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FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 21, 1887. 



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



MY TRIP TO THE ADIRONDACKS. 



NOT feeling quite up to the mark, and thinking that 

 perhaps a few days among the mountains and along 

 the tumbling streams would set me straight, I packed up 

 my pipe and tobacco, together with my rod and a change 

 of clothing, and made a break for the woods. Leaving 

 Springfield, Mass., at 8:15 P. M., June 24, by the Connec- 

 ticut River Road, I found myself iu the early morning at 

 St. Albans, Vt. After breakfast and nearly an hour's 

 wait I took the train for Malone, where I arrived at 9:45, 

 and at once proceeded to skirmish for a team, or rather 

 a man who said he owned the best team in the State 

 skirmished for me. A trifle bewildered by the very 

 brilliant manner in which he tumbled, a step at a time, 

 from twelve dollars and road expenses down to five and 

 find himself for the 25 miles to Meacham Lake, I left him 

 and sought other conveyance, finding just what I 

 wanted at the stable of Mr. Shields, a start was made for 

 the lake. My driver, China, was apparently an ordinary 

 lad of some thirteen or fourteen summers, but I am now 

 well convinced that more than this number of decades 

 must have passed since his first trout, to use his own 

 expressive words, was "snatched bald-headed" from its 

 native element. It has ever been deep mystery to me 

 where Murray obtained the facts for his book, but the 

 matter is now clear, China undoubtedly coached him 

 through the woods. 



Our road for a number of miles wound along the banks 

 of the beautiful Salmon River. A more trouty (big ones, 

 too) looking stream is not often seen, formerly large fish 

 abounded in almost every one of its most inviting pools, 

 but now, alas! its glory has departed. China has depop- 

 ulated the once prolific waters and the angler's paradise 

 is "a little further on." It was worth my journey to hear 

 him catch trout. Not a ripple of its creamy rapids, not 

 a foot of its still reaches but had paid tribute to the pre- 

 ternatural skill of China; no diminutive fingorlint;s ever 

 disgraced his creel, leviathans that the mere telling of 

 made my finger-ends tingle came from the bright waters 

 at his bidding in such numbers that our gallant steed but 

 just managed to stagger along with the prodigious load, 

 and when China,, doubtless encoruaged by sundry well- 

 timed exclamation points, "snatched" from under the 

 shadow of a big rock five or six busters, the discouraged 

 old gray incontinently stopped and refused to budge an 

 inch until I bade China throw overboard at least one-half 

 of his catch, when we resumed our journey. This ended 

 our fishing, not another cast would China essay, some- 

 how he appeared to have lost his grip, and with the ex- 

 ception of a deprecatory glance at me out of the corner 

 of his eye he made no sign. 



Fifteen miles from Malone we stopped for refreshment 

 at Ayre's Hotel, The table was spread with a capital- 

 looking dinner. The fried trout I know were good ; the 

 other viands I did not sample, but have no doubt that 

 they were excellent. About four miles from Ayres's we 

 entered the woods, which continued without a break 

 until we arrived at the lake. The guide books pronounce 

 Meacham Lake one of the finest sheets of water to be 

 found in the entire region, with scenery and landscape 

 unsurpassed for primitive wildness and quiet beauty. A 

 lovelier spot I have never seen, and memory will long re- 

 tain grateful remembrance of the restful hours enjoyed 

 while idly floating upon the bosom of the bright waters 

 or lazily reclining under the spreading balsams, fanned 

 by gentle breezes that came from the mountain tops with 1 

 "healing on their wings." The hotel is composed of sev- 

 eral buildings very pleasantly situated on the north shore 

 of the lake, with accommodations for some forty or fifty 

 guests. From the opening of the season, May 1, to about 

 the middle of June, the house is filled with guests who 

 come to enjoy the fishing. Early in July the house again 

 fills up, and remains so until the close of the season. The 

 proprietor, Mr. A. R. Fuller, appears to know how to run 

 a hotel, as nearly all of his guests are old friends who 

 come each year with ever-increasing confidence in the 

 ability of their host to provide for their wants. For many 

 years Mr. Fuller has been a successful fishciilturist, ana 

 each spring he has turned into Lake Meacham and adja- 

 cent waters many thousand fry of both trout and lakers, 

 as they are called. In consequence of this wise fore- 

 thought the fishing here is said, by those who have had 

 ample opportunity to judge, to be the best to be found at 

 any hotel in the woods. The lake and the streams that 

 empty into it, as well as the outlet, appear to be full of 

 fish, and it is the pride and boast of the house that plenty 

 of trout are served to the guests at every meal. 



Trout, however, are not the only attraction at Lake 

 Meacham, there is an abundance of deer in the adjacent 

 forests, no less than forty-three having been killed by 

 guests at the hotel last season. The guides appear to be a 

 woodsy lot and have the reputation of being well up in all 

 that pertains to their calling. Bear are also occasionally 

 found, some five or six being killed last year. On June 

 28, Geo. Selkirk, one of the guides, invited me to go with 

 him to his bear trap, a short distance from the south end 

 of the lake, but it was very hot and I did not feel able to 

 tramp through the woods after a very uncertain bear. 

 This was a blunder on my part, as he found his bear and 

 brought him in. He also saw another one getting away 

 and cut loose at him three times with his Winchester but 

 failed to bring him to bag. Thinking that the last one 

 was too badly scared to return to the locality George did 

 not go to set his trap again until the next day, when he 

 found that bruin had been there during the night and 

 carried off all his bait. This episode taught me a valua- 

 ble lesson, and I shall go with him next time, as I could not 

 bear another disappointment like this. 



One afternoon during my stay I stood upon a rock at 

 the mouth of the brook that empties into the lake not a 

 stone's throw from the hotel, and caught nearly a hun- 

 dred trout; my cast was made up with a red-ibis", a black- 

 gnat and a brown-hackle. Twice in succession I landed 

 three at a cast; none of them were large but many of 

 them were of fair size. When I arrived at the hotel only 

 two guests were present, Professor Newberry, of Cornell, 

 and his brother. They had been baiting some buoys in 

 the lake and also in Clear Pond, a beautiful sheet of 

 water some half mile from the hotel, noted for the trans- 

 parency of its waters and the enormous size of its trout, 



many having been caught weighing in the neighborhood 

 of 5 pounds each. The Messrs. Newbury captured one 

 that weighed 2 pounds and 7 ounces, and in Meacham 

 they caught three lakers, the largest about 4j pounds. 

 Accepting their very kind invitation to join them in fish- 

 ing the buoy in the lake, we were soon at the spot, and 

 with tingling nerves I hooked on a minnow and made my 

 first essay for a laker. 



Ah! those lakers. Reader, have you ever felt the elec- 

 tric thrill, half ecstacy, half fear, caused by the impetu- 

 ous, irresistible rush and strike of a 151b. laker with noth- 

 ing between you and bhss supreme or dark despair save 

 a slender line and 7oz. rod? Have you felt the resistless 

 pull that doubled the pliant rod and almost snapped your 

 heart strings? Have you watched with wide open eyes 

 the fast disappearing line from the whirring reel that 

 would run out in spite of well pulled oars? Have you 

 held on like grim death when the line was all out until, 

 just before it broke, the fearful strain slackened and your 

 hopes, almost crushed, again cheered you on and your 

 heart resumed its pulsations? Have you deftly managed 

 each frantic rush of the monster, and inch by inch fought 

 for your line as only a desperate man can fight until cap- 

 tor and captive were utterly exhausted, and the cruel 

 gaff fast in the side of your victim laid him quivering at 

 your feet? If you have done this, shake. I fully intended 

 to accomplish it, but had never a strike- 

 On July 6 Mr. C. C. dark, of New York, caught by 

 deep trolling a laker that weighed 81bs, with a 7|oz. rod. 

 His wife was in the boat, and, judging from their story, 

 they had more than eight-fifteenths of the fun that I 

 anticipated. Since my return I have received a letter 

 from Mr. Fuller, dated July 12, a portion of which I 

 append: 



"Since you left the guests of the house have done lots 

 of deep trolling, catching many salmon trout, many of 

 them weighing over 61bs., the largest one up to date 

 lOlbs. — one of 81bs. and one of 8+lbs. to-day — and, as 

 usual, one of exactly 271bs. 18oz. was lost to-day, after 

 having him in a lauding net. You know, those large 

 ones always get away. Mr. Geo. S. Hier has so far made 

 the largest catches— ten fish in one day — he uses not a 

 silver hook, but a copper fine, which gives him telegraphic 

 connection between the fish and his hand and enables 

 him to yank at the right time. Mr. Clark caught quite a 

 number while here, but did not have just the right kind 

 of tackle, though I think he got about as much fun out of 

 it as any one. He used a 7-|oz. rod and a very fine line, 

 finer than most fishermen use as a casting line for brook 

 trout. He is one of the kind of fishermen who thoroughly 

 enjoys fishing. I was very sorry you and Newbury got 

 away before the fun really began. Newbury worked 

 hard enough to start it and he ought to have had his 

 share." 



Not meeting with success at the buoys, I took a guide 

 and trolled nearly all the next forenoon, but, alas, the 

 result was the same, and I gave it up in disgust and tried 

 the flies, but the day was too bright and only an occa- 

 sional straggler came to basket. After lunch we tried 

 the inlet and succeeded in coaxing a few out of the very 

 attractive looking water. Rounding a point, I cast my 

 flies just under an overhanging bush and slowly drew 

 them toward me. "There was a silvery gleam just 

 beneath the surface of the dark waters, and instinctively 

 I struck." The guide apparently did not know how to 

 manage the canoe, as it gave a lurch to starboard, and 

 there was nothing left for me but to counteract the erratic 

 motion of the crankv bark by surging upon the fish, 

 which was fairly hooked. This master-stroke I accom- 

 plished with more of success than usually attends 

 efforts of this nature, and the frail craft at once 

 righted. I have ever been an ardent student of nature 

 and am moderately credulous when reading or listening 

 to the tales of travelers. I had read of flying fish and to 

 a certain extent accepted the statement for fact. Here I 

 stopped; fish that climbed trees I took no stock in, indeed 

 I went so far as to discard all statements that I did not 

 know to be true when made by writers who advanced 

 such preposterous theories. Right here I wish to humbly 

 beg pardon of those now-believed-to-be veracious racon- 

 teurs and to state that I fully believe their tales to be 

 "ower true." I am also constrained to add that I have no 

 doubt that with a good squirrel dog, properly trained , 

 rare sport could be had in bringing to basket these re- 

 doubtable arboreal beauties. The reason for my sudden 

 conversion lies in the fact that just as I accomplished the 

 aforesaid master-stroke a fish rose from the surface of 

 the water some thirty feet beyond us, and flying straight 

 over our heads, lit in the top of a cedar full that distance 

 behind us. "That was a daisy," said the guide. "No," 

 said I, "that was a trout;" and sure enough, when we 

 backed, ashore and the guide shinned up the tree, he 

 found that, as usual in matters of this kind, I was correct. 

 The weight of our capture I cannot state, as we had no 

 scales that would record more than 41bs., and they gave 

 us no indication of his avordupois. I therefore leave this 

 to the imagination of the reader, only suggesting that 

 perhaps the oft told tales of the many worthy disciples of 

 the venerated Izaak, who have whipped those prolific 

 waters and furnished for the delectation of their less for- 

 tunate brethren glowing accounts of the size of the deni- 

 zens sporting therein, may be of assistance to them in 

 forming an estimate. After this episode we returned to 

 the lake, and as the shadows lengthened we had better 

 luck, taking home over forty fish of good size. 



Days of rare sport and restful enjoyment succeeded, 

 passing all too quickly, until it was time to reel up and 

 start for home. The Northern Adirondack Railroad is 

 now open to Paul Smith's station, some eleven miles from 

 Lake Meacham, making much the easiest route to the 

 St. Regis and Saranac waters, with three trains each way 

 daily and though sleepers to New York. I had intended 

 to take this route home, but young Mr. Newbury was go- 

 ing to Lake Placid and urged me to accompany him. I 

 needed but little persuasion, as I wished to see more of 

 the beautiful country that I had obtained but a glimpse 

 of. Regretfully leaving the beautiful spot at 10 o'clock 

 on Thursday morning in a private conveyance, we drove 

 along the lake over a capital road, that with its line of 

 telegraph posts that extended to Fuller's, looked anything 

 but a wild woods trail. _ 



Arriving at Paul Smith's in time for an early dinner, 

 my first disappointment or rather two of them came to 

 me. In the first place I learned to my disgust that the 

 world renowned Paul Smith was not Paul at all but 

 Apollos A. Then we had no trout for dinner, and my 

 feelings overcame my appetite and I was unhappy. After 



dinner I looked up Apollos, and a half hour's chat with 

 him set me straight again. He is truly a son of the forest, 

 and I do not wonder at the popularity of his house. I 

 have promised that when he comes to New York I will 

 take him down to Dorian's and treat him to a trout dinner. 



The journey to Lake Placid was simply delightful. We 

 arrived there in time for an hour on the beautiful lake, 

 where we saw grand old Whiteface put on his night cap 

 of fleecy clouds, and heard him lovingly echo back the 

 weird notes of the evening song of thVherniit thrush. 

 The scenery at Lake Placid is grand and awe-inspiring, 

 but somehow I did not feel at home. As some one has 

 aptly said, "A mortal feels very small in the presence of 

 grandeur like this." 



The next forenoon was devoted to fishing, or rather we 

 made fishing an excuse for becoming better acquainted 

 with the beauties of this very appropriately named gem 

 of the wilderness. Calmly gliding over the still water, 

 occasionally lazily making a cast, we dreamily passed the 

 hours drinking in with eager debght each new beauty of 

 shimmering water, darksome forest and rock-crowned 

 peak. Truly, "it is not all of fishing to fish," indeed I 

 have faint recollection of the number and size of our 

 catch. I only remember the wondrous beauty of the 

 lovely lake and its majestic surroundings and that we 

 forgot to bring to the house the few fish we did catch. 

 Leaving Lake Placid on Saturday morning on the regular 

 stage for Westport we passed through the historical town 

 of North Elba, and as we came within sight of the grave 

 of the "hero martyr," passengers and driver, six of us, 

 attempted to sing : 



"John Brown's body lies mold'ring in the grave." 



What the others thought of the performance 1 know 

 not. I was very forcibly impressed with the opinion that 

 if the grand soul that is ever marching on had not got 

 out of hearing, its pace would most assuredly be greatly 

 accelerated if not entirely broken up. Passing through 

 the narrow and rugged defile along the shore of Ed- 

 mund's Pond, then down a long and steep incline to the 

 beautiful valley of Keene, we halted for dinner ; then 

 up and down the mountains to Elizabethtown. We tar- 

 ried until the stage was ready for Westport, where I took 

 the train at 9:15, and at 6 o'clock on Sunday morning was 

 home again with renewed health and vigor. Blended in 

 sweet confusion and indelibly engraved upon memory's 

 tablet is the wondrous wild wood picture, "a thing of 

 beauty, a joy forever." Shadow. 



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



DOMESTICATING RUFFED GROUSE. 



Editor Forest and Stream : 



My second ruffed grouse hen began sitting on the 4th of 

 June last. She had previously laid five additional egs;s 

 in the new nest which she had made on being transferred, 

 making ten in all, while the first hen had laid thirteen. 

 It has always been stated that the male grouse takes no 

 interest in the process of incubation and the rearing of 

 the family. But this spring my male bird went several 

 times into the nest on the day the second hen began sit- 

 ting, and spent some time in it, as though he was about 

 to undertake the work of incubation himself. The hen 

 apparently did not relish the interference, whereupon I 

 removed the male bird from the coop, and she promptly 

 entered the nest and remained there during the afternoon 

 and night. 



An examination of the earlier sitting of eggs after a 

 few days foreshadowed what was afterward fully estab- 

 lished, that the eggs of the first hen were all barren, while 

 those of the second hen were all fertile. I am not pre- 

 pared to believe that this goes toward establishing the 

 theory that the grouse it monogamous, and that the male 

 bird having mated with one he a refused to mate with the 

 other. The first hen apparently is a bird only a year old 

 this spring, while the second is probably three years of 

 age or older. The younger hen began laying within 

 twelve days after she had first been placed in the coop 

 with the male bird, and it is possible that her eggs had so 

 far matured as to render their impregnation unlikely, if 

 not impossible. Both last year and this the male birds 

 were from a locality further north than that from which 

 the hens were obtained, and their mating seasons conse- 

 quently a little later. All these conditions are to be taken 

 into account in drawing any conclusions as to the habits 

 of the grouse in this respect. 



The second hen showed no signs of restlessness or un- 

 easiness during her entire time of incubation. But on 

 the afternoon of the eighth day I found the first hen in a 

 high state of exciment, created by some unknown cause, 

 rushing about the coop, beating against its sides with her 

 bill, and evidently having forgotten all about her eggs. 

 The trouble was possibly caused by a pet game rooster 

 which occasionally perched on the coop, and which had 

 been rather noisier than usual that day. But the hen 

 quieted down in less than an hour, and thereafter had no 

 trouble. 



The twenty-first day of the first incubation was com- 

 pleted at noon on the 15th day of June. That afternoon 

 the eggs were found to be "pipped," as the poultry raisers 

 would say, and everything promised fairly. But the 

 next morning the chicks still tarried, and I began to be 

 apprehensive. The next morning, the twenty-third day, 

 I called in a poultry expert, and we both felt satisfied 

 that the eggs had become so dry, owing to their situation , 

 that the outer membrane had not softened down enough, 

 and remained so tough that the chicks could not break 

 through it. They were moistened several time at inter- 

 vals with tepid water, and I hoped to save those develop- 

 ing later. But unfortunately the help came too late, and 

 only one chick succeeded in extricating himself from the 

 shell on the night of the twenty-fourth day. He lived 

 and flourished for some twenty-four hours after hatching, 

 but his mother most unluckily stepped on him on his first 

 excursion from -the nest, and as he was still feeble from 

 his long struggle he did not survive. [Certainly one and 

 possibly two of the eggs in this pest were laid by the 

 secoid hen after the first had begun setting, This will 

 readily account for what would otherwise seem a strange 

 difference in the time of hatching.] 



Subsequent examination showed that the last two of 



