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FOREST AND STREAM, 



[Aw. 25, 1887. 



GAME IN THE PARK. 



MAMMOTH HOT SPRINGS.— In a trip made through 

 the Park in the early part of July, our party saw 

 deer and elk in Gibbon Meadow, antelope in Hayden 

 Valley, and bear on Mt. "Washburn, besides seeing a great 

 number of bear tracks along the lake shore, tracks whe e 

 bear of all ages and sizes had walked along the beach 

 and trails. Elk and deer signs were seen everywhere, as 

 the game is now scattered all over the country. They 

 are in very small bands. A short time ago two soldiers, 

 while on a scout in the country east of Mt. Washburn on 

 the east side of the Yellowstone Canon, they report, saw 

 thirty-eight buffalo in one band, consisting of four or five 

 bulls and the rest cows and calves. This I think is the 

 band seen and reported by the Forest and Stream's 

 Mid-Winter Expedition. 



All kinds of venomous flies ?re quite numerous in the 

 Park, driving the game to cover during the day, so that 

 one is quite fortunate to get a glimpse of anything except 

 early in the morning and the cool of the evening, when 

 the game comes out t o feed. 



I hear of a great many elk in the southern part of the 

 Park; though not wintering there, yet belong there and 

 to the Park. A man who wintered" at Jackson's Lake, a 

 hunter and trapper, reports 15,000 elk as having wintered 

 south of the Park in the valley of the Shoshone or Snake 

 River. I believe this number somewhat exaggerated, too 

 large by several thousand. Yet there must have been a 

 great many. He reports that the settlers in the country 

 were compelled to drive tbe elk off the range so their 

 stock could get feed. Very few were killed, only when 

 meat was wanted; none for hides, as the laws of Wyom- 

 ing prevent the sale of untanned hides of game. He 

 further reports that no bison were seen during the winter. 



On about the 10th of July trout or salmon flies began to 

 appear. These are the best bait to be found for taking 

 fish; they are winged insects some two inches long when 

 full grown. We have no angle worms in this country, 

 but nature has kindly given us the salmon fly and the 

 grasshopper. I have often noticed that when a " true 

 sportsman " can't catch fish with artificial flies he will 

 take very kindly to grasshoppers and salmon flies. One 

 will often see a fisherman after a festive grasshopper, 

 striking wildly at it with a hat profusely ornamented 

 with artificial flies. The Yellowstone River is unusually 

 full of a fish, called here, " whitefish," "stone-rollers,'' 

 "suckers," and by some "gray ing." They are not gray- 

 ling but a sucker-mouthed fish with a projecting nose for 

 turning small boulders and digging into the ground. 

 They are quite gamy, will take artificial flies or bait and 

 will fight quite as hard as trout, but are not as good a 

 table fish. They are very fond of trout eggs and other 

 fish eggs, which their nose or bill enables them to get 

 from the gravel where the trout have deposited them. 

 May their number grow less. Grayling are not found in 

 the waters of the Yellowstone, but are in the Madison 

 and Gallatin rivers. H. 

 [The " stone-rollers" are a true whitefish (Coregomis).] 



Westcalong Lake Association.— Middletown, N. Y., 

 Aug. 19.— A party of New York and Brooklyn gentlemen 

 have organized under the name of the Wesibcalong Lake 

 and Delaware River Park Association, and have purchased 

 5,000 acres of wild forest lands in Pike county, Pa., for 

 the purpose of establishing there a game and fish preserve 

 and an attractive p easure resort. The property adjoins 

 the famous 20,000-acre tract of the Blooming Grove Park 

 Association, and is easy of access from New York by the 

 Erie Railroad, whose line skirts along the Delaware River 

 front. The officers just elected at the organization of the 

 new Park Association are: Henry E. Klugh, of New 

 York, President; Dr. Elijah A. Maxwell, of New York, 

 Vice-President; William Holbert, of Lacka waxen, Pa., 

 Treasurer; William P. Holley, of New York, Secretary. 

 The bounds of the new purchase extend back into the 

 forest five miles from the Delaware River, and include 

 the beautiful sheet of water known as Westcalong Lake, 

 together with other Binaller lakes and noted streams. 

 The property is already in its natural state well stocked 

 with deer and varieties of game birds and fish. The plans 

 of the association provide for the improvement of the 

 natural beauties and advantages of the tract on an exten- 

 sive scale by the preservation and propagation of all suit- 

 able varieties of game and by the construction of roads 

 and bridges and the building of shooting boxes and cot- 

 tages, and of a commodious and handsome club house on 

 the shores of Westcalong Lake. The Erie Railroad Com- 

 pany has agreed to establish a station at the main entrance 

 of the new park. — New York Times. 



Arizona. — Benson, Aug. 11. — Our game prospects for 

 the coming season are excellent. Quail are very numer- 

 ous and are so large now as to be beyond any danger of 

 drowning during rainy season or being captured by the 

 coyote. Deer and bear are reported very numerous in 

 the mountains, with a few antelope and lots of mountain 

 lions. The last have been so destructive among calves 

 and colts this season that cattlemen have offered a reward 

 for scalps, in addition to the bounty given by the county. 

 I am more and more interested in the perusal of your ex- 

 cellent paper, which in my opinion hasn't its peer in the 

 world. It seems to improve from year to year-, if that be 

 possible.— G. N. K. 



Manitoba Game.— Winn'peg, Aug. 13.— Editor Forest 

 and Stream: The duck season opens in this province on 

 Monday, the 15th, with fair prospects of plenty of that 

 kind of feathered game, though as the country becomes 

 settled you are obliged to go to the back lakes to get good 

 sport. Grouse shooting begins here Sept. 1. Numerous 

 coveys of young birds are reported in the vicinity of the 

 settlers' wheat fields, but a few miles outside the city. 

 No woodcock shooting in this province, but plenty of 

 snipe and plover. — Stanstead. 



Wild Rice. — Nantucket, Aug. 20. — Last spring an in- 

 teresting article on wild rice in your journal attracted 

 my attention, as the plant is not known here. I wrote to 

 the author, and he kindly agreed to gather me some this 

 fall. I have secured control of a salt marsh and pond and 

 desire to follow the matter up, but have unfortunately 

 lost the gentleman's address. Perhaps if you could pub- 

 lish this he would see it.— F. J. Crosby. [Wild rice seed 

 is advertised in another column.] 



Shore Birds.— Nantucket, Mass., Aug. 20.— A heavy 

 rain to-night gives us hope of the flight of the greenhead 

 plover stopping on our island to rest. We shoot them 

 from stands dug in the ground, over decoys; they bunch 

 up over them and frequently repeat this after the first 

 barrel, giving a second chance with the other. Bags of 

 two or three dozen and as high as a hundred are got 

 when they are plenty, but they do not stop here in plenty 

 unless stopped by bad weather.— F. J. C. 



New York Game Laws.— Compilations of the New 

 York game laws are issued in pamphlet form by W. C. 

 Little & Co., Albany (compiled bv Franklin M. Danaher, 

 Esq.), and the Eastern Fish and Game Protective Associa- 

 tion, of Albany (compiled by E. W. Rankin, Esq.). Price 

 of each, 50 cents. We can supply the first-mentioned on 

 receipt of price. 



Sauk Center, Minn., Aug. 18.— The chicken season 

 opened Aug. 15, and good bags are being made. The 

 game law passed last winter has had a wholesome effect 

 on the usually lawless hunter. Ducks and geese as yet 

 have not shown themselves, but there will be a good crop, 

 I think, from indications, in the spring. — Dell. 



"That reminds me." 

 223. 



riTEE usual group of lawyers were gathered around the 

 . L stove in Wilkin's tavern over in Springwater Valley, 

 one evening last winter. All the topics of local interest 

 had been exhausted and the assembly had settled down 

 to a sort of go-as-you-please salivary match, in which the 

 circle of tobacco-laden jaws represented the firing point 

 and the sides of the red-hot stove the target. Suddenly a 

 tall East Hiller, addressing the company at large, said : 

 "Say fellers, what would you do if you was worth forty 

 thousand dollars?" "I'd travel," said one, "go down 

 East and see the folks, what I aint seen for more than 

 twenty-five years." " I'd buy a bang up good farm," said 

 another, and still another would start a store, and so on 

 until every one present had spoken except Uncle Bill 

 Hines, the old hunter and fisherman from down by Hem- 

 lock Lake. "Well, Uncle Bill," said the original pro- 

 pounder of the question, "what would you do ?" " Who, 

 me ?" said the old ms n as he struck the bullseye. " If I 

 wuz wuth fawty thousan' dollars ? Waal, I'll tell you. 

 I'd hunt and fish daytimes and raise Cain nights." 



H. W. D. L. 



Address all communicatwm to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



MOOSEHEAD IN FLY TIME.— II. 



IN the morning we took a photograph of Joe's log resi- 

 dence, and then set out for Seeboomook Falls on the 

 west branch of the Penobscot. We did not go by the 

 regular carry road, which strikes the branch above the 

 upper falls of Seeboomook, but took an old logging road, 

 which would take us to the middle fall known as the 

 Dam Pitch. 



The road was pretty muddy and wet, but by taking 

 advantage of the stones and logs we kept comparatively 

 dry shod. Now and again we came to a fallen tree across 

 the path which we had to clamber over or crawl under, 

 but the natural beauties above and around us more than 

 atoned for what disagreeable features might be beneath 

 our feet. How green and fresh the woods were, and how 

 sweet the balsam-laden air. How good it was to be there. 

 The sunlight filtered down through the green foliage, and 

 flecked the narrow way with trembling flakes of gold. 

 The matin songs of the birds, and song birds in these 

 woods are not very plenty, and the occasional flight of an 

 insect alone disturbed the stillness. The ground fairly 

 sparkeld with the showy white involucres of the bunch 

 berries. Patches of blue violets bloomed by the wayside, 

 and the delicate little Viola blanda did not on this morn- 

 ing at least "waste its sweetness on the desert air." The 

 Chntonia borealis grew in great profusion, and though 

 they were nearly out of bloom, we found a few specimens 

 of the purple trillium (Trilleum erect urn) and the painted 

 trillium {Trillium erythrocarpum). We had accomplished 

 half the distance before our eyes were rewarded with the 

 sight of what we had been looking for all the way — the 

 odd sac blossoms of that pretty orchid, the moccasin 

 flower. But we found them, both pink and white, and 

 almost at the time the Scribe stooped to pluck the first 

 one William uttered an exclamation and said, "And here 

 is what I have been looking for." 



He pointed to a muddy place in the road and there was 

 the sharply defined fresh hoof -print of a deer. "Ah," 

 said he, "if it only wasn't close time." And he gazed 

 longingly at the delicate, cloven indentation. All the 

 way across we saw plenty of deer sign. At one place we 



{>assed the dilapidated and moss-covered ruins of an old 

 ogging camp, which had probably not been used for 

 fifty years. After tramping about three miles we could 

 hear the sound of falling water, and soon came out on to 

 an open place on the bank of the West Branch, near the 

 Dam Pitch. The stream flows over two ledges, almost as 

 evenly as over an artificial dam, while above and below 

 the current moves calmly along between the wooded 

 banks. Canoes have to be lifted over this pitch. 



Our first duty on coming out of the woods was to anoint 

 the exposed portions of our anatomy with the "bug juice" 

 as Lloyd called it, for the moment we stopped on the 

 bank every fly and mosquito in Maine seemed aware of 

 our arrival. While William was preparing to get a 

 picture of the falls the others were getting their fishing 

 tackle into working order. Pushing our way through the 

 alders we stood on the rocks and cast into the edge of 

 the white water below the pitch. The trout took the flies 

 readily, and by the time the photographer had exposed 

 his plates several speckled forms were reposing in our 

 baskets. The black flies and mosquitoes did not give us 

 much repose, however, and there were frequent calls for 

 the tar oil bottle, whose contents kept them at bay. The 



mosquitoes soon found out that their instruments of tor- 

 ture would penetrate our hosiery, and at once proceeded 

 to work on the calves of our legs. They had the advan- 

 tage of the flies in that respect. Every time we opened 

 our mouths to speak we swallowed anywhere from one to 

 a dozen black flies; at least it seemed so. William said 

 that when he was focusing they pattered against the focus 

 cloth like rain drops on a roof. Coming through the 

 woods we had seen scarcely a fly or mosquito, but among 

 the alders on the bank their name was legion. William, 

 who is natually a mild-tempered man ar d slow to anger, 

 came very near getting excited, and cnce the Scribe 

 thought— only thought— that he heard Bomething very 

 like a cuss word come from under the focus cloth, whence 

 the hero of the camera suddenly emerged and frantically 

 thrashed the air with the aforesaid cloth, at the same 

 time executing an original pas seul. 



The trout bit well for a while and we enjoyed very 

 good sport before we turned up stream toward the upper 

 falls of Seeboomook. There was no path and for a mile 

 we had a hard tramp through the woods. The Scribe 

 does not know whether the course we took was the 

 original "way of the transgressor" or not, but it was 

 certainly a "hard" way, where underbrush, fallen trees, 

 logs, bushes and a most uneven surface all combined to 

 retard our progress. We forced our way along and again 

 our ears were saluted with the sound of the water, which 

 constantly became louder, till we emerged at the foot of 

 the upper falls. The scene was picturesque in the ex- 

 treme, and worth all the toil and strength we had ex- 

 pended. We were below, and looking up into the wild, 

 rocky gorge of Seeboomook— the dread of the river 

 drivers on the West Branch— through which the water 

 roared and rushed and swirled in its narrow channel. On 

 both sides were great masses of jagged rock, broken and 

 split into fantastic shapes, through which the stream 

 forced its passage. Great patches of foam revolved in 

 the eddies and the spray dashed in the air. Dark groups 

 of pines and spruces stood straight and tall, interspersed 

 with the lighter green of the hard wood trees. The tout 

 ensemble of gray rock, green foliage, blue sky and white 

 water made a picture which seemed to us to "be the very 

 poetry of nature. 



Where a ledge sloped abruptly into a deep pool, a large 

 quantity of foam had collected, which covered the water 

 with a smooth white mantle, and on to this snowy sur- 

 face we cast our flies. The trout evidently appreciated 

 its value as an awning, for there were plenty of them 

 under it, and it was a pretty sight to see it suddenly rent 

 as a gleaming, speckled fish came up with a rush, took 

 the fly, and disappeared as quickly as the harlequin of a 

 Christmas pantomime. We got a good picture from 

 where we were, and then William clambered over the 

 rocks and exposed the remaining plates further up 

 stream. It was near here that James Russell Lowell went 

 moose hunting years ago. Cy built a fire and then we 

 cooked our trout and ate as only men in the woods can 

 eat, with a relish not to be found within a city's walls. 

 William added the spice of a little excitement to our 

 repast by tumbling head first into the fire, but we rescued 

 him before he was cremated. His white flannel shut, 

 though, was beautifully frescoed with streaks and patches 

 of black. We caught another mess of trout and then 

 retraced our steps, intending to get back to Joe's in time 

 to paddle around to the Northeast Carry and cross over to 

 Luce's at the We3t Branch end to stay over night, and 

 then proceed to Chesuncook Lake the next morning. By 

 taking this course we would avoid the long, hard carry 

 around the lower Seeboomook Falls, which are about a 

 mile and a half below the Dam Pitch. 



As we went back through the woods we twice saw the 

 tracks of deer in our own footprints, showing that they 

 had been there since we crossed in the morning, Cy 

 peeled a piece of bark from a birch tree, and as he walked 

 he deftly fashioned it into a drinking cup, from which 

 we quenched our thirst with water from a spring bub- 

 bling up near the path. How clear and cold and sparkling 

 it was. The day was warm and we were heated after 

 our tramp, but this pure, wholesome beverage which 

 Dame Nature furnished gave us new strength, and we 

 resumed our way, leaving a good portion of our fatigue 

 behind. The birch bark seemed to add to its flavor, and 

 we each dipped the cup into the sylvan, moss-rimmed 

 fountain more than once. We reached Joe's in due time 

 and his wife cooked our trout, and to the repast was 

 added a draught of his birch beer. 



The wind was blowing strongly, and there was so much 

 of a sea on the lake that we could not get around to the 

 other carry till it moderated, so we made ourselves com- 

 fortable in Joe's living room. Cy and Bill puffed away 

 at their pipes; William turned into the bunk and took a 

 nap; Lloyd and Harry listened to old Joe's stories of how 

 the caribou and deer were killed whose antlers hung on 

 the wall, and the Scribe prepared the moccasin flowers 

 and other botanical specimens. We hoped the wind 

 would go down with the sun, but it increased, and the 

 white-capped waves ran higher and the surf beat harder 

 on the pebbly beach. Perhaps it was well, however, for 

 we had had a hard tramp and our enforced rest may have 

 been a blessing in disguise. All through the night the 

 wind blew hard, and in the morning the lake was 

 rougher than ever, so we decided to carry the canoes 

 across to the Dam Pitch and go down the West Branch. 



Joe's son harnessed the horses to a sled, on which the 

 canoes had been previously loaded, and after disposing 

 of our impedimenta in the bottom of the lower canoe, we 

 started. We carried our rods so as to go on ahead and 

 catch trout for dinner before the canoes arrived. Bill 

 shouldered an axe, with which to clear the road of the 

 obstructions in the form of fallen trees, which we had 

 encountered the previous day. His brawny arms and 

 unerring stroke made short work of them. The sled 

 slipped across logs, bumped over stones, grazed a tree 

 here and stuck in a mudhole there. It went down in to 

 hollows with a rush, and then with yell from the driver 

 and a tug by the horses would go up the opposite slope, 

 over the ridge and down again, racking and pitching like 

 a boat in a gale, in fact the canoes had the appearance, 

 as we saw them over the bushes (the simile has been used 

 before) of being tossed on a tempestuous sea of foliage, in 

 which they were momentarily engulfed, only to emerge 

 again, as the sled encountered the inequalities of the 

 road. They rode out their rough passage in safety, for 

 they were firmly lashed in place. The sky was lowry 

 when we started, and before we had gone half way, the 

 pattering of a few drops on the dead leaves warned us 

 to put on our rubber coata and boot3, and hardly had wo 



