March 10, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



20B 



sage of the lake we met our team on the north sand- 

 beach; quickly packing our canoes and bags on the 

 jumper we were soon in the friendly shelter of the woods 

 on a two and a half mile portage, carelessly allowing the 

 team to follow Charley Boy with his pheasant gun ever 

 ready. We halted near the summit to view a remarkable 

 production of nature— a good-sized birch tree mounted on 

 a huge granite boulder and set like a jewel in the grip of 

 the graceful roots. 



The jumper went on its way, jumping; result being a 

 hole in the bottom of our big canoe. However, we soon 

 arrived at our destination and received a hearty welcome 

 from our chief and his right and left bowers who, with 

 the help of Caleb the Silent, had already in camp four 

 fine deer. Hurrah for the Growler's Cabin, with its jovial 

 French cook, Pete Grozell, Esq., and his luscious ragiboo 

 and home-made bread. In a remarkably short time sup- 

 per fit for the gods was on the table and served gracefully. 

 The day's experience in travel and the chasing of the 

 deer on the wind-swept lakes occupied our attention, the 

 honors of the chase being equally divided between Ross 

 and Rose. 



Our noisy cook announced breakfast at 5 o'clock in the 

 morning. While waiting for daylight our positions were 

 assigned for the morning hunt, some to Crab Lake, others 

 to Paint Lake, necessitating several miles of paddling 

 with two or three portages on the way. When on the 

 third portage to Paint Lake, "Toasty," as our man in 

 gray was named, illustrated the old proverb, "More haste, 

 less speed," when handling his "butternut beauty." In- 

 stead of depositing his canoe gracefully on his shoulder 

 for the carry, it unaccountably perf osiraed a rapid circular 

 movement over his head, landing bottom down on a 

 projecting stump, with a 2in. hole to repair and miles 

 from camp. However, "Charley Boy," as our friend 

 from Gait was christened, came to the rescue with his 

 cranky canoe, the Merry Go Round, that could beat all 

 creation for its pivotal susceptibility and its constitu- 

 tional objection to going in a straight course. We at 

 once concluded not to give a buck in the lake the best 

 chance of getting ashore. Our right bower, Mr. Rose, at 

 once took in the situation and gave us the use of his 

 beautiful packet bark, to watch the north shore, while he 

 put out Polly and Dandy f or a start. Shortly after reach- 

 ing our positions the welcome sound of the hounds in full 

 chase awoke the echoes of the early morning, making our 

 youthful hunters alert and anxious to capture their first 

 deer. One, more keen than wise, pushed out his canoe 

 and made directly for the sound of the dogs, forgetting 

 in the fever heat of his first attempt, the caution to lay 

 low and let the deer swim out before attempting a cap- 

 ture, as the deer would be at least a quarter of a mile 

 ahead of the dogs. This simple lesson of experience was 

 not lost on our youthful hunter as he realized a vanishing 

 deer followed away from the lake by the music of Dandy 

 and Polly. 



On Crab Lake better luck was had by George, the 

 youngster hunter of the party, who was placed in charge 

 of the Chief, in his big rowing canoe. When the buck 

 took the water the Chief kindly restrained any premature 

 efforts until the deer was fully half-way over the bay, 

 when a long pull and a strong pull brought their heavy 

 laden boat within range, a merciful ball from his .44-90 

 Winchester saved some savory venison from falling a 

 prey to the wolves. 



Sunday being in Canada an illegal hunting day, we 

 gave the dogs a rest and made the necessary repairs to 

 our canoes. A few boat nails, a little white lead, and a 

 piece of bottom board were sufficient to make them sound 

 and tight. 



Early Monday morning all hands and the cook were 

 ordered to pack tents, blankets and grub for Crab River 

 Rapids. We paddled and portaged, and portaged and 

 paddled, up to the foot of the Rapids, and at once put out 

 Punch and Cash for a start, but with no luck at all, except 

 a glorious, sunshiny day, a comfortable camping ground, 

 and lots of fun at night around our immense fire. A 

 grumbling dyspeptic would here find no time or place for 

 his hobby. After a hard day's work through these lakes 

 and woods, the cook's welcome call to supper would 

 develop the possibilities and genial hospitality of our noble 

 chief and his active supporters. When pipes were lit and 

 the painted bits of pasteboard were displayed on the rustic 

 board, one might lie and listen to the musical lullaby of 

 the rapids and the whisperings of the pines, whose mystical 

 voice seemed to invite the weary hunters to that peaceful 

 rest which their fragrant beds of balsam alone could give, 

 or waking suddenly from the land of dreams of fal- 

 low, blue-coated deer with tantalizing flags erect, and 

 tempting to the chase, the dreamer would start up to the 

 thumping command of "play to the king," or "down 

 with your pedes," given with a resonant French accent, 

 sufficient to arouse the loudest sleeper in that romantic 

 spot. 



Among the relics of a departed race of hunters were 

 found samples of the Indian skinning knife and bits of 

 pottery. On the granite shore of Big Kenise Lake, where 

 we watched for deer, a number of pre-historic ' 'pot-holes" 

 were found, the largest one measuring fourteen by twelve 

 inches in diameter, with a depth on the cliff side showing 

 a circular action of over nine inches, while the pot itself 

 was some ten in depth below. The markings of the 

 revolving stone or aereolitic pestle appeared plainly visible, 

 yet a degree of even smoothness characterized the hole. 



At the sandy outlet of the lake we observed the foot- 

 prints of a large black bear. A few days later a well 

 grown cub was taken in a steel trap by our neighbor, 

 Wm. Otto. 



A fine fat doe rewarded us for our trip to Kenise's Lake, 

 but other guns than ours were in waiting for the spoils of 

 the chase, so after killing two more we decided to return 

 to the cabin on the hill, where we arrived in good time 

 before the rain and snow and frost of the following week 

 set in. 



On Trout Lake we enjoyed better luck, although the 

 weather was decidedly wintry, and we found it cold 

 watching on the Three Brothers. A day or two before 

 the close of the hunt our chief kindly allowed Pete, the 

 cook, the use of his rifle and a strong board canoe for a 

 day's hunting. As luck would have it the deer came to 

 Pete's watch. As it was his maiden hunt a considerable 

 degree of buck fever was, in his case, excusable. By 

 rapid paddling Pete came within range of the deer, when 

 bang! bang! went two heavy shots from the big Win- 

 chester. The buck swam bravely on untouched, and 

 rapidly nearing the rocky point ahead. A third cartridge 

 refused to enter the chamber, so Pete made another 



desperate effort with his paddle, and literally taking the 

 bull by the horns, he recklessly fought for their possession. 

 The buck, probably realizing Pete's predicament, refused 

 to turn. Fortunately for the cook, who after being pushed 

 by the buck some 40yds. to the shore, it was found to be 

 too rocky for good footing. By considerable effort on 

 Pete's part with his paddle he pushed both deer and canoe 

 off the shore, with the buck's head over the gunwale of 

 the canoe fast in his vise-like grip. Again and again did 

 the buck push his captor to the shore, the hard maple 

 paddles descending in vain over the head and nose of this 

 monarch of the glen. Pete having lost his split paddles 

 in the melee, the buck again tried to reach the shore. In 

 the words of the cook, "he looked a big fat beauty, and a 

 pity to lose him," so seizing him by the opposite horn 

 with one hand and by the nose with the other, at the risk 

 of a capsize in the lake, he turned the deer on his side 

 and held his nose beneath the cruel waters. When the 

 next watch, who spied the contest and splashing of the 

 waters by the struggle— arrived after their fastest mile on 

 record— the deed was done, and Pete announced the 

 victory in the exciting words, "It is a buck! it is a buck!" 

 the rents in his clothing and his blood-bespattered face 

 and his split canoe proving the contest between the 

 plucky Frenchman and this antlered beauty a severe one 

 and a true statement not easily forgotten. 



Charley Boy very neatly dressed the deer and we took 

 a hand poling him over the soft portage af one-third of a 

 mile to our lake, where he was landed high and dry at 

 our cabin on the hill. His weight was given at 195lbs. 

 On examination of the rifle it was found to contain a half 

 of a Dominion Company's brass shell. This being the 

 third time that this shell bursting had occurred we con- 

 cluded that the charge of 90grs. of powder was in excess 

 of the capacity of the .44 shell. Pete vowed he wouldn't 

 do the like again for all the bucks in the country. 



The following day, in a snowstorm, Charley scored his 

 first, a fine fallow blue-coat doe, thus ending an interest- 

 ing hunt, all hands agreeing that the beautiful Indian 

 summer weather of our Canadian open season is decidedly 

 the best time for hunting, and that the objection of the 

 pot-hunters, who apjpear more anxious to save marketable 

 meat by a late season's shooting, are outweighed by the 

 testimony of an old hunting friend, an educated M. D., 

 who positively declares "that venison killed in the rutting 

 season is unfit for human food," and that the cry of a cer- 

 tain class of still-hunters against the use of hounds in the 

 chase, is, in the light of scientific medical testimony, only 

 bosh. It is a well known fact that more deer are disabled 

 and destroyed by the stealthy practices of the still- hunter 

 in the frozen season than by the running of deer with 

 dogs before the smaller lakes are covered with ice, when 

 their easy escape, in the majority of cases, is an assured 

 fact. . 



Apparently an >ct forbidding, the sale of venison will 

 alone preserve the deer. W. A. G. 



The New .35cal. Shell. 



Sacketts Harbor, N. Y. — I realize that the statements 

 one makes in our paper have a far-reaching effect. 

 Nearly a year ago the Forest and Stream published my 

 first endeavor to introduce a new .25cal. straight shell. 

 Since then I have received numerous inquiries concern- 

 ing its progress from many of your readers, who natur- 

 ally look to me for further information. I am sorry to 

 be obliged to inform Messrs. E. A. Leopold, R. T. King, 

 F. H. Ticknor, my good friends "Barrister" and J. H. 

 Barlow, manager of the Ideal Co., also many others who 

 have kindly displayed interest in this shell, that I am 

 unable to report any tangible results, notwithstanding the 

 expenditure of much time and some money in endeavor- 

 ing to bring it within the reach of those who appreciate 

 its advantages. 



Last May the largest arms company in this country 

 wrote that they would have it ready in a month. I waited 

 three months and then inquired in person concerning its 

 progress, being told that it would be ready in two weeks. 



Five months later they stated that nothing had been 

 done about it! It is not known to what extent the pre- 

 vailing hard times have influenced the company in this 

 matter, but if responsible for their alarming lapse in 

 veracity, it behooves us all as honest sportsmen to be on 

 guard against such pernicious influences. 



Hoping that some other company may be induced to 

 make this popular shell, the original model is reproduced. 

 Meanwhile the writer will not cease his endeavors, which, 

 please understand, are entirely disinterested. 



The new cal .25-25-100 c. f. cartridge, made expressly for the 



rifle. Shell 23.4m. long, straight, using the 86grs. and 98grs. bullet 



(Ideal molds) and 25grs. Fg. Hazard powder (Ideal charger). Also 

 a round ball with light charge. Specially adapted to both hunting and 

 target practice. W. L. CARPENTER. 



A Louisiana Ducking Record. 



Franklin, St. Mary Parish, La., March 2. — In your 

 issue of Feb. Hi a mistake was made as to the size of the 

 bag we made on our trip to Abbeville. There being one 

 cipher left off the number made quite a difference and 

 doesn't appear much to the credit of our country as a 

 place for "game, and lots of it," not to mention our repu- 

 tations as pretty good shots. The number was 340, quite 

 an unusually large kill for us. The time consumed was 

 two full days. F- A. F. 



Cold in Michigan and Massachusetts. 



Central Lake, Mich., March 1. — I am told that Torch 

 Lake and Grand Traverse East Bay froze over last week. 

 A friend writes me from Islington, Mass. : "A few flocks 

 of quail have lived through the winter hereabout, but 

 the poachers have thinned them." Kelpie. 



While Reading "Forest and Stream." 



"With the unerring skill of a '-Diamond Walt" I lay low the mysteri- 

 ous "Arabian spike buck' 1 with the deadly .22 short. Anon I am 

 gliding down the Patuea, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic plash of 

 mahogany paddles plied by bronze-skinned boatmen. Lost in wonder 

 and admiration, I wander amid the sublime grandeur o£ the Yellow- 

 stone Park, that gallery of art in which every work is a masterpiece. 

 With my trusty rifle I face the grizzly in his mountain home, and rob 

 him of his shaggy coat. Oh, fond delusion ! I hunt the game of every 

 clime, drop shells beside cold Yukon's rolling tide and torrid India's 

 "coral strand." From the realms of Forest and Stream I banish 

 race and creed and meet my brother man as brother. "The world is 

 mine!" Wishtonwish. 



''■ That reminds me." 

 A Story from the Levees. 



My father appreciates a good joke as much as anybody, 

 laughs as heartily over it, or relates it with as much zest. 

 Especially is he amused by any unsportsmanlike exploit 

 of a would-be sportsman, or the woeful tale of a less 

 fortunate companion in the chase, of "shot too small," or 

 "shells not loaded right." The more lamentable is it, 

 therefore, that it remained for me to have this bit of 

 (profane) history from other than his lips. 



There is a law in this State requiring levee officials to 

 kill all hogs found at large within a certain distance of 

 the levee. In order to comply with this regulation father 

 is always equipped with a carbine and plenty of car- 

 tridges during his frequent tours of inspection over his 

 "line." Not infrequently does he bring the little rifle 

 into rjlay, and having become attached to the seemingly 

 tame sport, he enjoys it to the fullest, 



"Did you hear about the Major shooting hogs with 

 Captain 's gun last summer?" I was asked. 



I had not heard. 



"He was riding by the Captain's place when ho ran 

 on to a big drove of hogs. It took him only a few seconds 

 to get his rifle out of its scabbard, and he was bringing 



her down to a bead on a big fellow when Captain 



hurriedly rode up. 



" 'Hold on, Major, I want you to try my new gun!' 



"The Major 'held on,' long enough for him to go into 

 the house and bring out a bright Winchester. While his 

 eyes sparkled with delight (for he admires a new gun) the 

 Ma jor took a deliberate aim and fired. A clean miss! He 

 tried again— again no hog. By this time the drove had 

 become frightened and started off at a gallop. Also, 

 several negroes appeared on the scene, and one opened 

 the gate of the mule lot, while the others headed the hogs 

 that way. 



" 'Click, click — bang! Click, click — bang!' the gun said 

 several times in quick succession. Not a feather! 



"In a fit of desperation the Major grabbed up his car- 

 bine, but as he raised it to his shoulder the gate closed 

 behind the last of the swine, and they were safely separ- 

 ated by a high rail fence from the strong arm of the law. 



"The disappointed marksman began an examination of 

 the new gun, the Captain looked on complaisantly . Mak- 

 ing a discovery, the former cast a smile of humiliation 

 toward the latter, who returned a grin of exultation. 

 The story was told without words. During his short stay 

 indoors the Captain had accomplished wonders, by adjust- 

 ing the sights with a hammer, and dispatching his ser- 

 vants around by a side route, to run in the hogs, which 

 happened to be his own." Tripod. 



Mississippi. 



EARLY FISHING EXPERIENCES. 



While rummaging in my garret one day last winter, I 

 came across a little tin box, the sight of which, with its 

 contents, consisting of rusty fish hooks, chunks of lead, 

 split shot, bits of line and a battered cork, carried me 

 back, I would not like to say how many years, to recol- 

 lections of my happy school boy days and memories of 

 "Green Fields and Running Brooks." I have always been 

 fond of fishing, and my earliest recollection of the sport 

 was catching minnows on a pin hook when I was five 

 years old. But it was during my rustication at boarding 

 school that I had the most pleasure in this way. One of 

 my early efforts at letter writing was from one of these 

 institutions of learning, and was written to my mother, 

 on hearing of the death of an aunt, and this letter shows 

 the bent of my mind at that time. The substance of the 

 epistle ran thus: "I am very sorry to hear of the death of 

 Aunt Ann, and hope she has gone to a better place; please 

 send me some fish hooks." 



Every spare hour I could get was spent with hook and 

 line trying my luck with the finny tribe, and there was 

 not a stream within five miles of the school I had not 

 fished in, and many's the string of trout, chub, sunnies 

 and catties I brought home. I had while at this school 

 a fishing rod that was very highly prized by me, and was 

 the envy of all the boys. It was a long pliant cedar that 

 I had cut in the swamp, and from which I had peeled all 

 the bark. As it was well seasoned, it was light, tough 

 and elastic. One of the boys had a grudge against me, 

 and knew he could not hurt my feelings more in any way 

 than by destroying this rod, and I am sure I never felt 

 more hurt than I did, as I came out of school at recess 

 one day, and saw my precious rod lying by the wood pile 

 chopped to pieces. This common cedar rod was to my 

 eyes at that time the most beautiful rod in existence, and 

 one that I thought could not be replaced, as I was sure 

 there was not such another in all Beaver Dam swamp. 

 That I gave that boy a sound thrashing goes without 

 saying. 



Not far from the school was an old quarry hole full 

 of water, that every one said had no fish in it, but one 

 rainy Saturday I thought I would try it, and was re- 

 warded by a large catch of sunnies and catties. When I 

 returned home with my string, the much astonished boys 

 tried to pump me as to where I caught them, I 

 guarded the secret for some time, but finally it was dis- 

 covered, and the place was soon fished out. One day 

 while fishing in this quarry hole, 1 discovered a white 

 turkey hen setting on her nest, which I made up my mind 

 I would capture as soon as her brood was hatched, as I 

 thought she had no owner, there being no habitation 

 nearer than a mile. But my calculations were all upset 

 when an old colored man appeared upon the scene and 

 said to me : "Doan you tetch dat turkey, honey, it b'longs 

 to me, it do, and Ise a watchen it." 



One of our best fishing places was under the dam at the 

 old iron furnace, where the water pouring over its breast 

 had ploughed out a deep pool. Below the dam the stream 

 wound its way between banks that were carpeted with 

 fresh green sod, and numbers of large sycamore trees 

 grew close to the water's edge, leaning over the stream 

 until their tops nearly met, forming a beautiful arch of 

 green through which the mid-day sun could hardly pene- 

 trate. I used to go up there and lie down under one of 



