AT HEMLOCK LAKE. 



It so happened that my usual summer outing at Hem- 

 lock Lake went by default this year of grace 1893. 

 Things did not work right and July and August slipped 

 away and still found me at the "old stand" selling books 

 and stationery. 



Now my friend Theodore is a hard-working young 

 printer, whose vacations are not numerous, but who has 

 the love of nature in his heart as pure and strong as any 

 Thoreau or Burroughs. We often walk together of a 

 Sunday afternoon along paths known only to ourselves, 

 and talk of trees and birds and flowers, forgetting the 

 busy town below as we wander near to nature's heart. 

 There is an old prostrate log on the banks of Mill Creek 

 cunningly concealed by a natural bower of fragrant hem- 

 lock boughs that Theodore and I fondly fancy no one 

 knows. Here we often go and watch the sparkling wa- 

 ter rippling at our feet and talk and plan like sob ool boys 

 rather than sober business men. Here we sat one Sunday 

 af tei"noon in waning August nibbling at some wild plums 

 we had picked up on the way. I was lamenting the fact 

 that my vacation had been denied me, and Theodore was 

 consoling me with brotherly sympathy. Finally he said, 

 "What is the matter with Hemlock Lake in September? 

 Isn't it just as beautiful then? The fishing must be just 

 as good and the shooting is certainly better." "I never 

 thought of that," T answered, "could you go with me?" 

 "Let me see; we are getting out a big job for an out of 

 town party, but I think I could get around by the 15th," 

 said he hopeful!}'. "That would suit me exactly. Schools 

 would be well started by that time and I could leave busi- 

 ness to the clerks," and the more I thought of it the more 

 enthusiastic I got. Theodore shared my enthusiasm and 

 in less than three days we had the whole thing planned, 

 our lists made out, and were only waiting for the day of 

 departure. 



Our destination was Major B.'s cottage on the west side 

 of Hemlock Lake. He kindly turned the keys over to us, 

 told us where to find a convenient woodpile, said "Use all 

 the ice you want and help yourselves to the boats." So 

 on the long-waited-for morning we loaded our traps into 

 Charley S.'s big covered wagon, and with my nine-year- 

 old boy as ballast and a promise from the madame to come 

 over Saturday and help ua out, we started on our 

 fourteen -mile drive for the lake. The morning was per- 

 fect, the horses in good condition, the tobacco fragrant, 

 and as we bowled away we shed our cares one by one and 

 dropped our years along the wayside, until at 'the third 

 mile post it was a question which of we three— Theodore, 

 the boy or myself— was the younger. How yellow the 

 golden rod gleamed along the fences and how friendly 

 the purple asters nodded as we passed. Shiny red apples 

 glowed in the orchards, and every dooryard held its quota 

 of purple plums, late peaches and ripening grapes. The 

 aftermath stood thickly in the pastures and the buck- 

 wheat looked ready to cut. Barns were bursting with 

 garnered products, and the land responded to our happy 

 hearts with peace and plenty. 



The sharp eyes of the lad first caught the glimmering 

 sheen of the lake while yet five miles away. Only for an 

 instant it sparkled a far-off welcome, then an intervening 

 hill hid it again. Entering the lake valley we passed the 

 little hamlet where one cuts loose from post olfices, rail- 

 ways and newspapers, and three miles more brought us 

 to the lake. Then a mile and a half down the shady road, 

 where the waves almost lapped the horses' feet, and we 

 were at the Major's barn and boat house, where, bidding 

 our driver good-bye, we got out a boat, blew the horn, 

 which brought Hank across at once with another boat, 

 and with our list and ourselves stowed away, we were 

 soon dancing across the water in the yellow September 

 siinlight. 



Hemlock is the purest gem in the western New York 

 chain of lakes, 7 miles long and a half-mile wide, with a 

 depth varying from 40 to 90ft. The city of liochester 

 obtains its water from it, through conduits 40 miles. So 

 abrupt are the shores that this lake still preserves its 

 original wildness, and the hills on either side lifting up 

 their heads a thousand feet, are clothed from base to 

 summit in unbroken forest. Probably 150 cottages are 

 scattered along the 18 miles of shore line, but as there is 

 no railway within 6 miles and no big hotels, the rabble 

 don't get here, and quiet reigns even in the height of the 

 season. 



The major's cottage is a model of its kind, and, like 

 everything else of his, is first-class in every particular. 

 "Comfort Cove" he calls it, and the forest swoops down 

 upon it from the mountain in the rear to the very back 

 door, and swings its circling, arms on either side down to 

 the water's edge. It did not take us long to store our 

 stufl^ in the cellar and refrigerator, make up the beds and 

 get a good dinner of mutton chops, boiled potatoes, coffee 

 and cake. How strange it seemed to be able to call the 

 mellow hotu-s of that first afternoon all our own! Gret- 

 ting in the boat we pulled down to Mr. E.'s, a fellow- 

 townsman who, with Hank, his man-of-all-work, was 

 putting the finishing touches on his beautiful cottage. 

 We invited them down in the evening to play "Pedro," 

 and pulled lazily back to compete with the lad at shoot- 

 ing with an airgun, at which sport he beat us, and we 

 never murmured. The game came off as advertised, and 

 our first night at the lake we slept like tired schoolboys. 



This is no narrative of successes with the gun and rod. 

 The lake is fairly well stocked with bass and trout, and 

 we trolled quite enthusiastically the first day or two, but 

 luck being scarce and bacon and eggs plenty we let it go. 

 I brought my 12-bore breechloader with me, and being 

 awakened one morning by the bark of a gray squirrel I 

 was up and in the boat sneaking along the wooded shore 

 rowing bow-faced with my gun on the seat before me. 

 Carefully I stole along, peering into ever thicket and 

 treetop into which the morning sun was now streaming. 

 I had reached the point above the old cellar, when a 

 rustling in the bushes attracted my attention. My gun 

 was ready in an instant. Something red gleamed through 

 the leaves and I covered it fairly. Again the red showed 

 Tivid_ to my straining sight, "Pohaw! red squirrel," I 

 exclaimed, lowering my gun ; then came the quit, quit, 

 gtwY, of half a dozen startled grouse, the red bJjtch dis- 

 appeared and a covey of full grown birds dodged into the 

 woods before I could drop the oars. I had resumed and 

 pick up my gun again. Of course I was disgusted, and 

 many a sly laugh was indulged by Theodore, Hank and 

 Mr. R. at my expense when I truthfully told the tale. 

 But I did get enough black and gray squirrels for a good 

 full meal, < 



Saturday the madame came, bringing baskets of pro- 

 visious and a respite from dish washing; but having got- 

 ten our hands in we, nothing loth, helped her all we 

 could, and she enjoyed our excursions as well as we our- 

 selves. 



Hank, Mr. R.'s man, was a character. , With muscles 

 of iron he would drive a boat through the roughest water 

 at a wonderful speed. He could turn his hand at any- 

 thing, from helping Mrs. R. about the house to building 

 an ice house or putting up a lattice that would be a credit 

 to a master mechanic. He would hunt sassafras bark, 

 "whisper," as he would call it (yelling like a foghorn), 

 for the amusement of the young people, and make him- 

 self so generally useful and agreeable that everybody, 

 young and old, on Hemlock swore by Hank. 



Two meals and a lunch was the order of the day at 

 "Comfort Cove." Dinner at 2 P.M., then across the 

 water to the east side and possibly a stroll two miles down 

 to the "Half- Way House," where a drink of cold sulphur 

 water from the big spring and a few purchases at the 

 little depleted store, with the walk back at sundown, 

 rounded out the day completely. 



In.cidents, trivial in themselves, were constantly occur- 

 ring to break the even tenor of our outing. The great 

 wooded hill opposite our cottage was green as at mid- 

 summer when we came, but soon it began changing so 

 rapidly as to offer a new vista every day. First there ap- 

 peared blood-red blotches shining through the green, 

 where the ripened dogwood hung out its flaunting: 

 banners. Then the soft maples with their subduecl 

 scarlets, followed by the hickories with their warm yel- 

 lows, joined the procession, and within a week the whole 

 mountain was variegated as one of Turner's wildest 

 canvasses. How we enjoyed sitting in the wide verandah 

 and drinking in this wonderful array of color. We had 

 one genuine rainy day, so foggy and misty as to hide the 

 shore. Chilly and damp, the porch was far from com- 

 fortable, and we built a cheerful fire in the living room 

 stove and read and wrote and yawned and longed for the 

 sunshine, which came again at evening, when the clouds 

 blew away and a few beams from the setting orb gave sure 

 promise of a bright to-morrow. 



Hank had a boat he built for Mr. R. to carry heavy 

 loads of material used in the construction of the cottage. 

 It was a heavy flit-bottomed scow, painted red, with a 

 pair of sweeps no man but Hank could handle. Theodore 

 christened this craft The Red Rover, and one day we all 

 took a trip in her to the head of the lake for a load of saw- 

 dust. The wind was dead against us going up, but Hank 

 at the sweeps sent her snoring along, while the crew en- 

 couraged the lusty oarsman with flattering compliments 

 touching his great strength and brawny breadth of back. 

 Arriving at the sawdust bank, we kept the bushel baskets 

 flying and soon had our craft loaded to the gunwale. 

 Distributing ourselves in a row along the ridge in the 

 center, the sail was hoisted and home we sped, making 

 the mile and a half in the unprecedented time of one hour 

 and a quarter! 



At first it seemed that bird life at Hemlock was very 

 meager for such beautiful weather, but as we waited our 

 featlaered friends began to show themselves more plenti- 

 fully. The harsh discordant screams of the bluejays 

 smote our ears throughout the day, and once I heard that 

 "low tender wheedling song," mentioned by Maurice 

 Thompson in his delightful "By-ways and B'rd notes." 

 With characteristic wariness they held aloof from our 

 haunts, alttiough we caught occasional distant glimpses 

 of their brilliant plumage. Chickadees were constantly 

 near us varying their usual notes with an occasional p/ie- 

 he. What an exquisite bit of melody this is! How en- 

 dearing, how divinely sweet! The avant cotmHer of the ice 

 king, the little slale-colored snowbirds, were abroad 

 flaunting their white-in-tail defiantly and with icy sug- 

 gestiveness in their metallic chirpings. The occasional 

 drumming of a partridge conveyed to us one of the 

 manifold secrets of the forest, and we could immagine 

 the rufl'ed old autocrat performing his mysterious reson- 

 ant rites on some well-trodden log. The owl serenaded 

 us regularly with his weird nocturne, and once we saw 

 His Owlship flitting on noiseless pinions from his perch 

 on our cellar door. The high-hole helped to enliven the 

 yellow September sunshine with golden glints, A clatter 

 and a flash of blue from the halcyon. And once — was I 

 mistaken?— I thought I heard a belated fragment of 

 melody from the flute of a hermit thrush. 



One day an old sheldrake came wheeling up the lake, 

 but apparantly not satisfied with the prospects of food 

 and company, went off again. Of course there was the 

 usual crow convention among the hemlocks far up the 

 mountain side, and hawks wheeled in great circles over 

 all. 



Our kitchen door offered great attractions to the chii3- 

 munks, and they were constantly flirting: with our cook 

 who used every device to gain their confidence, but just 

 so far would they come, when at the slightest movement 

 away they would fly to their safe retreat under the dead 

 hemlock. Raccoons and black, gray and red squirrels 

 lent their voices to our nightly and daily concerts, sup- 

 plemented by the notes of frogs, tree toads and myriads 

 of insect life. 



A faithful hound who, having lost his master, set up a 

 mournful howl on the other shore, drew us across, and 

 the old fellow seemed as glad to see us as though we were 

 in kind with him. We petted him a few moments, fed 

 him, and down the road he went with a farewell wag of 

 his tail, and we saw him no more. 



And so the days went by, happy, care-free and full of 

 incident and heaUh. I had saved up my Forest and 

 Stkeams for several weeks, not even breaking the wrap- 

 pers, and these, with "Sam Lovel's Camps," "By-ways 

 and Bird-notes," and a lot of summer literature belong- 

 ing to the cottage, kept ua busy between times. We fin- 

 ished up the "Camps of the Kingfishers," laughed at the 

 lady in the photograph (issue of Sept. 8), who, "Out for 

 Sport," saw no incongruity in her rubber boots and deli- 

 cately trimmed hat. Imagine that hat working its gor- 

 geous way up a trout stream! We had read "Sam Level's 

 Camps" over and over in the past, but somehow our en- 

 vironment lent a new charm to those fascinating leaves, 

 and we laughed. at Samwell, Joseph, Antoine and the rest 

 as we never laughed before. Theodore ventured on one 

 of Mayne Reid's stories, "The Rifle Rangers," I believe, 

 and he solemnly declared next morning that his sleep 

 had been murdered by visions of Mexican bandittas, trop- 

 ical scenes, fierce battles, and fair senoritas, which fact 1 

 considered a great compliment to the powers of delinea- 

 tion of the late Oapt. Beid, I 



We finished our unad venturous outing at Hemlock 

 Lake Sept. 36, firm in the belief that we selected just 

 exactly the right time and the right place. Possibly for- 

 tune favored us out of the ordinary in the matter of 

 weather, for it was simply perfect, and the day before we 

 left we took a dip in the lake, which is very unusual so 

 late in the season. Now our hope is that another year 

 we may repeat the outing. H. W. D, L, 



CRABBING TIME. 



In these crisp October d^ys of warm sunlight and mel- 

 low winds that sweep the stubble and bare fields, one 

 must be always astir. From early morning till dusk 

 hides the meadows all nature is aglow with life; the 

 meadow larks and yellow-hammers are flocking, and 

 haunt the buckwheat fields and tangled brier patches; 

 smaller birds are preparing for their southern pilgrim- 

 age: Bob White whistles from the orchard hard by 

 where a ringing axe is felling a dying tree. We must 

 not idle away hours of golden autumn when all the wav- 

 ing golden rod and asters seem beckoning us away. 



To the creek! To the creek! With oai-s and light 

 strong net slung over on shoulders we take down the 

 weedy path through the brown pasture, where the soli- 

 tary woodchuck sunning on the hillside stops munching 

 his apple to watch us pass. The old skiff lies high and 

 dry among the reeds left by the last fall^^n tide. A push 

 and she's afloat again on the ircoming fl^od, that barely 

 covers the flats and moves the bending eel-grass. If 

 we would net the wary crabs silence is needful and the 

 boat must not rock, lest the widening ripples hide our 

 prey. 



Gently we drift over the shallows, eyeing the bottom 

 sharply far ahead. There, like a gray shadow fleeing 

 across the mud, shoots a crab! He buries himself in 

 yonder clump of seaweed, where just one blue and white 

 claw protrudes to betray him. Sorike straight and just 

 in front of him and draw back with a scooping motion. 

 Splash! You have missed him. No! There he lies in 

 the net, helplessly kicking and savagely snapping at the 

 stout cards. The net is overturned and he falls mto the 

 boat, where he scurries aimlessly about till a fresh vic- 

 tim jtiins him and the two do battle in foolish rage. The 

 depth is just right, only a foot of clean green water 

 beneath, through which one can clearly see every pebble 

 and shell. 



This catching crabs without bait i^ called "jabbing." 

 Long practice is necessary to insure reliable "jabs," 

 though even the beginner bags a goodly number if the 

 day is good and the tide just right. Joe here is a famous 

 hand at j abbing. Right and left his net darts, sometimes 

 two and three come up at once, H-^re and there a "shed- 

 der," or crab whose shell has been shed, called ■-oft-shelled, 

 is captured. These invalids are always accompanied by 

 a big, hard-shelled prottctor, whose duty is to defend his 

 charge from the eels and other crabs. Fish of all sorts 

 find the "shedder" a dainty crea'ure and a morspl that la 

 always relished. To see two huge "blue-claws," as the 

 male crabs are called, fighting, is not unusual. Cii cling 

 around one another, their claws clash together fiercely as 

 each endeavors to strike the other's back. Often one 

 loses a claw and scuttles away ignominiously to the sedge, 

 where he will dwell in seclusion till another member 

 grows. As the tide I'ises and the depth increasf s it is 

 harder to "jab," for the net is unwieldy in so much 

 water: Now one may drift along the barks, catching 

 many a loiterer clinging to the mud or seeking food on 

 the edges of the creek. 



Flood tide is at its height. The brimming banks are 

 covered, and we anchor at a spot where an island makes 

 an eddy in the tide. Bits of meat about three inches 

 square are fastened to cotton twine and thrown out for 

 bait. Greedily the hosts attack this new attraction, 

 sometimes three or four tugging at one line. Gradually 

 they may be pulled in till und^-r the boat, when raising 

 them to the top Joe ecoopi them in. Not so much skill 

 in this, but it catches the crabs in numbers. It is noon, 

 with a burning sun now above and the glimmering creek 

 stretching away before us. The plover have ceased their 

 piping call from the uplands and the bitterns have sought 

 the shady bogs. Eagerly we get out the lunch basket and 

 leave the crabs to also enjoy a meal at the lines while we 

 are busy. While we chat together there comes a tug and 

 one of our lines breaks and disappears. It must have 

 been a loggerhead turtle or a very large eel, both of which 

 swarm in the creek. 



With the ebb we drift down stream, "jabbing" as we 

 go with good results. You will notice that we overtake 

 most of the crabs as they arc making their way back to 

 the sea. They are but visitors and come and go with the 

 tides, except a few which the receding water leaves in 

 the small inlets or deeper pools. We drag the boat ashore 

 and count our spoils. Ninety-six of them sprawling, 

 scrambling and biting, are sent flying into the sack which 

 Joe holds open. Damp seaweed is dropped in wich them 

 to keep them fresh, and we plod up ttie hill, sunburned 

 and tired, but happy as only successful crabbers can be. 

 Try it yourself; lenve the city for a day, and in any of the 

 shallow creeks and bays that open into the Hudson or off 

 any of the New Jersey flats you will find our many legged 

 friend the crab, A dry boat, a light net, some substan- 

 tial lunch and some bait make up the outfit. Night will 

 bring you back to the dusty streets with .springing step 

 and ruddy cheeks, a bag of fine crab'? and a. firm deter- 

 mination to go again. H. Prescott Beach. 



ROD AND GUN AND CAMERA, 



As a recoKHition of the important place of amateur photography 

 in its relatioa to sports of the Held aad prairie and mountain and 

 forest and stream, the Forest and Stream offers a series of 

 prizes for met-itorious work with the camera. The conditions 

 under which these prizes will be givei are in brief as here set 

 forth: 



There will be ten prizes, as follow?: Flijsfci^^V Second S3l) 



Third S15. Fourth SIO. Six of $5 each. 

 The competition will be open to amateurs only,' 

 The subjecis must relate to Fohbst aitd Stukam's: field— game 



and flsh (alive or dead>. s'looting and fl?hing, the camp, campers 



and camp life, sportsman trav«l by land or water. 

 There is no restriction as to the time when tlie pictures may 



have been or may be mtde— whether in 1893 or in previous years. 

 Pictures will be received up to Dec. 31, of this year. 

 All work must be original; tbal is to say, It must not have been 



BubDutted in any other 9gaipetltioii, nor ha,V6 been publislte4< 



