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FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 28, 1887. 



HARD LINES IN THE ADIRONDACK^. 



FRED MANNING and myself had been classmates. 

 The schoolboy friendship then formed had been 

 strengthened by many a hunting and exploring trip sub- 

 sequently made together. Though having paddled down 

 some of the roughest rivers of the better settled parts of 

 the country, despite the boisterous rapids, dangerous falls 

 and numerous hair-breadth escapes, we instinctively 

 longed for wilder scenes, and toward the Adirondacks we 

 turned for the gratification of our desires. Here was 

 plenty of game and fish, here, too, were numerous remote 

 lakes and rivers, accessible only to the lightest craf b and 

 navigated best by a canoe. 



Our ideas concerning this much talked of wilderness 

 and the requirements of a journey through it were sadly 

 upset and altered by experience. We had abundant con- 

 fidence in our ability to go anywhere that water would 

 float our craft. In 'this respect wc made no mistake, 

 for the waters of this region are as easily and pleas- 

 antly navigated as those elsewhere. Where we did err. 

 however, was in supposing the connections marked on 

 the map as existing between tbe different lakes to be 

 practicable. Instead of having an easy communication 

 between the innumerable bodies of water which are the 

 beauty of this country, we found but dried up, shrunken 

 brooks, along which it is customary to carry one's effects 

 until the next lake is reached. The "carries," as they 

 are called, are the great feature of the woods. The forests 

 themselves are so dense as to make it utterly impossible 

 to get a boat through them. To remedy this difficulty 

 paths of all degrees of badness, according to the fre- 

 quency of their use, have been cut. When a man reaches 

 a portage he pulls up his boat, empties its contents, fas- 

 tens in the neck yoke, and inverting the boat over his 

 head, marches off along the trail. Now the fun begins. 

 The seventy or eighty -pound boat, wh'ch to the novice 

 did not seem light, even at the beginning, soon becomes 

 an intolerable burden, which at the same time, unless 

 assisted, it is extremely difficult for him to put down 

 without breaking. Added to his difficulties is the char- 

 acter of the alleged path. It twists and turns with the 

 most alarming frequency. Often in the sharp bends he 

 knocks both bow and stern against encroaching trees, 

 while under foot is a mazy entanglement of roots and 

 loose stones, interspersed with an occasional boulder, all 

 made slippery by their coating of pine needles, the mo- 

 notony being enlivened by a tree trunk breast high lying 

 directly across the path, or a quagmire of unknown depth, 

 into which he must boldly wade. The frequency of these 

 carries and the immense amount of labor they entailed 

 soon made the canoeing part of the trip dwindle into 

 insignificance. We discovered that the chief requisite of 

 Adirondack travel was to possess as much as possible the 

 qualities of a pack horse. 



Persevering in spite of these difficulties, we found our- 

 selves on the day of the occurrence which I am about to 

 relate at Forked Lake. 30 miles from our entering point, 

 Blue Mountain Lake, and in a spot as entirely given over 

 to nature as any in tbe region. Between Forked. Lake 

 and Long Lake flows a small mountain torrent, dignified 

 with the name of Racket River. At various points on 

 this stream occur three portages, the first and longest be- 

 ginning at the foot of Forked Lake and extending three 

 miles. After traveling all day without having met with 

 any sign of human proximity, at about an hour and a half 

 before sundown we arrived at the first carry. It was 

 late; we were tired; we were heavily laden; and, as this 

 connecting creek seemed to be somewhat larger than 

 those we had so far encountered, ignoring the dull 

 smothered rumbling of the distant rapids and the impene- 

 trable character of the evergreen jungle that lined the 

 banks, it did not take us long to decide to float down, a 

 feat looked upon by the natives as impossible. Though 

 hoping to ride, we had not proceeded many feet among 

 the breakers before we saw Ave would be obliged to adopt 

 different tactics. Our river, which on a level was deep 

 enough when care was exercised to be navigated, here 

 became a torrent, a mountain trout stream filled with 

 rocks of all conceivable shapes and sizes, occupying its bed 

 so thoroughly that without pulling and pushing it was 

 impossible to make progress. 



Here the water would be a foot deep. Another step 

 forward off the submerged ledge and the bottom could 

 not be reached. It soon became apparent that there was 

 but one mode of procedure, and we stripped to our work, 

 retaining only our vests, which held our valuables. And 

 now let me pay an humble and altogether inadequate trib- 

 ute to the Adirondack mosquito, deer fly, gnat and the 

 rest of them. The insect plague of these woods is utterly 

 beyond the comprehension of those who have not been 

 there. Multiply the mosquitoes of New Jersey by a hun- 

 dred, add five times that number of gnats, and liberally 

 sprinkle the swarm with half a dozen other kinds of san- 

 guinary insects, and the winged blood-sucking population 

 is but faintly outlined. To this vagabond horde we had 

 to submit our tender cuticle. It felt as if one was flayed 

 and red pepper rubbed in all over. How we longed for 

 external paralysis! 



I had better draw a veil over that journey. One of us 

 took a paddle and guided his weary steps in the shallower 

 water near the shore; the other, grasping the painter and 

 letting the canoe float ahead, alternately climbed, slipped 

 and swam along after, now shoving the boat over the 

 rocks, now bracing himself in a roaring current to let it 

 over a cascade. 



In the midst of our troubles the sun set, and darkness 

 began to confuse our already perplexed course, while we 

 seemed to be as far from the end of the rapid as ever. 

 Our journey for that day was soon terminated in spite of 

 ourselves. Out of the gathering gloom, stretching from 

 shore to shore, arose an immense indistinct mass. This, 

 on a closer approach, proved to be a very large fallen tree, 

 the branches of which were clogged and heaped with 

 brash wood, the trunk being supported in the middle by 

 a rock at just such a height as to prevent the canoe from 

 passing under. The density of the forest precluded the 

 possibility of landing. We could not go on without first 

 unloading and drawing over our boat. Besides it was 

 now dark. 



"I've got the idea, Ralph," said Manning, "the rock in 

 the middle is, at any rate, large enough to give us sitting 

 room, while that splendid brush-heap will dry us and 

 afford us light for hours. Let's pull up here." 



Accordingly, after securing the canoe by wedging it in 

 between two projecting stones near shore, we got our 

 food and blankets, and by careful balancing on the log, 



crossed the flood that tore madly along. The rock moved 

 on inspection to be just large enough to afford us both 

 room to lie at full length. However, it admitted of no 

 change of position. Had either of us attempted to turn 

 over the probable result would have been that instead of 

 continuing his dreams hi warni blankets, he would have 

 found himself, after a fall of five or six feet, swimming 

 for his life in the deep water that swirled, eddied and 

 roared on all sides. 



To the rock f n ni our boat, a distance of seventy-five 

 feet, the tree trunk was straight, without branches, and 

 free from drift-wood; at the other side of the rock, for an 

 equal distance and partly on it, was a prodigious brush 

 pile. Under the influence of the grateful heat and by 

 the aid of the weird light, illuminating the angry torrent 

 and the wild overhanging pines and hemlocks, we had an 

 altogether romantic meal. Soon the fire began to en- 

 croach on our quarters, and after driving us into the far 

 corner of our insular camping spot, we were obliged to 

 get our pails and make a fight. While putting the tins 

 back into the canoe I was startled by a snapping and 

 crackling of the underbrush close at hand. Having left 

 my revolver on the rock, I did some tall scrambling to 

 get back. It could plainly be heard out there, even above 

 the noise of the river. Now we both realized the utter 

 impossibility of human presence, we also knew it could 

 not be a deer, as our shouting would have frightened it 

 away. From these circumstances as well as from the 

 heaviness of the tread we were not slow in concluding 

 that the noise was caused by a bear. 



"Fred," I remarked, "if we are not in a dangerous 

 situation it is at least very uncomfortable. Evidently 

 this natural bridge has for many years been a thorough- 

 fare for bears and other animals." ' 



The noise had now subsided and my companion re- 

 sponded, "That may be, but I am too deucedly tired to 

 keep awake. I shall sleep with, my rifle across my knees 

 and I don't think anything will get far on that log with- 

 out our hearing it." 



I felt about as he did and we were soon sleeping soundly 

 In the midst of a dream of being in a menagerie, in which 

 the animals were escaping on all sides, and just as the 

 boss lion, to the music of horrible roaring, bit me in the 

 side I awoke, very much relieved to find the roaring to 

 be the sound of the water, and the bite, a dig in the ribs 

 from my chum. 



"What's the matter?" I exclaimed. 



"Rain," was the laconic reply. 



We fixed things in the canoe as well as possible, and 

 each of us crawling under his rubber blanket, giving up 

 all thought of sleep, simply doing his best to keep dry, 

 lay still too full for utterance. 



"Hist! What's that?" 



"Keep quiet, ' I responded; "perhaps it's game. Are 

 you ready?*' 



The animal which we had thought a bear and which 

 was probably routed out by the rain that awoke us now 

 crashed clear of the trees, and slowly picking its way 

 among the wet rocks in the shallow water near shore, 

 made straight toward our log. The last embers of our 

 fire had been extinguished |by the rain, and as there was 

 no moon and the sky densely clouded, it was difficult to 

 see an object many feet away. 



"Now Fred," I whispered, "keep cool. We want to 

 make sure work of this fellow. Wait until he gets well 

 on the white log, so that we can plainly see him, then 

 we'll fire together." 



The animal now smelt our food. Digging its claws 

 firmly into the bark, it advanced with deliberation, snif- 

 fing at every step. Waiting until it had covered a third 

 of the distance that we might make out its form, we 

 raised ourselves to take aim. With the movement the 

 brute, evidently not having been aware of our presence, 

 stood still, showing his teeth and growling angrily. It 

 was where it could not turn around, and evidently had 

 no desire to retreat. Whatever his intentions were, their 

 execution was cut short by my command of "Fire." 

 With the flash and report a heavy, shaggy body slipped 

 partly into the river; and then there was clawing, scratch- 

 ing and flying of bark to regain the lost position. As the 

 now infuriated animal, snarling frightfully, was about to 

 reinstate himself, we rose to our feet and gave it another 

 volley. This time a dull splash was the only reply, and 

 a dead carcass drifted down the tide. We broke into a 

 wild shout, which, had our foe been alive to hear, would 

 certainly have made it beat a retreat. 



"Well," said Manning, "a few minutes ago we were 

 grumbling about the rain. For my part, I am very glad 

 we had it. Were it not for the rain, I doubt not but we 

 would have been awakened by having that fellow's black 

 muzzle thrust right into our faces. Even with the chance 

 we had, he was rather an ugly customer." 



We now looked at our watches and found it to be only 

 one o'clock. A month seemed to have passed since we 

 had landed here. How the dull cold dark horns dragged 

 wearily along, as we lay crouching beneath our rubber 

 blankets trying to escape the steady pelting of the rain. 

 Still we had our exciting experience to discuss, that was 

 something to allay our suffering. At last came the 

 gloomy, misty, dreamy dawn of a rainy morning. When 

 we arose and stretched our stiff limbs prepartory to a 

 start, there, only a few rods away among the rocks, lay 

 the half submerged form of the bear we had shot during 

 the night. 



Our clothes were pretty wet, and we made "no bones" 

 of plunging in just as we were. When we came up 

 to our victim we hauled it upon a rock; and, as the car- 

 cass was too heavy to carry, merely stripped off the skin 

 and removed some of the choicest meat. A mile more of 

 the rough traveling of the day before found us once more 

 on navigable water. This continued another mile to But- 

 termilk Falls, where there is a very short carry and we 

 had been informed we would find an uninhabited "camp" 

 or log shanty. We were soon ensconced in this, sitting 

 on a floor of fragrant balsam boughs and trying desper- 

 ately to make a fire out of wet wood. Here we camped 

 all day and night, drying our effects, roasting bear's meat, 

 and recuperating generally. 



The next day we comfortably reached Long Lake. Here 

 there is an hotel and a feeble attempt at a settlement. 

 At this place we were the heroes of the hour. Here, 

 while comfortably enjoying our laurels, we will leave you, 

 merely remarking that' though we staid a month longer 

 in bhe woods and had many adventures, there was none 

 of our experiences where the disagreeable entered so 

 largely as m this one, in which we outdid and nearly un- 

 did ourselves. Ralph K, Wing. 



MISSOURI BEEF MATCHES. 



CAPE GIRARDEAU COUNTY, Missouri. — Editor 

 Forest and Stream: Have any of your readers fol- 

 lowed the sport of shooting matches, or shooting for beef,: 

 watches, guns, etc? It is our custom in this part of the. 

 world to meet generally on Saturdays during the latter 

 part of summer and fall to shoot for cattle. As we 

 gather, the owner of the beef asks the price he wants for. 

 his beef, and if agreed on the price, we fork over the 

 money. Each one can go in as much as he wants; some 

 go SI, some $2, some even more, according to the value 

 of the beef and the number of the shooters' If more is> 

 made up than the value of the beef, the surplus will be a 

 money prize. We divide the beef into five choices— two > 

 hindquarters, two forequarters, and the hide and tallow. 

 We generally shoot six shoots for $1; one who puts in 

 $1.50 will be allowed nine shots, and the rest in propor- 

 tion. We shoot at 60yds. with a rest and 4yds. off-hand. 

 Each of the shooters fixes his own target. We take' 

 boards, burn them black, and tack a white paper on the 

 board. The center is cut in the board with a knife, a 

 cross cut X. From the cross we measure to the center 

 of the bullet. Whenever there are too many centers 

 knocked out or the measurement very close, 'we cut a : 

 bullet in two and make a center on the bullet also. 

 When all is ready for shooting some big, long-legged fel- 

 low steps the ground. Then we roll up an old log or 

 drive a short piece of a plank in the ground to rest on, 

 and go to shooting till all are out. Some five or six or 

 sometimes a dozen or two watch the boards, set the 

 boards against a tree, and a fence rail or a pole against 

 the lower edge of the board to hold it there until the 

 owner of the board has shot; then we take that board off 

 and put up another man's, whoever hollows first. We 

 shoot as much in rotation as possible, excepting that, 

 when some one has got three or four times as many shots 

 as others, he has to hurry up or he will be in the night 

 before he is done. When all are done shooting the boards 

 toe taken, and the nearest shots are measured either with 1 

 a sharp compass or a fine stick on the point of a pocket- ' 

 knife or Barlow. The best shot takes the first choice of 

 beef or money prize, the second best shot takes the next 

 best choice, and so on, until all the prizes are taken up. 

 Then the next best shot takes the lead that has been shot | 

 into the tree during the match. The rest get none. If , 

 two or three are precisely alike we call it a tie, and they \ 

 have to shoot over. 



The main shooters here are W. Fliigge, J. Young, Glaus I 

 Kerstner, Henry Borgf eld, F. Kuehle, H. Wagner, Charley J 

 Ulrich, Jacob Fisher, Jim Ervin, Isau Strong, Morris I 

 Young, Hy. Gartung, Ernst Wagner, F. KeniHskey, J. , 

 Koesler, Charley Miers, Henry Lincecum, Henry War- 

 ner, Henry Midler, F. Hargens, and what little is left of I 

 me. In one match lately I had one old gun which I 

 bought from H. Wagner for $4. The gun was called Old 

 Meat in the Pot. The stock was all broken. It is in fact: 

 a bad-looking thing to go to a shooting matcli with; buti 

 still, one day I heard of a match for a big fat cow, not far 

 off, at the farm of John Herstner. So I took Old Meat in : 

 the Pot and went too and put in a dollar. There were j 

 some fine guns, and good shooters, too; several from! 

 Gordonsville and surrounding country. 



They were tickled at my old gun, but still all of them! 

 knew who was behind her, and had not much to say to 

 me. The money was soon made up, the ground was 

 chosen and stepped all right, in an old dusty road, and 

 some of us went to the straw pile and brought on some 

 straw to lie down on behind the rest. That just suited • 

 me. Among the shooters were Fliigge, Lincecum, Kerst-1 

 ner, Allers, Wagoner, Ulrich, and several more of the 

 boys. When we got through shooting and measuring, 

 three choices came to me, among them the first. I had; 

 no conveyance to take my beef home that dav, as I had ■ 

 come on foot, so I locked it up in the man's smoke house: 

 that night and got a team next day and took it home. 

 Everyone on the ground was astonished that my old gun i 

 knocked out so many centers; she shot a large ball. 



In one match for beef 1 went to near Cape Girardeau, j 

 a man by the name of Spalding had the beef. It was a 

 large stall-fed beef, put up at $40. The shooters gathered : 

 in, and the money was made up directly. I had a fine' 

 rifle then, which I sold directly after the match to one 

 Jim Jones for $50 in cash. There were many good shoot- 

 ers and good guns from Cape Girardeau and vicinity, of 

 whom the brag shooters were George Hopper, Ben Mc-' 

 Clerry, B. Balm, the gunsmith from the Cape; L. Steam- 

 back Mease, W. Garrett, Hy. Vosterling, the two Joneses, 

 W. Penney, and several others. It seemed that I had' 

 the best luck of any. I won the first three choices, so I 

 took hide and tallow for the first choice and the two hind- 

 legs (as we call them) for second and third choice. This i 

 match paid me well. 



At another match at August Borman's for a good beef, 

 I had just swapped off my target gun for a squirrel gun 

 which carried a No. 1 buckshot; it had a good barrel, but 

 an awkward home-made maple stock, too short in the 

 breech for me and too crooked. As I had a week's time ' 

 before the match was to come off, I took my gun to old 

 Orrel, in Jackson, a splendid gunsmith; he cannot be 

 beat for making an old-fashioned rifle shoot close. Orrel 

 is a splendid marksman, wears "specs," and will shoot 

 against any of them. He at once rebreeched my gun, 

 cut it out and put new sight and bead on her, but left the 

 old stock and lock, as I preferred it. I tried the gun the 

 day before the match and she did well. At the match T 

 could get no one to go in on me, so I shot out my dollar 

 by myself, and won first, second, third and fifth choice. 

 For the next Saturday a match was given out at Ulrich 

 for a $17 cow. The boys began to look at my gun, and 

 several asked me to shoot out a dollar for them, but I 

 refused them. Some shooters told me that I would not 

 carry away so much beef as I had the last Saturday. 1 

 answered that I did not know; but finally I took in one, 

 Henry Ulrich; he put in a dollar and I one; so I had 

 twelve shots, and won first, second, third and fourth 

 choice, all but hide and tallow. After this they would 

 not let me shoot this gun at a mark any more; so I had 

 to swap it off for the one I have now, and 1 got $5 to 

 boot and a nice squirrel gun which carries a No. 8 buck- 

 shot and is worth more money than the one I gave for it. 

 There was one match since in this neighborhood, when I 

 shot this little gun and got one hindleg. C. W. M. 



White Uptheghove & McLeman, Valparaiso, Tnd., ±'or now 

 catalogue of sportsmen's aud civil engineers' ww&r.—Adv. 



