540 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Dm. SI, 1886. 



Who Shoots Deer with Bird Shot? 



Cold Spring Harbor, N. Y.— Editor Forest and Stream: 

 One day last month I bought a venison steak in Fulton 

 Market. It was a small round steak, from the hindleg, 

 and in the portion served to me at home there were two 

 fine shot which I judged to be No. 8s. The deer was never 

 killed with the charge that these shot belonged to, for an 

 examination showed them to be but a short distance under 

 the skin, and they were surely not near any vital part. 

 It is evident that some heartless fellow peppered the deer 

 without expecting to kill it; perhaps some wanton boy. 

 I prefer to believe it was a boy, for they shoot at every- 

 thing, and if there is one thing a boy should not be allowed 

 to have it is a gun. I speak from experience, for I was a 

 boy who roamed with a gun, and killed or shot at every 

 living thing in range or out, from a wren to larger life. 

 Speaking of venison, of which I am fond, there seems to 

 be a scarcity in New York markets of rib chops, which, if 

 fat, I consider the choicest portion of a deer. Dealers 

 say that saddles, long and short, are mostly received, and 

 that carcasses are bought up by restaurants. 



Fred Mather. 



Mr. Thome's Big Bag. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



The present wildfowl season on Long Island has been 

 one remarkable, in some ways, one feature being the 

 large numbers of birds that have been seen in some local- 

 ities. , 



Some local as well as visiting gunners have secured 

 good day's sport. Among the fortunate local gunners has 

 been Mr. Edwin Thorne, of Babylon, L. I., who on Nov. 

 23, while shooting from his battery, anchored on Yellow 

 Flats, opposite the town, killed 264 birds. Of this number 

 Mr. Thorne and his helper brought to shore themselves 

 253. The 264 birds were divided as follows: 249 broad- 

 bills, five whistlers, nine coots and one sheldrake. Mr, 

 Thorne used a 10-gauge lever action Winchester repeating 

 shotgun and Winchester Rival shells loaded with black 

 powder. Mr. Thorne having his home near the feeding 

 grounds has a decided advantage over any visiting gun- 

 ner, and has always taken advantage of the same, and has 

 made many good bags in previous years, but none to com- 

 pare with the one here recorded. W. 



In the Indian Territory. 



Loco, I. T., Dec. 10.— Game with the exception of quail 

 is not bo plenty as last season. I have been out three 

 times and have killed six chickens, ten or twelve ducks 

 and forty or fifty quail. 



There are no pecans this year, consequently the squirrels 

 are scattered out over the hills instead of along the creeks 

 as usual, which makes hunting them slow work, 



L. D. W. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



The Singing Mouse. 



One of the most attractive and artistic books of the season is Mr. 

 Hough's "Singing Mouse Stories," just published; but although its 

 mechanical beauties are great, it is not these that will chiefly at- 

 tract the public. They may no doubt commend the volume to many 

 a purchaser, but that in it which is really valuable is the tender spirit 

 reflected in the stories themselves, which will cause the book to be 

 read and pondered and re-read. 



The scheme of the book is attractive. The simple machinery em- 

 ployed is that of a singing mouse, which visits the author and by its 

 song calls up to him memories of happy scenes of long ago, and 

 thoughts on problems of life and death and past and future. These 

 are*given in a series of chapters or essays written with so much feel- 

 ing and so much sympathy as to move and charm the reader. There 

 are sixteen of these chapters, making up the 177 pages of the book, 

 and unconnected by any thread of story save the presence of the Sing- 

 ing Mouse. They touch a wide range of subjects, but through them 

 all runs a deep undertone of love for nature, and in all of them are 

 found sweet and tender pictures, memories of country scenes, of the 

 free wild creatures of fields and woods, of innocent childhood, of man- 

 hood tried and true, and of pure and perfect age. All these, under 

 the magic of the Mouse's song, are beheld again as once they were 

 seen through the eyes of youth, unstained by contact with the rough 

 world and unknowing of its evil, and they are Boftened by a mist of 

 distance which conceals all that was bitter, and intensifies all that was 

 sweet. 



Mr. Hough has a touch at once strong and nervous, yet tender and 

 sympathetic. Without effort he strikes, by some simple form of 

 words, that cord which in every human heart is stretched ready to re- 

 spond, and yet which most writers fail to reach, notwithstanding all 

 their striving, all the elaboration of art. In his writing is found that 

 touch of nature which proves the universal kinship of humanity. 



Indeed these Stories of the Singing Mouse are worth reading, for in 

 them there is that which appeals to every man and to every woman. 

 With a change of name, or place, or circumstance, the story is the 

 reader's own. They are stories of human things, told in a human way 

 and with a feeling so deep an insight so keen, a sympathy so broad 

 and a simplicity so real, that they move to sadness or to joy, inspire 

 pure thoughts, raise lofty ideals and so give renewed strength and 

 courage to meet life's heavinesses and to fight life's battles. They are 

 prose poems, which, if sometimes they fill us with sadness and regret, 

 also sometimes exhilarate and uplift us. But however they may affect 

 our spirits they make us better. 



Mr. Hough, who is a writer, a traveler and a man of business, is also 

 a philosopher, and we shall do well to borrow from him a little of his 

 philosophy. It will be helpful to all of us. 



From an artistic standpoint, the "Singing Mouse Stories" are en- 

 titled to high praise. In appearance it is altogether a book of the end 

 of the century; clear and handsome as to type, well balanced as to 

 page, and printed on excellent paper. The cover design is most artis- 

 tic, and shows up well on the green buckram of the binding, while the 

 beautiful marginal thumb-nail illustrations add much to the volume's 

 attractions. Thus these charming pictures are well set off by a hand- 

 some frame. . 



A Stray Shinplaster" 



Comes to us once in a while for a copy 

 of "Game Laws in „ Brief;" but shin= 

 plasters nowadays are scarcer than Moose 

 in New York; and 25 cents in postage 

 stamps will do just as well. 



FISH, ICE AND AIRHOLES. 



Bead before the Muscatine Academy of Science, Oct. 23, 1895, by J. P. 

 Walton. 



The destruction of our native fish during the cold 

 weather is getting more general as the country gets older. 

 We learn that during the last winters great numbers of 

 our best fish died in the lakes and sloughs all over Iowa, 

 and especially in this locality. In Keokuk Lake alone I 

 am told that car loads died. It is supposed they were 

 frozen to death. This has gotten to be a common occur- 

 rence of late years. 



In the winters of 1893-94 and 1894-95 they died in many 

 places where forty years ago they wintered well. In fact, 

 this fatality did not occur forty or fifty years ago. Very 

 rarely did we hear of such an occurrence previous to 1860, 

 It was not because the winters were not severe enough. 

 In the winter of 1843-44 there were seventy-three days of 

 continuous freezing, the ice got to be 3ft. thick on the 

 Mississippi River and in many of the lakes. No fish froze 

 or died that winter. The question is asked, why do they 

 die now and not then? We will answer that the fish die 

 for the want of air. The supply has been cut off during 

 the recent winters and no arrangements have been made 

 to supply them. The fur-bearing animals — the otter, the 

 mink, the beaver and the muskrat — were the great air 

 suppliers. These animals always kept the water opened 

 and made it accessible to air in a limited way, but suffi- 

 cient for the use of the fish. It is true that while they 

 supplied the fish with air the otter and mink lived on the 

 fish. I think the beaver and muskrat rarely, if ever, 

 touched a fish, but what the otter and mink ate was a 

 small amount as compared to the number that now die 

 for the want of air. 



The muskrat is the best friend to the fish. He either 

 lives in a house where he thinks there will be water all 

 the winter or at least where he can reach the water from 

 it at all times, or in the bank, if one can be found steep 

 and the water deep. A muskrat house in appearance re- 

 sembles a shock of hay from 2 to 3ft. high. They are 

 erected during the autumn months, and the high waters in 

 the spring and summer generally wash them away, hence 

 a new one is built every year. They are built with 

 rushes, roots, grass and mud. If one would cut a house 

 open they will find a nice arched dome, with a raised 

 platform above the level of the water on which the rat 

 resides when not out in the water feeding or gathering 

 food. We know how they look. We have cut open 

 many a one to get the rat after spearing him with a long 

 sharp, one-tined spear through the shell of the house. 

 From their houses they have roads running to other 

 houses and to deep water. To large houses they have 

 three or four of these roads. In the roads the rushes and 

 mud are cleaned out and they are kept in constant use, 

 the rat going to or from the house by no other route. If 

 the road3 freeze over with clear ice sufficiently strong to 

 bear a man, these roads make an excellent place to spear 

 the rats through the ice. My brother and myself speared 

 130 one day in the Big Sand Mound Pond. These roads 

 are white with air under the ice, carried in by the rats, I 

 presume for their own use, and to keep the ice from freez- 

 ing so hard over the road. This air and the open water at 

 the end, kept in motion by the rat, supplies the fish with 

 air. 



It is possible that the rat may feed on the fi9h if hard 

 pressed, but I think not often. He feeds on the roots and 

 nuts in the bottom of the ponds, and when the water is 

 not frozen, on clams or mussels. 



When the water is deep or the bank above the water is 

 steep he digs a hole back into the bank beyond the reach 

 of frost, then he runs another outlet under the surface of 

 the ground into the water, which he always keeps open 

 under the ice, making the same traveled roads with a de- 

 posit of air along them under the ice, running from one 

 hole or house to another. 



The otter makes his home in the bank like the muskrat 

 and keeps the water open in the same manner, but in 

 place of living on roots and mussels, as the rat does, he 

 lives on the fish that resort there for air. 



The mink is a regular pirate. I think he never makes 

 a hole of his own, but uses the muskrat's when he wants 

 a mess of fish. I am not familiar with the beaver. There 

 were but few in this locality. 



In shallow ponds where muskrats do not work the fish 

 usually die, while in similar ones with a few rat houses on 

 the side no fish die. 



In the early days the muskrat was abundant and had 

 his houses or holes in almost every pond where roots, 

 clams or mussels could be found. It could be frozen 

 almost dry; if the muskrat would stay the fish would live. 

 When the muskrats were abundant, as they were say in 

 1840 to 1845, one could calculate to find a house or hole in 

 use from every 60 to 100ft. along the shores of all our 

 ponds and sloughs. I think we can place to the credit of 

 the muskrat the preservation of the number of fish we had 

 at an early day in our waters. 



In deep ponds, where moss grows in the bottom, a few 

 fish survive the hard winters. The growth of moss, al- 

 though but slow in the winter, makes some air or oxygen 

 which the fish live on. If a person will go to a pond of 

 this kind in the winter when everything is frozen hard, 

 cut a hole in the ice and drop a hook baited with a live 

 minnow, he will catch a pike if there is one in the pond. 

 The fish in these deep ponds wear hollow places in 

 the under side of the ice which catches the air that rises 

 from the moss. During the past winter one of my ac- 

 quaintances struck one of these inverted hollow places 

 that had a little air in it and got a fine mess of fish. 



It is evident that if we have fish we must take care of 

 them. In connection with the legal protection we now 

 have, we should include set lines. For instance, two par- 

 ties set a row of poles and lines for six or eight miles along 

 Muscatine Slough. They had over 500 lines each and 

 made a business of it. At one time it was thought they 

 had caught about all the fish in the slough. Also some 

 means should be provided for supplying the fish with air. 

 For the present the supervisors should employ at county 

 expense some one to keep holes open in all ponds or 

 sloughs where the fish are during the exteme cold weather. 

 Or perhaps, better than this, keep a supply of fresh warm 

 air pumped or forced in under the ice. I am inclined to 

 think it would spread out and be more accessible to the 

 fish than a hole of small dimensions, or by adopting a de- 



vice now in use in carp^ponds, which is simply making a 

 muskrat hole with tiling placed below frost. And protect 

 the muskrat, who is a harmless, prolific animal, who if 

 not molested would in a few years help to if they did not 

 entirely take care of the air supply for our fish. They 

 can be easily protected, as they are worthless for anything 

 but their fur; the sale of it could be prevented as easily 

 as the sale of game. The Legislature should make pro- 

 vision for these purposes at the coming session. 



One word in regard to the habits and abundance of fish 

 in former years. In the winter, if possible, they gathered 

 in deep holes where there was moss, after the surface of 

 the water was frozen over, and when they began to suffer 

 the want of air they started out to look for it. If a rat 

 hole or springy place was to be found the fish went there. 

 In Muscatine Slough there were several springy places 

 where the ice did not freeze thick and it opened easily. 

 These places are well known to the residents along the 

 slough. For the past fifty years they have been in the 

 habit of cutting holes at these springy places and taking 

 out the fish. Large numbers were taken out during the 

 winter of 1894-95. 



We frequently have what we call a January thaw: If 

 this thaw is extensive enough and wet enough to make 

 water run in the slough the fish are safe. They leave these 

 places and do not return again. 



In regard to the abundance of fish in former years, I 

 will say that when a person would go along the sloping 

 banks of the river almost any still time in the summer and 

 autumn months he would see the wake of a fish that 

 would weigh from 1 to lOlbs. every two or three rods, all 

 swimming up stream, probably all looking for food. In 

 late years but few can be seen. Fish in those early days 

 grew to great size. I recollect seeing one that Mr. Gilbert 

 caught in the summer of 1838 that weighed 1651bs. 



We hardly expect to see them as abundant again, but if 

 they are cared for in this and other States their numbers 

 can be greatly increased with but little expense. We have 

 thought that if the fish were cared for at county expense 

 they would be considered worth something, and would 

 be less liable to be stolen by the net fishermen. 



Note. — The question was discussed at length by the 

 members of the Academy, and it was the unanimous 

 opinion that the Legislature should provide a way by 

 which the Board of Supervisors or some one else be re- 

 quired to protect the fish by supplying them with air 

 during the cold weather at the expense of the county. 

 Also that the game law be so amended as to protect the 

 muskrat. 



HOW THE TYEE FELL. 



The sun was just beginning to paint the eastern sky 

 with broad flashes of crimson and start the fog curls 

 winding up among the firs when I came to the head of 

 the rapid and fastened on a governor and a coachman to 

 start with. 



Down at the foot of the swirl I knew I would find the 

 biggest fish in the stream, for I found him there every 

 time I came out, and every time I found him he took a 

 fly away and then laughed at me. 



That is, I thought he laughed, for his mouth looked 

 like a grin, and he had a way of turning his side toward 

 you so he could get a better view, and then his mouth 

 looked more like a grin than ever. 



I was reasonably sure I could get a fair showing with- 

 out him, and I didn't mind the loss of a fly once in awhile, 

 so I didn't think much about him this trip. This particular 

 morning the rainbows were lazy and didn't seem to care 

 much whether they got foul of my hook or not, so I didn't 

 get as many as I was figuring on and was a little out of 

 sorts in consequence. 



I fished on down toward the foot of the rapid and an 

 idea got loose about that big one I had lost so many 

 times. 



I saw him rise once in awhile and I thought I would 

 just sneak up in a quiet way and see what it was he was 

 reeding on this time. 



A short time after that I was flat among the bushes 

 looking over at him as he lay in the stream, twisting his 

 broad tail like a screw propeller and balancing on his fins 

 as the water swung him about. He looked big and good 

 enough to eat, so I thought I'd eat him if I could and 

 wondered how I would get his consent. 



Then a yellow grasshopper, about a day old, I guess, 

 dropped down on the water, or maybe he didn't drop that 

 far before that big old rainbow met him; any way he 

 went out of sight very suddenly and I concluded the 

 trout was partial to that brand of 'hopper maybe. It 

 didn't take me very long to find another 'hopper about 

 the same size and build and get him comfortably seated 

 on the hook. Then I tossed him down in just about the 

 same way the first one fell, and — do you think the trout 

 was fooled? I should say not. He turned over in a lazy 

 kind of a way and I think he winked his northwest eye, 

 but maybe he didn't. Anyway he didn't want that 'hop- 

 per a little bit, and I got a trifle mad about it. 



I tossed all kinds of flies to him and he wouldn't look 

 at them, just sulked until I was ready to give him up, and 

 I caught my fly- on a limb overhead. 



I jerked it to free it and did get it off the limb— and 

 stuck it in the yellow silk top of my old tobacco sack that 

 stuck out of my coat pocket. 



Now, an ordinary fisherman would consider that worse 

 luck, but I juBt gave the hook a jerk and tore a piece of 

 the sack out. Then I dropped the hook and the wind 

 blew it out over the water and I let it blow while I got 

 out the fly- book. Then I laid the rod down and was 

 picking out the right fly when the rod took a start toward 

 the stream and I grabbed it. 



That was the exact time I found out that the big trout 

 was on the other end and chuck full of business too. 



He took a lot of line out to start with and went to see 

 some relative of his that lived about a mile down stream. 



That was a point we could not agree on, so he gave it 

 up and came back. He shot up stream, down stream, 

 across, jumped out in the air, sulked, tried to tangle up 

 with a fallen tree and acted real mean in several ways, 

 but somehow it didn't do him any good that time, and at 

 last I towed him up in the shallow water and flopped him 

 up on the bank. Then I took him a hundred yards or so 

 back into the brush, where I thought he couldn't run 

 back, and I sat down and looked at him. Then I smiled 

 a few times. 



After I had looked at him I prospected for the hook 

 and I found it clear down in his stomach. 



He was too cute for any kind of a fly or any kind of 

 decent fishing, but that old piece of yellow tobacco sack 



