414 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



("June 2, 1887. 



SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 



NATIONAL CITY, California.— Our game season has 

 closed with more than usual success attending our 

 efforts. Ducks have been very plentiful here, and the 

 flight of geese has been unusually late. Mr. Geo. Beer- 

 maker, of this place, and myself bagged some forty-three 

 ducks in one hunt on the Tia Juana during last month, 

 while Mr. Mercer, Mr. Chick and myself brought in 

 twenty -seven from an afternoon's shoot at the same place 

 three weeks ago. 



The boys are busily engaged at the trap to-day and have 

 been for some time past preparing for a tournament, 

 which will come off in the near future. 



Some of the most successful hunts of the period were 

 made during the past season, a number of the boys going 

 up to the San Luis Rey Valley and on the Santa Margarita 

 (the home of geese) at different times, and having great 

 sport, besides shipping home great quantities of game. 



I took my wife on one trip to San Luis Rey Valley and 

 spent ten days in the field, carnping out and enjoying it 

 as only the California camper can. I found a jack snipe 

 ground just back of the Mission San Luis Rey, covering 

 about ten acres, which contained thousands of the game 

 little bird, but having all my shells loaded for ducks and 

 geese, and not being able "to get any small shot nearer 

 than Oceanside, distant about five miles, I had to let 

 them go. But I went back there with Morgan the week 

 preceding Christmas and then had some royal sport. 



Morgan and myself arrived in the valley "with my horse 

 and hunting wagon on Sunday night, the 20th of Decem- 

 ber. After hunting all over the valley for three days and 

 meeting with indifferent success, having bagged less than 

 a hundred ducks, we determined to "beard the Hon in his 

 den" and go up and interview Mr. O'Niel at the Rancho 

 Santa Margarita, distant three miles. Mr. O'Niel, the 

 manager and part owner of one of the finest ranches on 

 the coast, has been bothered so much by marauding 

 sportsmen (?), who burnt his fences, shot his cattle and 

 destroyed property generally, that he has determined to 

 stop any and all shooting on the ranch, and has posted it 

 and advertised it thoroughly. Those who defied him and 

 dared to hunt without permission met with such a re- 

 ception that the ranch very soon acquired an unenviable 

 reputation for hospitality. It was, therefore, with con- 

 siderable trepidation that we ventured to "take the bull by 

 the horns." 



However, we ventured it, and after a short parley Mr. 

 O'Niel's son Jerome, the senior being away on business, 

 very kindly accorded us the privilege of driving up to the 

 laguna, as it is called, and spend the afternoon. To say 

 we were delighted would hardly express our feelings. 

 Up the valley we drove and camped at just 12 o'clock. 

 After lunch we went over to the shores of the laguna and 

 could see thousands of ducks and geese resting on the 

 shores and on the surface of the water. It seemed a pity 

 to disturb them, but our fingers fairly ached to commence 

 pressing on the triggers, so we separated, Morgan taking 

 the right and I the left banks of the lake. The laguna is 

 about a half mile hi width and it was very hard to get the 

 geese in motion. 



As soon ae we commenced shooting, however, the fun 

 waxed hot, and for about two hours we kept up a con- 

 tinual fusilade, and when we hauled off for repairs and 

 proceeded to gather up our game we counted seventeen 

 fine large Canada geese and a trumpeter swan, besides 

 nine mallard and canvasback ducks. We felt satisfied 

 indeed, and proceeded to pack up and get ready to make 

 for San Diego, distant some fifty miles. It was then 

 Wednesday night, and we had promised our respective 

 wives to be sure and be home by Thursday night, Christ- 

 mas eve, and it was worrying us to know how we were 

 going to keep our promises. Finally we decided to leave 

 my team at Oceanside a"d take the train for San Diego 

 the next day, which would bring us home on time. 



On arriving at Oceanside I found a friend who was in- 

 tending to make a trip to San Diego; so I prevailed upon 

 him to take my outfit in with him, thus relieving us of 

 the responsibility. Here occurred a little incident which 

 shows the intelligence of man's best friend. My old set- 

 ter dog Trix had been with us during all our trip, and 

 when the team left Oceanside we forgot to send him 

 along. When the train pulled out from Oceanside on 

 Thursday afternoon at 3:30, my old dog was left on the 

 platform. After the train had gone perhaps a couple of 

 hundred yards, I missed the dog and ran to the back 

 platform onty to see him standing on the platform of the 

 station looking after the train. To seize my whistle and 

 give it a blast was the work of an instant: and the old dog 

 ran down the steps and after the train. It is needless to 

 say that he was soon left far behind the train. I gave 

 him up for lost and speculated as to what farmer would 

 get him, for it never struck me that he would find the 

 way home, as it was forty-five miles to San Diego and 

 over a road that the old dog knew nothing about. Well, I 

 got home at 6:30 that evening, tired and hungry and 

 worried about my dear old hunter, and wondering if I 

 should ever get him again. Feeling fatigued I went to 

 bed about 8 o'clock, and very soon fell asleep; but I was 

 awakened by a noise at the side door at 11:30. Getting 

 up, mentally blessing the disturbance, I opened the door 

 and — in walked old Trix, wagging his tail. The dog 

 had run that forty-five miles, over a strange road, follow- 

 ing the railroad track, and had made it in a little over 

 seven hours. I just put my arms around his neck and 

 hugged him. 



We had enjoyed this hunt so much and talked so much 

 of it that the next week Mr. Will Francis and Walter 

 Morgan took the train and spent another week there, 

 doing even better than we had among our feathered 

 friends. We propose to make a grand hunt in the vicinity 

 of Warner's Ranch, some sixty miles southeast of here, 

 said to be a grand hunting ground, during the coming 

 season, and you may watch for a report thereof. 



Our sea fishing has fairly commenced here now. The 

 run of sea, or silver trout has commenced, and some fine 

 catches of halibut have been made, both at this wharf 

 and San Diego. A young man landed ten fine halibut in 

 one day here from the railroad wharf, and the catches of 

 croakers, smelt, rock, cod, etc., have been very large. 

 I invested yesterday in 100ft. of oiled silk line of the 

 largest size, and feel prepared now to land anything that 

 "catches on." Mr. Francis hooked and succeeded in 

 unhooking one of the largest halibut I ever saw yester- 

 day, far exceeding in size the one you published a cut of 

 a short time ago, and which was killed by D. B. Hin- 

 man , of this place, although that was a magnificent fish 



and reflected great credit on the angler who landed him, 

 for the superb manner in which he handled so large and 

 powerful a fish with so light a tackle. 



Our fishing season here comes in just right to keep the 

 sportsman occupied. Our game season closes March 31. 

 The fish commence to run about April 30, and keep it up 

 until about September 1. So from hunting we go to fish- 

 iner, and don't lose any time either in making the change. 



San Diego city has grown so remarkably fast that one 

 can hardly realize it, and we meet sportsmen from all 

 over the world now, while a year or two ago perhaps fifty 

 of the fraternity would pay us a visit during a season. 

 Our population in 1885 was 4,000, while in December, 

 1886, the census taken showed a population of ovor 12,- 

 000 people, a gain of 8,000 in twelve months, and the city 

 is still booming. Town lots which two years ago were 

 sold for $150 each, bring to-day $2,500 apiece. This is 

 no exaggeration, as a look at our statistics will show. 

 Our old hunting grounds in the near vicinity of San 

 Diego are now under cultivation and fenced and posted. 

 All our old duck grounds are being surrounded by dwell- 

 ings and fences, until next season we expect to be com- 

 pelled to go twenty miles or more to get a respectable 

 day's sport. 



National City is fast keeping pace with her sister city, 

 and is doubling her population about every year, while 

 fine buildings in the course of erection show the march 

 of enterprise and energy. With the influx of immigra- 

 tion I hope it will not be long ere we can organize so as to 

 be able to protect our game in this section. As it is, the 

 birds have no protection whatever. It is only a question 

 of time, however, for as the sportsman sees the increasing 

 scarcity of game year after year, he will take alarm and 

 do as they have had to do throughout all the Eastern 

 and Western States. Let us protect the game while we can, 

 for although quail here are considered a pest, at the rate 

 the farmer destroys them by poison every year it will not 

 take many years to make' them a thing of the past. I 

 have known cases within 18 miles of San Diego in which 

 the farmers poisoned a spring and soaked a half sack of 

 wheat in squirrel poison and killed thousands of quail 

 weekly in order to protect their raisin and grap-3 crops. It 

 is no unusual thing here to bag 150 birds in 10 hours' hunt, 

 so you can see how many there are and have been in this 

 lower country. Three market hunters killed and shipped 

 to the San Francisco market (in round numbers) 65,000 

 quail during one season. 



But that day is past and new arrivals who are looking 

 for homes with us are fast clearing up the land and kill- 

 ing off the birds, so that where we had thousands a few 

 years ago we have hundreds now. Ad. B. Pearson. 



A DAY IN A DUGOUT. 



HOW delicious is the early morning as we push the 

 canoes off from the bank and settle ourselves for 

 half a day's paddle down the river and over the second 

 Squatook lake. The breeze pushes aside the branches 

 overhanging the stream, and allows the lights and shad- 

 ows gaily to chase each other over the rocks and under 

 the banks. Approaching some rapids, the guides grasp 

 their iron-shod poles, and standing in the stern, deftly 

 direct the canoes from off the rocks as we leap on down 

 through the water, foaming white with its race. Enter- 

 ing the quiet and glassy pool beyond, the reflection is so 

 perfect that we seem to float through waving tops of 

 trees and drifting clouds. Coming quietly and quickly 

 around a bend, we surprise a huge blue heron, which 

 standing on the bank, rank with brakes, watches the 

 water with hungry eyes. As he rises his wings, legs 

 and long neck each seem to start at first in a different 

 direction, and the saucy Canada jays (how faded and 

 colorless in comparison with ours!) yell hi derision at his 

 unmannerly departure. Drifting around into a clear 

 stretch of water, three huge ducks are seen winging rap- 

 idly toward us. Two of them see us, and porting their 

 rudders, disappear over the trees. The third comes hur- 

 rying on, and mounting quickly into the upper ah- when 

 too late, is easily cut down, and pitches headlong into the 

 water within reach of the second canoe. 



Snap! crash! and some animal plunges back from the 

 bank a little ahead of us on the left. We paddle quickly 

 down to where a thry brook pushes out a bed of white 

 sand and pebbles, and see the hoof marks of a caribou. 

 Just my luck! Why did not that duck follow his brothers 

 over the trees and allow us the chance of seeing the 

 owner of those hoofs? 



Entering the broad expanse of the lake, shimmering 

 with the glare of the sun, we leave the guides with their 

 tireless paddles to push the snaky dugouts through the 

 ripples, sink back on the balsam boughs heavy with the 

 sweet breath of the forest, and are lulled by the water 

 swashing against the sides. The steady dip of the paddles 

 grows fainter; the busy hum of nature wings itself away; 

 the glare of the sun softens, and sinking softly, slowly, 

 sweetly. 



"Hush!" whispers Maxime, as I start up in alarm, the 

 canoe coming to a sudden stop just at the mouth of the 

 lake. 



"What's the matter?" I ask, seeing the guide's excited 

 look. 



"There's something in the water round the bend, and — 

 there, there it is again." 



Dip, splash, ker-flop, went the "something" in the 

 water, and thump, ker-thump, answered something else 

 in my throat, jumping around in its endeavor to get out 

 of my mouth in an alarming manner. I grasp the rifle — 

 my hands trembling with excitement; — and whisper to 

 Maxime to go ahead. 



With noiseless stroke he sweeps the canoe along, and 

 gliding around a bunch of willows, we see a bear, stand- 

 ing up to his shoulders in the water, splashing about to 

 cool and rid himself of the swarming flies. There stood 

 the huge, sun-burned fellow, the first wild animal of any 

 size I had ever seen, not more than 70ft. away and totally 

 unconscious of our proximity. I shall jiever forget that 

 moment! 



It seemed as though I could touch the bear with my 

 rifle he was so near and so tremendous. The moment I 

 raised my gun the bear disappeared, and instead the 

 trees, sky and banks skipped about the heaving barrel in 

 a mad dance. Raising my head— the bear was still there 

 enjoying his bath. I tried again, but the gun would not 

 keep" still. A cold perspiration covered me; I suffered 

 agonies. 



"Why don't you shoot?" breathed Maxime, in an agoniz- 

 ing whisper. 



In my desperation I tried once more, and seeing both 

 the bear and the gun at once, fired. 



"I've got him, I've got him," I shrieked with joy, as 

 the bear tumbled over backward in the water. I nearly 

 capsized the canoe in my excitement and — great heavens! 

 he was tearing through the water for the shore. 



"Shoot, shoot again," yelled Maxime. My trembling 

 hands seemed palsied as I attempted to push in another 

 cartridge. Just as the bear was scrambling up the bank 

 the other canoe came up, and a charge of buckshot was 

 placed where it only tended to assist the agility of the 

 beast, and he was gone. I was thunderstruck. How 

 could I have missed him? There he was almost within 

 reach of my gun, and now tearing through the underbrush 

 a mile off probably. We landed and found a few drops of 

 blood on the leaves where he had galloped through the 

 bushes. Walking back to the canoes we paddled slowly 

 clown the river. What a great change had. come over 

 everything and everybody. Maxime gave a sharp, decis- 

 ive little thrust to his paddle at the end of the stroke that- 

 sent the water twisting and sucking behind in a frothy, 

 disgusted way. The other canoe exchanged the shotgun 

 for the rifle and took the lead down the river. In disgust 

 I sank back upon the balsam boughs only to find them 

 dry and cushioniess. The mosquitoes and flies buzzed 

 about in the most assiduous way. The sun glared down 

 derisively, and the shadows mocked me as they danced 

 down the stream ahead of us. Closing my eyes, there 

 stood the bear leaning against a tree, Ms huge sides shak- 

 ing with laughter, and his claws wiggling before his 

 muzzle in a very undignified way, and — . Well, I have 

 had better luck since. F'lin. 



DEER DRIVING. 



"(~^ ET ready by one o'clock to-morrow, for I have 



V!T written "to our friends Crickett, Tom, Bunk and one 

 or two others to meet at our usual camping ground at sun 

 down. Old Hamp Baldwin will be along with his anti- 

 quated long muzzleloader to take care of the dogs and 

 make the drives; and that blab-mouthed nigger Sam 

 Crafford has agreed to go and carry with him his pack, 

 some of which, he says, axe "famous" for deer. 



That is just what Teceel said to me one day about the 

 first of November, 188-. At the appointed hour I was at 

 the meeting place. It was not an outdoor camp with 

 only the shelter of boughs and dirt, or even canvas, but a 

 camp made of scantling, plank, sills, sleepers, joists, 

 rafters, flooring boards and shingles — in plain Enghsh, a 

 house. In it were several plain bedsteads, mattresses on 

 springs, chairs, tables, lamps and candles, buckets, plates 

 and cups and saucers. 



"The storm without might roar and rustle, 

 We would not mind the storm a whistle." 



The following morning, before the sun had rolled 

 his fiery chariot to the eastern hilltops, we were all out 

 of bed and by the aid of Hamp and Sam had prepared our 

 morning meal. 



Breakfast being over the horses and buggies were 

 brought out and we started off to occupy stands on the 

 Job's Creek drive, oiu - old hunting companion, Calvin Mc. , 

 having agreed to meet us at a certain point. When we 

 reached it he was there and he gave full directions to 

 Hamp and Sam how to manage the hunt. It was not a 

 great while after we got to our stands before we heard 

 the hounds. Nearer and nearer they came, and in a 

 short while the clear ring of Teceel's little gun was heard. 

 Then his shrill horn filled the atmosphere with its melod- 

 ious cadences, and the cry of the dogs was hushed into 

 silence. We knew what that meant. A forked-horned 

 buck fell before his almost unerring aim. This was dis- 

 posed of and off we went in quest of other deer. 



Going over to Adams's Creek we were duly posted, and 

 Calvin, Hamp and Sam took charge of the dogs. It was 

 a long, and as we found, a fruitless drive. Calvin came 

 up to where I was standing, and told me that though he 

 had seen signs, and the dogs trailed some, they could not 

 start. While we were talking w-e heard the dogs in full 

 cry about a half mile to the north of us, and then both 

 barrels of Hamp's and Sam's guns, they having followed 

 the dogs. We separated so as to be about fifty yards 

 apart. I had my setter dog with me, and he was so frisky 

 that I found it hard to keep him quiet. At length I saw 

 approaching, on a line toward both Calvin and myself, a 

 doe and two well-grown fawns. But for my frisky dog 

 they would have passed within twenty yards of me. 

 They saw him, however, and turned off, passing me about 

 fifty yards. At least the doe did, while the fawns were 

 at much greater distance. I discharged my 14-bore at 

 the doe, but she went on and fell at the crack of Calvin's 

 big muzzleloader. Then in sheer desperation I fired at 

 one of the fawns, fully eighty yards off. But he did not 

 stop. My setter became uncontrollable and entered the 

 chase by sight. We went to the doe, and found that she 

 had been hit with only one shot, and that was not from 

 my gun. The setter was still absent. Calvin remarked 

 that he believed I had hit the fawn, for it ran like it. 

 In about twenty minutes my dog came back. Inasmuch 

 as he never was out of my sight more than five minutes, 

 I concluded that he had either run until he became heated 

 and was cooling off, or had found the deer. We examined 

 his mouth, but saw no blood nor hair. I saw a drop on 

 his ear, and ascertaining that it was not wounded, I told 

 Calvin that the dog had caught the fawn. Taking an old 

 hound with him which had come up, and holding him by 

 a string, he set out. In less than fifteen minutes he re- 

 turned toting the fawn. The dog had caught it in a 

 straight course of about a quarter of a mile, and pro- 

 ceeded to recompense himself by a liberal bait from the 

 hind quarter. It had been hit with one shot only, and 

 that struck its hind leg. breaking it about the ankle. 

 Who was entitled to the hide, the clog or the sportsman? 

 One or two other drives were made, and though in all we 

 started deer, no one got a shot except Sam, and as usual 

 he missed. Then "the hour approaches, I am maun ride," 

 and we set out for our resting place. When we got there 

 we found our old friend Dit, who could not come along 

 with us. 



The following morning we had some elegant venison 

 steak, and this and the coffee (we always have good coffee 

 in our hunts) were eaten with great relish. 



The following day Teceel and I took our setters, and 

 with plenty of shells, concluded that we would divide the 

 sport by going into some neighboring fields and see if we 

 could not bring home some birds. The others w :nt to the 

 Crouch drive and the Rocky Fork of Naked Creek. Cal- 

 vin went with them. When they returned at night they 



