Nov. 13, 1891.-1 



FORES't AND STREAM. 



829 



OUR CAMP ON HORICON. 



TT/ITH two others I have recently returned from a 

 V T short shooting trip to Horicon Marsh, and it is 

 with much rpgret that T have to announce that that once 

 famous old shooting ground is little like what it was a 

 brief number of years ago. The water we found to be 

 much lower than has ever been known before, and where 

 in former years there was from two to four feet of water, 

 to-day there lies a long stretch of mud flats upon which 

 are busily engaged a vast army of snipe and plover, of 

 every known variety 



and size, from the tiny 



sandpiper to the state- 

 ly yellowleg. Here 



and there at irregular 



intervals is a stagnant 



pool of water, dimin- 

 utive in size and liter- 

 ally alive with bull- 



•heads, pickerel and 



suckers, a swarming 

 wriggling mass of 



fish, which have been 



•cut off from the main 



■channels of water and 



penned up in these 



liny ponds, they are 



dying by inches as 



the water daily settles 



and becomes less. It 



was a melancholy 



sight for me to wit- 

 ness such a complete 



change in this once 



magnificent ducking 



resort. All the sloughs 



and pond holes, once 



so plentifully found 



along the eastern 



shore, have disap- 

 peared, while in their 



places is found a suc- 

 cession of weed-grown 



beds dry as tmder, 



where one might safe- 

 ly walk with the thin- 

 nest soled shoes, so far 



as danger from wet- 

 ting is concerned. 



It was on the even- 

 ing of Sept. 2'3 that, 



with wagon heavily 



laden, C, E. and the 



writer diverged from 



the main traveled 



road, and taking a 



well-defined hay 



track, struck oiT 



across the dry and 



waving sea of marsh 



grass toward the near- 

 est body of water vis- 

 ible to the eye from 



the highway. The 



Horicon Shooting 



'Club's buildings are 



just visible two miles 



to the northward, 



situated upon a tim- 

 bered point of land 



which juts out into 



the lake some little 



distance. Between 



the point and the 



track we are slowly 



following floats a vast 



smoke cloud from the 



marsh fires, which 



have been fiercely 



burning on the west 



side of the lake for 



several days. The 



wind veering drives 



the smoke in our di- 

 rection, but we have 



little to fear, as the 



wide expanse of mud 



flats precludes any 



possibility of the fire 



reaching our side of 



the marsh. This is 



not the shooting 



ground of which Mr. 



Hough so ably and 



pleasantly writes in 



iPOEEST AND StEEAM 



■of Oct. 8, but is that 

 portion of the marsh 

 which lies to the north 

 and above the Diana's 

 preserve and extends 't*;."-^ 

 over the north half of 

 the lake. 



We had left the 

 little German town 

 of Mayville early in 

 the afternoon, after a 

 conference with 



Messrs. Clark and Butter, the president and secretary of 

 the club, and it was decided, owing to the extreme "low 

 water on the marsh, that we had better not put up at the 

 club house at all, but rather make our way out upon the 

 low land a mile or two south of the club buildings, and 

 drivmg as near the water as possible pitch camp there in 

 preference to daily poling over waterless mud flats in 

 order to reach the shooting gi-ound, as the bulk of the 

 bu-ds remained south of the point. In anticipation of 

 this course our tent and camping outfit had been brought 

 from home, and as the sun smiled itself from sight on 

 the evening of the 22d it left us comfortably settled and 

 all m readiness for a few days shooting, One of Com- 

 stock's "protean" tents proved itself a treasure on this 

 trip, adding very materially to our comfort and enjoy- 

 ment. The canvas is unrolled, the single pole is jointed, 

 and in less time than it takes to describe the performance 

 our camp is made. With a sickle we cut two or three 



armfuls of hay, which are carried inside and spread upon 

 the ground ; over this is stretched a square piece of sail 

 cloth cut just the proper size and fastened at the four 

 corners, forming a dry, smooth floor. During the warm 

 portions of the day we made good use of the fly, which 

 was converted into an awning, and we spent many hours 

 under this during the blistering hot days which followed 

 one after another, stretched out in the greatful shade 

 afforded by the fly, that ingenious device for the camper's 

 comfort. All old hunters know^ how insufferably hot an 

 ordinary tent will get on a sultry day, and out on that 



AMQNG THE WILDFOWL.— X. 



A DOTJBLE OS MALLAKDS. 



almost boundless marsh I hardly see how we could have 

 survived had it not been for our awning. Some of the 

 nights were very cool, but after supper the guy ropes 

 attached to the fly would be transferred to a set of stakes 

 nearer the tent entrance, and a moment's work renders 

 our little dwelling made close for the night, One word 

 regarding our oil stove. This was a compact, extension 

 top, two burner kerosene oil affair, and saved us a vast 

 amount of labor, while the surprise of C. and E. at the 

 marvelous way I turned out buckwheats upon it was only 

 equalled by my surprise at the number of cakes they dis- 

 posed of. Truly, this is an age of improvement. 



Our first night in camp was a pleasant one. The coffee 

 pot puffs out its fragrance and finally we sit down to our 

 initial meal. 1 shall not weary the reader with an 

 exhaustive account of how many cups of rich old Java 

 we imbibed, nor relate the number of times each was 

 helped to a fresh supply of bacon, I have an indistinct 



recollection of cautiously making a survey of the plates 

 on at least two of the corners of our triangle as we sat 

 eross-legged upon the canvas floor then transferring to 

 my own plate the last scrap of bacon. For a brief space 

 of time we sit staring at the empty pan like Nicholas 

 Nickelby and the miller at the empty bread plate, then 

 we pile the soiled dishes into the dish pan with a reckless 

 disregard for neatness and order, and walk outside for a 

 breath of fresh air and to admire the moon, which has 

 stolen a march upon us and is now looking down trium- 

 phantly over the dark line of timber to the eastward. 



Far to the southward 

 there presently flashes 

 into view a tongue of 

 flame. Gradually it 

 widens out until a 

 narrow line reaches 

 from east to west 

 many yards in length. 

 Higher and higher 

 still it mounts, and 

 now in the foreground 

 thrown into bold re- 

 lief against the ruddy 

 sky there appears in 

 view a cluster of 

 stacks a mile or more 

 distant. Poor old 

 farmers, 1 thought, 

 the result of your 

 many hours of labor 

 in the broiling July 

 sun will soon be re- 

 duced to ashes by the 

 fiery element. A few 

 minutes later a tiny 

 flame mounts to the 

 peak of a stack; for a 

 moment it flickers, 

 seems to die down, 

 regains strength, 

 grows larger and 

 larger, till until fin- 

 ally the whole mass 

 is ablaze. Dense 

 clouds of smoke 

 mount skyward and 

 the shower of sparks 

 soon ignite stack num- 

 ber two. For an hour 

 we are treated to quite 

 a sight witli the stacks 

 roaring and biazing in 

 plain view, then the 

 conflagration gradu- 

 ally subsides, and at 

 last naught but a 

 mass of smouldering 

 ashes remains to mark 

 the spot, A pair of 

 owls flit by noise- 

 lessly, wheel and cir- 

 cle back to see what 

 great white object has 

 invaded their nightly 

 hunting grounds. A 

 nighthawii wheels 

 with querulous call 

 overhead, high in the 

 air one minute, but 

 sweeping gracefully 

 earthward the next, 

 uttering that familiar 

 grating call. Our 

 watches indicate but 

 9:80, yet our eyes per- 

 sist in blinking oiit 

 their protest, so the 

 blankets are spread 

 inside, our lantern is 

 e X t i n g ti i shed, and 

 with the gentle night 

 wind rustling the field 

 of waving grass 

 around us, we fall into 

 a restful slumber. The 

 alarm clock hangs 

 from the peak of our 

 cosy little tent and 

 ticks out its vigilant 

 watch throughout the 

 night, and as it glee- 

 fully whirrs out its 

 summons to arise as 

 the hour hand indi- 

 cates 4 A. M,, we 

 awake, refreshed in 

 mind and body by our 

 long sleep, 

 ♦ lue east is just com- 

 mencing to tui-n pink, 

 but over all the marsh 

 land there hangs a 

 huge fog bank, dense 

 and white. It envel- 

 ops our little camp 

 with its moist and 

 clinging grasp, and 

 wherever it touches 

 the moisture forms. One by one w^^ straggle outside. I 

 draw a cup of water from our barrel, ana f l^^liiJlv 

 the cold liquid a shiver passes over Z! uftl 



withdraw to the tent and touch a ^^i^^^p^^.^Tllv thP 

 stove, for the morning is chilly indeed. ^^i^^J^y 

 fog clears away, and as we once more emerge iio 

 tent, warmed through by our onslaught upon tfie conee 

 and buckwheats, the sun is just rising ^^^,^^,f fhtj; 

 monished that it is verv late tor hunters to be ^^eir 

 wav to the blinds. Ou'r two boats have first to be cairieu 



out to the water's edge, and this proves — , , . , _> 

 task as the wet grass and reeds stand shoulder uign ana 

 brush their loads of dew in our faces as we staggei 

 through the rank growth. Nearly an hour is consumea 

 ere we stand upon the shore. Only C.'s parker has been 

 brought out from the tent, and this is soon brought mio 

 requisition on the flocks of plover which circle temptingly 

 within easy reach of the point which juts out westward 



to be no smaU 



