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FOREST AND STREAM. 



ft)EC. 13, 1888. 



MAINE AND ITS BIG GAME. 



TT IS likely to prove that the number of deer killed in 

 A Maine this fall, in the open season indeed, will prove 

 to be larger than ever before. The fact of the abundance 

 of deer in that State has drawn the attention of hunters, 

 especially in Boston, and they have gone into that State 

 to hunt the noble game. The weather has been very bad, 

 and in some respects thus favorable to the life of the deer, 

 but in others it led to their destruction. There have been 

 a great many storms of snow in the wooded sections of 

 that State, and this has made the still-hunting of the 

 deer easier than ever. There has followed this still-hunt- 

 ing a good deal of success— a feature in hunting that ani- 

 mal heretofore considered rather difficult and uncertain. 

 Not only has the zest been felt by sportsmen from out of 

 the State, but the hunters in the State have taken up the 

 hunting of deer with a gusto almost unknown. They 

 have also met with success most remarkable, not only 

 because there are a great number of deer to hunt, but 

 also because the hunting his been easier by reason of the 

 frequent early snows. As has already been mentioned in 

 the Forest and Stream, Maine sportsmen have killed a 

 great many deer in the Narragaugus region. One patty 

 of three hunters killed nine deer there in October; all the 

 law would allow them. But it is in the vicinity of Mol- 

 uncus, some eight miles from Mattawaumkeag, in Aroos- 

 took country, that the deer hunters have had the greatest 

 success. From perfectly reliable sources, I learn that 

 five deer were kdled on the first day or two of the open 

 season within a short distance of Ooburn Camp at that 

 point. Two of the deer were shot by Mr. Coburn him- 

 self, and since that time he has killed another, making 

 tip his quota allowed by the law. Indeed, thirteen deer 

 have been kiUed this season thus far at Coburn Camp. 

 The first deer shot were those that come out into the field 

 to feed. The sport has been remarkably good, but those 

 who have been there say that the deer are getting wild 

 from excessive hunting. 



Mr. Henry B. Moore, better known as Harry Moore in 

 the flour and grain trade of Boston, has just returned 

 from a very successful deer hunt in Maine. He was ac- 

 companied by his brother, Mr. Geo, C. Moore, of Chelms- 

 ford, Mass. They went to the celebrated Moluncus 

 region also, which by the way has a lake by that name. 

 They were in the woods seven days with Ernest Coburn 

 as guide. They came home happy, with two deer, a 

 buck and a doe. The buck was a yearling and did not 

 support a very handsome set of antlers. They staid all 

 the time they could afford, but the weather was simply 

 terrible, though there was generally snow enough for 

 tracking the deer. They obtained one or two shots that 

 were unsuccessful. Their method of hunting was that 

 of still-hunting, pure and simple. Hunting with dogs is 

 not tolerated in that section. They followed up the deer 

 by their tracks in the snow. Sometimes they would fol- 

 low a track all day, and yet they made as a rule very little 

 distance from the camp. Mi*. Moore says it is wonderful 

 how a deer will wind in and out of a swamp and ''singu- 

 lar how they will wander around without any percepti- 

 ble purpose, but just to wander around." The woods 

 were full of water and terrible walking. Thev killed 

 their deer with rifles. The day they left they had come 

 upon a very large track, but did not find the deer. The 

 uide, Ernest Coburn, urged them to stay another day. 

 ut they were unable to do so. A letter has since fol- 

 lowed Harry to Boston from his guide, saying that on 

 the day following their departure from Moiuncus he had 

 killed the finest buck ever killed in that region. Harry 

 believes this buck to be the one he was after and wished 

 that he might have stayed another day. 



This same guide told the Moores the strongest moose 

 story; and the fun of the thing was that he appeared to 

 believe it, too. By the way, they heard but little about 

 actual moose in that region. These animals are all fur- 

 ther into the woods. But the story is told of Moluncus 

 Lake in the days when there were more moose than at 

 present. It seems that a celebrated logger and moose 

 hunter was one morning going up this lake with his two 

 horse team. The lake had frozen over only a night or 

 two previous, and it was as glare as new ice'knows how 

 to be. But his horses were but recently sharpened as to 

 their shoe caulks. They were making good progress up 

 the lake, when behold! two moose attempting to cross 

 the terribly smooth ice. The way those great fellows 

 paddled, hobbled and slid around was a funny sight to 

 see. They had taken alarm at the team and were jump- 

 ing and trying to run, only to slip, slide and fall down 

 again. The woodsman put his horses into the run and 

 soon he came up with the moose. When close upon the 

 ungainly creatures the old bull turned and showed fight. 

 This caused the running horses to sheer, but the sled 

 slewed and knocked all four of the legs from under the 

 bull moose and he fell sideways upon the sled. But this 

 was not all. In falling he struck upon a sharp, short stake 

 of the sled, which penetrated his side and completely 

 pinned him there. Here the driver was able to cut his 

 throat. But this was only half the story. The cow moose 

 m her fright, had fallen on the ice and so injured her hip 

 that she could not rise, and the teamster easily dispatched 

 her also. He succeeded in loading the cow moose on to 

 the sled— the bull was already handsomely pinned there 

 — and he drove, back to his home a happy hunter. 



Another Boston merchant, together with his friend 

 has lately returned from a successful caribou hunt in the 

 vicinity of Eagle Lake. They also report the woods full 

 of water, making it almost impossible to move about 

 even with the best and tallest of rubber boots. They suc- 

 ceeded in getting three fine caribou. They also saw a 

 great moose as they were paddling up the West Branch 

 They saw him swimming across the river, where it is 

 some 200yds. wide. He was a long distance off, but the 

 Boston merchant is an excellent marksman and has killed 

 his moose. He commenced to "pepper away" with his 

 rifle. There was nothing to shoot at but the smallest 

 portion of the moose's head and his muzzle above the 

 water, and somehow several shots seemed to skip over 

 him without the least harm. The guide shouted for the 

 hunters to take the moose as he went on shore, which 

 point he was headed for as fast as possible. At the same 

 time he begun paddling the canoe with all his might in 

 order to give them as near a shot as possible. This rather 

 served to complicate matters, for the motion of the canoe 

 was very decidedly against shooting straight. The great 

 body of the moose came out of the water, but three shots 

 by experienced sportsmen went under and over him as 

 though he held a charmed life. The last shot firedstruck 



in the trees just before and over the moose, and fright- 

 ened him so that he turned and swam the river again; 

 but this time so far off that their rifles would not reach 

 him, even if they had been loaded and ready for shooting. 

 Nothing has been done in the way of calling moose m 

 that section this fall; the weather has been such that 

 there has scarcely been a night when that sport could be 

 followed. Special. 



The Belfast Journal reports: "The hunters returned 

 to Belfast in the afternoon of Nov. 28, having been ab- 

 sent nearly two weeks, and Friday Mr. John Twombly, 

 of Monroe", the driver, brought to town nine deer, the 

 result of the hunt. Mr. Twombly had two of his own 

 Which he left in Monroe, making a total of eleven, the 

 largest lot of deer ever brought into the city by a single 

 hunting party. In the lot were two large and handsome 

 bucks, the larger being between six and seven years old, 

 and all the others were full grown. The deer were landed 

 on the walk in front of Emmons & Sanborn's store on 

 High street, where they attracted much attention. Each 

 member of the party took one deer home, leaving the two 

 large bucks to be otherwise disposed of. One was cut up 

 and retailed for fifteen cents per pound for roastB and 

 twenty cents for steak, and the other was disposed of by 

 ticket. 



"The party this year consisted of Judge Geo. E. John- 

 son, Dr. S. W. Johnson, Geo. T. Reed, E. E. Bradbury, 

 M. R. Knowlton, Elisha Sherman and W. H. Sanborn, of 

 Belfast, and John Twombly, of Monroe. They left Ban- 

 gor Friday morning, Nov. 16, in Mr. Twombly"s four-horse 

 team, and traveled over the road described last year, 

 reaching Beddington the first day, and stopping at Mrs. 

 A. Schox^pies. The camp on the borders of Cranberry 

 Lake, occupied by the hunters of last year, was reached 

 on the second day. On leaving Beddington, Dr. Johnson 

 and Mr. Bradbury walked ahead, and four miles from 

 town the doctor killed a handsome buck, which was hung 

 up in the woods and taken on their return. 



"Monday morning the party started out and one deer 

 was killed by Dr. Johnson. Plenty of deer were seen and 

 many shots fired without result. Wednesday a majority 

 of the party went to Sabio Lake and visited the boarding 

 camp of Mr. Chas. F. Corliss, the guide of last year. Mr. 

 Corliss has a new camp in one of the best hunting dis- 

 tricts in Maine, with sleeping accommodations for ten 

 people, and boards hunting parties at $1 each per day. 

 Wednesday the party killed five deer. The weather was 

 very cold, freezing over the lake, and before the party 

 left, the ice was strong enough to allow crossing on foot. 

 Friday the old camp was deserted and the conqiany went 

 over to Corliss camp. Saturday's hunt yielded three deer. 

 The game was found in swamps. Parties drove the 

 swamps and as the deer ran out they were shot. As all 

 hands fired it was impossible to tell whose rifles were the 

 most successful. 



"Mr. George T. Read had a hard experience on that 

 day. He fired at a handsome doe and brought her down. 

 As the animal lay upon the ground the hunter thought of 

 walking up and dispatching it by cutting its throat, but 

 remembering the stories of the evening before concerning 

 the kicking of an apparently dead deer, Read approached 

 with great caution. The wounded animal got on his 

 feet, and when standing not over ten feet Read brought 

 his rifle to bear and snapped. There was no cartridge in 

 his rifle, and the deer made its escape. Dr. S. W. John- 

 son shot another deer Monday. M. R. Knowlton was 

 seized with buck fever, otherwise more game might have 

 been killed." 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



On the 8th day of October last. C. Fenton and L. Wet- 

 more, of Number Four, N. Y.; E. Seitz, of Troy, N. Y., 

 and the narrator hereof, left Lowville on the Utica and 

 Black River Road for an outing in the wilds of Maine. 

 The two former and myself having tried the Moose River 

 country one year ago last fall with poor success— owing to 

 the choosing of a bad location— thought we coidd better our 

 luck by trying it a second time. After reaching the C. P. 

 Railroad it soon transferred us to within ten miles of 

 camp, which we reached by trail, having to make two 

 trips in with camp duffle and provisions suitable for a 

 month's stay in the woods. The 20th of October but 

 barely found us ready to commence hunting. Now and 

 then the head of a ruffed grouse had been snuffed off, 

 when one of the party opened up by bagging a fawn that 

 showed itself near camp. Shortly after this two of us, 

 while following up. some caribou trail, came so near a 

 moose that he rose from his bed and stood long enough to 

 receive a shot from a Winchester rifle, when he started 

 off on a good trot down a shallow ravine. But before he 

 had traveled 50yds. he had four more balls through his 

 body, when he tumbled over. Upon going up we found a 

 three-year old, estimated to weigh ahout ten hundred 

 pounds, with a small set of antlers. We rolled him upon 

 his back, dressed and hung up the meat, taking the head 

 with us to camp as trophy number one. 



One week later a bull caribou with a nice set of ant- 

 lers containing some twentv points fell to our lot, pierced 

 through by a ball from a .38-cal. Later on another bull 

 and cow were added to the list. The three latter animals 

 would average when dressed about l,2001bs. each. We 

 saw several different tracks, however, made by caribou 

 that would weigh— judging from the size of the imprint 

 left in the snow — at least twice that amount. 



All along the river bottoms and lowlands the deer signs 

 were plenty. But as we were in pursuit of large game, 

 deer were left to gambol off without molestation. 

 Scarcelv a day passed but that some one of us could have 

 taken fair shots at them had we felt so disposed. The 

 weather continuing warm, we thought it best to break 

 ca mp and save the specimens already secured rather than 

 try for more. Three days were occupied in packing out 

 the meat, hides, heads and camp duffle, when we took 

 the cars for home, arriving safely on the 15th ult. Hop- 

 ing the Maine Legislature will keep the present game 

 law intact and the Commissioners see its provisions 

 strictly enforced, is the best wish of Cap Lock. 



FltEWSBURG, Dec. 7. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I have nothing pleasant to write, for my business did 

 not admit of an outing on my part this season. I see 

 others who have returned from their annual deer hunts, 

 some in luck and others not. All report most uncomfor- 

 table weather for camp life, and that the game is not in 

 its usual haunts, as we should expect in such a wet season. 

 An unusual number of visiting sportsmen have been in 



our county, and I learn that the average luck has been 

 fine. During the last two years the destruction of large 

 game in this county has increased rapidly, for poachers 

 have everything about as they please; hunt the whole 

 year, kill all they can and smuggle out of the State. I 

 do not say this to find fault with the Commissioners or 

 wardens, for the last Legislature tied their hands. To 

 legislate and not appropriate is nonsense. I see no indi- 

 cation of better things in the future. I judge from the 

 past game must go shortly. I know it is on the decrease, 

 deer in particular. Small game is now almost extinct in 

 localities where but a few years ago it was abundant. I 

 expect this humbugging nonsense to be kept up by guides 

 and poachers "that all kinds of game are on the increase." 

 I know better, but it will continue until the last deer is 

 slaughtered. Will the Forestry Commission help us at 

 the next Legislature ? Why should not the protection of 

 forests and game go together ? Let us have wi?e legis- 

 lation this winter, with an ample appropriation, and I 

 will warrant success. Sabao. 

 Machias, Maine. 



SOUVENIRS OF POND QUOGUE. 



AMONG the most cherished recollections of many 

 cheerful outings in years gone by, my recent visit to 

 Pond Quogue (or Ponquogue, as is probably the correct 

 spelling) stands out like a silhouette on a white sheet of 

 paper — as a pleasant summer dream, with a taste of the 

 brine still on my lips and the fragrance of the pines still 

 in my nostrils, as I am writing this by my cosy fireside 

 many miles away. I fancy I still hear the roar of the 

 surf as it pounds the beach at the "Old Inlet" near the 

 life-saving station; I see, in my mind's eye, the broad 

 beam of light thrown like a bridge of gold across the bay 

 from the Fresnel lens high up in the tall lighthouse; 

 and, as we sail gayly over the rippling waves while the 

 moon is rising high in the starry heavens, comes as music 

 to my city-worn ear the softly enunciated warning cry 

 from the lips of Captain George of "Hard a-lee!" as the 

 boom swings over our heads and we go about on another 

 tack, steering for the light which twinkles so merrily in 

 "Van's" cabin. 



But where is Ponquogue? Well, it is not difficult of 

 access for a New Yorker; cross the ferry at the foot of 

 East Thirty-fourth street, take the Long Island Railroad 

 (Montauk division) to Good Ground, and a walk or ride 

 in a stage of two miles over a good though sandy road 

 (but all roads, including the railway, are sandy on" Long 

 Island) will bring you to the time-honored Foster House, 

 of which Mr. Isaac Ed wards is now the genial host and 

 proprietor. There you will find cosy rooms, good beds, 

 and abundant fare; and if you come in the right season 

 you can indulge in sailing, surf -bathing and "sniping" to 

 your heart's content. 



"Sniping" is the vernacular used in those parts for 

 shooting snipe — mostly small snipe. But, what of that; if 

 the game is small the sport is great, and oxeyes, ring- 

 necks, yellowlegs and willet are by no means to be de- 

 spised in the menu; especially when flanked on one side 

 by a dish of delicious salt-water eels, freshly caught; or 

 on the other by a ditto of soft-shell crabs, just in from 

 the water; and in part, a small plate of clams, just dug 

 off the point, as an appetizer. Such a dejeuner, when set 

 off by an excellent cup of Java coffee and hot corn muf- 

 fins, is apt to bring one into right good humor, even if 

 one did make an awful lot of misses" and waste a couple 

 of boxes of cartridges the day before on the empty air. 



And such air! It makes me draw a long breath to 

 think of it. It was not the inflated air of Washington, 

 turgid and tumid with the bombast and buncombe of 

 political speeches in and out of Congress on the eve of a 

 Presidential election, but the pure God-given ether, free 

 from taint and corruption, and spiced with the salt of 

 the broad Atlantic. It was a life of sound and healthy 

 sleep, lulled by the muffled pounding of the breakers 

 across the bay, an enjoyable digestion, unlimited salt- 

 water sailing and plenty of shooting, both with the rifle 

 (at loons or water witches) and shotgun (at snipe) to keep 

 you busy betw T een meals. 



"Not very romantic!" I hear the esthetic reader solilo- 

 quize. Think you not? Then you have no romance in 

 your soul. Look out of your window in the morning be- 

 fore the first cock-crow, and long before the lantern has 

 been extinguished in the tall lighthouse over there; 

 watch the narrow band of crimson stretching along the 

 beach in the east; see how slowly and lightly the mists 

 rise from the pastures as the crimson line grows brighter 

 and brighter; listen, and you shall hear the tuneful trill 

 of the skylark as he wings his way high up in the gray 

 dawn to greet a new-born day; and then breathe that air 

 through the open window, and you will know the joy of 

 living for life's sake, and when the sun rises in all his 

 glory in a canopy of roseate hues you will feel like new- 

 born yourself, without cark or care, and in first-rate con- 

 dition to enjoy the eels which I see brother George is 

 bringing up from his boat yonder as the result of the 

 night's catch. 



It added not a little to my comfort and pleasure to have 

 Captain George E. Foster for my constant companion. 

 He is not only the most trusted and best known boatman 

 on Shinnecock Ba3 r , from Quogue to Southampton and 

 miles beyond, but is the best shot, and the best of fellows 

 generally. He will go out with you in all kinds of 

 weather, stay as long as you please, pole you home if the 

 wind dies out (as it sometimes will at Shinnecock Bay), 

 and never grumble for the loss of a dinner or supper. 

 Genial and goodnatured at all times, his jollvface, merry 

 laugh, soft "H-ard lee," and astonished "Well, I swan!" 

 when an uncommonly tough fish story was bandied about 

 in the boat on the way back from the bathing station, 

 was a sight to behold, and would have been a pleasure, 

 perhaps a cure, for the worst hypochondriac that ever 

 lived. 



My bags of game at Ponquogue were not large, but 

 they were the cause of much excitement and happiness 

 nevertheless. The snipe shooting is fairly good — prob- 

 ably as good as, if not better, than at any point on the 

 Long Island coast. Though small, they are quick and 

 wily birds, and afford excellent sport as well as good eat- 

 ing. I should advise sportsmen contemplating a visit to 

 the south shore of Long Island always to carry a rifle 

 along; I had a ,32cal. Colt repeating rifle and found it 

 very useful, in addition to my No. 12 Westley Richards 

 shotgun. I also carried a .22cal. Colt lightning magazine 

 rifle for target practice, when I desired a change, and for 

 snapshots at stray snipe when they came across the bay 



