FOREST AND STREAM. 



211 



line in an overhanging bough and while peering upward 

 to see what hold it, there, he was not particularly cau- 

 tious where he put his foot on the wide of a slippery log. 

 Souse, in he goes, and the boys down stream notice the 

 water suddenly rise, attributing it to a cloud-burst, hut. 

 instead it is poor Sandy, This was enough for him and 

 he immediately went back to the car and passed the 

 remainder of the day in solitude, with the exception of 

 the company of his wet clothing, which we found fres- 

 coed around the boiler when we came in later. I shall 

 not attempt to tell the number of fish Ave caught, what 

 .size they were or anything about it, but will only say 

 this, that we had enough to divide up among our friends 

 and give them all a good square meal the next morning 

 at breakfast. 



As near as I can remember it, I will give you in Mac's 

 own words his description of his day's sport. He said: 

 "I put my rod together, as you boys very well know, and 

 started out. I thought it was a deucedly mean sort of 

 stream on the go in, but made up my mind that I would 

 follow it down a bit and would soon come to an opening 

 where a man could stand up and cast a line; but I kept 

 dodging in and out, the cedar trees yanking my hat off 

 here and scratching my face there, and falling down and 

 picking myself up. until I overtook Ed. I asked him 

 where "the fishing was, and he said if I wanted to get any 

 I must go to work there. I was a bit discouraged, but 

 made the attempt, and the first thing I kne w had my line 

 fast in a tree and could not disengage it without climb- 

 ing the tree. This was in part of a cedar swamp where 

 it was boggy: so f shinned up the tree and had gotten my 

 line and tackle straightened out once more when the 

 limb 1 was hanging on to broke and down I came with a 

 slide and stuck my head in the soft moss and mud, driv- 

 ing my hat clear down over my eyes: got up and rubbed 

 my shins and cussed, and said this was nqt much like old 

 Scotland, where a man could go fishing with a high hat 

 and frock coat and gaiters and not get a speck of dirt on 

 him nor his stockings wet in a day's tramp. There you 

 go through a. meadow, here you have to dodge through a 

 bramble. After repeating this experience once or twice 

 T concluded I had had enough of it, and put my rod 

 together. Just then I met one of the natives with a lot 

 of big trout on a string. He laughed at me for being dis- 

 couraged so soon, and I put myrod together once more, 

 but I did not have a rise. Occasionally ! would see a 

 trout scurrying away ahead of me through the water to 

 get out of sight, as if it were frightened to death about 

 something. After I had taken my rod apart and put it 

 together at least four times. I gave "it upas'a bad job, and 

 here I am." 



And there he was certainly, and a fine looking object. 

 Smeared with soot from burnt logs, a great long scratch 

 across his nose from a blackberry brier, the brim of his 

 hat mashed in and a long rent in his pantaloons told the 

 story of his day's pleasure as graphically as his woe- 

 begone expression did. Ever since, when the subject of 

 trout fishing has been mentioned to Mac, he gravely 

 shakes Ms head and says he had had enough of it. 



The whistle is tooted for the laggards. The early ones 

 in have a hot supper ready for them by the time they 

 come tired, hungry and happy. Soon we are stowed 

 away on the Peggy; and away we go as the sun is sink- 

 ing in its regular old chestnutty way "behind the western 

 hills." No cards to-night. We are too tired to do any- 

 thing but smoke, loaf and lie — every fisherman is en- 

 titled to prevaricate about the size of the big fellows 

 that got away. On we speed, and are lucky in not 

 getting side-tracked by long trains. Part of the run is 

 made at the rate of a mile a minute, so we are home 

 in the shank of the evening. W. B. Mershon. 



FIVE DAYS A SAVAGE.—1N. 



NOTES OF A HUNTER— NATURALIST IN THE NORTHWEST. 



f ^ .ULF OF GEORGIA, British Columbia.— The moru- 

 VT ing of the third day, as the first far faint blush of 

 ■dawn streams up the moonlit sky, I wake, and lo, I am 

 not alone. The tide glides by as it did the night before, 

 and on its breast stealing quietly down upon me in his 

 black canoe, his paddle scarcely making a ripple in the 

 dark water, comes a lone Indian. I watch him quietly 

 for a moment, and seeing that he is evidently moving on 

 my position, I raise my head. In an instant with a 

 stroke of his paddle he has changed bis course, and glid- 

 ing round the point rapidly disappears from view. By 

 the shape of his canoe and his appearance I judge him 

 to be a northern Indian, and his object probably was 

 plunder. These savages will steal the clothes off a man's 

 back. I am sure neither he nor his fellows will get a 

 .chance to steal from me. 



At once I bundle my things into my boat, and taking 

 my gun again, cruise along the shore, killing a few sand- 

 pipers. While going after these birds the boat gets 

 aground on a flat, as the tide is going out fast. My 

 stomach now begins to call for "food. I dig a few clams 

 and then reflect. I have heard the Indians say that 

 mussels are good eating. Well, why not try them? On 

 the under side'of the rocks at low tide I now find plenty 

 of large mussels washed clean by the waves. Having 

 previously built a fire of driftwood, I scoop off the mus- 

 sels from the rocks in layers with my sharp stick, and 

 laying them back downward on the coals, they soon 

 open, and I can take them out with a knife either well 

 or rare done, as I wish. 



I begin now to have great respect for the Siwash and 

 his dishes. The mussels are very nice indeed, and in fact 

 so much better than the clams that the clams are thrown 

 away. So I breakfast on bay snipe, sweet crabs and edi- 

 ble mussels. After breakfast, as my boat is still fast, I 

 take a short stroll along the bluffs. These bluffs on Wal- 

 dron are from 50 to 100ft. high, and seem to be composed 

 of hard clay. But in places up near the top there are 

 many shells imbedded, which were raised with the island 

 from the bottom of the sea. Along the bluff I found the 

 rough-winged swallow breeding, but could hardly reach 

 their nests alone. However, I secured two specimens of 

 the bird. Here also I found the ruf us-baeked humming- 

 bird (Selasphorux rufus) flitting from flower to flower. 

 Once a pair of bald eagles came out above me over the 

 cliff, swinging and circling. I pulled out one of my 

 small-shot cartridges and hastily inserting a charge of 



buckshot, shot at one of them at perhaps 150ydft from 

 where 1 stood, and almost over my head. I plainly heard 

 the shot strike it., and saw the feathers rise from its back 

 as the great shot tore tip through its vitals. A luck shot! 

 But after falling some distance it stiffened its wings and 

 mai i aged to sail < lo w 1 i ward i nto the great tim ber thai, cov- 

 ered the island. Although I knew it must be a. dead bird, 

 I did not care to risk my boat and taking the time neces- 

 sary to go around the big bluff and penetrate the deep 

 woods to find the bird, and so let it go. After climbing 

 part way up the bluff and gathering some of the shells 

 from the clay, 1 found the" tide coming in. Going on 

 board at once. I started out with a, fair tide and a head 

 wind to pull to the rocks, the first of which I reach after 

 about an hour's hard pulJ. This rock is less than an acre 

 in extent, mid hardly 1 00ft. above tidewater. At each 

 end there is a little harbor formed by long points of rock 

 mailing out for some distance both north and south, so 

 that a boat may be at one end or the other and find per- 

 fect shelter. On the northwest side the wall of rock rises 

 perpendicularly from deep water. On the other side the 

 ascent is more gradual. And on these sides the rocks 

 are worn into fantastic shapes by the winds and waves. 

 On the top of the bluffs there is from 2 to 6ft. of soil 

 which has accumulated there through the ages, and this 

 bears grass, cactus and several small plants. 



If you have ever approached an island where the sea 

 birds nest, you can judge of the pandemonium which 

 now greets my ear, the wild plaintive cries of the great 

 glaucous-winged gull mingled with the loud plaint of the 

 oyster-catcher, the quack of the harlequin ducks and the 

 hoarse growling of the puffins. As I approach from the 

 southeast I can see the gulls perched on the angles of 

 the rocks or circling wildly about overhead, the puffins, 

 guillemots and oyster-catchers on the reefs and round 

 the point of the rock, a few of tin; cormorants sitting 

 erect on the very verge of the sea wall. As I draw near 

 the island the ducks rise in a body with a noise like 

 thunder, and skim away down the wind followed by the 

 puffins and others, while the gulls rise in the air and cry- 

 ing louder and louder circle overhead. Now the crows 

 join the din, as they come far and near over the sea in 

 anticipation of a feast, for they are inveterate nest rob- 

 bers. Pulling strongly to prevent being earned past the 

 rocks, as the tide is setting very hard, I reach the little 

 harbor, and mooring the boat step out and creep carefully 

 round the edges of the rock. Now on a shelving ledge I 

 come upon a gull's nest, well made, hollowed and prettily 

 lined with moss, with two great large eggs as large as 

 goose eggs lying in it. As I round the corner of the 

 rock, there, sitting right before me, is a cormorant. As I 

 fire lie falls, apparently dead, into the water, and others 

 go off behind the rock and I cannot see them. Finding 

 they are all gone, and not caring for any specimens of the 

 gulls, I climb about the edges of the rocks and find a few 

 more gull's eggs, and what is stranger still a crow's nest 

 with three young on the ground in the middle of the 

 island. Thus it seems the robbers have the hardihood to 

 nest and rear their young among the birds upon whose 

 offspring they prey. These are the northwestern fish 

 crows (Coi'Viis caiirimcs). 1 detest the crows, and I cast 

 the young over the rock, shoot at the old ones, to drive 

 them away from the eggs and go down to the boat to get 

 the cormorant. When I get to him I find he has come 

 to life, and I have some little trouble in catching him. 

 There is no bird harder to kill than a cormorant. Two 

 friends of mine chased a wounded one half a day, shoot- 

 ing at it often, and finally, just as their ammunition was 

 nearly gone, a lucky shot brought the bird to bag. My 

 bird is apparently the beautiful, violet green species 

 (P. vtolctceus), but as it is an immature bird I am not cer- 

 tain, t 



While I am occupied in this the puffins begin to return 

 one by one with rapid flight, a curious and beautiful 

 sight, with their creamy crests streaming out and their 

 red feet spread wide on either side behind. They do not 

 light on the island, however, as in circling around they 

 see me and fly away again, lighting far out on the water. 

 Seeing this, I commence to shoot, and soon have three of 

 these beautiful birds floating off on the tide. Then I 

 rush down the rocks to the boat and row after them, but 

 the tide runs so swiftly here that I find that in a few 

 minutes I am more than half a mile away from the. rocks. 

 However, by hard rowing I manage to secure two of the 

 birds, and then taking advantage of the eddy manage to 

 reach the island. 



The tide is running by here now at about seven miles 

 an hour. It is getting Well into the afternoon, and I 

 have had nothing to eat since morning, I hunt around 

 among the rocks and find in the crevices a few fresh eggs 

 of the pigeon guillemot ( Uria columba). I then climb 

 down to my little harbor and blow the eggs, and of the 

 contents of the fresh ones make an omelet. My tin pail 

 is leaking badly, so drinking up what remains of the 

 water I start a little fire of driftwood and cook my 

 omelet over this in the bottom of the pail. The sun is 

 hot, and I know that I must have water; so after finish- 

 ing my simple meal, it being now nearly flood tide and 

 very little current, I take advantage of a slight breeze 

 and pull away for the other island a mile to the west- 

 ward. 



Before coming among these isles, a friend had said to 

 me, "You will think you are in fairy land when you get 

 up there." I smiled at this, but now realize that it is no 

 exaggeration. Everything to day is wonderful. All the 

 senses seem to deceive one, and all seems so unreal and 

 strange! Looking astern, a vast mirage appears spread, 

 out before me. The air seems clear enough, but away 

 over the sea I see piles on piles, battlements and towers, 

 rocky shores and woodlands — some diverted and some 

 upright — tier on tier, and stretching away into a dim, 

 hazy and shimmering distance. Birds sitting on the 

 water appear like columns or sea monsters, rearing their 

 heads as they rise and dive; and now comes a crash, and 

 then another, and another, and another! a succession of 

 noises like the firing of guns. It is only the strong wing 

 of a cormorant as he rises, beating the water before my 

 boat. How all sounds are magnified. A flock of harle- 

 quin ducks rises, fluttering along the surface with a sound 

 like that of armies meeting in battle, and the report of 

 my gun, as I shoot at a white headed gull, is followed by 

 roar upon roar as the islands and shores take it up and 

 repeat it from one to another. On and on goes the sound 

 like volley after volley of artillery while I listen, amazed 

 at the tumult I have caused. With rumble and roar the 

 puffins rise and circle in noisy flight. The ducks again \ 

 fill the air with the uproar of their wings, while through 



and above, all come tin- wild cries of the gulls from the 

 rocks. So loud and piercing are they that they seem to 

 come out of the air around rue, but I know they are 

 nearly a mile away, for T can see them circling over the 

 rock like a, white cloud. Slowly thcrumblings and rever- 

 berations die away and I he world seems again at peace, 

 and no w I can plainly hear people talking. I look around 

 but there is no boat to be seen. They are evidently the 

 voices of squaws and children. And taking my glass I 

 can see their camp quite plainly, and they are away down 

 on the shore of Waldron, two or three miles away. 



The clouds which have been hanging about the moun- 

 tains in the east are now drifting away and I see. above 

 the mirage then- snow-clad tops, and as the white clouds 

 break and drift, the great white peak of Mount Baker 

 gleams through them tinged with the red light of the 

 setting sun. Slowly the sun, a great red ball of living 

 fire, sinks beneath the Pacific. The mountains now are 

 hazy, blue and purple. But great Baker, towering above 

 them all, catches the last bright sunrays, and looms in all 

 his majesty, white and cold" among the blue heavens. 

 The tide is at its flood. The sea is calm. The beauty of 

 the scene is indescribable. It is worth coming 3,000 

 miles to see. I have forgotten to row, and the sail flaps 

 idly against the mast. Resting here upon this crimson 

 sea, I now behold the glory of the firmament. 



As the sun sinks I take up my oars and on the tide 

 which now begins to ebb, pull and drift toward the In- 

 dian camp. Here are a few old sheds, and a fire over 

 which are some square cans in which two squaws are 

 trying out dogfish oil. Children, half -naked and brown, 

 are playing on the beach. As I pull into the harbor I 

 hear the grating of a keel, and looking round, see a man 

 and girl launching a canoe. They step in, each takes a 

 paddle, and the canoe soon glides by me. Neither of 

 them says a word nor looks at me. The old Indian has a 

 little beard and black moustache, which by the way is 

 quite a common thing out here. He has some kind of 

 a fish spear. The girl is really quite good-looking and 

 her dress very picturesque. She is the only good-look- 

 ing Siwash I have yet seen on the coast. 



As my boat drives on the beach, I jump out and address 

 one of the ugly old squaws, asking her, "Where is water?" 

 She points back in the woods with a grunt. I go, and 

 there find a hole in the earth about ten inches round, from 

 which a little water slowly trickles. I cannot fill my pail 

 hero, but I go down prone on the grass and drink that 

 hole almost dry. And splendid water it proves. 



Now, where shall I spend the night? In answer to this 

 question a sloop puts out from the shore a half mile above 

 and comes drifting along with the tide. I can see with 

 my glass it is a white man's boat. A little boy runs for- 

 ward and hauls up the jib and foresail, to take advantage 

 of what wind there is, and I see the sails are brown (prob- 

 ably oiled), and she is so near the color of the shores that 

 I did not notice her at anchor. I have a suspicion she is 

 a smuggler, as there is a good deal of smuggling done 

 among these islands. I see the boy run aft and take the 

 tiller, while the man commences to work two long sweeps. 

 With wind, tide and oar she moves up fast, and I launch 

 my boat, give her sail enough to get into the sloop's way, 

 and as she runs alongside I open a conversation with the 

 captain. He says he has been fishing, and lives a. mile or 

 two along shore. He invites me to follow him home, 

 which I do. That night I camp on the beach near the 

 fisherman's house. Eoward Howe Forbush. 



IN THE WOODS AGAIN. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



During the winter and summer of last year, I was a 

 very frequent contributor to Forest and Stream, and 

 then suddenly ceased or "dried up," leaving some of 

 my stories only half told. This was greatly to my re- 

 gret, but I could not help it. I have brought upon my- 

 self, almost unwittingly, a tremendous amout of work, 

 which has taxed my energies about as much as they 

 could bear and withdrawn me from all other things, and 

 still does tax and withdraw me. This is my first visit to 

 my old retreat in the woods for several months, except 

 one of a single day; and now that the birds are chirping 

 around me all day, and the early wild flowers casting 

 their pretty glances at me, and my friends the wolves 

 saluting me nearly all night long with their deep-toned 

 voices, the old spirit comes upon me and I shall be most 

 loath to go. 



What a pity one cannot always do in this world what 

 he most likes to do — that is, if that which he most likes 

 to do is good and innocent and sweet. If I could have 

 my way, I would probably pass all my time in loving 

 nature and discoursing * with and of her. However, 

 there is other very important work for us to do: and I 

 am one of those who believe that if we rightly love 

 nature, and to study and discourse with her, we shall 

 have abundant time and talent and opportunity to do so 

 when we have passed over the river; when we can climb 

 mountains and thread forests without becoming tired, and 

 walk over the waters like spirits. Would he who created 

 us have planted these pleasant loves and longings in us, 

 if he did not intend that we shall some day have abun- 

 dant enjoyment of them? I think not. 



But I do not wish to speculate in future things now. 1 

 merely write to say that many letters from Forest and 

 Stream's readers that have come during my long silence 

 have been neglected, and I could not well help it. When 

 a fellow is pushed to the throat-latch, he must be for- 

 given, not once only, but even unto seventy times seven. 



Carbonoale, Tex. N. A. T. 



Con ores International, de Zoologue.— On the occa- 

 sion of the Universal Exposition of 1889 the Zoological 

 Society of France has made arrangements for an inter- 

 national congress of zoology to be held a t Paris from the 

 5th to the 10th August inclusive. Among the subjects for 

 discussion will be: The rules for adoption for the nomen- 

 clature of organized beings. The adoption of an interna- 

 tional scientific language. Determination of the regions 

 of the globe, the fauna of which is imperfectly known, 

 and which call for further exploration. The importance 

 of embryology as a guide to classification. The relation 

 between existing and fossil types, etc. The charge for 

 admission is fixed at fifteen francs for titulary members, 

 and a minimum of thirty francs for contributary mem- 

 bers. Members will be allowed to participate in the dis- 

 cussions and will be entitled to the publications of the 

 Congress. Subscriptions should be sent to the treasurer. 

 M. C. Schlumbergen, 31 Rue du Cherche-Midi, a Paris. 



