470 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 9, 1885. 



-with which he "killed a deer 90 or 100 yards, and can do it 

 every time," or he can kill a bird 75 yards every time." I 

 have never seen a shotgun sure over 40 yards with small 

 shot, though I have seen birds and other game killed acci- 

 dentally much further. 



I do not claim to be an extraordinary shot, but I do enjoy 

 as much as any one a day's good shooting with a congenial 

 companion and good dogs, and always expect to come out 

 with as many birds as my friend. I never count birds in the 

 bush nor elsewhere than in my game bag. Should our birds 

 continue to increase, and "Wells" ever find himself in East- 

 ern 1ST. C, I should be more than happy to take him over our 

 fields, even though he completely wiped mc out. I'd rather 

 be beaten bv some men than earn a victory over others. 



_ _; A. F. R. 



STILL-HUNTING THE GRIZZLY. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Whenever I come across an article in paper, magazine or 

 book about hunting or fishing, I generally stop and read it, 

 no matter how urgent the call of business or Inviting the 

 sound of the dinner bell. While turning the pages of the 

 June Century to-day, 1 saw a contribution entitled: "Still- 

 Hunting t lie Grizzly," written by Mr. Theodore Roosevelt. 

 Now from the experience which 1 myself had witb the grizzly 

 bear during five years of roughing it in the Far West from 

 June, 1846, to the summer of 1851, I am constrained to be- 

 lieve that what Mr. Roosevelt knows about grizzly bears 

 could, so to speak, be put in a nutshell along with the nut. 



It will not do for Mr. R. to tell hunters who have often 

 tracked the grizzly that this shaggy and powerful beast will 

 not "tackle" a man unless "cornered" or "crowded." I doubt 

 whether the jungles of Asia or Africa or any other 1 country 

 shelter a beast that has less fear of man and is more danger- 

 ous than the grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains. My ex- 

 perience in the West during the years I have, already men- 

 tioned gave me a different idea of the grizzly bear from that 

 which one would gather from Mr. Roosevelt's article in the 

 June Century. I have often hunted this animal, and will 

 state that just half of a baker's dozen — no more — have been 

 killed by the author of this communication. Six I killed 

 myself, and the seventh fell from wounds made by two bul 

 lets, one from my gun and the other from that of my com- 

 panion. 



Mi-. Roosevelt states at one place in his article, that he and 

 his companions on their hunt killed five grizzlies, and before 

 reaching the close of his story we learn that they killed six 

 grizzlies and one black bear. In another place the writer 

 says that only seven shots were required to bring down all 

 the grizzlies, when the reader himself counts up eleven shots 

 made at them, actually mentioned by the writer. I speak 

 of these little incongruities in the article on "Still-Hunting 

 the Grizzly," not to show that the author is a novice in the 

 art of fiction writing, but to give better expression to my 

 doubt as to whether Mr. Roosevelt's article descriptive of 

 grizzly bear hunts, has any real foundation in fact. The 

 old experienced bear hunter would shake his head sus- 

 piciously upon reading that article. F. A. M. 



Jackson, Mo., June 23. 



A Severe Test.— The following letter, just received by 

 the "United States Cartridge Co., at Lowell, Mass , requires 

 no explanation or comment: Office of Wallace & Sons, 

 agents of United States Cartridge Company, New York, 

 June 29, 1865.— U. S. Cartridge Co.: Gentlemen— One of 

 our travelers has lately been in Denver, and writes us as fol- 

 lows: "A man in this town went out gunning a few days 

 since and was drowned. His body lay under the water for 

 over two days. When taken from the water his shell box 

 was found filled with U. S. loaded shells. One of John P. 

 Lower's Sons (gun merchants of this place) took the shells, 

 and found that they were not swollen and slid into the gun 

 easily, and they all exploded." It seems to us this was a 

 pretty good test. Yours truly (signed), Wallace & Sons. 



Owls Aplenty.— Glover, Vt.— A friend living in West- 

 more, Yt,, has caught since the first of last September, in 

 one trap, ten very fine great horned owls, four barred owls, 

 two hawk owls, one saw whet owl, and, near by, thirty large 

 hawks. Most of these I have mounted. — C. S. Phillips. 



New York Qcjail.— Hoyt's Corners, N. Y., June 27.— 

 Bob Whites are more plentiful now. Don't know why, as 

 the winter was severe, and they were shot off very close last 

 fall. Partridges are also more numerous than usual here in 

 Seneca county.— L. C. W. 



New Jersey Woodcock.— Hackensack, N. J., July 2.— 

 There were very few woodcock killed on the opening day, 

 and many of them were too small to shoot. When will 

 this foolish slaughter of half-grown birds be stopped? — W. 



HoLBERTON, 



Weight ok Ruffed Grolse. — I killed a ruffed grouse 

 December 4 that weighed exactly two pounds. I have 

 never weighed many, but thought this a very large one. — 

 S. S. W. 



The Maine Wolf Story is doubted by a Pittston cor 

 respondent of the Gardiner Reporter, who denies that any 

 wolf has been seen in the neighborhood. 



"That reminds me." 

 155. 



LOOKING over your Camp-Fire Fliekerings reminds me 

 of the story of a well-known English lord, who some 

 years ago was out in this neighborhood with a vast retinue, 

 shooting and fishing. While here he hired as guide and gen- 

 eral head hunter old Jim H., one of the most independent of 

 the very independent race of Rocky Mountain guides. After 

 starting out and having traveled a fair distance, Jim called 

 a halt for the noon meal, and the tents were pitched by a 

 charming sheet of water. Jim, who was lying on his back 

 near Lord , stretched himself, yawned and said, "I be- 

 lieve I will take a swim, the Lord willing." Lord hear- 

 ing this, and thinking it addressed to himself, said, "I have 

 no objection, my good man." For a time Jim was too 

 astonished to speak, but when he found his tongue that 

 lord was fairly raised off his seat by the string of expletives 

 hurled at his head, and Avill remember hereafter that Rocky 

 Mountain hunters do not ask permission when they want a 

 swim. Sport. 



Crested Butte, Colorada, 



hx und Miter 



Address all communications to the. Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



CAMPS OF THE KINGFISHERS. 



CARP LAKE, MICHIGAN. — V. 



I SPEAK for no one but myself when I say I would rather 

 handle one small-mouthed black bass of five pounds 

 weight than to handle two of the other variety that would 

 weigh five pounds each, not. that I think the small-mouth 

 fights twice as hard as the other, but I get twice the satis- 

 faction and pure delight out of the contest and feel twice as 

 good over the victory. I stand up squarely for the small- 

 mouth, for I believe him to be the superior of his open faced 

 cousin in all game qualities and beauty of form, and the peer 

 as a fighter to the last gasp of the bravest fish that roams the 

 water. I have known him and loved him for many years, 

 and none may supplant him in my affections. 



The old veteran, Uncle Dan Sloan, has taken more big- 

 mouthed bass than any one perhaps of our party and knows 

 them better. He has probably taken as many of the small- 

 mouthed variety too, as any of us. Ask him where he wants 

 to make a camp and his answer would be, without a doubt, 

 "Wherever we can find small-mouthed black bass within five 

 rods or five miles of camp." "Old Knots" and "Dick"— 

 mellifluous-voiced, grizzled Dick M.— "Jim," and old Ben, 

 all assert the superiority of the small-mouth, and they, three 

 of them at least, are old bass fishers of many years experience 

 whose opinions have been formed after countless battles with 

 both varieties. With us the small-mouthed bass takes his 

 place in the very front rank of the perch family as a bold, 

 cunning, unyielding fighter and the one altogether lovely, 

 and we will stand by our convictions and maintain them by 

 all fair arguments at the risk of being read out of the brother- 

 hood, till otherwise convinced. 



I may be allowed a further word or two about the vigor of 

 bass after they have reached and passed a certain weight and 

 age. Some writers maintain that after a bass has reached a 

 weight of 24 or 3 pounds, he is at his best as a fighter and loses 

 in game qualities from this point as he grows heavier. Now, 

 I don't believe the point has yet been discovered and made 

 clear, at which a bass starts on the down grade of "the de- 

 cline of life," and with due respect to these brethren, I don't 

 feel like subscribing to the theory as a rule. As far as I 

 have been able to learn, the heavier a bass is the greater 

 strength and power of endurance he is possessed of, and as 

 he gets older, up to any age we are certain about, he gets 

 smarter, more cunning, and wary, and as a certain conse- 

 quence, the glory of his capture is the greater. I have always 

 had a notion that bass of 4, 5, 5£, 5f , 6, and up to 6f pounds 

 (weighed) fought longer and harder with due allowance for 

 their greater weight than the smaller fry of 1 to 3 pounds, 

 and the old fellow of 6| pounds was the gamest and hardest 

 fighter of them all, and it took longer and required more 

 clean, honest work with the rod to land him than any bass I 

 handled and brought to grief. He was a clean built small- 

 mouthed black bass, 211 inches in length and left the water, 

 high out, no less than five times before he was brought 

 alongside the boat. I weighed a small-mouth taken by 

 Uncle Dan Sloan (recorded in'FoREST and Stream a couple 

 of years ago) that pulled the scale to exactly 6 pounds, and 

 he "seemed to have retained a very large percent, of the vigor 

 of his youth up to that date, and Frank Lewis, of the Lewis 

 House, Torch Lake, Mich., is on record with a small-mouth 

 of 9 pounds, taken in Grass Lake, that he will aver had not 

 yet struck the "decline" according to his best knowledge 

 and belief. If the powers of a bass begin to wane after he 

 has passed the 3-pound notch, I have failed to find it out, as 

 Ben would say, "after rasselin' with 'em fur risin' of 35 

 year. " 



The "holler log" pursued its voyage down the lake, the 

 skipper keeping an eye shoreward along the belt of swampy 

 woods for a "clear, cool stream" at which to slake his thirst, 

 for the sun was hot and a feeling of indolence permeated his 

 whole frame, and it had been a long time between drinks. 

 As we pulled lazily along past a little bay, listening for the 

 tinkle of a stream, a savage yank at the line came near tak- 

 ing my rod from under my leg and into the lake; but drop- 

 ping the oars and grabbing the rod, all thoughts of streams 

 and spriugs and intervals between drinks vanished on the 

 instant, and as I rose hastily to my feet, the sun was not 

 nearly so hot, and the lazy, indolent, don't-care-whether- 

 they-bite-or-not feeling gave place to a keen desire to meas- 

 ure strength and cunning with the bold customer at the other 

 end of the line who had so nearly taken my rod from under 

 my very nose. 



"Reel up out of the way, girls, and we will soon see what 

 manner of fish it is that has so little fear of the frying-pan 

 before his eyes!" After the first vicious jerk the line ran 

 slowly out eight or ten yards and stopped. Indications: 

 Pickerel or maskalonge. When he started again and the 

 line tightened, a smart stroke fastened the hook and sig- 

 naled the beginning of the fray, and almost at the same 

 moment a fish that looked to be over three feet long shot 

 straight up in the air fully as high as my head. As pickerel 

 seldom take such freaks into their heads, I said to myself, 

 "Maskalonge," but as he was so far away — 150 feet at least — 

 and nearly in line with the glimmering streak of sunlight on 

 the water, I could not be quite sure, and rather than be dis- 

 appointed too much at the finish, took the safe side and 

 added, "maybe pickerel." Whether pickerel or masky, he 

 was full of fight, for as soon as he struck the water after bis 

 leap he started up the lake with a rush that took several 

 more yards of line off the reel before the tough piece of 

 Japanese cane could turn him out into the lake and convince 

 him he had been headed on the wrong course. Once 

 turned, it was not so hard to work him toward the canoe, 

 and he came tacking along from side to side under a pull 

 that nearly doubled the rod, the reel taking up a few feet 

 of line at" every tack until within a few yards of us, when 

 he dashed past the stern of the hollow log full tilt for 

 the giass and bulrushes. Just at a time like this is when 

 one wants to have full and perfect faith in his rod. If he 

 don't know just what it will do, and exactly the amount of 

 clean, honest work, it can be depended on to perform when 

 called on, he had better leave it in camp and cut the first 

 saplin' he gets his eye on that will weigh over ten pounds, 

 tie a hue on— and use it. If that fish got mixed up in the 

 grass and rushes he was a goner. The outcome of the 

 struggle hinged on the old rod, but I had faith in it, for it 

 had conquered for me in tighter places than this. I fixed 

 my thumb firmly on the spool of the reel, advanced the butt 

 a trifle, and— held my breath. 



"Look out, papa," cried Kit excitedly, "your rod is going 



to break, sure," and practical Bob answered over from her 

 corner in the bow, "Well, let it break; if it docs, I'll lend 

 him mine." Four or five desperate, sullen surges made the 

 varnish snap as the rod was bent almost to the" limit, and I 

 drew a breath of relief when the strain, proviug too much 

 for the fish, swung him around away 1'rom the bulrushes 

 and "muskrat grass" and away from'the danger line. As 

 soon as he recovered from his astonishment at being out- 

 generaled, and got his bearings, he started for the other side 

 of the lake, swimming deep, and passed under the stern 

 with a dogged pull that made my thumb burn as the line 

 slipped under it, but his heart was broken, and at a distance 

 of fifty or sixty yards he came to the top of the water com- 

 pletely discouraged. I reeled him in under a feeble, jerky 

 resistance to within five or six feet of the side of the dugout, 

 and there he lay with his dorsal showing above water, 

 glaring at us with his evil eyes— as villainous and vicious- 

 looking a pickerel as ever crushed the life out of a heedless 

 sunfish, But he had fought a good and stubborn fight, and 

 in admiring his pluck and courage I forgot he was a pickerel, 

 and forgave him for not being a maskalonge. 



I called for the gaff, but smart anglers that we were, we 

 had left the camp without gaff or landing net. It is an easy 

 matter to lift a bass into a boat by the lower jaw with thumb 

 and finger, but it would be almost at the risk of losing a 

 thumb to attempt so dangerous a move with a big pickerel, 

 and we felt that we were in a "category." I had a mind to 

 cut the line and let him go, but cool-headed Bob scaled his 

 doom with "Here's the paddle that belongs to the canoe; hit 

 him on the head with that." Holding the rod in the left 

 hand ready to let the line run if he made a dive, and poising 

 the light paddle carefully in the right, I brought the sharp 

 edge of the blade down" on his head just back of the eyes 

 with a whack that killed him so dead that he never found 

 out how it was all done, and pulling him alongside, I readied 

 under and getting a hold on the "throat latch" lifted him 

 into the dugout limp as a wet dish rag, and without a sign 

 of life except a faint quivering of a pectoral fin. The paddle 

 was more deadly than the gaff. He was a fine fish of his 

 tribe, and when bung on the scale in the evening after being 

 out of the water the rest of the day, pulled it down to eight 

 and a half pounds. 



We fished along for a half mile further, hoping all the 

 while that Bob's turn would come next for a share of the 

 sport, but not a nibble was there for any of us, and the sun 

 got hot again and the skipper of the holler log began to 

 feel lazy and useless and dried up, and it was a blessed re- 

 lief when the girls espied a maple bush near the water laden 

 with bright red leaves — even thus early in the season — and 

 demanded that they be put ashore that they might secure a 

 lot of them to take back to camp. 



We landed near the lower end of the swamp, and while 

 the twins were robbing the maple bush of its treasures 

 and hunting wild flowers and ferns along the shore, I crossed 

 a small field and took the road leading along the foot of the 

 hills in search of "a clear, cold stream or babbling brook" 

 (Knots), "fur the 'hickory branch' o' the Jones family was 

 a-gittin' powerful dry." I found a little stream coming out 

 of the hills and crossing the road in less than eighty rods, 

 that if not quite so delicious as the fresh, cold buttermilk 

 Brother "Wawayanda" tells us about in his delightful "Camp 

 Flotsam" letters, was still most cooling and soothing to the 

 inner man; and lying prone on the ground the main body of 

 it was deflected from its course and took its way down my 

 parched throat till the volume of the tiny brook was seriously 

 diminished, at least between me and the swamp througli 

 which it found its way into the lake. 



Then I walked leisurely back to the boat, where the girls 

 had collected an honest bushel of bright maple leaves, ferns 

 and wild flowers, to which 1 added a score or more, of wild 

 pinks — I believe the girls so called them— which I had found 

 growing in the field ; and to fill their cup of happiness to the 

 brim, I was required to walk an old, rotten, moss-covered 

 log that extended out into the swamp and cut a couple of 

 dozen "lovely cattails" that grew in the water on each side 

 of it within easy reach. And then they sat in the shade of 

 a tree near the water and built bouquets for mother, Jim and 

 Fanny, and the Mullers that were coming, while the skipper 

 lay sprawled out on the greensward like a demoralized frog, 

 taking solid comfort and watching the gleaming white breast 

 of a loon across the lake as he rose and fell on the gentle 

 waves. It is wonderful how much real, unalloyed enjoy 

 ment two girls can get out of an armful of ferns, grasses, 

 flowers and cattails, especially if they are somewhat afflicted 

 with botany— as these two were; and while listening to their 

 pleasant chatter, meanwhile watching the loon, it dawned 

 on me that my attainments were rather more ldon-atie than 

 botanical — more fishy than flowery— and that it was cer- 

 tainly easier to tell the difference between a brook trout and 

 a catfish than to analyze a flower or construct a well -harmo- 

 nized bouquet. When the flowers, ferns, etc., were arranged 

 into proper bunches and pronounced "just lovely," it was 

 time for the hollow log to sail, and covering the big pickerel 

 over in the bow with leaves, grass and cattails to keep the 

 sun from baking him as hard as a ship's biscuit, the voyage 

 was resumed. 



We fished faithfully along down shore, the skipper taking 

 mental note of all the fishy-lookiQg places and locating them 

 with a landmark; but the fish had quit biting, and patient 

 Bob was unrewarded with a solitary nibble to quicken her 

 pulse. But she scored a triumph and evened matters up 

 with Miss Kitty long before we broke camp, by taking ten 



and whose score, if I remember, was three bass, a pickerel 

 and two goggle eyes. 



About a mile above Provemont we landed near a farm 

 house to eat our lunch, which we spread out on a convenient 

 log near the water; and if the table appointments in the way 

 of linen, silverware, etc., were somewhat meager, the fact 

 was not noticed until too late to speak about it. A good 

 healthy woods appetite never worries over the absence of 

 such trifles as a table cloth and silver forks, and our meal was 

 eaten with thankfulness. 



After lunch we walked to a small stream meandering 

 through the meadow for a drink of water, and as I stooped 

 to dip a tin cup full a snake about a foot Jong wriggled out 

 of the grass at my feet and started to swim across the stream 

 which was here not over a yard wide. Crosswise in his 

 mouth he held a little fish about an inch and a half long 

 which we noticed was still alive. As this appeared to be a 

 clear violation of the fish law, punishment was meted out to 

 the offender forthwith, without the formality of a trial. Be- 

 fore he reached the opposite bank I picked up a handy stick 

 and with two motions disabled him and threw him out on 

 the shore, but the villian still held on to the fish and I had 



