March 17, 1887.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



161 



near St. John. Inland we never get large bags, two or 

 three couple being a good day for two guns, at least near 

 Fredericton. The birds disappear from the middle of 

 August until the end of September. 



Snipe shooting on the marshes of the St. John River is 

 occasionally very good; I have several times shot twenty 

 couple in an afternoon, but this shooting depends alto- 

 gether on the seasons; some years good, others poor. To 

 my fancy snipe snooting is the best sport we get, and it is 

 a pity that the season is so short. Oromocto, Gagetown 

 and French Lake, near Sheffield, all on the St. John, are 

 very good places for snipe. The Tanfrarnar Marshes in 

 Westmoreland county are well known and much frequent- 

 ed by American sportsmen. There is a fine little marsh at 

 the mouth of Tete-a-gauche River, Bathurst, that will 

 yield good sport after a nor'easter early in October, but 

 there is no shooting there after Oct. 14. 



Chas. A. Bramble. 



Fhedekicton, Now Brunswick, December, 1SE6. 



CRANBERRY LAKE. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



W, R. Bishop, the hotel proprietor at Cranberry Lake, 

 paid me a short visit to-day. That reminded me that 1 

 spent the first two weeks of last September on the inlet 

 of Cranberry Lake and had neglected to report what I 

 saw and heard. I left Canton Sept. 1, reaching the foot 

 of the lake at 2:20 P. M. Hero I met Steve Ward, an old 

 woods companion of bygone nays, who, now a professional 

 guide, was to be a helper during my outing. It was de- 

 cided that wo should camp near the foot of the rapids 

 on the inlet. The sporting season had fairly closed, the 

 last guest had departed from the hotel, and the little 

 steamboat which plies the lake had been dismantled. 

 This made it necessary to raise a spruce breeze. To 

 lighten the burden, my driver and the ex-engineer of 

 the steamboat, Will Smith, took a second boat and part of 

 my duffle. In CO minutes from the time we drew rein we 

 were afloat. Dsrkness overtook us before we reached 

 camp, and a toilsome hour was spent in the flooJwood, 

 which had by the falling of the water closed up the chan- 

 nel. At 9 o'clock wo were in a good open bark camp, 

 and an hour later" were tucked under our blankets. 



Steve and I were afloat at dawn hoping to get a shot at 

 a deer, wliich, if successful, would enable me to send 

 some fresh venison back home by my teamster. This 

 was a well-arranged scheme and would have been very 

 nice if it had succeeded. The start was rather discour- 

 aging — overcoat and mittens on and an icy seat to sit 

 upon. Then the fog was so thick we would have been 

 unable to penetiate it but for having a sharp-pointed 

 boat. Half an hour of this business satisfied me that the 

 friends at home didn't like venison anyhow, while I 

 myself greatly preferred bacon. Breakfast over and our 

 assistant boatmen departed, we went fishing. Faithful 

 work until the middle of the afternoon only brought to 

 creel a few small trout, and they were taken *at odd places 

 on the rapids. The day had been fine, but the night was 

 too cold to think of floating, and we turned in early. 

 The next day we went down through the flood wood, 

 over into che Dead Creek country and looked up the trail 

 to Cat Mountain Pond. A glimpse of two deer taking 

 a hurried departure out of range of the rifle gave us 

 encouragement. Blue herons, loons and black ducks 

 were occasionally seen and a very pleasant day was 

 passed; scarcely less so that we had nothing to show for 

 it on our return to camp at evening. 



That night we had visitors at camp. Visitors at camp 

 in the woods are always welcome or unwelcome. There 

 is no half-way about it. These were two guides who had 

 been on a little hunt on their own account. They had 

 the meat and hides of two deer which they said they 

 killed at daylight down on the lake. The fact that they 

 had a dog with them, and that the dog was lame, was 

 very suggestive of the manner in which the deer might 

 have been killed. The venison was very good, however, 

 and our thanks were due them for a generous piece left 

 behind when they took their departure next morning up 

 the river. 



I had intended staying at this canip the entire trip, but 

 by midday changed my mind and we packed up and 

 started up stream. First came half a mile of still water, 

 then a hard carry past three miles of rapids. It was 9 

 o'clock that night before we were snug in camp on the 

 still water above. At this place, known as the Bridge on 

 the Inlet, though the bridge has been carried away by 

 high water and never replaced, a Mr. Steinberger was 

 just completing a frame house intended for his own 

 family and to accommodate a few guests. While such a 

 stopping place will be a convenience to sportsmen belated 

 in making camp or in bad weather, it is hardly probable 

 it will get patronage enough to make it pay the proprie- 

 tor. Here we saw several friends who had just come in 

 by road from Fine, and we read our first accounts of the 

 Charleston earthquake. 



At this particular place, and some fifty rods from where 

 the new house is building, my nerves got quite a shaking 

 up one night some nineteen or twenty years ago, and, as 

 it was one of those little experiences we always remem- 

 ber, I will relate it. It was early in the month of May, 

 and I had arranged with a friend to make a trip to Cat 

 Mountain Pond, a pond at that time undiscovered by Ver- 

 planck Colvin, and probably unknown save to a few. 

 There is fair fishing there for quarter- j)ound trout to-day, 

 but twenty years ago the water fairly tasted fishy. We 

 were to go by Foot & Walker's line from Fine, the dis- 

 tance being about twenty-five miles. My friend had this 

 advantage over me — a log that I could go under he could 

 step over; and as he had to come five miles on his road to 

 where I lived, I thought I would pull out early and let 

 him overtake me. I attended to my part of the pro- 

 gramme, telling my people I would stop at the inlet and 

 wait for them if not overtaken sooner. Half an hour 

 after I left word came that he covdd not go, but in happy 

 unconsciousness I trudged along, taking longer and more 

 frequent rests as the hours wore away. "Thus it was 

 nearly night when I readied the inlet. In those days 

 there was then an old log cabin built against a large split 

 rock, the rock forming one end of the shanty and the 

 back for the fireplace. At this end the roof was left off 

 for a little distance for the smoke to escape, and at this 

 particular time the door was gone. As the night was cold 

 I interwove spruce boughs the best I could to stop tho 

 wind, and lay close up to the little fire I had built to keep 

 warm. In those days we thought a blanket a useless 

 burden. 



Some time in tho night I awoke. I was lying on my 

 right side, my back to tho embers. I was wide awake 

 all at once, but did not stir. Something heavy, warm 

 and soft was resting on my left side. What could it be? 

 The shanty ground was infested by hedgehogs — not de- 

 sirable bedfellows. The ridge was a runway for panthers 

 and wolves, or had been in oygone days, and even then I 

 knew that traps were set for them oh either side within 

 a mile. I thought of the stories I had read of savage 

 animals finding people asleep and lying down beside 

 them until they would awake. My hair "riz" a little. I 

 thought of the story I had heard how once upon a time 

 a fisherman had waded the middle of this same stream 

 for a mile toward camp while a panther followed along 

 the shore. I thought how Old Tom had, within a very 

 few years trapped or shot several of the varmints within 

 the radius of five miles from where I was. I thought of 

 my rifle standing in the corner a few feet away and won- 

 dering how I could get it most quickly if I needed it. I 

 wondered what the — mischief — was on top of me. I 

 reasoned that I must find out without disturbing my 

 visitor, if possible, and then think what to do if I was 

 left time to think. By turning my head a quarter way 

 around I could see. But would not the least stir I made 

 bring trouble, if trouble there was to come? Well, I had 

 to risk it anyway. So far I had breathed regularly and 

 kept perfectly still, but knew I could not continue doing 

 so for any considerable time, I would get nervous. Slowly 

 —an inch at a time, I turnod my head. 



The shout that rang through the cabin could have been 

 heard a mile away, and I nearly died laughing to see 

 that great big rabbit fry to find the hole he came in at. I 

 laughed, myself to sleep again. 



It was noon when Steve dipped his paddle in the water 

 on our start for the New York Camp, noine dozen miles 

 up stream. Half way up, at the Battle Ground, we 

 stopped for luncheon. The Battle Ground is a name 

 given to an old camp ground whero two guides once 

 settled a. little difference of opinion on some subject. 

 Unwritten history says that one got a black eye, and the 

 other got dumped into the river. 



It was a beautiful day. I enjoyed very much lounging 

 on the bow seat while Steve's strong arms wielded the 

 paddle. We arrived at camp at 5:30. As the camp would 

 easily accommodate twenty we had lots of house room, 

 and after a hearty dinner and a pleasant chat turned in. 



At daylight next morning, with rod and gun, we pad- 

 dled up to the Plains, keeping a sharp outlook for deer. 

 Saw none, and turning about put down the gun and took 

 up the rod. I am no fly- fisherman, and this morning was 

 frying to swap venison for trout. Only three or four 

 flngerlings got the worst of the deal for the first half 

 mile. These we dropped over and on to a sand bar on 

 the right hand side of the stream, while on the left was 

 some 5ft. of water with a gravel bottom and no particular 

 cover. Nothing in fact to indicate a better chance for a 

 trout than could be found every ten rods for as many 

 miles down the stream. "Now, go slow and you'll get a 

 good one." "How large?" "Oh, a couple of pounds, 

 perhaps." "Think sc? I am afraid I will not get any, 

 then, for I doubt my hook holding a two-pounder. How- 

 ever, here goes," and as the line sank and was drawn 

 toward the surface with that peculiar twist of the wrist 

 (a novice once said to me, "I don't see how it is that you 

 get all the trout and I none, for I watch you and wiggle 

 my hole just as you do."), a broad gleam of gold 

 flashed beneath it and set my heart pounding 

 like a hammer on an anvil. A second cast and a half- 

 pounder showed himself plainly. A third cast and — 

 "Moses! Steve, he'd reach half across the river." "Well, 

 why don't you catch him. I told you ho was there. Cast 

 again and a little lower down, and — is it a log I am 

 hitched to?" Mighty lively log I found, as I struck as hard 

 as I dared, and the fish started downward and down 

 stream. Scientific fishermen call it "giving him the butt," 

 I believe. My rod bent double. I could almost hold 

 tip and butt in the same hand. A few brief moments 

 and he tinned up stream. In a moment more I had him 

 in sight, and the rest of the battle was fought out on that 

 line. The struggle was brief, not over ten minutes, and 

 Steve reached down into the water and slipped thumb 

 and finger into his gills and took him in. As he came 

 over the side of the boat the hook dropped out. I inclose 

 the hook. This was not the trout I had seen. It was a 

 shorter one. But I wanted no more. What if there was 

 another big one there, he would keep for me or some one 

 else. We paddled back to camp, and river weight (we 

 had no scales) made our fish go 4 to 4ilbs. He measured 

 19+in. long, 4* deep, 2 J through from side to side, and 111 

 in girth. His tail was 5in. broad, and a stick O^in. long 

 could be set between his open jaws. It was the largest 

 trout I had caught in many years, though Steve was with 

 a party earlier in the season who caught two the same 

 day of about equal size at this same hole. Toward night 

 we dropped down the river to Gouverneur Camp and 

 floated. It was cold and foggy. I got a glimpse of eyes 

 once for a moment only, and we drove another out of a 

 big cove. We soon got enough of the sport: went to 

 camp, built a fire, warmed up and turned in, to be awak- 

 ened long after daylight by the chatter of the blue jays. 

 Returned to our home camp, had breakfast, cleaned the 

 guns and paddled up to the Plains. Leaving our boat at 

 a chain of rocks we walked up to the old cabin, a mile or 

 more. It was hot, and the drink from the almost ice cold 

 spring was very refreshing. 



While here two hunters came for provisions from Clear 

 Pond, where they said they were camped and were 

 hounding deer into Big Deer Pond (Colvin's Lost Lake). 

 Clear Pond is in St. Lawrence county, Big Deer just out 

 of it. They reported another party at Grass Pond who 

 were hounding into Mud Lake. Grass Pond is in St. 

 Lawrence and so is part of Mud Lake. As they said our 

 game protector (Leonard) had visited the Grass Pond 

 party and advised them that it was "all right" so long as 

 they did not put the dogs out in St. Lawrence county, I 

 did not see as I could do more than wish that we had a 

 protector who would give different advice. 



During an hour's stay at the cabin two men on then- 

 way out of the woods came from Five Ponds, where they 

 had left several others hounding. Five Ponds are just 

 outside St. Lawrence county. 



That night we were tired and turned in early. Our 

 slumbers were disturbed by the quill pig who got his 

 head into a corner of the shanty, where Steve could only 

 make caroms on his back with a club and I was obliged 

 to decide the matter with the Marlin. 



Next morning we decided to break camp for good and 



drop down to Gouverneur Camp; so we fished along down 

 and caught small ones, enough for dinner. Here we were 

 I joined by Archie Muir, forester for this section. At night 

 the moon shone until 1 o'clock, when we started out, 

 Muir down and we up the river. The deer were well 

 educated here, and a breaking of brush or a splash in the 

 water around some bend was all the indications we had 

 of game for some two miles, when, rounding a bend up 

 at the next one and in the open water at the mouth of a 

 cove stood a deer, It was a long shot, but the light 

 showed him plainly, and we loaded a nice yearling buck 

 into the boat and returned to carnp. Here we loafed for 

 a couple of days and then dropped down to the bridge 

 again. That night we were out on the river, but a hard 

 shower, the first for the trip, drove us to shelter. The 

 next day the weather was colder and seemed to threaten 

 more storm. I had planned to go down through the lake, 

 but changed my mind, and leaving Steve to go that route 

 alone, I hired Steinberger to carry my pack five miles to 

 the main road, and in company with Muir started at noon. 

 Once out to the clearings, a soft word induced honest 

 Billy Moncrief to drive us with his big gray horse and 

 lumber wagon to Fine Village, a distance of twelve miles, 

 where we arrived at supper time Saturday night. How 

 to get home thirty miles, that was now the question. The 

 livery man thought I was his meat sure and would take 

 me home for eight dollars. On the contrary, I spent 

 thirty cents for a telephone message, had a pleasant ride 

 with an old chum ten miles to Edwar ds, where my own 

 team met me, and by a little past midnight I was home 

 again. When I awoke next morning the wind was blow- 

 ing a gale and the rain coming in sheets, nor do I remem- 

 ber a single pleasant day for the next two weeks. 



J. H. R. 



Canton, N. Y. 



JOHN BOYDEN. 



IN the death of Mr. John Boyden, who died at his home 

 on Monday evening, March 7, Worcester loses an- 

 other of its older citizens, a whole-souled honorable gen- 

 tleman, widely known and universally esteemed. He 

 was a most enthusiastic sportsman, and among sportsmen 

 he had a very extensive acquaintance. Mr. Boyden re- 

 frred from business some twenty years ago with broken 

 health, and for the past ten years has been quite an in- 

 valid, although much of the time, uutil Ms fast illness, 

 he was able to be about town. 



His interest in all that pertained to sportsmanship was 

 retained hi a remarkable degree years after he was 

 unable to endure the fatigue of a day in the field or at 

 the. range. In later years he seemed to enjoy much in 

 anticipations that were never realized. At the approach 

 of each returning shooting season, he woidd remark that 

 he "believed that he felt better than a year ago and hoped 

 to get out a little." But during the last nine years of his 

 life those days so much anticipated never came. I well 

 remember the last day he spent in the field when, though 

 too feeble to endure much of a tramp, he enjoyed the 

 sport with the keenest relish, remaining out the entire 

 day. It was nine years ago the first of last September, 

 the opening day for partridge shooting. As usual on that 

 occasion I was engaged to accompany Uncle Nathan Har- 

 rington, and Mr. Boyden was to go with Messrs. A. P. and 

 G. H. Cutting. It proved a red-letter day for both these 

 veterans. It was the first tune after the amputation of 

 his foot Uncle Nathan had attempted an all clay shoot, 

 and Mr. Boyden had done little, if any, shooting for sev- 

 eral years previous to this occasion. It was late in the 

 afternoon when our friend got in what proved to be his 

 last shot at a game bird. He had been able to do little 

 more than ride to the covers and wait while his compan- 

 ions hunted them through, and while thus resting upon 

 a large stone in an opening between two runs his friends 

 drove a partridge across the opening within easy range 

 and ho killed it, the bird falling at about 35yds. The 

 story of that little occurrence with every detail was told 

 many times in after years, and while no one ever had 

 the slightest suspicion that he intended to vary a hair's 

 breadth from the truth, the distance grew with years to 

 70yds. 



Mr. Boyden was very entertaining in conversation, and 

 a call from a brother sportsman, which was intended to 

 be of a few minutes' duration, w'as more often prolonged 

 to hours. He seemed never to tire of talking upon his 

 favorite theme, and his dry wit was of a style peculiarly 

 his own. 



He was one of the first to engage in the organization of 

 the Worcester Sportsman's Club thirteen years ago. He 

 presided at the preliminary meetings, and was elected as 

 its first president. He felt, however, that his health was 

 hardly firm enough to perform the duties, and although 

 he yielded to the earnest solicitations of his friends, he 

 retired at the close of one year's service. 



He was the pioneer man to import setter dogs into 

 Worcester, the first were his famous pair of blue beltons, 

 Rock and Juno. This was some twenty-five years ago. 

 About fifteen years later came the Gordon setter Marble's 

 Grouse and the Gordon setter bitch Hope. When abroad, 

 many years ago, while traveling in Scotland, he made 

 the acquaintance of the celebrated gunmaker Alex Henry, 

 tho acquaintance ripening into warm friendship, which 

 lasted through life. His admiration of his friend's work 

 amounted almost to bigotry, and he began to import his 

 fine guns and rifles in the early days of breechloaders. 

 For a while he managed to dispose of a gieat many 

 among his friends, but as the shooters became acquainted 

 with the work of other makers, he found it difficult to 

 get the fancy prices at which he held them, and he had 

 several in his possession at the time of his death. 



The last few years he has been a great sufferer, his dis- 

 ease finally assuming the form of rheumatic paralysis, 

 rendering him entirely helpless. He was 70 years old and 

 leaves a wife. E. Sprague Knowles. 



Worcester, Mass., March 9. 



[The acquaintance of one of the Forest and Stream's 

 staff with Mr. Boyden extended over thirty years; and 

 in that time many were the field excursions taken in his 

 company, and filled with incidents which are still fresh 

 in memory. Mr. Boyden was one whose charm of man- 

 ner and speech rendered the enjoyment of his companion- 

 ship a privilege. The qualities which go to make up a 

 sportsman were possessed by him in an eminent degree. 

 He was a frequent and valuable contributor to the Forest 

 and Stream, communications from his pen having also 

 appeared in the old American Sportsman and the Rod 

 and Gun]. 



