FBBi 19, 18910 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



87 



Gov. Fif er to give us a warden here wlio will contend that 

 he knovsrs a groixse from a duck, and who will work for 

 the State and not for the game dealers. We perhaps 

 oug;ht not to suggest such little details as this. Perhaps 

 Brusewitf. ouaht to stay here three or four years longer. 

 But the State Association is in earnest; it is really, and 

 it means hupinesp, it docs indeed. 



Feb. U.—l saw Col. Bond since the meeting of the 

 State Spfvrtsmen's Association, and had a little talk vrith 

 him. "We dealers are perfectly satisfind with the present 

 law,"' said he, "or at least consider it a practical working 

 law. I would rather see the season on quail open Nov. 1 

 than Oct. 1, because then we would not ^t so many little 

 half-grown binls that we don't care to handle. These are 

 the second brood birds. We would not like to shorten 

 our game selling season very much when the other big 

 markets East are open all the time, but I don't want to 

 sell game more than fom* months in the year. We are 

 all willing to support the present law heartily, and I for 

 one have not and will not encourage illegal shipments. 

 The game dealer.s will support this law with respect, and 

 with money, you may say. 



"I noticed the article about ice-fishing aroxind Antioch 

 in the Fox LT,ke systeifi," continued Ool. Baud later, "and 

 you liave got the thing jvist exactly right. I have been 

 getting shipments from just the parties you name in that 

 article, but we pay them more than 4 cents a pound for 

 black bass. The shipments are not large, not very large. 

 I don't think those fellows ought to fish through the ice. 

 I don't care to mention any names specifically."' 



E. Hough. 



WISE AND FOOLISH CANVASBACKS. 



ON looking over old numbers of Forest and Steeam, 

 I came across an article on canvasback shooting, 

 that brought to mind a hunt I had a few years since with 

 a imrtner, in quest of this, the most peculiar, fickle and 

 uncertain member of the duck family, I do not know 

 if the same can be said of the canvasback in the East as 

 here, or if the different latitudes cause them to act differ- 

 ently. Never having hunted on the Eastern waters, I 

 shall write frour knowledge I have gained in the West. 



Here they are a combination of foolishness and shrewd- 

 ness that is hard to understand; and unless you do under- 

 stand them it is useless to undertake to hunt them, but 

 as I said, they are a combination. To-day they come to 

 the decoys with a rush and impudence that surprise you, 

 regardless of how the blind is constructed or the decoys 

 placed; while to-morrow the same blind and decoys only 

 serve to scare them away, although the two days are 

 seemingly alike. 



To show how indifferent they are to sm-roundings at 

 times, and how effectual Kleinuian's motto "keep still" 

 is, I will relate an incident. My "pardner" Jim and I 

 had been in camp a week or two before the canvasbacks 

 put in an appearance. Thi? was in the spring, and we 

 were shooting such ducks as we could, principally sprigs. 

 We had built a blind at a certain spot where we could 

 command a view of the entire lake, in order to be able to 

 locate the grounds that the canvasbacks used upon or 

 crossed over in the greatest numbers when they did come. 

 About this blind we had placed all our decoys — a.bont loO 

 of all kinds, for a sprig will decoy about as well to one 

 kind as another. Jim shot principally along the edge of 

 the timber, while I kept a lookout at the blind. Well, 

 one day, late in the afternoon, I saw them coming flock 

 after flock seemingly from one direction and to one point, 

 I watched them until sunset, then went to camp and 

 reported the result; also that I had selected two places 

 where I thought blinds could be built, about half a mile 

 apart, so that each of us could have good shooting; one 

 being a bunch of brush and small willow, the other a 

 large forked willow that stood in about 4ft. of water, 

 with no brush near. 



Early next morning we started out with two boats. 

 Mine being the larger, had in it probably a dozen canvas- 

 back decoys. I was for leaving them in camp, also my 

 gun, but Jim advised taking one gun, as we might get a 

 shot at a goose, and the few decoys would not be in the 

 way. Jim was armed with the axe, being an expert chop- 

 per. We started on otir journey to the main lake. Arriving 

 there we discovered a large body of canvasbacks busily 

 engaged in feeding, and found that the locations for the 

 two blinds had been well chosen. We decided to build a 

 blind at the forked willow first. Jim's boat being entirely 

 too small to chop from, it was taken to a distant bush 

 and made fast. Then we came in the larger one to the 

 ti-ee and here found that the decoys were in the way. 

 These we threw out in front of the tree, belter skelter, 

 and proceeded to fell the tree in the best manner to make 

 the blind. This done we found that our blind was 

 entirely too open and must be thickened by the addition 

 of other brush, I proposed to Jim that I would stand in 

 the fork of the tree, while he went after brush so that he 

 could bring a larger load. Taking my gun, more to get 

 it out of the way than anything else, I perched up in the 

 fork, my whole body being in view, while Jim was stand- 

 ing up in the boat j)ushing it along with a pole toward 

 the brush 200yds. distant. When he was about lOOyds. 

 from the blind, and was in open water, I discovered four 

 canvasbacks coming for that misshapen bunch of decoys, 

 with the peculiar sweep that a shooter likes so well to see. 

 A signal to Jim caused him to stop instantly, standing 

 erect in the boat, not even turning his head to see what 

 the signal was for. On came the ducks and lit fairly 

 among the decoys, not over 20yds. distant. As they 

 bunched up, a shot fired at their heads knocked over 

 three, w^hile the fourth was killed with the second barrel 

 as it rose. A move on the part of either of us would 

 have caused them to sheer off while they were coming, 

 as we were both in plain open sight. 



Nor were these the last ones killed during the time we 

 were building the blind. After my jiartuer returned 

 with a load of bru-li, I assisted in placing it about, then 

 got in the fork again while he brought another load; and 

 during the day succeeded in killing nine from this exposed 

 po!»ition. 



This shows how important it is to "keep still" and also 

 shows how foolish canvasbacks are at certain times. 



KlZER. 



.TiiRSETTViijL'B, III., Jan. 24. 



The Maine Winter.— The district referred to in the 

 letter from which we quote below is on Wood Stream, 

 which feeds Moose River on the north and west of Jaok- 

 mau, Maine. Oae of the townships lies adjacent to the 

 Megantic Clab's preserves. The letter was written by 



the supei'intendent of a logging crew to a gentleman 

 resident in Connecticut, and has been sent us for perusal. 

 Under date of Jan. 24 the writer says: "This has been 

 the hardest winter I have ever experienced in the woods. 

 I have been in them thirty-one years and I never sa w the 

 beat of if. Since the first snow came last fall it has 

 snowed every day more or less. There is about 4ft. in 

 this locality. Caribou and moose were quite plenty from 

 the middle to the last of September, and then they 

 seemed to leave the ponds. Deer are plenty, I never 

 saw them so thick as they are this winter. They are 

 right around where the men are at work, I don't allow 

 the men to kill them. I was in the woods last fall with a 

 Mr. P. It was about the 27th of October and he got a 

 buck caribou with as nice a set of antlers as I ever saw. 

 It was in on Luther Bay. He was a beauty and no mis- 

 take,— E, G-." 



The Passion Plat.— Tlie intpre.sting and novel ilKistrated 

 locturc delivered by Mr. Mnriou Kfrner at tlio Acarlemy ot Music- 

 last Sunday, descriptive of iht^ Hassion Play enacteil at Ober- 

 Amnicrarau d tiring •'91, will be rpppHled at iliat iilavhouse every 

 Sunday lieroaffoi- a( tiaee n'clnck, until I'virtJiev not ice. Tlie lec- 

 ture is pi of usel>' illu^trared Willi hand.^OTnely laihired repioduc- 

 lions of all the sercef^ and clniriicteTs of the"viyjri pres<^n(aHoii, 

 secured i\Ir. Kei-iier durine- a tliree months" sCay in tholiftle 

 Bavarian Iianilel rtiii-in!-: ilie iirogress of tl.ie sacred drama. Mr. 

 Kerner tietj-ays a, delie:hlful tarailiaritv with his subject, his lec- 

 tures beinu; tirimful of interestinsc data of the lives, ctistoms and 

 charac'eristics of the quaint European community of crucifix 

 oarvore, whose sworn duty it is to enact the sacred x>as8ion 

 periodically until the extinction of their sect. 



Namks and Portraits ov Birds, by (^urdorf 'iTmnuuii. A 

 book uartlcularly interesting to gunners, for by its nse they can 

 Identify withotit question all the American game birds whlel; 

 they may kill. Cloth. 230 patrnB. nric^ 82.fifl. Wnr sale by fOHUS" 

 4.in> Str» a ic 



m mid ^iv^t ^shing. 



The full texts of the game fish laws of all the State.s, 

 Tervi tori es aiJd British Provinces are givea in the Book of 



the Oainc Laws. 



A TRIP TO COLD RIVER. 



FOR a week we had had a wet spell of weather that 

 widened the usual circle of prophets around the stove 

 at Crawford's by night, and decreased in the same ratio 

 the fishing by day. And so the old yarns went round for 

 the hundredth time, told in a constant haze of smoke 

 from that famous brand "Blue Ruin," until gradually the 

 twilight crept through the small windows of the old store 

 and silence fell upon the circle, and no sound broke the 

 stillness save the crackling of burning logs in the stove. 

 The prophet had fallen asleep, even the old hound at my 

 feet sighed in his dreams. It was late, aud so I left the 

 now diminished circle and went over to Jock's and turned 

 in. The morning dawned clear and bright. The river, 

 swollen with continuous rains, flashed in' the warm sun- 

 light, running at the speed of a sluiceway. As I leaned 

 over the mill bridge a kingfisher screamed past, as much 

 as to say, "Poor fishin', ain't it?" Just then my grtod 

 friend Frank the Forester emerged from a tangle of alders 

 on the opposite side of the stream. 



"What's up?" I asked as he drew near. "Water's about 

 the only thing I know of," said he. "I thought I'd come 

 over and see you about a little scheme I had cooked up 

 up for you." He was to start in the morning on one of 

 his periodical trips through the woods, rej)orting on the 

 condition of the timber, about a three weeks' trip. Would 

 I accompany him? Yes, and gladly. 



And so we proceeded to Jock's to talk it over. That 

 night the fly-book was looked into and the usual assort- 

 ment of old standbys from grave to gay rearranged, and 

 what duffle we needed got together. We contented our- 

 selves with a rod apiece — one a rather heavy laneewood, 

 a "rough diamond," that had seen hard service both with 

 bait and fly, the other a bamboo of 5oz. , a lovely little 

 rod and every inch a thoroughbred. We were to find our 

 provisions and blankets en route. 



Our route lay by trail from Keene Valley, Essex 

 county, N. Y., through to Van Houvenberg's, thence to 

 the "Deserted Village" via the Indian Pass, and so on to 

 Preston Ponds and down Gold River, returning by way 

 of Lake Colden, Mt, Marcy and the Ausable region. In 

 all a circuit of some 150 miles by trail. 



The next day we took a late start, and the trail being 

 in fairly good condition, struck the Great South Meadow 

 in the cool of the evening and reached A''an Hotivenbergs 

 at dusk, feeling comfortably tired and hungry after our 

 twelve miles' jog through the notch. That night after a 

 poor but welcome supper we stretched ourselves before 

 the big blaze in front of the lodge and talked over our 

 pipes until one by one the stars flickered and went out 

 and the moon just cresting the edge of the black spruces 

 told us it was past time to turn in. Another twelve miles 

 of rougher going the next day brought us through the 

 Indian Pass and out to the "Deserted Village." It is a 

 strange contrast to suddenly break from the heavy tim- 

 ber in that wild country and come upon this isolated 

 relic of what in days long ago was once a thriving settle- 

 ment. There it lies to day, its single thoroughfare half 

 obliterated in a tangle of rank weeds and blackberry 

 bushes, its row of shanties covered with the moss of 

 years, abandoned and fast crumbling to decay. We 

 enter a dilapidated structure on our right. Half sunken 

 in the moss-covered floor lies an iron-bound chest of 

 ancient pattern, its lid bulging with a tumbled contents of 

 old ledgers and papers, all that remains of the old bank. 



Half way down the street the Adirondack Club have 

 their headquarters. Under their hospitable roof we spent 

 one of the pleasantest of weeks, and having gained a 

 clear idea of the lumbering and condition of the timber 

 land, lakes and streams of that region, we packed oiu* 

 duffle one bright morning and were off for Preston and 

 Cold River. 



Starting at the upper end of Lake Henderson, a trail of 

 four miles through a more or less lumbered country 

 brings you to the Upper Preston Pond, And what a 

 beauty it is! Nearly circular, its placid surface reflects 

 the primeval loveliness of the unbroken forest that sm-- 

 rounds it. Through the courtesy of the club we occupied 

 a model log camp— the like of which would bring con- 

 tentment to the heart of any hunter or true angler, as it 

 lies nestled among the big spruces in a cove of this ideal 



Eond. We were soon in our snug quarters, and after a 

 ite and a nip stretched ourselves under the shade of an 

 old hemlock down by the little brook that chattered so 

 merrily past our shanty, and tried ae patiently as circum- 



stances would admit to kill that longest part of the day — 

 the time between the end of the morning fishing and the 

 time to fish again. Who— if he be a true angler— has not 

 felt that indescribable feeling of impatience for the hour 

 to come when the sun. dies pale in the west and a dozen 

 concentric rings breaking the quiet surface of the pond 

 tell him it is time to put his rod together and glide gently 

 out upon the still w.qter now swimming in the yellofy 

 evening light. Whirr! whirr! goes the reel as you pay 

 out enough fine to get your c^st under way. As you drift 

 silently along the clear, plaintive note of the hermit 

 thrush from some distant swamp comes softly over the 

 wa.ter to yott. As you near a tangle of floodwood that 

 hangs as if in midair, so accurately is it mirrored in the 

 black water, suddenly your eye catches eight of a swirl 

 ahead and instantly you are "on the alert. Go slow, my 

 boy ! These wary old fellows are sparing with their favors, 

 A deep, quiet stroke with the paddle and you glide 

 within casting distance. Now steady! Softly yottr flies 

 fall upon the black water just this side of his majesty. 

 There lie hes in the shadow of that big white snag to 

 your left. Again the line straightens and this time your 

 cast dapples the still surface above him. Like a flash, 

 with a 'swirl of his mighty fail, he has your dropper 

 fairly in his jaw and has started for deeper water. 

 Steady! Be careful of that flood wood, he will play havoc 

 with you if he reaches it! Inch by inch you recover your 

 line. You feel the butt is beginning to tell on him and 

 instinctively you reach for the landing net. A quick 

 imss as he rolls to the surface and the next instant he lies 

 struggling in the meshes at your feet. Ah! what a beauty 

 he is. Two and one quarter pounds if an ounce! There 

 he hes, game to the last, the big hook of his under jaw 

 working convulsively, his bright spots gleaming like so 

 many turquoise aud rubies. 



Handle liim tenderly — treat him with respect, he is no 

 reptile of a dogtish, this fellow who has sent the blood 

 coursing through your veins for the past fifteen minutes 

 — he is a prince antong fishes. 



As T look across in the direction of the camp a thin 

 column of smoke rising straight against the dark timber 

 warns me it is late and that Frank is getting supper. The 

 sun has set an honr ago and the chill night mist is begin- 

 ning to settle over the water, I manage to pick up half 

 a dozen little fellows for the pan and then put for camp. 



As the canoe grates against the beach I hear Frank's 

 cheery voice calling to me from the shanty, "Hello, 

 Doctor, I didn't know but what you had about concluded 

 to make a night of it. Any luck?" And then, as I emerge 

 into the shanty, his eyes fall upon the sagging contents of 

 the net, and the big fellow with the aristocratic hook is 

 dtily lifted out and weighed. 



"Just two pounds, old man, and a beauty he is! Took 

 the gnat, eh? Curious how these big fellows' tastes differ. 

 I've got some biscuits in the oven, and I guess these little 

 fellows won't go bad along with the bacon. Tea or coffee?" 



"Suit your taste," said I, and taking the candle I 

 followed the trail down to the brook to dress the fish. 



"Frank," said I, as we rolled on a log and filled our 

 pipes after a hearty supper, "what has become of Old Sam 

 Dewey? Still living in 'New Rushy' I suppose?" 



"Yes, and still is one of the most accomplished old liars 

 in these woods. I can see him now. He was always to 

 me a typical old trapper, his hair grew over his ears and 

 reached an inch or so below the collar of his coat, under 

 his mink-skin cap his keen gray eyes seemed to light up 

 his thin old countenance with an attractiveness that one 

 sees in the cunning face of a fox. He was a man of spare 

 build but with an unu'^ual amount of endurance, and I 

 am inclined to think even now in his old age would lead 

 the best of the boys a hard race in an all-day hunt. 



"That reminds me by the way," continued Frank, "of 

 a yam I once heard the old fellow tell when we were 

 over in Newcomb county on a big hunt a year ago last 

 fall. One night a lot of the boys went up to Caleb's, 

 where there was to be a dance and a general good time. 

 We were all in good spirits for we had had a good hunt, 

 and intended to stay another week. 'Hite' Partridge 

 was there, and Pete Dunning and 'Old Sam.' A lot of us 

 were around the stove in the kitchen, and naturally the 

 talk ran to hunting adventure. Caleb] told how in the 

 early days he had once tracked a panther for two days 

 in the light drift with the thermometer at zero, and 

 finally killed her over on Moose Ridge, just below where 

 Hiram Chase's sugar works now stand. Every one had 

 a story to tell, all but Old Sam, who seemed to keep out 

 of the game, owing, no doubt, to his being frequently 

 squelched on previous occasions whenever he attempted 

 to spring a new yarn on the boys. Finally the old man 

 grew impatient, and transferring his feet from the second 

 rung of his chair to the floor, he waited for a lull in the 

 conversation and began. 



" 'May be,' said he, 'yew fellers never heerd tell haow 

 1 once got forty-tew uv the noicest black duck ez ever 

 cum tew Little Beaver Pond? Wall— abaout ten year 

 ago — the time me en Brother Bill wuz trappin' daown 

 Cold Creek — I kin see yew fellers air beginin' tew daoubt 

 what I'm a goin' t' tell ye, en ef I hedn't seen it I dunno 

 but what I should mistrust it m'self. But it's Gospil 

 treuth.' 



"Here he produced a shrunken package of 'Blue Ruin' 

 from tne depths of his jeans and filled his pipe and pro- 

 ceeded: 



" 'Ducks had been plenty 'baout the pond, en one 

 evenin' ez I cum back home from havin' seen tew m' 

 ti-aps I see an almighty big flock er ducks settin aout on 

 th' pond, jes' this side uv where Brother Bill killed the 

 big doe. They see me an' riz en roosted on the limb er 

 that big birch' on t'other side th' pond. It looked ez if I 

 warn't goin' to git a crack at 'em, en I see I hedn't but 

 one cartridge in m' gun, so I jest set daown on er holler 

 log en begun to cal'ate haow tew git enough tew make a 

 mess. Bimeby an idee cum tew me en I crep' up abaout 

 forty rod from the old birch an' aimed her jest at the 

 crotch uv th' limb above whare them ducks wuz settin' 

 en yjulled th' trigger, Daown cum th' limb en pinned 

 'em all daown by th' toes. Wal, I jest dim' up 'n' picked 

 off forty-tew uv the noicest black duck yew fellers ever 

 see. Brother Bill he said he'd gin a dollar tew hev been 

 thare en seen th' fun. Talk abaout rats, ducks en otter! 

 Little Beaver 's th' place fer me en daon't yew fergit.' 

 And the old man tilted back in his chau- and refilled his 

 pipe with the air of a lawyer who had just won his case." 



The fire had burned low, and after a look at the moon 

 and a few speculations in regard to the morrow we cov- 

 ered up the ashes and turned in, 



F. Beekeley SMITHt 



