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FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Nov. 9, 1895. 



IN THE SWALES OF DUTCHESS. 



Fortunate indeed is he who in these bright autumn 

 days has a relation or friend in the country to extend to 

 him an invitation to spend a few days of his vacation 

 around the old homestead among the nut brown trees and 

 "deep tangled wild wood." And though chained to busi- 

 ness he may be, how he struggles; and if perchance be 

 may kick off the fetters, with what a bounding heart he 

 takes down his breechloader and hies him to the train. 

 As the iron horse bears him swiftly away from the heated 

 and dusty city and by the flashing villages and he sees 

 the forests robed like Joseph's coat of many colors, and 

 draws in from the open window the clear fresh untainted 

 air, how proud he feels; and knows that all is good and 

 that he is indeed to be congratulated. 



We had arrived at our place of business some weeks ago, 

 when we found awaiting us one of our boyhood companions 

 whom we bad not seen for nearly twenty years. Oh, how 

 good it was to see that genial face and meet that warm 

 clasp of hand; rf call the reminiscence of forty years ago, 

 before our locks had become frosted with time. He said 

 be was located ir£ Amenia. (Dutchess co., N. Y)., some 

 eighty miles from the city, and wished us to promise 

 to make him a good visit. We told him we went no- 

 where in the autumn days unless there was a chance 

 for a hunt. He replied that he had not fired a 

 gun since the war, but that ho would make inquiries 

 and let us know. Promptly within the week came his 

 letter, saying there was some game in the neighborhood; 

 that Jack Fitzpatrick, the engineer of the brick works 

 with which he is connected, was an ardent sportsman and 

 that his brother Mike had the best setter in the country; 

 that they had located more than one covey of birds for 

 us, and that after the first heavy rain and one or two 

 frosts we might expect to bag almost any amount of fall 

 woodcock . That settled the matter for Jacobstaff . Satur- 

 day, the 19th, found us about dark on the station at 

 Amenia, where we were met by Mr. Wm. P. Boardman, 

 bookkeeper and acting superintendent of the Amenia 

 Brick Co. On the way to his house, but a short walk 

 irpm the station, he remarked that the boys Jack and 

 Mike, in anticipation of our coming, had been out a short 

 time iu the afternoon and we might see some of the result 

 on the supper table. And we did— some fat woodcock 

 broiled to a nicety by little Kate, Mr. Boardman's hand- 

 maiden, he called her. 



Now, I am aware that according to the rigid rules of 

 the epicurean sportsman the true way to prepare this 

 most delicate bird is by roasting with the head intact, and 

 as some sportsmen contend, with the internal arrange- 

 ments also as nature presented them. Roast woodcock 

 are very, very nice; we would prefer them dressed. But 

 those fat, juicy fall woodcock broiled by little Kate were 

 indeed delicious. How she came to hit it so peri ectly is a 

 mystery. It was. her first attempt, we understood, at 

 preparing game, but these birds were done to a hair's 

 nicety. Woodcock, like canvasback duck, should never 

 be overdone, but the blood should almost follow the 

 knife, and they should be served hot. Thus were these 

 served. The juicy flavor of that evening repast lingers 

 on my palate yet. As we sat down to the table a knock 

 came at the door, a hand protruded presenting a quart 

 bottle of home-made grape wine something like 5 years 

 old, we heard later. It was in honor of the visit of a 

 representative of Forest and Stream, sent in by Mr. 

 Guild, a courtly gentleman of the olu school, who by 

 honest and consistent effort in business has obtained a 

 competence wnich in his declining years he and his 

 worihy dame can fully enjoy, and as it were truthfully 

 sit under their own vine and apple tree. Mr. Guild, we 

 were informed, manufactures yearly about fifty gallons 

 of grape wine tor his own use and his friends, and it is 

 goou. He also makes a capital apple wine that is very 

 appetizing. 



Atter supper we strolled down to the village, and at 

 James Numans — an army veteran, the stationer of the 

 place and a kind of headquarters for the sportsmen (an 

 Uncle Lisha's Shop, as it were) — we were introduced to the 

 two Nimrods who were to be our companions in the 

 swales, John and Michael Fitzpatrick, very intelligent 

 gentlemen, good shots and most indefatigable workers; it 

 seemed as though Mike never would tire. 



Tne following day was spent in reminiscences and a 

 short visit to the brickyard, where they were about to fire 

 up a kiln of some 75,000. From there we took in the iron 

 mine, about a mile out of the village, to get a few speci- 

 mens for our sporting friend Dr. Sevenig's cabinet. 

 This mine, it is said, has been worked for over 100 years. 

 It furnishes a fine quality of gray ore, hematitic in 

 character, that with a mixture with an ore up the River 

 Troy way somewhere makes a capital combination. 



Monday morning the boys were on hand with a buggy 

 and Cute, the black and tan bitch — genuine Webster stock, 

 and a good one she is too. They proposed first to try 

 the big swamps some five miles away, hoping there might 

 have been a fall flight, as the frost the night before was 

 very heavy. 



As we were driving by a small pond by the roadside we 

 remarked that on' one side where the ground was low 

 it looked snipy, just the place for a Seolopax wilsoni. It 

 took but a moment for us to slip in a couple of cartridges 

 (No. 9) and reach the low ground, where to our surprise 

 the well-known yelp, yelp of the greater tattler (yellow- 

 leg) broke on the air, and a couple of these fine birds 

 sprang from the edge and essayed to cross the pond. Two 

 reports, and Jacobstaff had opened the proceedings of the 

 day. 



We reached the swamp in due time, but an hour's thor- 

 ough investigation failed. Not only did we not start a 

 bird, but we found no signs, no borings or spatterings. 

 Another swamp or swale was tried with the same result. 

 Matters were getting lugubrious. ' 'Boys, the birds are not 

 here; they haven't been here. If there are any in the 

 country tney are in the cripples. Yonder side knoll of 

 oak saplings looks well. May be agrouse is hiding there." 



We had hardly got over the fence (and a barbed wire 

 one at that, contound them) when Cute began drawing, 

 and the well-known whistle, so dear to the ear of the 

 sportsman, broke out clear and resonant. As the philo- 

 'Cela twisted around a bunch of thorn bushes, it was 

 neatly cut down by Jack's right. A fine bird. Ah! how 

 grand it looked, fat and plump; a fall bird, full size, 

 and not mutilated at all. "Goou for you, Mr. Engineer. 

 What did I tell you about the cripples? We will find 

 more here." And we did. The next one got up wild and 

 wouldn't stop for either Mike's or Jacobstaff 's right barrels, 



but it was well marked down and promptly pointed by the 

 setter, furnishing an easy mark for Mike, who very com- 

 placently handed it over to us. Just after this Mike made 

 what we consider a very remarkable shot. A hare (vulgo 

 rabbit) sprang out and went skipping through the under- 

 brush. Mike let go at a venture and keeled over lepus; 

 but when he went to pick it up he found along side 

 another animal in the throes of death — a garter snake, 

 the neck of which was nearly severed with the same load 

 that had killed the hare. 



We tried swale after swale, but in all the day's tramp 

 we found only two birds in the low ground. They were 

 either on the knolls or hillsides, or on the outer edge of 

 the swales, and were I think all summer birds, i. e., not 

 flight birds at all. These are yet to come, and we opine 

 that Jack and Mike will give a good account of themselves 

 when they do find them. 



Suffice it to say we bad a good day, though we got but 

 one grouse. We only put up three and they were very 

 wild. The next day the wind came Up very strong, too 

 much so for a shoot. In the afternoon it quieted down 

 somewhat and we took in a few hours with the gray 

 squirrels. We found quite a number and Jacobstaff 

 regretted that he could not stay longer for a day with the 

 busby tails. We took the 1:46 P. M. train Wednesday for 

 home, well pleased with our visit; and shall long remember 

 the cordial attentions of veteran Numan, the Fitzpatricks, 

 Coz, Will, and others who made our visit so pleasant. 



Jacobstaff. 



BOSTON BUSINESS MEN IN THE WOODS. 



Boston, Oct. 31.— Henry S. Fisher, with Harding, 

 Whitmen & Co., has just returned from his fall shooting 

 trip. This time he visited the Katahdin Iron Works, in 

 Maine, and from that station he went three miles further 

 into the woods to Houston Pond Camps. He is much 

 pleased with the location; thinks that it is an ideal spot. 

 The hunters are quartered in new log cabins, with the 

 cooking good. He brings back a nice deer. Mr. Fisher 

 has a record for shooting a big moose three or four falls 

 ago, and the mounted head and antlers now grace his 

 office room. The antlers are pronounced by sportsmen 

 and hunters to be the most symmetrical they have ever 

 seen. He scarcely cares to shoot another moose, especially 

 if it is far away in the woods. The trouble and cost of 

 getting it out is too great. The sportsman who has never 

 had the chance to try can think of it. An animal bigger 

 than a horse to be got out of the woods, perhaps several 

 miles beyond the possibilities of any sort of a team. 

 Brooks, swamps and hills are to be crossed; the dead 

 animal to be drawn on a rude sled, improvised at the 

 scene of the shooting. A gentleman, who has killed his 

 moose in Maine, suggests that he shall never again try to 

 get one out whole. The head can be carried by one or 

 two men, the hide by another, and one or two trips can 

 be made for the meat. 



It is refreshing to read of now and then a disappointed 

 hunter; that is, if one reads the daily and local papers. 

 No disappointments are mentioned in such papers — it is 

 all succehs. So much success will do for the novice who 

 has never been on a hunting trip. A Boston gentleman 



whom I met yesterday, Mr. A. C (I must not give his 



name), came down oh the train from Portland yesterday 

 with a couple of disappointed hunters. They had been 

 inta the Moosehead region. They had a doleful tale to 

 tell about the ground being covered with leaves a foot 

 deep. At every step they made noise enough to frighten 

 every deer out of the woods Not a deer could they catch 

 a glimpse of. They hunted for several days in discour- 

 agement. At length their guide suggested that they visit 

 another camp, a short distance up the mountain. Here 

 they met one or two other guides, who soon suggested that 

 if the hunters would wait at a certain point jutting out 

 into a pond a half mile away, they would "be likely to 

 see a deer." If a deer was shot, they should expect $5 

 apiece. No questions were to be asked. The hunters 

 went to the point in question and a deer was driven into 

 the water for them by dogs. But, curiously enough, the 

 hunters say that the dogs made no sound. They shot the 

 deer and paid the money to tbeir guides, as directed by 

 the other guides. Withholding the names is obvious. 



Mr. E. Frank Lewis, of Lawrence, and author of the 

 well-known wool shrinkage book, is back from his fall 

 hunting trip. He was accompanied by Homer Sawyer, 

 of the Boston Rubber Shoe Co., and Harry Bradford, of 

 Fenno Bros, and Childes. They went to Lincoln on the 

 Maine Central, and from thence about fourteen miles to 

 Lee. The camp and guides were all that could be asked 

 for, but they "struck the deer hunting at precisely the 

 wrong time." The leaves Were off the trees, or falling, 

 and the rustling of every footstep was sufficient to startle 

 any deer living. Deer came very near to their camp and 

 they got very near to them, but the deer was always first 

 to discover the hunter. Mr. Lewis soon gave up hunting 

 as a bad job, and devoted his time to resting, of which he 

 stood much in need. One of the guides crawled on his 

 hands and knees into a swamp beside a runway, and lay 

 there till a fawn came along. This he shot; so they had 

 venison in camp. Neither hunter got a shot at deer, and 

 the partridge shooting was disappointing by reason of the 

 falling and fallen leaves. 



Smelt fishing is m high favor with a good many Boston 

 merchants, especially those who live in the outlying 

 towns where the smelt rivers are. Mr. F. A. Rein, with 

 Schlegel & Fottler, lives in Milton, and he visits the smelt 

 rivers many an evening. His son, 11 years old, is 

 more fond of the sport than his father. Half a dozen 

 smelt and a dozen tomcod were the result of the other 

 evening. They fish with a snood and two hooks. Shrimp 

 are in favor as bait, also worms. They have taken smelt 

 this season weighing 6 and 8oz. 



James MeCumstock, of New York, is reported to have 

 killed a monster moose at Wild River, Me., near Camp 

 No. 9. He came suddenly upon the monster, and for a 

 moment they stood eyeing each other. The hunter fired 

 at rather close range. The animal was hit, but not 

 severely enough to bring him down. With a bellow he is 

 reported to have charged upon the hunter. Darting be- 

 hind a tree, he had a chance for other shots, and the 

 moose was slain. He weighed when dressed 6851bs. His 

 antlers spread over 6ft. 



The Maine papers say that a couple of girls have ridden 

 their bicycles from Portland to Caribou, 374 miles, since 

 Oct. 1, arriving on Saturday, with both wheels in good 

 order. Riding through stretches of woods it was no un- 

 common thing to start partridges, some of which were 



very tame. They also saw deer on several occasions. 

 Moose and bear tracks were seen. 



One Boston would-be hunter says that he believes that 

 it is easier to get a deer in Maine than to get the dollars 

 to go with. Dr. Daintree is very proud of the mounted 

 head and antlers of his moose, killed at Norcross this fall. 



Nov. 2,— Here is the biggest deer story of the season, or 

 rather, the story of the biggest deer of the season, if not 

 of almost any season. I met a gentleman yesterday just 

 from Bangor, Me. He came down the day before on the 

 train with Mr. Crosby, the well-knowm taxidermist. 

 That gentleman told my friend of an enormous deer he 

 had just received or seen. It was a buck and weighed 

 3ollbs. Such weight of a deer seems almost incredible, 

 but from the authority through which it comes to me I 

 am inclined to think that it is correct. Perhaps Mr. 

 Crosby will inform the readers of the Forest and Stream 

 more exactly as to this matter. The deer came from 

 somewhere beyond the Katahdin Iron Works, and my in- 

 formant understood that it was shot by a member of the 

 staff of the Governor of Maine. The deer had a wide 

 spread of antlers, but the horns were not as firmly 

 branched ps is sometimes the case. But his neck was 

 most remarkably thick and strong, resembling that of a 

 2-year-old domestic bull. I have also just received a re- 

 port of a buck weighing 300lbs. killed somewhere in the 

 Rangeley region. 



For a few days there has been a letting up of the ac- 

 counts of deer killed. Doubtless the condition of the 

 woods — covered with fallen leaves — has something to do 

 with the fact. It seems that so far the proportion of does 

 killed is much too great. In going through Faneuil Market 

 the other day I counted twelve deer at the different stalls, 

 and there was not a single deer that had horns in the 

 number. Among all the deer in the markets here this 

 fall I have seen but two or three bucks. Special. 



IN PENNSYLVANIA FIELDS. 



Allegheny County, Pa., Oct. 30.— Editor Forest and 

 Stream: Forest and Stream is always excellent and is 

 continually springing pleasant surprises on its readers, 

 and the last number is ho exception, being full of variety 

 and goodness. I have read every number, beginning with 

 the first, and have so grown with it that it seems like a 

 part of my existence, and I shall probably read it as long 

 as I live. I have looked earnestly for local contributions, 

 but in vain. I have wondered if the local hunters' luck 

 is as poor as mine, and I guess it is, for I hear of no game 

 being killed in this vicinity. 



I have been out frequently since the season for squirrels 

 and ruffed grouse opened, and have not fired my gun at 

 anything yet. Quail season opens Nov. 1, but quail are so 

 scarce that it would be a sin to kill any. I know of but 

 one small bevy of nine, and they are in danger of being 

 potted any day by the army of boys and Dagos who prowl 

 around in and out of season, shooting anything they can. 

 I wish this lot might be preserved for seed, but I fear they 

 will not.. I have found a place containing a few grouse 

 and got them up several times, but the place is so hard to 

 hunt and the cover so dense that I could not see them nor 

 shoot if I did, on account of the ground being so steep 

 that it was hard to keep a foothold. 



The other day while in this place I heard a gray squirrel 

 across the hollow. The leaves on the ground were so dry 

 that I could not move without making a noise that could 

 be heard a long distance, so I sat down, hoping it would 

 work its way nearer. Half an hour passed, and hearing 

 it no more I arose to move on, when it or another one 

 scampered away not more than 50ft. from where I had 

 been sitting, and at the same time a grouse got up only a 

 little further away. I followed the direction of the grouse 

 a few hundred yards and stopped to listen. When I 

 moved again, his grouseship got up not more than 20ft. 

 behind me, hurtling through the foliage so quickly that 

 it was out of sight before I could raise my gun. I flushed 

 several more, but at such distance and in such dense cover 

 that I could not see to shoot. 



I have patrolled the back river, where there are splendid 

 resting retreats for ducks, three or four times without 

 seeing any, and one with less patience than mine would 

 be discouraged; but to-night there is rain and a strong 

 wind is coming up, and I am going again to-morrow morn- 

 ing. If ducks are moving south some may come to the 

 back river and give me a shot. After looking for the 

 ducks I shall try the grouse hollow again, and if I get 

 nothing for my pains but the tramp and a good appetite 

 for dinner, I will not yet be discouraged; for I love the 

 woods, and believe my love for them is growing stronger 

 as I grow older. 



When I was a little tot, so small that I could not climb 

 the fences without help, my grandfather used to get me 

 out of bed before daylight and take me with him to the 

 woods a short distance away to hunt squirrels. 1 was an 

 ardent pupil, and insisted on carrying the six or seven 

 black squirrels that he was sure to get over my shoulder 

 home, much to the amusement of my grandfather, who 

 frequently had to carry me and my load over bad places; 

 and the praises I received from my grandmother while 

 she fried them for breakfast, and the joy of my good 

 mother at seeing me home safe, did mucti to ingraft the 

 hunting instinct within me. And I believe that this love 

 for the woods has been the means of prolonging my life 

 and making a well man of me, for at the age of 20 I 

 began to show signs of that dread disease consumption. I 

 was advised to take outdoor exercise and as much of it as 

 I could stand. Naturally I took to the woods. I hunted 

 day after day in good and bad weather, climbing hills 

 that would make me tired now, sometimes reaching home 

 so tired and weak that I did not expect to be able to get 

 out of bed next morning. But at length the exercise and 

 pure air began to have its effect and I grew stronger day 

 by day until my old friends marveled at the change, and 

 to-day I have a pair of lungs which almost astonisned the 

 insurance medical examiner a few days ago, who pro- 

 nounced me in first-class physical condition. 



Those good old days, wnen there were no magazine or 

 breechloaders, when the game had as much chance as the 

 hunter, are gone forever, and a few years hence a poor 

 man will have no use for a gun. The rich man will have 

 the land preserved and what is left of the game corralled. 

 Even now hunting where there is game is almost out of 

 the question for the average poor man who lives in the 

 East, for he cannot afford the time and expense to go 

 where it is. In Forest and Stbeam the game shooting 

 is confined mostly to the far West and brother Hough's 

 favorite South. Ten and fifteen years ago where there 



