Forest and Stream. 



A Weekly Journal of the Rod and Gun. 



TlJ'RMS, 



54 A Year. 10 Gth. a Copy. ( 

 Six Months, $2. ) 



NEW YORK, JANUARY 21, 1892. 



t VOL. XXXVIII.-No. 3, 



I No. 318 Bkoadwat, New Yobk. 



CONTENTS. 



Editorial. 



January Days. 

 Guides and Hunting. 

 Buffalo in Yellowstone Park. 

 Snap Shots. 

 The Sportsman Tourist. 

 Episodes in the Life of a Very 



Bad Boy.— n. 

 Camp Life Amid the Pines. 



Natural History. 



Northern Bird List, 



The Summer Roosts of Birds. 



The Deer- Lick Bird. 



Game Bag and Gun. 

 Guides and Guided. 

 One of the Coons of Memory.* 

 About Big Bags of Game. 

 1792—1892-1950. 

 An Idabo Fish and Game 



Country. 

 Massachusetts Association. 

 Chirago and the West. 

 Health and a Moose in Maine. 



Sea and River Fishing. 

 Pulp Mills vs. Fish. 

 The Six-Inch Trout Law. 

 Trouting in the Cascades.— vi. 

 Illegal Fishing in the Alle- 



ghanies. 

 The Tilefisb. 

 Chicago and the West. 



Fishculture. 



A Montana Fish Hatchery. 



The Kennel. 



Re the Name Psovoi vs. Barzoi 

 Philadelphia K. C. Meeting. 

 Chorea in Dogs. 

 Dog Dosing. 

 Notes and Notions. 

 Points and Flushes. 

 Kennel for a Single Dog. 

 Dog Chat. 

 Kennel Notes. 



Answers to Correspondents. 

 Rifle Range and Gallery. 



"Forest and Stream" Tourna- 

 ment. 



Trap Shooting. 

 Chicago Traps. 

 Drivers and Twisters. 

 Matches and Meetings. 



Yachting. 

 Tacking Ship. 



Catboat Racing in Buzzard's 

 Bay in 1891. 



Canoeing. 



Royal C. C. 

 Western C. A. 

 New York C. C. 



Answers to Queries. 



For Prospectus and Advertising Rates see Page 69. 



JANUARY DAYS. 



IN these mid-winter days, how muffled is the earth in 

 its immaculate raiment, so disguised in whiteness 

 that familiar places are strange, rough hollows smoothed 

 to mere undulations, deceitful to the eye and feet, and 

 level fields so piled with heaps and ridges that their 

 owners scarcely recognize them. 



The hovel is as regally roofed as the palace, the rudest 

 fence is a hedge of pearl, finer than a wall of marble, and 

 the meanest wayside weed is a white flower of fairy- 

 land. 



The woods, that frost and November winds stripped of 

 their leafy thatch, are roofed again, now with an arabesque 

 of alabaster more delicate than the green canopy that 

 summer unfolded, and all the floor is set in noiseless pave- 

 ment, traced with a shifting pattern of blue shadows. In 

 these silent aisles the echoes are smothered at their birth. 



There is no response of airy voices to the faint call of 

 the winter birds. The sound of the axe-stroke flies no 

 faster than the pungent fragrance of the smoke that drifts 

 in a blue haze from the chopper's fire. The report of the 

 gun awakes no answering report, and each mellow note 

 of the hound comes separate to the ear, with no jangle of 

 reverberations. 



Fox and hound wallow through the snow a crumbling 

 furrow that obliterates identity of either trail, but there 

 are yet tracks that tell as plain as written words who 

 made them. Here have fallen, lightly as snowflakes, the 

 broad pads of the hare, white as the snow he trod : there, 

 the parallel pairs of another winter masker, the weasel's 

 tracks and the squirrel's, linking tree to tree. 



There the leaps of a tiny wood- mouse are lightly 

 marked upon the feathery surface to where there is the 

 imprint of a light, swift pinion on either side, and the 

 little story of his wandering ends — one crimson blood 

 drop, the period that marks the finis. 



In the blue shadow at the bottom of that winding fur- 

 row are the dainty footprints of a grouse, and you won- 

 der why, he so strong of wing, should choose to wade 

 laboriously the clogging snow even in his briefest trip, 

 rather than make his easy way through the unresisting 

 air, but the snow-written record of his wayward wander- 

 ings tells not why. Suddenly, as if a mine had been 

 sprung where your next footstep should fall and with 

 almost as startling, though harmless effect, another of 

 his wild tribe bursts upward through the unmarked 

 white floor and goes whirring and clattering away, scat- 

 tering in powdery ruin the maze of delicate tracery the 

 snowfall wrought; and vanishes, leaving only an aerial 

 pathway of naked twigs to mark his impetuous passage. 



In the twilight of an evergreen thicket sits a great 

 horned owl like a hermit in his cell in pious contemplation 

 of his own holiness and the world's wickedness. But this 

 recluse hates not sin, only daylight and mankind. Out in 

 the fields you may find the wbite-robed brother of this 

 gray friar, a pilgrim from the far north, brooding in the 

 very face of the sun, on some stack or outlying barn, but 

 he will not suffer you to come so near to him as will this 

 solemn anchorite who stares at you unmoved as a graven 

 image till you come within the very shadows of his roof. 



Marsh and channel are scarcely distinguishable now 



but by the white domes of the muskrats" winter homes 

 and here and there a sprawling thicket of button bush, 

 for the rank growth of weeds is beaten flat and the deep 

 snow covers it and the channel ice is one unbroken sheet. 



The lake's sheltered bays and coves are frozen and 

 white with snow or frost, and the open water, whether 

 still or storm-tossed, black beneath clouds or bluer than 

 the blue dome that arches it, looks as cold as ice and 

 snow. Sometimes its steaming breath lies close above it, 

 sometimes mounts in swaying, lofty columns to the sky, 

 but always cold and ghostly, without expression of 

 warmth or life. 



So far away to hoary peaks that^shine with a glittering 

 gleam against the blue rim of the sky, or to the furthest 

 blue-gray line of woodland that borders the horizon, 

 stretches the universal whiteness, so coldly shines the 

 sun from the low curve of his course, and so chilly 

 comes the lightest waft of wind from wheresoever it 

 listeth, that it tasks the imagination to picture any land 

 on all the earth where summer dwells amid green leaves 

 and bright flowers, the music of birds and running 

 waters, and of warm waves on pleasant shores, or that 

 anywhere spring is just awakening fresh life or autumn 

 yet lingers in the gorgeousness of many hues. 



How far off beyond this world seems the possibility of 

 such seasons, how enduring and relentless this which en- 

 compasses us. 



And then, at the close of the brief white day, the sunset 

 paints a promise and a prophecy in a blaze of color on 

 the sky. 



The gray clouds kindle with red and yellow fire that 

 burns about their purple hearts in tints of infinite variety, 

 while behind them and the dark blue rampart of the 

 mountains flames the last glory of the departing sun, 

 fading in a tint of tender green to the upper blue. Even 

 the cold snow at our feet flushes with warm color and 

 the eastern hills blush roseate against the climbing, 

 darkening shadow of the earth. 



It is as if some land of summer whose brightness has 

 never been told lay unveiled before us, its delectable 

 mountains splendid with innumerable hues, its lakes 

 and streams of gold rippling to purple shores seeming 

 not so far before us but that we might, by a little jour- 

 ney, come to them _ 



" GUIDES AND HUNTING. 



THE tearful protestations of a correspondent who 

 writes from Bald Knob, Ark., in his own defense, 

 arouse our sincere sympathy, and our own experience in 

 somewhat similar cases moves us to say a word in regard 

 to it. The facts appear to be these. 



Some time ago certain gentlemen of St. Louis went 

 down into Arkansas on a shooting trip. There they 

 hired the above-mentioned protestant as guide. The 

 success of their hunt did not equal their expectations, 

 and on their return they complained vigorously about 

 this, throwing the blame of their failure on the incompe- 

 tence of their guides. This complaint was transmitted 

 to us by our correspondent "'Aberdeen," and we published 

 it. Of the exact facts in this case we have of course 

 no knowledge. Perhaps on both sides their statements 

 may be a little colored by the feelings of the persons 

 interested. 



There are few thing in life that are more touching 

 than the absolute confidence in himself felt by the novice 

 in big game hunting. It does not occur to him that any- 

 thing more is needed for a successful hunting trip than 

 a good weapon and good ammunition. Given these, and 

 the ability to walk or ride about, and he regards success 

 in killing game as assured, provided there exists any in 

 the region which he chooses as his hunting ground. 



He starts out with or without a guide, and wanders 

 about. He does not know where to look for game nor 

 how to approach it. If he is alone, perhaps he whistles 

 a merry tune as he walks along or hums an air; at all 

 events he steps on sticks and breaks them, or noisily 

 pushes his way through the crackling underbrush; he 

 walks rapidly, for he desires to cover as much ground as 

 possible before returning to camp. If he is in company 

 with a guide he very likely keeps up an animated con- 

 versation with the latter, asking questions about the 

 strange thingB that he sees, or trying to learn something 

 about the habits of the animals that he is pursuing. If 

 there is much game in the country, and it is pretty open, 

 perhaps he sees some, but much more likely he does not. 

 However, if game is abundant he very likely sees tracks 

 that look to him quite fresh, and possibly even a running 



deer, or elk, or a mountain sheep, far above him, just 

 disappearing over the crest of some bluff , or perhaps 

 standing statue-like outlined against the sky on some 

 lofty crag, watching him for a moment before it seeks 

 safety in some situation which is still more inaccessible. 

 All this perplexes our young friend, and he wonders why 

 all these animals appear to be alarmed, and what can 

 have frightened them. 



When he returns to camp after a day of fruitless hunt- 

 ing, he thinks that now at all events he will have some 

 fun and try his gun, and. so he sets up a tin can or a 

 bottle on a stick, and amuses himself by shooting at it, 

 making the echoes ring for miles around, and arousing 

 to unusual alertness and suspicion every wild creature 

 within hearing. 



As may be readily imagined, the young man whom 

 we have described is not popular with old hunters in 

 whose company he may find himself in camp. He is a 

 veritable thorn in their sides, and withal so entirely 

 innocent and well intentioned, that one cannot get 

 angry with him except in the inmost recesses of one's 

 own heart. It is better to have the hunt a failure than 

 to hurt your companion's feelings. In the midst of our 

 rage at losing a good chance to kill a deer, when the 

 camp really needed meat, we have been obliged to laugh 

 at the delicate attempts of an experienced companion to 

 hint to such a novice that it would perhaps be better not 

 to shoot at a rabbit or a grouse, when it was quite likely 

 that within.a hundred yards there was another deer tha,t 

 might be secured. 



It is often to be noted that the novice, no matter how 

 little he really knows, imagines his knowledge of wood- 

 craft, of the habits of wild animals and of hunting to be 

 great. Having read and digested many books on the 

 subject, he has a theoretical knowledge, and desires to 

 apply his theories on all occasions. He will even make 

 suggestions to old hunters, and try to demonstrate 

 that he is right ! He does not know — what experi- 

 ence alone could teach him— that -in hunting no two 

 sets of conditions are exactly alike, and that hard and 

 fast rules are of no use in the pursuit of big game, 

 The hunter must adapt himself to circumstances; what 

 he wishes to do is to approach within shot of his game . 

 not to follow out the unbending rules laid down by some 

 individual who, perhaps, never in his life killed anything 

 except by the help of a guide, although he could write 

 learnedly enough about stalking. 



Books are good things in their way , but it is very cer- 

 tain that no man ever learned to hunt by reading books. 

 Experience and observation are the only teachers — or 

 perhaps it would be better to say imitation and experi- 

 ence. We believe that no one can learn to hunt so easily 

 and so well as by going out with and following about an 

 old and skillful hunter. When doing this, the novice 

 should make up his mind to occupy a subordinate position 

 throughout, and should feel that his day is to be devoted 

 to learning something, not to finding his own game. He 

 can easily make some arrangement with his companion 

 by which the latter shall give him all the shots, for in 

 hunting — as all true hunters know — the pleasure is not 

 in killing the game, but in circumventing it; not in shed- 

 ding blood, but in proving that, notwithstanding the 

 possession by this wild animal of senses trained and 

 made acute by the accumulated experience of hundreds 

 of generations, you have been able to creep up near 

 enough to it to make it— if you wish to— your prey. 



When the novice goes out, therefore, he should follow 

 tehind his companion, and strive in all ways to imitate 

 him. He should not speak, unless addressed, and then 

 must answer in the same low tone. If he sees anything 

 of interest, which he imagines has escaped his companion's 

 eye, he may call his attention to it, but not by speaking: 

 a low whistle or hiss will be enough. The human voice 

 has a very penetrating quality, and is, moreover, an un- 

 usual sound in the solitudes. Imitate your companion. 

 If he does anything that you do not comprehend, make a 

 mental note of it, and after you have finished hunting — 

 when the necessity for silence is over — ask him about it. 



Any one who has patience, good powers of observation 

 and opportunities, will during a few hunts of this kind 

 learn ten thousand times more than he could from a life- 

 time devoted to book reading. 



A convention of the New York State, Association for 

 Protection of Fish and Game has been called to meet in 

 Syracuse Feb. 12, for the purpose of discussing the codi- 

 fication bill, 



