct in the 

 Park. Kea told me that a year or two since there was a little 

 band of about a hundred head over on the head of Clark's 

 Fork. Ten years ago they were quite abundant here, but 

 in that time their numbers have been greatly reduced. It 

 was encouraging to find any evidences at all of their recent 

 presence. 



We lingered for some time on the hills enjoying the beau- 

 ties of the scene, and then started on to follow the pack 

 train to camp. It seemed a long ride through the timber 

 and over the pebbly beach before the white tents and the 

 feeding animals, scattered over the. little park, came in sight, 

 and told us that we had reached home. 



On their way to camp the pack train had come upon a 

 bull elk, which did not seem at all alarmed, but stood look- 

 ing at them until Saddlemeyer spurred old Prickly close to 

 him and tried to hit him with his quirt. Then he trotted 

 slowly off into the timber. Several other elk were seen by 

 them, and signs were very abundant here, but as we were 

 now within the limits of the Park, there was no further use 

 for a rifle. 



This camp was beautifully situated in a smooth, grassy 

 park. Before us was the broad lake, and behind and on 

 either side the timbered hills. The tents stood in a httle 

 grove of pine trees, which furnished shelter and fuel, and 

 the hungry animals luxuriated among the rich grass. The 

 bright fire lit up the trees, and the tents, and the aparejos, 

 and as it flamed and flickered, curious shadows peeped out 

 from tbe dark caverns that stretched away beneath the pine 

 branches to the gloom beyond, and sometimes creeping 

 stealthily forth, danced for a moment within the circle of 

 the firelight, and then chased one another back again into 

 the darkness, and were swallowed up in it. The soft mur- 

 mur of the waves on the beach came to us in a monotonous 

 undertone, and now and then from far out upon the water 

 sounded the weird laughing cry of a loon, while the moun- 

 tain sides behind us at intervals re-echoed to the fierce, shrill 

 challenge of the angry elk. 



So the evening wore away. 



iatinn\mt ^auri^U 



THE BUCKTA1L IN FLORIDA. 



in. 



I WROTE you last from Camp Tarpon, on Oak Point, 

 where I lived a sort of half-hunter half-hermit life for 

 just forty-six days, having spent my first night there on Feb. 

 6, and moved my duffle to my present quarters on March 24. 

 It was a pleasant, idle, dreamy life that. I hunted a little, 

 fished more, loafed a good deal, and passed the days in vir- 

 tuous ease for more than six weeks of an exceptionally hard 

 Florida winter. There were two light frosts during the win- 

 ter, that did no damage, however; and there were repeated 

 "northers" that rather upset my notions of camps. I had 

 calculated that a closely-laid double-boarded roof, placed at 

 an angle of three feet pitch in six would turn any rain — 

 which it didn't; for the rain came horizontally from every 

 point of the compass, and it took three wettings to teach an 

 old camper. the possibilities of a Florida norther. I got in 

 line at last, and the two last storms left the camp dry, with 

 a bright fire in front. 



It was something of a new experience, that forty-six days 

 on Oak Point. It was only two miles to the Springs, where 

 there were plenty of winter boarders intent on fishing and 

 shooting; but they almost never came in. sight of my camp, 

 though the best quail shooting near the hotels was on and 

 near the Point, and I only once saw a sportsman there dur- 

 ing my stay. "Tarpon," who had selected the camping 

 ground for me while I was yet amid the snows of a Northern 

 winter, occasionally paddled up for an evening's smoke and 

 chat, and on two or three occasions Mrs. Kendall came with 

 him. But mostly I had the camp, the live oaks, and the 

 numerous birds all to myself; and I enjoyed it, oh, so well. 

 The birds were excellent company and of infinite variety, 

 the home buds being most numerous. Bluebirds, bluejays, 

 highholders, chewinks, bee martins, kingbirds, downy and 

 spotted woodpeckers, with redwings and meadow larks— all 

 were daily visitors, and all were familiar and fearless. 



Two bevies of quail came daily about the camp, and at 

 first I was disposed to utilize them as food. But, on follow- 

 ing them up and watching their cute, beautiful ways, my 

 heart failed me. It seemed such an ogreish thing to crush 

 an ounce of shot into such an innocent family that I might 

 gobble a few mouthf uls of quail, and they were so graceful 

 on the ground or on the wing, that I decided to leave them 

 in peace, believing that I could get more enjoyment from them 

 alive than dead. And I did. There was not a morning on 

 which I did not hear their clear, mellow whistles, and I saw 

 them almost daily. There was not one of them shot while 

 I was there, and when I left they were pairing for the sea- 

 son. 



The tameness of the crows surprised me most. On the first 

 day a pair of them settled in the oak overhead and held a con- 

 sultation, which ended in dropping down within ten yards 

 of the shanty to pick up bacon rinds, crusts, etc., that I had 

 thrown out. Next morning they had increased to five, and 

 I was so pleased with their familiar behavior that I took 

 some pains to feed them. "You will be sick of them in a 

 week," said "Tarpon" when I mentioned the incident to him; 

 and I was. I never saw such senseless, incorrigible thieves. 



They stole for fun, and made themselves needless trouble 

 picking up bits of dishrag, paper labels, hard soap, teaspoons 

 or anything they could lift. When I caught a glossy old 

 rogue actually in camp tugging at my watch chain, my pa- 

 tience gave out; and baiting five of them into a bunch, I cut 

 loose at them with five drams of powder and a teaspoonful 

 of damp sand, distance ten yards. I never saw crows make 

 such time. Every fellow went the way he looked, and all 

 confidence between us was destroyed forever. They did not 

 come back. 



Every day I heard the crack of the rifle or roar of the 

 12-gaugc as the guests of the hotels went for ducks, blue 

 herons, snake birds, sandhill cranes, white egrets and marsh 

 hens. The clatter of rowlocks came plainly to the ear from 

 the river across the marsh. The upper half of a white sail 

 was often seen slowly winding its way among the dense 

 bulrushes; but no one came up the bayou to Camp Tarpon. 

 There was an impression that the bayou was only a pocket, 

 and a long, crooked one, with nothing attractive about it, 

 and no chance for wildfowl; where there was no inlet, and 

 one could only row up it, and then row back. 



And I had been told that the water in the bayou was too 

 salt for washing hands, even. And so for three weeks I 

 toted water a mile in the canoe, until at last being short on 

 water I tried a piece of brown soap in the bayou. To my 

 surprise it seemed almost as soft as rain water. I tried it as 

 drinking water and found it sweet and cool. I made tea 

 and coffee with it, and could see no difference between it 

 and spring water. 



Now, it is true that there is a tide rise of some two feet in 

 the bayou; but it is also true that there are two narrow 

 channels at its head through which a boat may be pushed, 

 and through which the surface water of the cool, clear 

 Anclote rushes with force on each ebb tide. Of course the 

 water is fresh and sweet, and I carried no more water jugs 

 in the Bucktail. 



I paddled the canoe at least every other day down to the 

 Springs lor mail or supplies, and the numerous and irrelevant 

 questions asked me by city sportsmen and outers would have 

 made a country schoolboy laugh. What was I doing up in 

 the woods alone, and did I always live out o' doors? Wasn't 

 I afraid? And how did I live, anyhow? On game or fish? 

 What should I do if a bear attacked me in camp? And did 

 I ever see any panthers, or wildcats? 



One old patriarchal looking party from Philadelphia, of 

 the Greeny Muggins order, asked all of the above questions, 

 and many more. He was a dignified old party of position 

 and family antecedents at home; also an authority on fish 

 and game laws. But as regards genuine outing, woodcraft— 

 so green. 



Considering that the winter was a hard one for Florida, I 

 managed to put in forty -six days of pretty fair outing at 

 Camp Tarpon. There was not a day when the weather per- 

 mitted that I was not up before the sun, and out on river or 

 bayou, or roaming among the pines and live oaks. I usually 

 had a rod or gun along, but fished little and shot less. One 

 or two fish, or a bird, or squirrel were not far to seek. And, 

 although I levied a per capita tax on nature's gentle wood- 

 folk, 1 was very lenient on collections. So long as there was 

 fish or game in camp three or four days in the week I did 

 not hanker for gore. It was an easy-going, lazy, dreamy 

 outing, one very beautiful feature of it being the bright, 

 clear, moonlit nights. There were two half moons during 

 the time, and I usually managed to get out about twelve to 

 one o'clock in fine weather, and spend an hour or two smok- 

 ing and roaming about the point. 



Whoever visits Camp Tarpon will find several clusters of 

 live oak within a furlong of the camp, and these oaks have a 

 tendency to arrange themselves in groups around an open 

 center that, seems left purposely for the shanty or tent of the 

 outer. I was never tired of admiring the sturdy, gnarled, 

 crooked, broad-branching oaks. Every twist, bend, or 

 crook known to shipwrights might be found among their 

 rugged trunks and limbs; every timber used in ship building— 

 except the straight ones. They wagged their long gray 

 beards and giant arms against the midnight sky in solemn 

 protest against straight lines. 



And the days went by without note, and I lost the day of 

 the week and of the month, and my watch, catching the in- 

 fection of laziness, failed to keep time at first, and finally 

 declined to run at all. There was no need. Friends sent 

 me papers every week, which I turned over to the Captain 

 without reading even the local news from home; and I only 

 knew what was going on in the outside world by the occa- 

 sional remarks of others. Nor did I care. I came to Florida 

 for an all-winter outing, not for an inn-ing, and I was taking 

 it in, pure and simple. Bright fires in front of the shanty at 

 night, soft, elastic pine leaves and palmetto for bedding, 

 exercise by day, and wholesome fresh ah ; these, with good, 

 well-cooked, plain food, were bracing and lifting me to 

 health very certainly from day to day. And I was content. 

 The shanty faced to the southeast, looking directly to Lower 

 Salt Lake. Lying in camp of a bright moonlit night, I could 

 see the silvery glitter of the lake through the tall, reddish- 

 brown boles of the pines. Lower Salt Lake was eighty rods 

 away to the southwest, and over a dry oak and pine ridge 

 at the head of the lake was Lake Butler, a favorite resort of 

 all the boarders at the hotels, who seldom showed a boat on 

 either of the salt lakes because of their bad reputation for 

 duck shooting and trolling. And so every fair morning 

 wagons were sent over to Lake Butler from the hotels with 

 strong delegations of sportsmen and tourists. 



They usually arrived at the lake about 9 A. M., just as the 

 bass and ducks, having breakfasted, were taking a forenoon 

 siesta. And the'n they strolled up and down the white, sandy 

 beach, complaining of poor sport. It struck me that these 

 sports had just the right knowledge of how not to do it. 



1 had formed the acquaintance of several natives — "crackr 

 ers" — who lived near the lake, and who had the reputation 

 of crack shots and successful anglers. I knew that some of 

 them had walked to Lake Butler in the early gray of a morn- 

 ing and returned in time for breakfast with more than fifty 

 pounds of bass, ranging from two to thirteen pounds, and 

 this by still-fishing, with cut bail and a rig costing less than 

 twenty-five cents. 



Taking a hint from my cracker acquaintances, I carried 

 the Bucktail over to Salt Lake, paddled to its head, made 

 the carry of sixty rods over to Lake Butler, and went into 

 camp one bright evening in February prepared for fishing at 

 daybreak the next morning. A few casts with a red ibis 

 salmon fly resulted in a two-pound fish for supper, and I was 

 on the water betimes next morning ready to try the bass 

 with red ibis, split ibis, silver doctor, or any fly they might 

 fancy. Considering that the sport was new to them, they 

 seemed to enjoy it remarkably well, taking the red ibis 

 freely and hanging on to the hook with commendable per- 

 tinacity. I caught all I needed and got my tackle smashed 



besides in about twenty minutes. And the question arose : 

 Hid it pay to come two miles, make two carries, and camp 

 over night for twenty minutes' fishing? Had the fish been 

 BfcarcQr or more wary the sport would have lasted longer, or 

 had they been smaller 1 should have saved some tackle. 



But I paddled and carried back to camp under a hot sim 

 with a notion that, on the whole, the trip had been pretty 

 satisfactory. Nessmttk.) 



Oak and Pine, March 29, 1885. 



CAMPING LIFE, 



UVTTAWAYANDA.'S" "Camp Flotsam" found eager 

 V Y readers in one family, who know how to enjoy life 

 in camp, and say Amen! quite heartily to his many sugges- 

 tions. I believe my better half has ventilated her views on 

 this subject in Forest and Stream, but I cannot let one 

 thing pass without some comments thereon. 



Five years ago I was preparing to go camping. Previous 

 to this time she had joined me each summer, but boarded at 

 the club house, the hotel, or stopped with some friends near 

 where I was fishing. Each time I promised if her health 

 improved I would take her and the boy into camp with me, 

 but I must say I dreaded the experience. Always a sufferer 

 from bronchial and catarrhal complaints, and taking cold so 

 easily, I knew the danger of sleeping under canvas to such 

 a bundle of frail humanity. When the hot July days came 

 again almost the only thought, from early morning until 

 sunset, filling the mind of "that boy of mine" was, "Well, 

 pap, when can you get away for camping?" Finally I told 

 them to get ready. I found things for camping in an ad- 

 vanced stage, and it only needed my fishing tackle, to be 

 overlooked and the provisions made for sleeping. Here was 

 the rub. I said little about sleeping on the ground, but 

 thought a heap more. Words were useless. It was, "lam 

 going! You promised if my health was better I should go 

 into camp with you. I am better, and if I get ill I won't 

 complain one word; but I'm not going to get ill; I am just 

 going to enjoy myself." Twenty years' experience in mar- 

 ried life has taught me— 



"When a woman says she will, she will, 



You may depend on't ; 

 And when she says she won't, she won't, 



And that's the end on't." 



So 1 devised a cot to keep us about twenty inches from 

 the tent floor, and got into our kit all the "calamities" our 

 friends, "the Kingfishers," so aptly describe; among them 

 was a hot-blast stove burning kerosene, to use in the tent if 

 we should get any wet weather. My heart misgave me 

 when we jumped from the train into what appeared almost 

 a forest. The gray of the morning was just passing off, we 

 were cold, tired and hungry; we found a way to get 

 into the small depot and waited until some life appeared. I 

 got some help, moved the tent fixings over into a grove of 

 maples on the edge of the forest, got up the tent, went about 

 a mile to get some milk, but found we could get breakfast, 

 and soon learned I was in a splendid trouting country, and 

 within a few miles of as fine a grayling stream as any 

 angler wants to put eyes on. By noon our tent was floored 

 with pine boards, the* boy's hammock swung, a table made 

 of our camp chest by putting on a drop leaf, the stove fixed, 

 and everything in good shape. We ate as good a supper, 

 cooked in just as good style as though in our city home, we 

 were very tired, and after fixing up the cot and preparing 

 for rain, we went to rest. All my fears were forgotten; it 

 was broad daylight and the sun hours high when I awoke. 

 The tent was decidedly cool, and jumping out I lighted the oil 

 stove, put over the oven, and in fifteen minutes our tent was 

 warm. I then put on the kettle, while the wife prepared 

 breakfast, the cots were cleared away, water was brought 

 in from the spring, toilet finished, and breakfast was made a 

 leisurely meal. 



Tent life was a series of pleasant days — trout fishing, gray- 

 ling fishing and taking a few days on the big lakes after 

 bass, until the time came to return "to the city. During our 

 stay we had two rainy days: w r e kept the stove running 

 almost all day, lay in the hammocks and indulged in many a 

 hearty laugh over the experience of a camping party given in 

 Forest and Stream. We always take plenty of papers and 

 some interesting books into camp with us. We don't be- 

 lieve in grumbling, and have learned to make the best of 

 everything. Our camp life is not designed to make us bears, 

 but is intended for a delightful change and for the rest that 

 comes from such a change. 



The greatest surprise came to a woman that for ten years 

 had scarcely been out of the care of a family physician, a 

 gentleman who loved camping and canoeing, and who almost 

 feared sleeping under canvas was too great a risk, but ad- 

 vised the wife to prepare for any sickness. It was ' 'Medi- 

 cine might be thrown to the dogs." Not a cold or symptom 

 of cold followed, she came out of camp ruddy and brown, 

 stronger and heavier than she had been for years. The 

 benefits are all on our side; the boy and I live like epicures, 

 but no fuss is made about preparing meals, breakfast over 

 and we are off fishing. 



Now each summer as camping time draws near, I find 

 many things prepared, many articles devised for camp use. 

 This summer we anticipate sleeping under a tent devised 

 and made in part by this wife of mine. The cot is a matter 

 of deliberation in which a woman's wit has been exercised, 

 but it's going to be comfortable. Some time when it is fin- 

 ished I will send a sketch for "Wawayanda's" inspection. 

 Our new camp stove is different from the one described, and 

 will bake, boil and broil, or toast at the same time. I am 

 inclined to thiuk if ladies would go with their husbands 

 into camp, the men would find a vast improvement in camp 

 life. We take things too much as they come, our camps are 

 too often "makeshifts," "higgely piddely" sort, as "Wa- 

 wayanda" aptly expresses it. We run into too many risks, 

 get wet, and half dry ourselves ; too many exposures when 

 unnecessary. 



I am fond of roughing it, but find a vast change for the 

 better since the 115 pounds of feminine angler took charge 

 of the camp and its fixing. 



Another word and I am through. Experience has taught 

 us that one family in a camp is sufficient; if others want to 

 go camping, all right, but let each family make its own pro- 

 visions and arrangements. If one individual undertakes to 

 provide for a crowd (three or four families), he's going to 

 have a splendid time of it, and if he keeps a cool head, he is 

 too good for this sighing world and is fit to be translated. 



We all fish ; but the boy takes his mother under his care, 

 and will paddle from morning till night to give her some 

 bass fishing, or to get a good pickerel for supper. Tins 

 allows me to go up into the creeks for trout, where the thick 

 undergrowth prevents them joining me in this pleasant 

 sport. Norman. 



Dcloth, Minn. 



