March 10, 1893.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



227 



A DAY AT RAGGED ISLAND. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



President Harrison has been elected an honorary 

 member for life of the Ragged Island Gunning Associa- 

 tion of "Virginia. He spent three days there recently as 

 the guest of the Association, and while, on account of 

 adverse weather conditions, he did not secure large bags 

 of either canvasback or redheads, he proved himself such 

 a good sportsman that his election was carried unani- 

 mously. 



The .Ragged Island Club is situated on the Back Bay in 

 Princess Anne County, Va., and just north of the North 

 Carolina boundary line. It is reached by a drive down 

 the Atlantic beach from Virginia Beach of eighteen miles, 

 and a row of two miles across from the Beach, or by 

 steamer from Norfolk, through the picturesque Albemarle 

 and Chesapeake Canal and North River to Pungo Ferry, 

 thence by a drive of six miles to Hills Landing and by 

 row or sail boat, three miles across the bay to the island. 

 Ragged Island itself is about three miles long by a mile 

 broad, it derives its title from the innumerable inlets, 

 straits and ponds by which it is cut up and is one of the 

 best piece? of marsh on the Atlantic Coast for wildfowl. 

 The surrounding waters are brackish and shallow and 

 abound in wild celery and tape weed, so that the canvas- 

 backs and redheads which seem to have deserted the 

 Chesapeake this last winter would appear to have betaken 

 themselves to the Back Bay of late, The Knott's Island 

 marshes lie a few miles to the southward and there are 

 several clubs in the near vicinity, but Ragged Island is 

 acknowledged by even the professional gunners to be the 

 best preserve from North Island to Currituck Light House. 

 The island was rented for some years to some New York 

 and Boston sportsmen, who only had a small hut upon it 

 and was shot over or from by the market guuners almost 

 without molestation. About a year ago, however, Mr. C. 

 A. Woodard, an enthusiastic sportsman of Norfolk, learn- 

 ing that the property was to be sold in a partition suit, 

 interested some of his friends, notably Mr. Beaman, Mr. 

 Burke and Judge Portlock, and in a very quiet manner 

 had a representative at the sale, who much to the surprise 

 of the New York lessees who were also represented, out- 

 bid them, and although a motion was made to set the 

 sale aside on technical grounds, it was defeated and the 

 Norfolk gentlemen entered into possession of the property. 

 They set to work vigorously at once and erected one of 

 the prettiest shooting club houses on the coast, appointed 

 a game constable, and within a short time placed the 

 majority of their shares. There are thirty shares, of 

 which the two remaining are now held at a thousand 

 dollars each. 



It was my privilege to enjoy a day in January last at 

 Ragged Island, where I had been for geese and brant on 

 the Old Dominion steamer Newberne, retracing the steps 

 of your able correspondent, Charles Hallock, through 

 Albemarle Sound, the Coinjock Cut and upper Curri- 

 tuck Sound through the Canal, to the Locks. We had 

 left Roanoke after a howling and bitter cold northeaster, 

 which had made shooting impossible. "We did not 

 realize during the evening, sitting round good Captain 

 " Tom " Southgate's comfortable fire in the Newberne's 

 cabiu, how bitter cold it jyas outside. We had decided 

 to have Captain " Tom " drop us at Pungo Ferry, but 

 when we awoke at 8 A. M. and looked out on one of the 

 most beautiful still and cold winter mornings that I ever 

 saw, we were at the Locks, and Captain Tom's cheery 

 voice sang out, "I was afraid you thin-skinned New 

 Yorkers would freeze if I put you off at Pungo three hours 

 ago, so I carried you here." Farewells spoken, the New- 

 berne left us to steam her twelve miles to Norfolk, and 

 after an hour's wait we boarded the queer little steam 

 craft W. B. Rogers, which carried us three hours back to 

 Pungo. It was so bitter cold that thin ice was forming, 

 even at midday, on the canal and river. Arrived at 

 Pungo we managed to get our traps and finally ourselves 

 into a high cart that we hired to drive us to Hills Landing, 

 where we knew the Ragged Island Club boat was awaiting 

 us. Wednesday and Thursdays are closed days for shoot- 

 ing in Virginia, so we knew our time was not lost, and 

 when we arrived at Hills Landing just before sunset, 

 where we found Superintendent Water field and Con- 

 stable Williams awaiting us, and where we were joined 

 by three of the club members who had driven down from 

 Norfolk, our hearts were cheered and our blood stirred 

 by the evening flight of the wild fowl. Never shall I 

 forget that sight ! The Bky was cloudless and the winter 

 sun just sinking flushed the whole sky " rosy red." 

 Against the pale rose in the east dark clouds, inter- 

 spersed now and then with patches of white, seemed to 

 rise and fall, and through the still air came the far off 

 " honk " of the geese and " coo " of the swan. Safely on 

 board the club yacht, a large Cape Hatteras skiff,*we 

 were poled across the bay and around the north end of 

 Ragged Island to the club house, situated in the center 

 on the east side. Somewhat chilled by the long trip we 

 found a delicious hot sapper awaiting us, cordial greet- 

 ings and canvasbacks cooked ]as they should be. Our party 

 of three was portioned off to a large and comfortable 

 bedroom with six beds. Through mutual agreement 

 before retiring the sixteen or more blinds on the island 

 were allotted, and we retired early to dream of the 

 morrow's sports and to pray for a stiff breeze to make the 

 birds move. 



Aroused at 4:30 after a good breakfast, the party sepa- 

 rated. The hoped for breeze had not come and it was 

 still bitterly cold. AVith my good number 10 and a heavy 

 coat to wear, in going to the blind, I was given the stern 

 seat in the skiff, my friend F. took the bow, our dog 

 crouched between my legs and burly Game Constable 

 Williams proceeded to pole us to the blind. It was still 

 dark and the air was so still we could hear the breakers 

 on the outside beach and now and then the quacking of 

 black ducks in the marsh behind us and the coo of the 

 swan. We had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when 

 we heard the sound of breaking ice and came up with 

 two or three of the skiffs which had started before and 

 whose occupants had found it necessary to break the 

 channel. Arrived at the blind on the south end of the 

 island we disembarked and Williams put out the decoys. 

 Delayed as we had been by the ice, the sun had now 

 risen and there was no flight and only a distant report 

 now and then apprised us of the fact that our friends had 

 reached their blinds. An hour passed with no sign of 

 life, when suddenly Wilhama cried "down" and three 

 canvasbacks came up from the southward. There was 

 no wind to make them fly low across the point and 



although we almost dug into the ground in our anxiety 

 to conceal ourselves, they detected us from their eleva- 

 tion, wouldn't " stool " and sheered off. They were fol- 

 lowed soon by two others also too high, and then came 

 slowly winging his way to our decoys a shelldrake, 

 which F. knocked over with a pretty side shot and then 

 three more canvas, one of which we winged but which 

 again escaped us. By this time there began to be a 

 movement among the feathered host, a little breeze 

 sprang up from the southwest and the shooting was good 

 and continuous. First two or three, then a pair of red 

 heads, then a small flock of butterballs, and then six of 

 the fine canvasbacks. We poled back to the club house 

 at noon hungry and contented where we found most of 

 our friends had returned equally happy. Just sitting 

 down to lunch word came that a flock of swan had set- 

 tled in a pond five hundred yards away. We rushed to 

 the top of the club house where my friend S. from the 

 little platform put his Remington five hundred yards and 

 plumped a ballet in among " the whiteness." They rose 

 slowly and majestically and departed and we resumed 

 pur lunch. 



The aiternoon brought warmer airs and we started 

 again for the blind. As we were about to pass a point 

 where two of our friends had stationed themselves and 

 where they had put out their decoys, we noticed one of 

 them walking along the edge of the majsh and the other 

 standing up whistling in the blind, with as pretty a flock 

 canvasbacks as one ever saw coming straight for the 

 decoys and entirely unnoticed by C. We waved, we 

 whistled low, and finally, as the ducks, well in gunshot, 

 but disgusted themselves, sheered off, we shouted madly, 

 and in chorus, M You blank fool — Where are your eyes?" 

 I wish your readers could have seen the look of disgust 

 on C.'s face when he saw the ducks departing, and he 

 informed us confidentially that evening that he had been 

 punished for his foolishness by not getting another shot 

 that entire day. We had in our turn a fair afternoon of 

 sport and returned to the club house after dark and after 

 witnessing another evening's flight of wild fowl. Two 

 of our friends on their way home picked out a fine goose 

 from a low flying flock and it was a cheerful little com- 

 pany that gathered round the blazing wood fires in the 

 cozy little Club house and made merry with song and 

 story. Business made it necessary for us to depart next 

 morning at dawn but on our way over to Hills Landing 

 in the yacht, S. killed two of a flock of blue peters at 

 three hundred yards with his Remington and crippled a 

 third, which a bald eagle promptly swooped down upon 

 and removed from our sight. We reached Norfolk the 

 evening of the'same day and were in New York the next 

 morning with "most delightful reminiscences of " a day 

 at Ragged IslaniL" J. B. T. 



THE BIG MOOSE. 



IT was in the month of September. I was with a party 

 of men constructing a dam at the outlet of Ten-Mile 

 Lake. Moose were plenty in the vicinity and their haunts 

 were seldom disturbed; the dam had to be completed 

 before the fall rains, consequently no person could be 

 spared to hunt the game, which deprived us of the 

 luxury of much juicy steak at our table, to say nothing 

 of the delicious soup that their muffle and brisket would 

 furnish. A party of men some two miles below us wit- 

 nessed the wonderful Bight of fifteen of those noble fel- 

 lows crossing the stream in one afternoon. Our camp 

 was out of beef and one of us must foot it to the village, 

 fifteen miles away. The lot fell upon me. I started in 

 the" early morning, leaving a heavy double-barreled gun 

 behind for the first time for several trips. The day 

 promised to be warm and I intended to be as expeditious 

 as possible. The morning was bright and the songs of 

 the birds cheering. Soon surmounting a high ridge I 

 struck the tote road and was making good time when 

 my attention was aroused by an unusual noise a short 

 distance away. There stood the biggest wild animal I 

 ever set eyes upon — a monster moose. I had seen many 

 of his kind, but for size and beauty this fellow surpassed 

 them all. He was fat and sleek, his hide shone m the 

 morning sun, his stately form was clearly outlined 

 against the blue sky, his head and antlers were enormous, 

 the latter could not have been less than five feet across, 

 and there were numerous branches growing from the 

 blades. Altogether it was a picture not soon to be for- 

 gotten. I was tramping fifteen miles over a horrid tote 

 road for beef, and there it stood, a pile of it within 20yds. 

 and the gun one and one-half miles away. 



To go back for the firelock would be useless, the mon- 

 ster would be gone on my return. One shot from the 

 gun that was left in camp would have saved me the fif- 

 teen-mile tramp, secured the much-needed food and made 

 me the happy possessor of those fine antlers. 



A whiff of wind gave him the scent of his enemy and 

 this stately creatute was soon lost in the distance. 

 Sheet Habbob, N. 8. M. M. F. 



Protection of Does.— Editor Forest and Stream: I 

 am glad to see that the clause forbidding the killing of 

 does has been eliminated from the New York game bill. 

 Such a law would be another "nail in the coffin" of all 

 kinds of hunting except hounding. The still-hunter 

 even cannot always be sure, on account of brush or dis- 

 tance, of the sex of the game. But the worst is that no 

 one who does not care to would live up to it. Why make 

 a law that can be so easily evaded. A good knife and 

 five minutes will at any time destroy all proof of sex. 

 Thus how could we who live in counties where hounding 

 is prohibited kill at all— without large chances of violat- 

 ing the law? We are not only willing but anxious that 

 the game should have proper protection, but it is not to 

 be expected that we want all protection for ourselves and 

 the broadest license for everybody else. We naturally 

 want some chance with the rest of the State. — R. 



Testing a Gun eor Loads.— Magog, Quebec— I com- 

 menced to use a gun about thirty years ago, while so 

 small that my father had to help me hold up an old flint- 

 lock. Since then I have owned a great number of guns, 

 and now have seven, ranging from .22 to .50cal. rifles, 

 and from 16 to 8g. shotguns. The only way to tell how 

 to load a gun is by trying it with various charges, wad- 

 ding, etc. Then you know how to feed it to get the best 

 results. When I get a new gun I take it off alone and 

 try it thoroughly, then bring it before the public. By 

 doing so I have sold many a gun for twice what it cost 

 me.— E. D. S. 



A MEMORY OF THE MOUNTAINS. 



r r\HE following extract from a private letter received 

 X from a gentleman residing in Montana was recently 

 received by a sportsman of this city. It refers to a trip 

 made last autumn, and draws a charming picture of a 

 very beautiful region. The writer says: 



"I want to put in at least ten or twelve days in Red 

 Eagle Valley, for I am positive that there is much to be 

 seen there that few white men have ever seen. You 

 could do some exploring there to good advantage. Even 

 now I can see the valley from the rocky ledge on which 

 we stood, the basin and the falls that you and Norris 

 climbed the mountain to see, the glaciers at the upper 

 end , and the gap between Kootenai and the red mountain 

 on the left, the lake which we had left behind us, calm 

 and placid as a sheet of glass; before us the pines with 

 the soft murmur of wind in their branches, and far as 

 the eye could reach, mountains piled upon mountains. 

 When I think of the magnificent view we obtained from 

 that ledge of rocks I never cease to wonder why no one 

 has ever gone there to photograph it. It is worthy to 

 be painted by a Bierstadt. I shall surely live in the 

 belief that you will pay it one more visit this summer if 

 no more," H. H. G. 



Doa and Fox.— The following note of fox cunning is 

 extracted from a Mumf ord, N. Y. , letter to Ma j. H. W. 

 Merrill, of this city: I must tell you about a chase my 

 dog had with an "old red"— one that had been run before 

 judging by his actions. It had been thawing all the 

 morning. About 2 P. M. I heard the hound running out 

 west of the house as though he had a fresh track. I paid 

 no attention to him till I heard him give tongue, as he 

 does when running by sight. Then I went over to the 

 woods and found he was running a fox. He went 

 directly west with it, and judging he would bring it back 

 I went to the barn for the gun. I had only returned 

 when I saw the fox jump from the road into the big lot 

 going in a N. E. direction, so I ran down to get a shot at 

 him, but for some reason or other he turned and went 

 through the grass where I first was, so I lost my shot. It 

 was a sight to see that fox. He would get on the fence 

 and walk it for a long way, then jump out 10 or 15ft., 

 take a circle, return to the fence, take another walk, then 

 jump, going in a straight line for quite a distance, only 

 to return on the same track he went out on. I had an 

 opportunity to watch him for fifteen or twenty minutes 

 before the dog came up; and it was a sight to see the dog 

 work. He would walk the fence as well as he could, 

 Always watching for the place where the fox had 

 jumped. I followed the dog and fox east for a couple of 

 miles, when a very heavy fog came up, rendering it use- 

 less to go further; but the dog returned with the fox 

 about 9 o'clock in the evening, where father called him 

 off as he was crossing the farm just south of the barn. I 

 never saw a fox use so many little tricks to puzzle a dog 

 before.— J. M. 



A Train Runs Down a Buck.— Manchester, Va.— One 

 night, not long ago, the through passenger train from the 

 south killed a very fine buck nearReams's Station, on the 

 Petersburg Railroad, about eleven miles south of Peters- 

 burg, in Dinwiddie county, Va. The deer was picked up 

 from beside the track early the next morning by the sec- 

 tion men, who brought it to Reams's Station on a pole 

 car and skinned it, delivering the choice steaks to some of 

 the section hands. Mr. W. T. Reams, a popular engine- 

 man of the Atlantic Coast line, told me to-day that he 

 had been running engines on the Petersburg Railroad for 

 nearly twenty years, and had killed crows and turkeys, 

 but had never killed a* deer before. He regarded the 

 occurrence as being a very unusual one. Our engine in- 

 spector showed me a dove the other day which he found 

 wedged in between the air pipes on the front of an engine 

 that had just brought in a train. I never heard of pos- 

 sums trapped in a city before I came to Manchester. A 

 watchman at the Atlantic Coast Line shops here has 

 trapped three just outside of the shop door. Dick invited 

 me around the other night to show me his trap. After 

 stumbling over a pile of scrap iron back of the shop, we 

 came to the spot, and found the trap "settin'," ready for 

 another possum— an old hare trap, almost big enough to 

 catch a Newfoundland dog. Dick baits with a salt her- 

 ring, the best bait for possum he has ever used. — A. P. 



Bird Dogs That Stay Home.— A Worcester, Mass., 

 correspondent has this to say of the bird dogs which are 

 never sent to field trials and bench shows: The cuts of 

 the dogs and handlers at the field trials were very inter- 

 esting to me. Dogs and men as they are at their work 

 have a great attraction. I have been thinking that I 

 would gather up pictures of a few of our bird dogs and 

 send you— dogs that are bred and broken for hunting 

 dogs— dogs that can and do hunt from daylight till dark 

 as many days a week as their masters may be fortunate 

 enough to get away from business— dogs that we kept at 

 home out of sight when the bench show was held here a 

 few years ago, but were trotted out the next fall to do the 

 season's work. I wonder how they would look to some 

 of the "old guard," men who hunt and never owned a 

 dog of whose pedigree they knew more than that he was 

 "a bird dog."— Hal. 



An Arkansas Deer Scrape.— Little Rock, March 5, 

 1892.— Editor Forest and Stream : In an article, entitled 

 " An Arkansas Deer Scrape," in Forest and Stream for 

 February 26, a correspondent, " Noctus," relates a very 

 exciting story of the rescue, through his eloquence, of 

 himself and party, from the perils of a prosecution under 

 a statute of this State (Arkansas), which makes it an 

 offense for non-residents to hunt in the State, and 

 " leaves a heavy fine and imprisonment with the court." 

 We "natives" can imagine the feelings with which 

 those worthy officers, Squire Meredith and Constable 

 Shipwith, listened to the oratory of this " innocent 

 abroad," since we know that no such statute existed. 

 "Noctus" was the victim of a hoax. — T. D. Crawford. 



The Odd-Time Guns.— I have written "Awahsoose" 

 that I could antedate him a little on guns, for my first 

 two or three years' experience was with an old flintlock 

 fusil, and the "first bird I ever shot on the wing" was a 

 gray squirrel, which I had the good luck to drop on his 

 jump from one tree to another, one day when the old 

 lock responded more quickly than usual to the pull on the 

 trigger. — Von W. 



