304 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Not. n, 1889. 



kme §itg mA <§tix\. 



A WOODCOCK HUNT. 



IN the following lines I shall endeavor to give an ac- 

 count of a woodcock hunt differing from usual accounts 

 by including the shots which were misses as well as those 

 which, were kills. 



The hunt came about in this wise. Frank, " Ruf " and 

 ' ' Gi " had been out for the day and brought home seven- 

 teen woodcock and two partridges. So when during the 

 evening chat Jake suggested that he and I go out the next 

 day I agreed at once. The morning was dark and gloomy 

 and "Old Prob." said we might expect rain during the 

 day, but about ten o'clock it brightened up and we deter- 

 mined to start. We first drove about five miles to a very 

 good looking ground, and hitching our horse to the fence 

 bunted through the alders on each side of the creek with- 

 out finding a bird. Coming back we hunted along the 

 edge of some woods near the creek and alders where it 

 was swampy, and there was an occasional bunch of ald- 

 ers. As we walked by one of the bunches we heard a 

 woodcock whistle, but did not see him. We called the 

 dog, who was working closer to the woods; he came and 

 promptly nailed the bird in an adjoining clump. We 

 got into position and Jake ordered the dog to flush him. 

 It was Jake's shot and he killed with the first barrel. As 

 this was the end of this ground and it was afternoon, we 

 went to the buggy and ate our lunch, while our horse 

 was eating her grain. 



Lunch over with we started for a ground made famous 

 for woodcock by a score made in years past by Frank 

 and "Ruf" of 29 birds one day and 21 the next. The 

 mare knew what we were after and pulled up at the 

 post in the fence where we always hitch. Donning our 

 shooting coats again we were soon ready for the work 

 and our dog started in at a slashing gait. 



The grounds were very wet and I was thankful that I 

 had taken the precaution to wear hip boots. Tbe dog 

 splashed around, and soon disappeared in some very thick 

 alders; and as he did not come out when he naturally 

 would in quartering his ground, we knew he had located 

 a bird. Jake was on one side of the alders and I on the 

 other. I called to Sim to order the dog to "put 'em up," 

 which he did and away went the bird. I caught a glimpse 

 of it and fired, but failed to stop it. Jake said he "did 

 not see it, but from the noise it made getting up out of 

 the bushes thought it was a partridge." After correcting 

 his ideas on this point, we moved on as far as a creek, 

 which was too deep to wade even with hip boots, so we 

 decided to hunt up the creek on the side we were on. As 

 we turned to start I asked Jake where the dog was. He 

 did not know and began to call and whistle. After a 

 while he came to us and Jake ordered him on, but he at 

 once turned and started back in the direction he had just 

 come from, looking at us the while as if he wanted us to 

 go with him. I said, "Jake, he has got a bird back there, 

 we had better follow him." Jake assented. Sure enough, 

 after going a few rods, he circled around a bunch of 

 alders and came to a handsome point. I immediately 

 wallowed through the mud and water to an open spot, 

 and as soon as I got in position Jake walked in and put 

 up the bird, which did not fly exactly as I had calculated, 

 but I fired through the alders. A second later Jake fired, 

 and I tried again with my second barrel. I thought I 

 saw the bird fall on the other side of the alders, but a 

 search failed to find him, so we concluded that we had 

 both missed. 



We hunted along down tbe creek for some distance, 

 but the dog did not show game; so I decided to go back 

 to where I "thought I saw the bird fall, and take another 

 look. After I had been there some little time without 

 finding him, I heard Jake calling me; and I hurried to 

 him. As soon as I got there he said, "There is a bird in 

 here somewhere; you go out there," pointing to an open 

 spot, "and I will stay here." When we were in position 

 he ordered the dog on, and he flushed a bird, which Jake 

 missed with both barrels. Such a shot, too, a beautiful 

 right-quartering bird. Jake asked me to kick him, but 

 objected when I prepared to comply with his request. 

 The bird went around a corner of the bush and disap- 

 peared. We hunted where we thought he was without 

 finding him. 



I then started along down the creek, on the bank of 

 which at this place was a thick fringe of cedars. These 

 were between me and the creek. I had proceeded about 

 three rods, when up went a woodcock from among the 

 cedars and crossed the creek without showing himself. 

 Luckily, just above I had noticed a log that I could cross 

 on. I was soon across with the dog, while Jake kept on 

 the other side. Working into the alders, the dog soon 

 made game, and after a few moments came to a point. 

 I called to Jake to get ready, and went to an open spot 

 from where I tried to make the dog put up the bird; but 

 the dog would not move. Jake said, "You will have to 

 walk him up and take your chances." So I walked up in 

 front of the dog, and all around him outside a radius of 

 eight or ten feet, but no bird went up. I then went 

 nearer, and got so near that I could touch the dog with 

 my foot, which I did standing beside him, and urged 

 him to go on. At this the bird sprang up between us 

 with a whirr and a whistle. I quickly raised my gun to 

 shoot, and at the same instant tbe dog made a spring at 

 the bird (something he was never known to do before), 

 but misled him. As I saw the dog jump, I threw the 

 muzzle of my gun up just as I pulled tiie trigger, to avoid 

 shooting him, and of course missed my bird, which was 

 flying very low and sailed over the creek toward Jake, 

 wbo promptly fired and dropped him into the creek. Our 

 dog does not retrieve, so we feared we would lose the 

 bird; but Jake got a pole, and after some maneuvering 

 fished him out. 



As there was no more brush down the creek we decided 

 to return to the place where we were when the dog led 

 us to a bird, and to hunt up the creek, as we had then 

 intended. Jake went back to the side we had hunted 

 down on, and I on tbe other bank of the river. And such 

 walking as I had — mud, water and brudi, the worse than 

 which does not exi t. 



I was floundering along about half way back to where 

 we started in, when up went a woodcock. I fired, as I 

 always do when I see the bird, hit or miss, and again 

 scored a miss. The dog was on the other side with Jake. 

 I tried to get him to hunt with me, but he would not 

 stay; so I wallowed alone. I had thougM the walking 

 was bad before, but soon after flushing the bird I struck 



some that could give it long odds and beat it hands down. 

 I went to my knees at nearly every step in black mud 

 and water, and finally the climax came; I made a spring 

 to escape a particularly vicious looking hole, and as I 

 landed I could feel my left foot sinking into the mud 

 until it nearly ran over the top of my hip boot. I 

 mechanically dropped on to my right knee and tried to 

 pull the other leg out, but it was no go, or rather, no 

 come. I was stuck. Within reach of me was a rotten 

 stump, against which I leaned my gun, and off of which 

 I broke pieces to place under the knee that was on top. 

 These supported me if I kept quiet, but when I put any 

 pressure on them they broke. I saw a long piece of drift 

 wood that looked as if it would bear iny weight; this I 

 reached after an effort, and just a3 I got a firm hold and 

 began pulling it toward me, up went that woodcock from 

 near the other end of it. I suppose he had been sitting 

 there and chuckling to himself over my dilemma. I 

 thought so anyway, and hastily reaching for my gun, 

 cut loose on him at long range without ruffling a feather. 

 In a moment or so after I fired I heard Jake say, "What 

 did you shoot at?" and there he was on the other side of 

 the creek laughing at me. 



I soon got the long stick under my knee and hoisted 

 myself out; then went directly to the bridge, which was 

 near, and crossed over to Jake. We then worked through 

 some cedars up the creek until we struck the alders 

 again. The dog went in with a rush down the wind, and 

 was not fairly in the brush before he flushed a woodcock, 

 which flew low so that we did not see him. If there is 

 one at this place there are always more. The dog soon 

 pointed where we could see him on his point; and as 

 Jake had killed all the birds so far, he said he would go 

 in and flush the birds, while I was to remain on the high 

 ground at the edge and do the shooting. He went to the 

 dog; then commenced some of the finest work by the dog 

 that I have been permitted to see in some time. He 

 would work along very carefully for a short distance: 

 then stop and cautiously turn his bead to see if Jake was 

 coming; then move a few steps further: stop again and 

 look. 1 could only account for his actions by the thought 

 that possibly there had been a large flight of birds there 

 flint had gone that morning, leaving a very strong scent. 

 After going through this performance several times, and 

 covering about six rods, he came to a point. Jake 

 thought he was over-cautious and was stopping again, so 

 he told him to go on. This he refused to do, and Jake 

 called out to me to get ready, as he guessed there were 

 two or more birds straight ahead. I secured a good posi- 

 tion, and Jake walked a few steps ahead of the dog, 

 when up went a bird. He did not come my way, but 

 gave Jake a good snapshot, and he killed. The dog took 

 a step or so and froze again. Jake walked the bird up; 

 he was a strong flyer and went some distance before he 

 rose above the alders. As soon as he did I fired. It was 

 a long shot and I scored another miss. Reader, are you 

 hoping that I will hit something before long? So did I, 



Jake picked up his bird and told me to come where he 

 was. I went, and wo took a drink of water; then pro- 

 ceeded to hunt for the one I had just missed. We had 

 only hunled a short distance before up he went in the 

 safest place in the world for him — among thick alders. I 

 tried a snap shot and missed; then remarked with some 

 side talk that "we would leave him for seed." Jake re- 

 plied: " From the number of misses you have made 1 

 should think you intended seeding rather heavy." Jake 

 now had three birds and I none, so I felt that I must re- 

 trieve my lost reputation as a fair wing shot. 



We took the dog over to another likely looking place 

 on the same ground, and soon heard a bird get up, but 

 did not see him until just as he came to the ground. We 

 marked him and got in position. We had no sooner 

 done so than he flushed wild, and gave me a left-quarter- 

 ing shot. I looked square at the bird and quickly brought 

 my gun to my face so that I saw the top of the barrels on 

 a line with the bird. Then I pulled the trigger, and had 

 the satisfaction of seeing my first woodcock for the day 

 tumble to the ground near a cedar bush. He had looked 

 very large on the wing, but when I picked him up he ex- 

 ceeded my expectations by proving the largest and hand- 

 somest woodcock I have ever killed. Jake remarked 

 that if he had not been so large I would have missed 

 him. The only shot mark to be seen was a scratch on 

 his lower mandible. I at once decided to have him 

 mounted and he is now in the taxidermist's hands. Both 

 Jake and the taxidermist thought him a beauty. 



After feasting my eyes on the first bird for the day to 

 my credit, we proceeded up the creek, hunting some dis- 

 tance without finding anything untd we came to a place 

 where the alders were thickest on the other side of the 

 creek. Here in a little patch we flushed a bird, and I 

 scored another miss, while the bird flew across the creek. 

 After walking some distance to the next patch of brush, 

 the dog went in and flushed a partridge. Jake had a 

 snap shot, but failed to kill. Soon after this we turned 

 back, and cros-ing the creek on a slippery log— which 

 nearly caused Jake a ducking — went back on the other 

 side. We did not find any game until we arrived at the 

 place where the last woodcock I shot at and missed had 

 alighted. The dog found him, and as I was in the brush 

 while Jake was on the outside, I told him to get "ready." 

 I did not like his position and told him to move up the 

 creek a short distance. This took him above a clump of 

 cedars, and I thought the bird would fly above. After 

 some grunting he followed my advice. I then walked in 

 and flushed the bird, calling "hir-r-rd" as he went up. 

 The erratic bog-sucker did not fly as I had laid out the 

 programme for him, but went straight for the place where 

 Jake had stood when I advised him to "move up a little." 

 So Jake did not see the bird until he was just going by 

 the open place below the clump of cedars." He fired at 

 long range, and was not positive as to whether he killed 

 or not. A search by dog and men, however, failed to 

 find a bird, live or dead, so we concluded that he had 

 escaped unscathed and recrossed the creek. As there 

 was no practicable way of crossing the creek there and 

 as it was getting late Jake decided to leave the bird "for 

 seed." After he had expressed his opinion of me for ad- 

 vising him to move above the clump of cedars the air 

 was so blue that we were both glad to resume our hunt 

 down the creek and leave this unhallowed spot. We 

 soon arrived at the bridge heretofore mentioned without 

 having seen another feather, drank a cup of the crystal 

 water, then took to the road for our horse, which was 

 tethered near by. ^Vben we hove in sight of the mare we 

 were greeted by a whinny which plainly said: "I am glad 

 you have come; it is time to start for home." 



We were soon aboard and whirling through the mud 

 at a twelve-miles-an-hour gait, stopping only to give the 

 mare a drink at a cross-road hotel, arriving home shortly 

 after dark. After supper we listened to much raillery on 

 the lightness of our bag, but this did not change our de- 

 cision that we had enjoyed a fine day's sport. 



Northern New Yobk. OsOEOLA. 



A MOOSE. 



ON a beautiful forenoon in early September we were 

 • paddling up against the slow current of the Little 

 Fork of the Rainy, Burt and I. 



We had been on our claims two or three weeks trying 

 to convert a couple of acres of Minnesota's grandest tim- 

 ber land into two little insignificant vegetable gardens, 

 and were on our way back to Tower for new supplies of 

 pork, flour, tobacco and everything that goes to make 

 life in the woods comfortable. We had made, this same 

 trip several times before and had seen lots of big game; 

 but had always depended on our little .32cal. Smith & 

 Wesson revolvers to supply our camp kettle with grouse. 

 On our previous trip we had seen so many ducks getting 

 up in front of us. that I made up my mind to bring my 

 gun next time. So here we are this beautiful September 

 morning, Burt in the stern and I in the bow, with my 

 trusty 13-gauge Remington between my knees, six 

 large buckshot backed by 5drs. of powder in one barrel, 

 and a charge of No. 6 in the other. 



The air is laden with all kinds of sweet smells and the 

 bees are working everywhere as only bees can work. We 

 have just poled up a little rapid, and now our birch shoots 

 along a still reach of water, leaving a long trail of silver 

 behind her. The water is so still that, as we look over the 

 side of our canoe, we see each wee leaf or blade of grass, 

 and I even notice a rabbit scurrying up the sidehill; he 

 gets into the brush, however, before I think of my gun. 

 Everything around us is so quiet and beautiful that in- 

 voluntarily we drop our padoles into the water without 

 noise and converse in whispers. 



Burt says, "Wouldn't it be great, Mac, if we could get 

 a moose tc-day? We are going into Tower and could 

 save the skin and part at least of the meat." I nod my 

 assent, and just as the canoe darts around a bend of the 

 river, we hear and see a mighty splash and a moose is 

 swimming the stream just ahead of us. It is but the 

 work of a second to take up my gun and pull on his head, 

 but oh, the agony and the disappointment — the primer is 

 damp and the six buckshot stay right where I put them 

 in the brass shell. All this time the moose is going 

 diagonally across the river, and Bert is paddling for all 

 he is worth. Just as the animal steps out on the oozy 

 bank I try once more at his full broadside. Bang! roar 

 after roar go the echoes from one bluff to another, and 

 oh joy! the huge beast is down! we have killed our first 

 moose. 



After we got through our war dance and were calmed 

 down a little, we found that it was a cow moose and 

 probably weighed in the neighborhood of TOOlbs. What 

 a feast we had on tender, juicy steaks, and with what 

 pride did we afterward wear out "eleven beautiful pair of 

 moccasins made from the hide of our first moose. M. 



Grand Haven, Mica. 



THE WEED BULLET. 



r \ ^ ARRYTO WN, N. Y., Oct. 26.— Editor Forest and 

 JL Stream: In spite of wind and weather, after wait- 

 ing for the equinoxial rains to have their day, we went 

 into camp in Essex county, near Wolf Pond, with one 

 efficient guide and a sham affair that pretended to know 

 more than mortals are permitted to know, who proved a 

 mar-plot from beginning to end. He assumed the role of 

 Buffalo Bill with a broad brim that cast in the shade all 

 the hats on the plains. The airs of this would-be hunter 

 would have been amusing if the situation had admitted 

 of a jester. 



I wish to mention for the benefit of your readers a hol- 

 low bullet, the invention of Mr. A. Weed, which certainly 

 is the most destructive missile it has ever been my fortune 

 to witness. I had a number of shells of the Marlin .40-60, 

 reloaded by the inventor, and he had prepared cartridges 

 for his Creedmoor rifle and also for his Baker. The pene- 

 tration of these balls is as great if not greater than of the 

 conical ball; there is less recoil to any gun; it carries as 

 straight: makes a clean cut like a punch; but in passing 

 out makes a ragged wound that you can put your arm 

 through. The inventor, Mr. Weed, shot a doe on the 

 run directly in front, the ball grazing the inside of the 

 hindlegs, entering the body near the udder, literally dis- 

 emboweling the creature, fracturing two ribs and leaving 

 a wound that made me determine not to use the ball in 

 shooting at deer. In an encounter with a more danger- 

 ous animal, a grizzly or a panther, it would be a prize 

 beyond price. I did fire one ball at a buck, which strik- 

 ing the shoulder glanced, doing little damage. In shoot- 

 ing into a plank or beam with this bullet, you see on one 

 side the smooth punch-like entrance, on the other side a 

 splintered hole as if a grape shot had been at work. 



During the ten days in camp we had but two clear 

 autumn days, yet Mr. Weed managed to secure four deer 

 and I one fine buck; but the weather giving no signs of 

 clearing we broke earnp in a rain storm, the account of 

 which would cast a wet blanket over you; and as I parti- 

 cularly love sunshine, I will wait for a brighter day, 

 which found us on our way from Long Lake by way of 

 the Adirondack Club to Lake George. If any of your 

 friends wish to learn the art of cooking venison, advise 

 them to visit; the lower club house en route toward Lake 

 Champlain. Such a rendering of the article cannot be 

 approached by any of the leading hotels in any city. 



If you have friends who enjoy a wild side and are 

 blessed with a double .backbone, send them from Long 

 Lake by way of Newcomb to Clifton on Lake George. 

 No words of mine can describe this trip. One must wit- 

 ness the gorgeous autumn changes that clothe every 

 mountain top with crimson and gold to appreciate that 

 side taken the first week in this month. H. C. 



Peeth Ameoy, N. J., Nov. 4.— Quail and rabbits are 

 fairly plentiful in this section, but have been shot for 

 several weeks without regard to law. There is also a 

 good deal of Sunday shooting. Woodcock are scarce just 

 now, but a flight is due this week. There are a good 

 many ducks in Raritan Bay, and some have been killed 

 from sailboats and scuUing-boats.— J. L. K. 



