162 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 20, 1888. 



She Stportmum $oumt. 



AN OWL HUNT. 



BY A COUNTRY PARSON. 



I NEVER had any experience in hunting owls, until 

 the somewhat peculiar and quite enjoyable luck 

 which hefel me and several companions this last summer 

 during a few weeks of recreation among the mountains 

 of eastern Pennsylvania. There were four of us in the 

 party— Sam. Joe', Rob and myself. It don't matter what 

 our last names are. One name is enough for a man at 

 any time in the woods, and especially on vacation. We 

 had purposely taken our vacation early this year, in order 

 to avail ourselves of the last days of the trouting season, 

 which, according to Pennsylvania law, closes July 15, 

 and alas! the 15th fell on a Sunday this year. 



Of our luck at fishing I will not now speak, further 

 than to say that one day as the season was drawing very 

 uncomfortably near its close, we were all up on "The Still- 

 waters,-' in the neighborhood of what our local fishermen 

 call "The Duck Puddle," a wild, desolate-looking marsh, 

 bordered by pine and oak-covered ridges. One afternoon 

 I was sitting on the bank of the stream, all alone and 

 half asleep, and all the fish more than half asleep, too, it 

 seemed to me. the rest of the boys having gone up the 

 creek to try their luck at "The Duck Puddle." After an 

 absence of several hours they returned, reporting no 

 other luck than that they had* heard the hoot of a big 

 owl, 



"I tell you, boys," exclaimed Sam, "he was a. big one. 

 He made the woods ring.'" 



"Yes." said I, "I heard him, but I thought it was you 

 fellows calling." 



"There's two of them," continued Sam, "and they 

 were calling to each other. 1 tell you what, boys— when 

 the jig is up witfi the fishing, let's come up here and hunt 

 these owls. It'll be fun, I'd like to have one stuffed for 

 my book case, like that great brown fellow under the 

 gla?s case in the hotel parlor. Isn't he a beauty? I'd 

 give a bran new five dollar bill for such an owl any day." 



So, when the fishing season was over, and we had 

 taken our split bamboos apart, and reeled up our lineB 

 and arranged our fly-books against the next season, we 

 began to talk of hunting those owls up on the Still- 

 waters. For certain reasons which will in due time be- 

 come clear, Joe and I declined being of the party. We 

 had another hunt in view, which like a wheel within a 

 wheel, was simply to hunt for the owl hunters, and have 

 a little fun at their expense— perhaps also at our own. 



We thought if we could only somehow get the start 

 of them, and get into the wood's before they arrived on 

 the ground, we might see some fun. But in the first 

 place, it would be necessary to make some preparations. 

 We would need a stuffed owl or two. But where to get 

 them was a question we could not answer. It was not 

 to be thought of that our worthy host would lend us his 

 magnificent specimen under the glass case, just to be 

 riddled with bird shot on a lark in the woods. In the 

 absence, therefore, of any dummy or decoy of this kind, 

 we could think of nothing better than to learn to imitate 

 the hoot of an owl as near to the natural thing as possi- 

 ble. Fortunately I had in my trunk a copy of the Cen- 

 tury for May containing an interesting article on "Bird 

 Music — Partridges and Owls," wherein I remembered to 

 have seen the hoot of the large brown owl reproduced by 

 the assistance of musical notation. Now, though neither 

 Joe nor myself is much of a musician, still we know 

 enough abottt mu-ic to read the notes, and by careful 

 practicing for several days out in the woods away from 

 Sam and Rob, we both became proficient in the science 

 of hooting. Whether this was due so much to the ac- 

 curacy of the article in the Century, or, as seemed more 

 likely to us, to our own remarkable powers of imitation, 

 needs not here be discussed. Of myself I may modestly 

 s iy that I am no slouch at mimicry, and Sam says I can 

 bark a squirrel better than any other man he ever saw, 

 and Sam is a good hand at squirrel shooting. At all 

 events, we got it down fine on the owl hoot, bo fine indeed 

 that the very afternoon before the day set by Sam and 

 Robfor the expedition up to "The Duck Puddle,'* Joeandl 

 had an unexpectedly successful rehearsal in the woods 

 about a mile from the house. We had stationed ourselves 

 down in a dark rhododendron swamp, and were call- 

 ing at intervals of several miuutes, Hoo-hoo-hoo! 

 Hoo-hoo hoo! 



All of a sudden we became conscious of the soft flut- 

 tering of owl wings near us, as two brown owls settled 

 on the lower limbs of a tree a rod or so away. To knock 

 them over with a stick was easy work. An owl is a 

 tender bird, and you don't have to hit him hard to kill 

 him. 



"What '11 we do with them?" asked Joe. "Give them 

 to Sam and Rob and abandon the hunt?" 



"Not a bit of it," said I. "We've had entirely too much 

 trouble with this business and have gone quite too far to 

 back out in that way. I tell you what we'll do. We'll 

 skin our owls right off, stuff them with dry grass and 

 take them with us to-morrow to keep on the fun. We 

 can take good care of them and have them nicely stuffed 

 after tbey have served our purpose. We shall have a 

 heap of fun with them, or I am a little mistaken," 



Sam and Rob were not to start for "The Duck Puddle" 

 until after dinner. Tney arranged it so of their own 

 accord, and to our convenience. They said that "owls 

 come out more toward evening than earlier in the day." 

 We thought so too. 



Joe and I started for the scene of operations about the 

 middle of the forenoon, excusing ourselves to our host on 

 some plausible pretext or other, We secured a good 

 lunch, took our rudely stuffed owls in hand nicely packed 

 in parcels, and disappeared at a time when our two com- 

 panions were not about the house. 



We walked several miles, then got a lift on a wagon 

 going our way, and about noon sat down under a broad 

 hemlock to eat our lunch and perfect our plans. 



We knew very nearly the part of the woods they would 

 make for, because it was likely they would hunt for the 

 owls where we had heard them hooting when we were 

 fishing, and if they wandered away any distance, we 

 could easily lure them back by hoo-hooing. We there- 

 fore determined to station ourselves about a fourth of a 

 mile apart and try to bewilder the hunters by hooting 

 them first to one point and then to another. Each was 



to take along his stuffed owl and to make such use of it 

 as opportunity might offer. 



After a long search we were so fortunate as to find two 

 large hollow trees, a little further apart than we desired 

 indeed, but otherwise very convenient for our purpose. 

 The tree in which I stationed myself was the better of 

 the two, as besides being large enough to allow me to 

 enter it bodily, it afforded me a good place of conceal- 

 ment in the hollow part of a large limb which ran out 

 from the trunk at a height of about nine or ten feet from 

 the ground. Into this, being of slender build, I could 

 easily scramble by placing my knees against the opposite 

 sides of the trunk. I found also when up in my roost, 

 which was a snug fit, that a knot hole afforded me a good 

 breathing place and a comfortable point of observation. 

 The hole had been enlarged by some bird or animal, so 

 that I could easily put my head through if [ wished. 

 Besides, it would give me a fine opportunity to push out 

 my stuffed bird so that it could be seen by the hunters. 



It had taken me a good while to get all in readiness. 

 As my perch in the hollow limb was rather cramped and 

 uncomfortable, I spent some time in enlarging it by tear- 

 ing off the decayed portions, and also made myself a kind 

 of rude stab-way by which to reach it easily and quickly. 



I now thought that by this time my companion must 

 be fixed in his station, and that we might soon begin 

 operations. I was on the point to try how well I could 

 imitate an owl in these dark and gloomy forests, when 

 there came a long-drawn Hoo-hoo hoo! mournfully 

 resounding through the woods. For a moment I was 

 sure it was a real owl, so natural was the sound, but on 

 reflection concluded it must be Joe in his hollow tree. 

 Putting my mouth to the hole in the limb I replied to my 

 very best ability. Though I laughed at the thing, it 

 really had an oniinous sound. 



After having made thorough trial of our hooting 

 powers, we silently awaited the approach of our game — 

 the owl hunters. I passed away an hour smoking my 

 cigar and watching the dark and sombre forest through 

 my window and door of observation. At length deeming 

 that, as it was now somewhat past 3 o'clock, the party 

 must be in the woods somewhere, I wakened the echoes 

 with a long, solemn, and well-executed Hoo-hoo-hoo! 

 repeating my call at brief intervals and then relapsing 

 into a profoundly philosophical silence — just like an owl 

 in a hollow tree always does. 



I waited a long while and was about to try it over 

 again, when I heard the snapping of twigs at a distance, 

 and could plainly see Sam and Rob approaching, guns in 

 hand. Quickly I gave two short calls, Hoo-hoo! which 

 was the signal to Joe to call tnem over his way. 



They had come almost up to my tree. I laughed till I 

 shook at the alert but quizzical expression on their faces 

 as they scanned the surrounding trees looking for the 

 philosophical bird. 



"He is here somewhere, Rob," said Sam. "It sounded 

 about here." 



"I think it was more to the left, "was the half -whispered 

 reply. 



Hoo-hoo-hoo! rang out now, a full quarter of a mile 

 in another direction. 



"I told you we'd got too far to the right," said Rob; and 

 away they dashed in Joe's direction. Joe kept hoo-hoo- 

 ing until he got them nearly up to him, and then he gave 

 me the signal to call them off my way. 



The fun was now beginning in earnest. Sam and Rob 

 became excited over the chase. They would come tear- 

 ing down toward me, then they would race up in Joe's 

 direction , then down my way again, from pillar to post, 

 and from Dan to Beersheba, until they were quite over- 

 heated and out of breath. 



"Confound it," I heard one of them exclaim, "I never 

 imagined an owl hunt such exciting work. When we 

 are over here, then we hear him over there, and when we 

 get over there, then he's over here. I believe there are 

 two of them." 



I now decided that it was about time to give them some 

 small reward for all this racing up and down. So, after 

 having for the fourth time hooted them down to my sta- 

 tion, I pushed my stuffed owl out of the hole, and awaited 

 events. 



I had to wait some time. Our hunters were losing rel- 

 ish for the game. Sam was lying on the ground and Rob 

 was sitting on a log, both looking around among the trees. 

 All of a sudden Sam Bprang to his feet and began, cat- 

 like, to advance in my direction. I held my owl as 

 steady as I could for laughing until he fired, and then I 

 let her drop. 



I heard them both running, Rob saying, "Well, you did 

 get one, didn't you?" 



"Yes," replied Sam, as he picked up the bird, "I did. 

 But — blame it! — it appears to me there is something 

 wrong with this bird. It's the queerest looking owl ever 

 I see. It must have been hard up for something to eat. 

 Just see! It's all full of grass!" And he began pulling 

 the dried grass out of it. 



Rob now began to laugh, saying he had never heard of 

 a Nebuchadnezzar among the owls in all his life before; 

 and he laughed so long and poked so much fun at Sam's 

 bird, rolling on the ground and he-he-he-ing till he was 

 as red in the face as a boiled lobster; so that Sam began 

 to suspect that Rob had played a trick on him ! 



"Where on earth could a stuffed owl come from away 

 out here in these woods, if you didn't do it, I'd like to 

 know? Why, there ain't a living soul within five miles 

 of this spot." 



Bob protested his innocence, but Sam would listen to no 

 denial. The more Rob denied it, the more Sam believed 

 it. Things were getting quite serious when to my great 

 relief (for I was nearly dying of laughter) I heard Joe 

 hoo-hoo-ing again up in his corner of the woods. 



"There he is again," said Rob. "Come on, let's go after 

 him, Sam." 



But Sam was a little sulky now, and said he'd ' 'had 

 enough of shooting owls stuffed with grass, and that if 

 his companion had any more of that kind of game, why, 

 he could just shoot it himself for all he cared, blamed if 

 he couldn't." 



Rob went his way, and after a while Sam followed, 

 kicking the insides out of my bird as he went. 



What happened while they were gone I must leave Joe 

 to narrate, as I was not an eye witness to the amusing 

 colloquy, 



"I had no way of pushing my bird out through a hole 

 in the tree as you had," said he, "and therefore I had to 

 I wait till they had gone over to you before I could plant 

 I my bird. Then I crawled out of my hiding place and set 



my bird up on the dead limb of a fallen tree, and made 

 it look as natural as I could. When Sam and Rob came 

 back from your quarter they were arguing, I didn't then 

 know about what, when Bob spied my owl on the tree. 



"Hist, Sam! there's another right there on that dead 

 tree right ahead of you," 



"Yes, a dead owl on a dead tree. Another of your 

 blamed old grass-eatin' kind. You don't stuff that Bort 

 down me any more, I can tell you that." 



Rob declared and declared that it was not any trick of 

 his, that it was a genuine owl, he saw it move its head, 

 insisted on Sam shooting it before it flew away, but all to 

 no purpose. Sam was no go, and declared that unless 

 Rob shot that bird as a proof of good faith, he'd never 

 believe anthing else than that he had set up that job on 

 him. So Rob fired at short range, knocking the feathers 

 and grass out of the owl in such a way as somewhat re- 

 stored Sam's good nature, now that the joke was about 

 equally divided and honors were easy. 



"The dogs take it! Let's go home!" said Rob, as he 

 picked up his bird and tossed it away in disgust. "I be- 

 lieve these woods are bewitched. I could take an oath, 

 Sam, and will any day, that I know nothing of how these 

 confounded stuffed owls got here, any more than you do." 



Just then two began again to hoo-hoo-hoo! The two 

 were so long coming this time that I really began to be- 

 beve they had left for home, and, as they told me after- 

 ward, they would not have paid any attention at all to 

 my call had they not been obliged to pass near my station 

 on their way out of the woods. 



And now we had a little more fun. (I was sorry Joe 

 wasn't with me to enjoy it). For just before the two owl 

 hunters appeared on the scene, a large brown owl, at- 

 tracted no doubt by my long and persistent hooting, came 

 and settled on a limb of my tree not more than a foot 

 from the hole out of which I was looking! He was so 

 near me that I could have seized him with my hand, and 

 I would have done so, had I not been more anxious to 

 hear what Sam and Rob would say now that a real live 

 owl was before them than I was to possess the bird itself. 

 I heard them coming. 



They were not long in spying the game. They both 

 sat down on a log and looked at him. Neither said a 

 word for a few minutes. Then Sam began ; 

 "The woods are full of 'em." 

 "Yes, and how natural they do look!" 

 "Blamed grasshopper owls!" 

 "It's your turn to shoot, Sam." 



"If you wait till I shoot that bird, you'll spend a good 

 many nights in this neck o' woods, that's ali." 



"Well, I believe I've had enough of this kind of gun- 

 ning, and I'm for going home. I don't know how these 

 dummy owls got here, but that bird yonder can sit on the 

 tree till doomsday before I'll shoot at him. Come on, let's 

 be moving." 



They were actually on the point of leaving when, think- 

 ing it a pity to lose so fine a bird, I reached out my hand 

 and grabbed him firmly by both legs and pulled him in. 

 I then scrambled down and out of my tree. 



When I appeared on the scene, laughing and fighting 

 with my owl as he attacked my hand savagely with his 

 hooked beak, giving me several severe wounds, which I 

 did not mind much amid the excitement of the occasion, 

 Sam and Rob were a sight to behold. Such a variety of 

 sentiments as were depicted on their countenance one 

 does not often see. The sudden and energetic disappear- 

 ance of a stuffed owl, its sudden reappearance in company 

 with myself, flapping its wings and biting at my hand, 

 together with all the strange experience of the last few 

 hours, led them to feel that the woods were haunted, and 

 that they had best get away as fast as their legs would 

 carry them. The first surprise over, and when they saw 

 that it was actually myself and not some hobgoblin, they 

 saw through the whole mystery in a moment, but .evi- 

 dently were so chagrined at their mutual refusal to shoot 

 so fine a bird as I held by the legs, and were so overcome 

 by a variety of emotions that they could hardly speak. 



As for myself, I laughed long and loud. As soon as I 

 could control myself I hoo-hooed for Joe, and after he 

 had come up and enjoyed a good laugh, we all started 

 for home, as it was now full ? o'clock in the evening. 



Sam and Rob forgave us the trick we had played them, 

 the more readily as I gave Sam the real live owl they had 

 both refused to shoot. Sam is going to have him stuffed 

 — but not by me he says, "nor with dried grass neither" — 

 and will put him up on his bookcase in his library. When 

 I go round to Sam's house to make a call on him, as I do 

 once in a while of a winter evening, I shall never see that 

 bird without a smile so broad that I shall wish my coun- 

 tenance were broad enough to take it all in, 



A MIDNIGHT SCENE. 



[From "Two Hundred Miles in a Birch."] 



AFTER supper, feeling quite tired, I wrapped myself 

 in my blanket, preparatory to going to sleep. I lay 

 for some time but was unable to close my eyes. At 

 length I arose, and pulling aside the curtain of the tent, 

 looked out. It was midnight. The moon had just risen, 

 peering over yonder mountain top, and its light, reflected 

 on the waters of the lake, lit up the forest around as if a 

 thousand torches were blazing within it. 



All was still, save the occasional hoot of an owl and the 

 cry of a loon, which broke in upon the stillness of the 

 night like an intruder. In the distant mountain glade 

 could be heard the moose calling for his mate, in the 

 swamp the cry of the whippoorwill. The camp-fire had 

 nearly gone out, and only a few embers were still smok- 

 ing. It was then that nature seemed most grand and 

 beautiful. 



Giving up all idea of again seeking sleep, I woke one of 

 the guides and bade him paddle me out upon the lake. 

 Never shall I forget that night if I live to be a hundred 

 years old. Words cannot describe it. It was grand, and 

 that seems but a tame word to apply to it. I sat in the 

 bow of the canoe gazing in wonder and admiration on 

 the scene before me. The light birch glided silently over 

 the water, the paddle being wielded by the skillful hands 

 of the Indian. 



Not a word had been spoken by either of us since we 

 left the shore, each being occupied with his own thoughts. 

 Indeed there seemed to be a solemnity about the scene 

 that made one abstain from speaking lest all should 

 vanish like a dream. 



Looking toward the further shore, I beheld a picture, 

 the equal of which I have never seen in art gallery or 

 1 studio. There, directly in the rays of the moon, stood a 



