May S, 1890.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



S09 



BY MOONLIGHT. 



THIS is a case of "meet me by moonlight alone," but 

 has nothing -whatever to do with the tender passion, 

 nevertheless. The deer creature in this case is deer in- 

 deed, and the passion it inspires is tbat fierce one, in- 

 -Btinct in the human breast that leads man to destroy 

 that which they admire. In other words, this is an at- 

 tempt to portray an evening's delight in a Sierra Nevada 

 foothil f alfalfa field, watching for deer. 



I never took kindly to the watching of a deer lick, be- 

 lieving that it was taking an unfair advantage of the 

 game. In that case the hunter is up in a tree, far above 

 the ground, whore a deer always looks for danger. 

 Again, his elevation prevents the animal from catching 

 the scent, and the advantages are all on the side of the 

 man. In this case also the hunter chooses the most 

 favorable point of outlook, and stations himself at a 

 distance where it is simply murder to shoot at his game. 

 On the other hand, in an open field chances are equalized. 

 The deer has a show for his life, which is what every 

 true sportsman desires. The hunter is on the ground 

 where he can be both seen and smelled; and the deer has 

 the choice of any part of the field to feed in, and is not 

 confined to one particular spot in close proximity to the 

 hunter, where the choice of positions gives the latter the 

 best light. Here, then, matters are evened up, and the 

 deer has even odds with the man, as the Irishman said 

 when he whittled the duck's bill to a point, to "give the 

 crather even odds wid the hins." 



At the lick, if a deer comes at all he comes surely to 

 his death unless the watcher is a novice and gets the 

 buck fever; but in the field the hunter may sit all the 

 night and watch one or more deer, as the case may be, 

 daintily feeding 1 on the flowers and tender tops of the 

 alfafa, now approaching a little nearer, bringing the 

 watcher's interest to fever point; again going further 

 away, and sending expectations of a shot down to zero 

 or below. This, to my mind, constitutes the charm of 

 this method of hunting, and I will try to detail the events 

 of one unsuccessful and another successful night, to give 

 the readers fair examples of the sport. 



First, I would remind the reader that our California 

 summer lasts pretty nearly the year round, and the sea- 

 sons are distinguished as the wet and dry. The dry 

 season commences about June 1 and lasts until November 

 usually. During this time vegetation is parched in the 

 valleys and foothills, and a green and tender blade of 

 vegetation can only be met with along the banks of 

 streams, or where man has diverted the water from its 

 natural course and used it for irrigation. Consequently 

 the deer that remain in the foothills during the summer 

 (the greater number retire during this season to the 

 higher slopes of the Sierra) make frequent visits to these 

 irrigated fields for the purpose of enjoying the green and 

 succulent herbage as a palatable change from the parched 

 Vegetation, which otherwise must form the staple of their 

 diet. In September many of the large bucks come down 

 to the foothills in search of the acorns of the white oak; 

 and these latter with an occasional feed of alfalfa consti- 

 tute their diet. It is then from about Sept. 1 until the 

 rains come that this form of sport can be most satisfac- 

 torily enjoyed. 



I used to be very fond of the sport, but for the last five 

 or six years circumstances have prevented me from en- 

 joying it, and hence it is that I take pleasure in recalling 

 the past nights spent in its pursuit, as much for my own 

 as the reader's pastime. 



It was in the September moon, early in the '80s, that 

 after a drive of ten miles I found myself at the well-cul- 

 tivated ranch of a farmer friend. He told me that the 

 deer were coming in every night, and the prospects of get- 

 ting a buck were good. His alfalfa field comprised a spot 

 of level valley among the rolling hills, about ten acres in 

 extent, through which ran a small stream, dry now, but 

 in places deep enough to hide a- man and screen his head 

 with the weeds on its sides. On three sides it was sur- 

 rounded with fine oak and pine timber, with the usual 

 manzanita and chapparal undergrowth; just the place 

 for deer. 



Dusk found me safely ensconced in a depression caused 

 by the stream, protected by a warm overcoat and a heavy 

 robe wrapped around my nether limbs; for be it known 

 that any one who wants to sit motionless for hours in 

 comfort must be well wrapped up. The field was a "flat- 

 iron" in shape, and from my station could not be nearly 

 all commanded with certainty by the rifle, even in day- 

 light. The field was nearly all under my vision, the 

 moon at my back and the chances for a shot favorable. 



The day and its noises departed, and gentle night 

 stepped in, with Cynthia slowly climbing the starry arch. 

 The cicada commenced his shrilling cry, the nighthawk 

 circled noiselessly overhead, and the owl hooted his mel- 

 ancholy serenade to the moon. 



By the way, does the western nighthawk ever fall 

 through the air with the booming sound that the eastern 

 does? I have never observed it do so, and would like to 

 know if any one else has ever noted the fact. I mean 

 the species Chordediles popetue henryi, which is the only 

 one 1 have ever seen an this part of California. The 

 specific differences between this and C. popetue are so 

 slight that one would expect their habits to be the same. 

 Certainly their flight and call notes are similar, though 

 the latter are less often uttered. But to resume. 



As the last rays of daylight fade away, and this side of 

 our globe is leit to the sovereignty of the moon, now 

 rapidly approaching its full, familiar objects become de- 

 ceitful and weird. That little clump of chapparal on the 

 bank of the arroyo, which was plainly a bush a few 

 moments ago, is now endowed with seeming motion and 

 ever-changing shape, and needs close scrutiny, oft re- 

 curring, to keep it from becoming a buck with branching 

 antlers. The shadows of the encircling timber become 

 living creatures, and the straining vision shapes out 

 many a moving form that takes a long hard wink to 

 change back to its original guise. The light daylight 

 green of the alfalfa changes to deep blue, and the gather- 

 ing dews deck its glistening leaves with a countless sea 

 of sparkling gems that reflect the cold rays of the moon 

 with a phantom iridescence. The stars appear pale and 

 small in the presence of the magnificent queen of the 

 night, and the murmur of the pine-clad hills comes down 

 to me with a drowsy cadence. Now and then a favorable 

 eddy of the night zephyrs wafts the subdued roar of 

 Bear River, a mile away, to my strained ears. Then 

 there comes, pulsing on the air, a'faint throbbing sound, 

 fading into silence; then again, swelling out more dis- 

 tinctly, to again die completely away." There, again it 



comes! What is it that makes this rhythmical beat like a 

 fever-pulse in ears? Too-o-o-o-t, and the shrill whistle of 

 a locomotive, mellowed into music by night and distance, 

 explains the mystery, as it winds its way with many a 

 devious twist and turn among the obstructing hills, and 

 puffs and labors with its load", up a gradient of 1 15ft. to 

 the mile, on its way to the effete Bast. 



But hush! surely there is a ghostly form standing 

 where nothing stood a moment ago; yes, a deer surely, 

 but only a doe, for there comes stealing out of the shadows 

 after her two smaller copies of herself. Quietly and 

 daintily they step around, nibbling here a mouthful and 

 there a mouthful, but surely and gradually coming 

 nearer and nearer. In an instant these are forgotten, for 

 there, broadside on, with his blue coat and branching ant- 

 lers gleaming in the rays of the moon, stands a noble buck. 

 How proudly and slowly he advances, scanning every 

 object with a careful eye, until evidently satisfied that all 

 is well, he too plunges his delicate muzzle into the cool 

 dew-laden clover. Then comes a moment of hope, then 

 despondency, as he advances or recedes in his dainty 

 croppings of the fragrant tips of the herbage. Confound 

 this jade of a doe, she is almost upon me, and will surely 

 get my scent and then the jig is up for this night. But no, 

 after coming so close that I could seethe moisture gleaming 

 on her coal black nose, she gradually edges off toward 

 the side of the field and the buck is almost within certain 

 range. But, darn a hog anyhow! I had been warned by 

 my friend that a band of wild hogs had found a weak 

 spot in bis fence and had been visiting his field every 

 night, and here they come— a dozen strong. 



Now, give me a wild hog to scent danger before any 

 other living creature that I know anything about! They 

 came rushing into the green feed, and commenced 

 munching and champing their jaws, after the manner 

 of hogs, for a few minutes, seemingly oblivious to every- 

 thing but gorging themselves. Suddenly one of them 

 stopped munching, threw up his head for an instant in a 

 listening attitude and then in a plain and uncompromis- 

 ing tone of voice said, woof! Instantly every son of a 

 hog among them dropped his mouthful of grass and 

 stampeded, and in ten seconds of time there was not a 

 hog or a deer within a mile of me, and the air in my im- 

 mediate neighborhood took on a certain burning and 

 lurid appearance, that would put an old Bunyan's Pil- 

 grim's Progress print of Hades to the blush. 



So ended the first inning, with the score in favor of the 

 deer. Stiff, cramped and sore, I arose from my con- 

 strained position, after a four hours' watch, and trudged 

 off to the house to finish the night in bed. 



"With a promise to my friend that I would return before 

 the moon was too old for good watching, I returned home 

 the next morning with a deeper-rooted prejudice against 

 hogs than ever before. 



Three nights afterward I made another journey to the 

 same place, and with better success. This time I chose a 

 spot on a sidehill, near where the large buck came in on 

 the pi-evious evening. A farm road skirted the irrigated 

 ground on the south, and on the bank, by the side of this 

 road, stood a pile of cord wood. This I chose for a stand 

 (or rather sit), as I could set some wood on end, leaning it 

 against the end of the pile, and forming a little recess in 

 which I could comfortably sit, with my legs well wrapped 

 up and dangling over the side of the bank. I found this 

 an advantageous position, as I was elevated above the 

 level of the green field some ten feet, which of course 

 aided my vision. This stand did not command nearly so 

 much of the field as the one in the arroyo did; but what 

 it did command comprised the acute angle of the irri- 

 gated land, where all the deer came in on the previous 

 evening. Ensconcing myself snugly in my little recess, 

 with a sack stuffed with straw for a seat, I found myself 

 luxuriously situated and awaited the coming of darkness. 

 This soon crept on, and the moon being past its full, the 

 landscape was wrapped in total obscurity and the voices 

 of the night began to babble their secrets to my strained 

 ear. 



Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, 

 The ear more quick of apprehension makes; 

 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 

 It pays the hearing double recompense. 



Hints of the coming moon soon made themselves appa- 

 rent in the eastern horizon, and soon she peered through 

 the pines that crowned the hills in that direction; and 

 field, hill and tree again took shape under her soft rays. 

 The cicada's monotonous shrilling music filled all the 

 sleeping world, and again the words of the immortal bard 

 describe the scene: 



How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! 

 Here will we sit and let the sounds of music 

 Creep in our ears. 



The hares came and played about my feet; a little bur- 

 rowing owl, Speotyio cunicularia hypogcea, alighted on 

 the woodpile, within a foot or two of my head, and 

 crooned out his peculiar harlequin-like utterances. A 

 small black object presently caught my attention, and 

 soon I was in a shiver of fear, as a large Mephitis ameri- 

 cana, vulgarly known as a skunk, came galloping down 

 the road, now and then stopping to pick up a cricket. 

 He came close to the bank on which I was sitting, and 

 when opposite stopped and sniffed deliberately at my feet, 

 and then rising up took a smell at the muzzle of my rifle 

 which rested upon them. I could plainly hear the sniff- 

 ing noise he made as he pursued his investigations, and 

 actually held my breath in apprehension lest he might take 

 umbrage at my presence and dose me with his nauseous 

 scent. After a second or two he dropped down again, 

 and whirling around and elevating his tail to a perpen- 

 dicular, raised his hind parts as though they were on 

 stilts, and began to very slowly straggle off, evidently 

 ready for action. I nearly swooned for a moment, and 

 after he had gone satin a cold perspiration for sometime. 

 I got a dose of skunk medicine once when a boy, which has 

 given me a half horror of the animal, and Heaven forbid 

 I should ever get another. 



The hours wore on and no deer appeared on the scene. 

 When within about one hour of midnight, being cold and 

 tired, I leaned forward to take a careful survey of all my 

 surroundings, preparatory to giving up in despair. Judge 

 of the thrill of excitement that pervaded me, as I looked 

 toward my left, to see, standing ghost-like in the full rays 

 of the moon and within ten feet of me, an enormous 

 buck. How he ever got so close without making a sound 

 will always be a mystery to me. There was something 

 so actually uncanny about his appearance that it startled 

 me. I sat in motionless amazement watching hie stately 



form, and unable, from ray nearness, to make even the 

 slightest movement, or scarcely to breathe. Why he did 

 not scent me I cannot tell to this day, for the breeze, what 

 little there was, was blowing directly toward him. and 

 by stretching out my arm at full length, I could have 

 touched him with the muzzle of my rifle. After what 

 seemed a very long time, he stepped forward into the 

 clover and began quietly feeding within twenty steps of 

 me. The tension of my nerves gave way as I saw that 

 the noble fellow had not scented me, and. slowly raising 

 the rifle to a level, I aimed for bis heart and fired. The 

 smoke hung low in a dense cloud in the damp moonlit 

 air, but surely, through the bellowing echoes of the night 

 I could hear the thump of his hoofs as he bounded off. 

 A clean miss, by all that's unlucky! But surely no; I had 

 splendid aim, and he was so close that it cannot be. And 

 just then came a dull sound as of a falling body, and fol- 

 lowing this came a rattling gurgle, as of a creature breath- 

 ing in sore distress. Guided by the sound, 1 advanced 

 about a hundred yards, and lying in the dewy clover was 

 a magnificent buck giving his last spasmodic gasp, shot 

 through the heart. Taking out my knife I attempted to 

 bleed him, but no blood came. Every drop of blood in 

 his veins had escaped into the. chest cavity, through the 

 ragged hole in the heart, and he had run until it was 

 spent, and then dropped dead. He was the finest speci- 

 men of the blacktailed deer I ever shot, weighing 2lllbs. 

 and with fat on his rump Uin. thick. When opened, his 

 paunch was full of acorns, which accounted for his fine 

 condition. I have had many other nights, both before 

 and since, spent in like manner in different fields, but 

 these two will give a fair sample of a sport in which both 

 the hunter and the hunted have a fair show. This can- 

 not be said of the detestable jack-light. Akefab. 

 Auburn, Cal. 



LOG OF THE LAUNCH GREENWING. 



J EFT Vicksburg 9:30 A. M., Monday, Jan. 13, 1890; out 

 J West Pass 10 A.M. Entered the old river at 11 

 A. M.; passed Steele Bayou at 1 P. M., the bridge 2 P. M. 

 Entered Little Sunflower River at 4:20, tied up at 5:30, 

 two miles above the Mounds. 



Started on 9 A. M. Tuesday up river. Where we 

 couldn't see one way we saw-ed it through drifts, and 

 rode logs where too deep to saw. Stopped about a mile 

 above Coon Bayou for camp. Lawrence located and 

 Polk shot a young gobbler with his rifle, and after a hard 

 race Lawrence ran him down and retrieved him. All 

 were much elated over the good start made. 



Wednesday, Jan. 15. — Although raining hard all were 

 up and out soon after daylight. Got our rubbers washed 

 and saw nothing. Rained nearly all day. P. and L. 

 went down the river just before night and saw lots of 

 turkeys near Coon Bayou, and made one shot without 

 getting anything. 



Jan. 16.— P. and L. were out early to get turkey while 

 roosting. L. shot at two, wounding one, but not finding 

 it. P. and I went on dowm the river, he hearing and 

 seeing a flock just above old upper camp, but not near 

 enough for a shot. At night P. went up the river two 

 miles and I down below lower camp, neither seeing any- 

 thing. It was a very cold day. The ice was over ^in. 

 thick, and the fro3t like a young snow. 



Jan. 17. — P. and I went down to the old camp and out 

 to the lake, flushing a flock of turkeys there, but not near 

 enough for a shot. L. went out back of camp and flushed 

 a flock there. After dinner we moved camp two miles 

 down the river. Three days without getting anything 

 makes us fear we will go home without being burdened 

 with game, as turkeys killed Tuesday will hardly keep, 

 as it is getting warmer again. 



Jan. 18. — Bright, warm and pleasant. P. and L. went 

 down to the bayou. They saw deer and flushed turkeys, 

 but did not get a shot at them. P. went up to the lake 

 toward night, turkeys ran almost over him within 10yds. 

 of the boat, and went to roost near by. P. got in his work 

 on one, bringing a nice gobbler back to camp, making all 

 cheerful, and elating him so he beat the others badly at 

 cards for the first time. 



Jan. 19.— Cloudy and warm in the morning and sun- 

 shine in the afternoon. P. went out early in the morn- 

 ing. L. and I slept until 8 o'clock, bathed, put on clean 

 clothes, hung out bedding to air, moved the boat closer 

 to the bank, and had breakfast ready by 11 o'clock, by 

 which time P. had gotten in. P. went out in the evening 

 hunting a mythical lake east of camp, which trappers 

 had told us of last year, and found it. Quiet and pleas- 

 ant day. 



Jan. 20. — Monday — Pilot went to old camp after squir- 

 rels. On the way up he flushed a flock of turkeys and 

 shot a hen from it. Spent the day up there but got nary 

 squirrel. Nearly ran over a big moccasin. P. and L. 

 went to run out. Saw plenty deer signs and flushed 

 some turkeys; got none. 



Jan. 21, — All out prospecting but got nothing. L. 

 located a flock of turkeys going to roost just above ran 

 out. 



Jan. 22.— All up at 4 A. M. to sneak on the turkeys 

 while at their morning nap. Got there about 6 o'clock, 

 found them all there. P. took a position on the right 

 bank watching the sentry on that side. L. and Pilot went 

 to attack the main body located in a tree on the left bank. 

 Thinking to surprise them before they woke, we got out 

 of boat and were creeping up the bank, as we thought, 

 very quietly, when the sleepy, Unsuspicious turkeys took 

 wing and left, proving their reputation for sharpness, and 

 out witting us completely. P. then dropped down and 

 killed one on his side. Nothing else was seen that day. 



Jan. 23.— All were out in the morning. Saw nothing. 

 Moved camp below the big drift. P. and L. paddled back 

 to Coon Bayou, which was prospected for three or four 

 miles. Nothing was seen. 



Jan. 24. —Left camp at 8 A. M., arrived at anchorage 

 at 3:30 P. M. , running slowly most of the way. Killed a 

 duck in Old River, and crippled and chased another. 

 Brought in three turkeys, having consumed one in camp. 



All well after a charming trip, which all enjoyed, al- 

 though but a small bag was obtained. Estimated dis- 

 tances: To Steel's Bayou, 19 miles; L. N. O. & T. bridge, 

 7 miles; mouth of Little Sunflower, 18 miles; Mounds, 5; 

 Coon Bayou 10; Run Out, 10; Howlett Bayou, 5; total, 

 74 miles. W. 



Forest and Stream, Box 2,833, N. Y. city, has deseriptive illus- 

 trated circulars of W. B. LefHngwell's book, "Wild Fowl Shoot- 

 ing," which will be mailed free on request. The book is pro- 

 nounced by "Nanit." "OHoan," "Dick Swiveller," "Sybillene" and 

 other competent authorities to be the best treatise on the subject 

 e xtaot. 



