424 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Nov. 16, 1895. 



Marlin and sent a ball through the shoulders of one of the 

 deer, which gave a jump or two and fell dead. My wife 

 and youngsters forgot all about supper and reached the 

 place where the deer had fallen as soon as I did. It 

 proved to be a 2-year-old blacktail doe, and the next 

 morning we had venison steak, grouse and mountain trout 

 for breakfast— not a bad spread for Rocky Mountain ap- 

 petites, you will agree. This was the only deer I shot on 

 the trip. It was too early in the season for successful 

 deer hunting. The flies being very troublesome the deer 

 keep in cover during the day and fed only after it be- 

 came too dark to hunt them. Grouse, although fairly 

 plentiful, are not nearly as abundant as they were 

 last season. This is probably due to the late frosts and 

 heavy snows, which chilled the eggs and destroyed nearly 

 all of the young birds. 



Contrary to my expectations my wife and children en- 

 joyed the outing thoroughly, employing the time fishing 

 and picking berries, and I have promised to take them to 

 the National Park next season. I will take a kodak along 

 if you think it would be sufficiently interesting. I shall 

 furnish you with a description of the trip, with views of 

 our camps and objects of interest. G-. A. T. 



BOSTON MEN IN THE WOODS. 



"When a Boston marketman finds it necessary, in order 

 to get venison to sell his customers, to go to a sporting 

 goods bouse asking that returning sportsmen may be told 

 that he is more than anxious to take any surplus meat off 

 their hands at a good price, it would appear that the 

 Maine law was at last affording efficient protection. This 

 request was made at one of our prominent stores last 

 week, and in my opinion is a decided compliment to the 

 vigilance of the Maine officers who have the enforcement 

 of the law in their care. The Maine officials were free to 

 say after the new laws were passed that a close watch 

 would be kept to prevent the shipping out of deer to the 

 markets in quantities, and although it was generally sup- 

 posed to be idle talk, it looks now as though they were 

 sincere in their professions. Every lover of game protec- 

 tion will indorse their efforts in this direction, and if 

 continued they can undoubtedly do much toward stopping 

 this illegal practice, and make it very uncomfortable for 

 the men who make a business of doing it. 



Besides being a splendid sporting country, the Mt. 

 Katahdin region promises to become noted as a sanitarium 

 for the relief of hay fever sufferers. F. J. Lewis, of 

 Washington, D. C, a sufferer from that annoying disease, 

 has just returned from a four months' visit up there and 

 found complete relief ia the bracing air. He speaks very 

 highly of the fishing and shooting, and made several trips 

 to the outlying ponds during the fishing season, having 

 fair success on all of them. In company with F, W. 

 Crane, general manager of the Bangor & Aroostook R. 

 R., he made one trip of a hundred miles. The two gentle- 

 men started from Greenville, going up Moosehead Lake to 

 Northeast Carry, and then canoed down the west branch 

 of the Penobscot. They had excellent fishing, saw a big 

 moose, and enjoyed every moment of their outing. As an 

 illustration of the panic which strikes terror to the heart 

 of the average sportsman who finds himself lost in the 

 woods, Mr. Lewis recites an instance which occurred 

 shortly before he left for home. One man in a party of 

 four who were camping out became separated from his 

 friends and could not find his way back to camp. Circling 

 around until nightfall, he became exhausted, built a fire, 

 and laid down on a brush heap to rest his tired frame. In 

 the morning he resumed his wanderings, and continued 

 them until found by his friends later in the day, On being 

 questioned, he stated that he had not seen the slightest 

 evidence of a path or road since his wanderings began, 

 and yet his camping place of the night before was found 

 to have been located on a plainly marked old tote road, 

 and furthermore he kept his fire up with logs taken from 

 a corduroy section of this same road. Had he followed it 

 up in either direction it would have led him to safety in a 

 short time, 



A friend just returned from the town of Wales brings 

 the best reports of woodcock shooting that I have heard 

 from any section of Massachusetts. The birds have been 

 fairly plentiful in that section for some time, and two 

 Connecticut shooters while on a flying visit succeeded in 

 bagging thirteen. Considering how extremely scarce 

 they have been throughout the State this fall, that is 

 doing pretty well. He also brings the pleasing informa- 

 tion that the Sunday law, compelling a close time on that 

 day, is being strictly enforced out there. It may be re- 

 membered that I made mention in a recent issue of 

 Forest and Stream of the non-enforcement of this law 

 in southern Massachusetts and Rhode Island. It is there- 

 fore very pleasing to hear that they have officers in some 

 of our counLry towns who recognize their duty well 

 enough to post notices in public places, declaring the 

 practice of Sunday shooting to be illegal, just as the 

 statute reads. In many places Sunday shooting could be 

 carried on without any special detriment to the birds, 

 simply because the men doing it would be satisfied with a 

 very moderate number. They are gentlemen, know what 

 is right, and would not abuse the privilege, but as class 

 legislation would not do at all, the law should be firmly 

 applied to all, this being the only way to stop the slaugh- 

 tering and banging expeditions which start out on each 

 succeeding Sunday from many of the factory towns and 

 cities. 



There passed through Boston a short time ago, en route 

 to their home in Chicago, a gentleman and his wife who 

 provide about as fine an example of ideal companionship 

 in all that pertains to true sportsmanship as it would be 

 possible to find. They are Mr. and Mrs. Lyman Blair. 

 Ever since June they have been in Maine, spending most 

 of the time in the vicinity of Moosehead Lake. Mr. Blair 

 has a summer home at Greenville, to which he takes his 

 horses each year, the driving around that interesting 

 country forming an important feature of their enjoyment. 

 After the shooting began this fall they made a trip into 

 the Aliegash country, taking with them Indian guides 

 who were expert moose callers. Near Churchill Lake 

 Mrs. Blair killed a moose, and while engaged at it had the 

 delightful experience of having a cartridge stick in the 

 magazine, the block failing to bring it up. With great 

 presence of mind she corrected the fault and fired the 

 finishing shot. Not many ladies would have the coolness 

 displayed by Mrs. Blair in an adventure of this kind, and 

 it certainly marks her as one eminently qualified to take 

 care of herself in the woods. Mr. Blair also killed a 

 moose, but was so elated over the achievement of his 



wife that he had little to say regarding his own adven- 

 ture. 



C. A. Kilhara, of Boston, has lately been down to Pock- 

 shire Lake, near Middleboro, Mass., duck shooting, and 

 in the interesting way it is done in that section Mr. Kil- 

 ham says the fun cannot be surpassed. Two brothers 

 living there have a comfortable house on the shore of the 

 lake. Attached to it is a pen containing many tame 

 ducks which are used for decoys; when the wild birds are 

 seen flying over, even at a great distance off, three or four 

 decoys are thrown over the fence, and by their loud 

 quacking soon attract the wild ducks to destruction. The 

 decoys are easily brought back to cover by an ingenious 

 method of feeding corn to them, thus leading through a 

 crooked opening in the fence. Sometimes they are put 

 out over night with a string and piece of lead around the 

 leg. If any wild birds are in the neighborhood they are 

 quite sure to be found in their company in the early 

 morning. 



An albino surf scoter, or, as gunners call it, skunk-nose 

 coot, was recently sent in to Frazer, the Boston taxider- 

 mist, for mounting. It proved to be an unusual specimen, 

 having white eyes instead of the regular pink eyes be- 

 longing to the albino. The bird was killed at Bourne, 

 Mass. , by a Boston shooter not many days ago. Frazer 

 has also received from Newfoundland four or Ave caribou 

 heads with antlers that are something marvelous for their 

 great spread and uniformity. The frontal plates project 

 out about 6 or 8in., and extend quite to the edge of the 

 nose. For beauty and size they far exceed any specimen 

 I ever saw coming from Maine. 



The regular winter exodus of Boston people to Florida 

 has begun early this year, one party, consisting of Mr. B. 

 F. Dutton and Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Morse, having started 

 a few days ago. They have gone to Homosassa, and will 

 stop at Palmetto Cottage, Mr. Dutton's winter home. It 

 is the intention to stay about a month, and shooting and 

 fishing will be the main feature of the trip. Business en- 

 gagements compel Mr. Dutton's return then, but he will 

 probably go South again after the holidays for a much 

 longer time. 



L. D. Chapman, secretary and treasurer of the Megantic 

 Club, with his friend Horace S. Dame, both of Boston, 

 leave on Nov. 7 for a trip to the Megantic preserve. Mr. 

 Chapman will carry in 2,000 young landlocked salmon to 

 place in the waters of Big Island Pond. It is also his in- 

 tention to look over the hatchery there, and to see what 

 has been done regarding the stripping of fish which has 

 been underway about one month. At Chain of Ponds he 

 will select the site for a new and elaborate private camp, 

 to be owned and used by a few members (Mr. Chapman 

 included) who have banded together for this purpose. 

 After all these matters have been attended to, the two 

 gentlemen will make an heroic effort to get some big 

 game shooting, devoting fully a week of the trip to this 

 purpose. 



Mr. Walter Spear, a well-known sportsman of Cohasset, 

 Mass. , has been having a good time on Cuttyhunk Island, 

 off Martha's Vineyard. Despite the fact of this little 

 piece of land being well out to sea and surrounded by 

 salt water, Mr. Spear found good fresh-water fishing for 

 black bass in a small landlocked pond. He was away 

 about two weeks, and in addition to the black bass had 

 excellent tautog fishing and some luck with the striped 

 bass. Cuttyhunk is a noted place for these last-named 

 fish. The New York Bassing Club have a club house 

 there, and have erected several fishing stands at the best 

 points for the accommodation of members. Hackle, 



A DAY ON LAKE ST. FRANCIS. 



St. Lambert, Que., Oct. 17. — An invitation from my 

 friend J. N., the well-known Montreal stockbroker, to go 

 for a few days' duck-shooting on the preserves of the 

 Pointe Mouillee Gun Club, together with J. L. P., the 

 banker, was eagerly accepted, and I can assure you the 

 time hung heavily until our departure, as good bags were 

 reported by each member as they came back, and a tele- 

 gram from Pepin, the guide, that "birds were in by the 

 thousands," hastened our going; so gathering our traps we 

 started a day or two sooner than we intended, as we 

 could not afford to lose the sport even if business suf- 

 fered. 



Jumping on the afternoon train we soon arrived at our 

 destination and found the men awaiting us. Hastily put- 

 ting guns, etc., on the buckboard, we started for the 

 "Cabanne," snugly ensconced within 300yds. of the feed- 

 ing grounds, and what a sight met our eyes— hundreds of 

 ducks feeding inshore and thousands more out in the lake. 

 It did not take us long to get into our gunning togs, to try 

 for a brace or two before sundown, but it being late when 

 we arrived our success that evening was a duck's egg, 

 only a poor miserable snipe falling to your humble ser- 

 vant's gun. 



Our hopes ran high, however, as the wind was from the 

 proper quarter, and if it only continued on the morrow, 

 our success was assured. Wending our way homeward 

 we were soon in the "Cabanne" enjoying a tenderloin and 

 a good cup of Indian tea that warmed the "cockles of our 

 hearts." E. L. P. supervised the cooking and he "did it 

 and did it well." After supper out came our briars, which 

 we whiffed for an hour or so, and then "lights out," and 

 in a few minutes we were as "snug as a bug in a rug," 

 dreaming of ducks galore. I had only dozed off, it 

 seemed, when whir-r-r-r went the alarm clock, but louder 

 still rang out our host's sonorous bass voice with en rou- 

 lant ma boule roulant, and with one bound all hands were 

 up, as no time could be lost, the wind being just right. 

 After some bacon and eggs and piping hot coffee the wel- 

 come "all aboard" was sounded, and away we hied to our 

 allotted blinds. 



The birds were so plentiful and hungry that we had 

 hardly placed out our decoyB before they came pitching 

 in, even as we were standing up in our boats fixing our 

 blinds. However, we hustled for all we were worth, and 

 then began the fun. First a double, then a single, then a 

 double, till our barrels got so hot that gloves were neces- 

 sary for comfort's sake, and the only rest we got was from 

 our man Pepin, who kept continually saying (when flocks 

 of twenty or more came in), "Wait, wait, don't shoot; 

 chase dem away, come back soon in small families and 

 you kill de whole gang." We heeded his advice only too 

 often to our sorrow, and instead of fifty -two birds that 

 day we should have bagged a hundred; but he has his re- 

 ward and we our revenge, for he now goes by the name 

 of "Wait." 



Our chef de la cuisine, E. L, P., was stationed about a 



mile from us, with Tom, the other guide, and rare sport 

 they had; and for every shot we fired they went us one 

 better, but they lost a golden opportunity by having only 

 No, 4 shot on that most wary of game birds, the Canada 

 goose. Nevertheless they tickled him enough to make 

 him cry honk, honk, honk in a minor key, and had they 

 followed him up might have secured him, as we could see 

 he was badly crippled. 



The birds are more plentiful this year than for some 

 time back, and the Ontario law prohibiting spring shoot- 

 ing is having the desired effect, for ducks know some- 

 thing, and when not molested in the spring on the feed- 

 ing grounds come back in the fall to their old haunts; and 

 until the Quebec authorities see their way clear to abolish 

 spring shooting, we in this Province can't expect anything 

 more than we are getting — poor luck. 



Our outing was in every respect a most pleasant one, and 

 the hospitality we enjoyed from the members of the club 

 was such as to be ever remembered. 



Two other members, Messrs. D. R. and P. S. , were 

 shooting over the snipe grounds, and they bagged in two 

 days seventy snipe and f our ducks, one being that most 

 prized bird down here — the mallard. 



The welcome they gave us when they came in that 

 evening was such as only gentlemen of their caliber can 

 proffer, and may their shadows never grow less. 



The club house is beautifully situated on the margin of 

 the lake and is built for comfort. They have also a fine 

 boat house adjoining, well stocked with boats, decoys, 

 etc. — in fact a regular sportsmen's den. The guides are 

 of the "ever-ready kind" and chock full of tales, and 

 could I tell you of the side-splitting stories told by Pepin 

 in his broken English, you would no doubt suffer from 

 sore sides, as we did. 



We were loath to leave such pleasant quarters, but busi- 

 ness must be attended to sometimes, and home we must 

 go; so placing our traps in the wagon we gave one last 

 fond look at our "happy hunting grounds," and with a 

 "bon jour, Pepin," "good-by, Tom," I sang impromptu 

 these four lines, which raised a loud hurrah: 



"Bon jour, le8 guides, 

 Bon jour, Cabanne, 

 Bon jour, Jes canards, 

 Bon jour, la gang." 



With light hearts, but with heavy bags, we were soon 

 at the station, and in a short time speeding homeward , 

 well pleased with everyone and the world in general. 



B, 



THE BEST DAY OF THE SEASON. 



Oct. 21, 5 P, M. First snowstorm of the season — a good 

 starter, about lOin. Last night the west wind sang a 

 mournful requiem foretelling the storm of to-day, and all 

 day long the snow has fallen and the wind has added its 

 share to the general unpleasantness without, but within 

 in my cosy den, before a cheerful fire, alone with "our 

 paper" and the recollections of the "best day of the sea- 

 son" (last Thursday), the day has been neither dreary nor 

 unpleasant. 



For the last half hour I have been lazily watching a vast 

 army of crows flying in the utmost confusion past my 

 window. East and west, up and down, verily the storm 

 puzzles them; but even as I watched them my thoughts 

 were far away, and went back through many years, their 

 aimless flight reminding me of a day when I had stood 

 with a dear old comrade on a duck pass in Minnesota and 

 watched an army of ducks in just such an aimless flight. 

 We had shooting that night. And again I thought of a 

 vast prairie in North Dakota, in the midst of a blinding 

 snowstorm, how acres of white brant flew and circled 

 around us, and fell easy victims to our guns. 



It's not all of shooting [to Bhoot. Thej pleasure gained 

 to-day is not simply a part of that day, taking wings with 

 the going down of the day's sun; but it lives on with us 

 always, and some day, when we have nothing but "mem- 

 ories," some little trifle brings to mind some other happier 

 day, and it is lived over again and brings sunshine and 

 gladness and loosens our "chains." 



Times there are that come to all of us when life seems 

 an "empty endeavor." Our friends one by one have left 

 us, some forever, some for a time; others have grown cold, 

 others false, and we sit by the fireside alone. Our eyes 

 grow dim trying to look into the beyond, but the clouds 

 are too dense and hide hope, even from our vision. We 

 have nothing left then but "memories," and the old 

 happy days will come back to us then and will be worth 

 more to us than the glitter of the gold we have hoarded 

 or the honors reaped. Let us all, then, take that good old 

 motto and learn its lesson well: "While we go through 

 life let's live by the way." We'll not "be sorry by-and- 

 by," be sure of that. 



But this is not telling you of that last "best day." 

 Thursday four of us — no, I beg pardon, six — would you 

 have me leave out the two best dogs in this neck of the 

 woods? Nate and Ben, forgive me. Well, then, six of 

 us started for woodcock. We planned to hunt about all 

 the woodcock covers on the east side of the river, after 

 finishing the "basset ground" on this side, but we didn't 

 have to; it wasn't necessary, and we didn't have time. 

 We found enough right there to keep us busy all day. It 

 wasn't an ideal day for shooting; it rained a little, snowed 

 just a trifle and the wind blew a gale, but we got them 

 just the same. The forenoon was characterized chiefly 

 by poor shooting all around, and even the fat man who 

 does not usually have to shoot more than once had 

 more misses to his credit than he could easily account for, 

 still when lunch time came we had a score of twelve 

 birds to our credit, and felt that the world held blessings 

 for us yet. After lunch we decided that there were still 

 two or three more birds there that we ought to get, so 

 back again to the cover we went. No one, not even the 

 scribe, missed now, and the birds went doWn in one, two, 

 three order. Darkness came early, and we had no time 

 to go to other grounds at a distance. A small ground just 

 across the river was reached by boat, a little 9-year-old 

 girl taking us across and handling the paddle like a vet- 

 eran. Three birds were found here, two of which were 

 killed. We had added eight more to our bag on the first 

 ground after our lunch, making a total of twenty-two, 

 not a very large score for four guns, but the shooting this 

 year has been very poor, and when we stopped we kn*w 

 of but one bird that had "got away." Verily, it was "the 

 best day of the season." Everett. 

 Adirondack^. 



