28 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 11, 1886, 
CAPERCAILZIE AND BLACK GAME. 
Portland, Me., Dec. 28.— Editor Forest and Stream: I 
see by the ever interesting columns of Forest and 
Stream that there is much interest in the introduction of 
the capercailzie and black game into this country. 
For instance, Mr. Ames, of Boston, in your issue of 
to-day earnestly calls for information about these birds. 
You will recollect, of course, that the project of intro- 
ducing these valuable game birds was first proposed by 
myself in a dispatch to the Department of State early in 
1890, which was printed in the Forest and Stream of 
May 8, 1890, together with an editorial from your pen 
warmly commending the enterprise. 
_ A fuller account of these birds, together with a descrip- 
tion of a day's sport in shooting them on the heathery hills 
of old Sweden, was afterward published in my large illus- 
trated work, "Sweden and the Swedes," issued by Messrs. 
Rand, McNally & Co., of Chicago, in 1892. 
I would suggest to you that you publish Chapter XXX, 
of my book, which relates to "Capercailzie and Black 
Game," for the benefit of the sportsmen of America who 
are interested in this question. 
Of course it will be necessary for you to also obtain 
permission from my publishers, but I have no doubt that 
the enterprising firm of Rand, McNally & Co. will readily 
grant you this. W. W. Thomas, Jr. 
From "Sweden and the Swedes." By courtesy of Messrs. Rand & 
McNally, Chicago, the publishers. 
One day in August I was shooting on the grand 
heather-covered rock hills of the west coast of Sweden, 
when Nero appeared on top of a crest and came running 
to me in a most frisky manner. He jumped up to my 
face, capered about, flung himself into the air, and 
behaved most hilariously. 
I had become intimately acquainted with Nero by this 
time, and could easily tell from his manner of reporting 
whether he had found partridges, black game or wood- 
cock. But this was an entirely new kind of a report; the 
dog seemed to say, "Oh, what a great big, jolly thing I've 
found for you; something brand-new. "You can't guess 
what it is; but come along, I'll show you. Such fun we'll 
have." 
So I followed on. After some ten minutes' walk over 
heathery ridges Nero entered a swale where a few scrub 
pines grew, advanced at a cautious walk, and came to an 
undecided point, As soon as I reached his side he ad- 
vanced again, step by step, then pointed, then again 
advanced. I saw, of course, that the game, whatever it 
might be, was running, and would probably rise wild. I 
therefore hurried to higher ground some 20yds. to the 
right of Nero, and walked along parallel with him, and 
about half a gunshot ahead. 
Soon Nero came to a dead point, and at the same instant 
there arose from under the last scrub pine an enormous 
dingy-black bird. From my elevated position , at one side 
of the pine tree, it was an easy shot. At the report the 
great bird fell in a confused heap into the heather, while 
a cloud of black feathers filled the air and drifted slowly 
away before the summer breeze. 
Nero came in and sat down at my side, his jaws opened 
into a broad grin of "I told you so." I crammed a fresh 
cartridge into my gun, patted Nero. "Well done, old boy I 
So! so! Now, apporte!" At the word he dashed on, 
picked up the bird by one wing, lugged in the heavy bur- 
den through thick heather as high as himself, and sat 
down on his haunches before me. "Ladie!" and Nero 
gave into my hand my first capercailzie, a huge old cock 
of good lOlbs. weight, as big as a turkey. He was surely 
too heavy to carry around on a day's shooting, so, after 
duly admiring him I hung him up on one of the pine trees, 
and Nero and I went on our way rejoicing. 
It was a perfect summer's day; a clear sky arched over- 
head, and a gentle west wind j ust stirred the air. Perfect 
silence reigned, broken only by the faint rumble of a 
distant train speeding along the valley far beneath, and 
soon vanishing, leaving only a dissolving trail of smoke 
behind and silence even more intense than before. From 
the green valley rose the tall, white tower of Lena Kyrka, 
resplendent in the sunlight. As far as you could see 
stretched smooth, cultivated fields. Here and there a red 
cottage peered out from its grove of bright-green birches, 
and showed where the highway wound along the vale. 
Far above, on rocky heights that rose almost to the 
dignity of mountains, Nero and I, in good comradeship, 
followed the chase. 
Pushing through a thick growth of spruce trees I heard 
the sound of wings behind me and knew that some bird 
must have hidden till I passed, then flown back in the 
direction whence I came. I whistle in Nero, who makes 
a faint stand at the spot where the bird had concealed 
itself, point out to him the direction in which it must have 
flown, and back we hunt along the ridge. 
We walked on more than a mile, and I was beginning 
to doubt the evidence of my ears — or, rather, the conclu- 
sions I had drawn therefrom — when Nero stood at the 
edge of a swampy hollow. He waited for me to come up, 
and then we proceeded cautiously among the hillocks of 
the swamp, Nero pausing and coming to an uncertain 
point every few paces. 
At last a great ruddy-brown bird bustles into air with a 
noise that, in the utter stillness of the August noon, 
sounded like the roar of thunder, and caused my heart to 
leap to my mouth. I shot wide of the mark, but steadied 
myself, pressed my heart and nerves back into place, and 
brought down the bird, killed clean at long range, with 
my left barrel. 
It was a hen capercailzie. Of different color and much 
smaller than the cock, still a grand bird of 61bs. weight. 
This was great good luck — two capercailzie in one morn- 
ing, both over a dog in the open; for the capercailzie is 
preeminently a bird of the forest, and here he has the 
same trick that our American ruffed grouse plays so 
adroitly. He skulks along in advance of the dog until he 
reaches a thick clump of trees, when away he whirs from 
the further side, where it is impossible for the sportsman 
to catch the slightest glimpse of him. But with a cautious, 
steady, intelligent dog, one may get the better of both the 
ruffed grouse and the capercailzie. 
•Like our grouse, too, the capercailzie can be "treed" by 
a yelping cur, and is often shot while thus sitting in a tree 
by the country folk. This is hardly sportsmanlike, but it 
is chivalry itself compared with another method. 
In the glorious May mornings of the Northland the 
lordly capercailzie summons the dames of his harem 
around him. Perched on some lofty pine of the forest, at 
the first blush of dawn he sounds his love call. His song 
is short, but Often repeated, and as the impassioned bird 
pours forth his last sighing notes, he is transported with 
such eestacy that he neither sees nor hears. This is the 
pot-hunter's opportunity. Creeping on a few steps at the 
close of the capercailzie's song, and hiding the instant 
it ceaBes, he steals within easy shot, and, crouching 
behind some convenient tree, waits till the noble bird is 
again lost in the rapture of song, and then deliberately 
"pots" him. 
The Swedish law establishing a close time for capercail- 
zie from the middle of February to the middle of August 
has now made this sneak-shooting illegal, although it is 
still resorted to by poachers in remote districts. 
I was surprised to learn that this unchivalric method of 
shooting the capercailzie is practiced in Austria by the 
landed gentry, who own great wooded estates and call 
themselves sportsmen. One might as well shoot a ruffed 
grouse while drumming in the spring and call it sport. 
But perhaps it is the novelty of being up and out in the 
freshness of early dawn that astonishes and captivates 
these gentlemen. 
The capercailzie is also pursued in Sweden amid the 
snows of winter by hunters who swiftly slide through the 
aisles of the forest on skidor. 
The male birds gather together, in large packs in the 
winter — perhaps a hundred in a pack — and the large 
black fowl make conepicuous objects sitting on the trees 
hunted together in the backwoods of Maine twenty years 
ago. 
We had driven out together in the morning, separated, 
hunted along different routes, and met now, according to 
agreement, for lunch at the cottage of Ekenas. My ■ 
friends had each bagged a brace of black game, while a 
grand cock capercailzie, the brother of mine, dangled 
down Oscar's back. 
But first I must have a plunge in the lake. The water 
was deep close in to the shore, so I dived in. I had not 
taken half a dozen strokes when I felt pulsations of 
water on my back as though swift fish were swimming 
close by, 
I swam on more rapidly to get out of their way when I 
was struck two sharp blows from behind. Great Scott! 
are there sea monsters in this mountain lake? I turn 
hurriedly round; there was Nero close after me. Faith- 
ful dog, he had evidently swam out to save me from 
drowning. I yell at him, splash water in his face, and 
heap upon him the most opprobrious epithets before I can 
compel him to leave me and swim back to the shore, 
where he sat, a dripping monument of misery and despair, 
till I emerged from the water. 
My comrades had borrowed a table from the cottage 
and spread the lunch upon it in the great open doorway 
on the shady side of the barn. Heavens! how good that 
luncb. tasted! The mountain air, the long trarnp on the 
heathery hills, the plunge in the lake, all contributed to 
give our fare the best sauce this world has known from 
Adam's time to ours. And then the blissful siesta after- 
CAPEROAILZIE COOK AND HEN. 
From Specimens Imported by Mr. D. F. StUlman. 
white with snow. They are very wary, however, and 
difficult of approach, and must be shot with rifle and 
bullet, frequently at long range. This shooting can be 
called sport. It requires a high degree of skill, both with 
rifle and skidor. 
But to return to our own shooting. After picking up 
my second capercailzie, I saw a peasant clambering 
briskly up the hillside toward me. To my surprise he ad- 
dressed me. Yes, he had been in America seven years. 
He had heard I was out on the Lena Hills, and had left 
his work and come up to talk English with me. It 
was so pleasant to talk English, and he liked America so 
much too. Why did he not go back? Why, he always 
meant to, and he only came home for a little visit; but 
then he met a girl here and married her, and that was the 
end of his traveling. And had I shot a ijdder? Well, 
that was luck. Americans were all such good shots. 
What, another one! Come, now, he would take this one, 
and go find the other in the tree, and carry them both 
down to his house on the road, and I could call for them 
when I drove by in the evening; and the obliging fellow 
was as good as his word. 
Far away over the hills, down in the bottom of a rocky 
gorge, where the tall ferns grew up and waved above the 
heather, Nero came to a firm point. I hurried down from 
the ridge; up whirred a black cock, and down he tum- 
bled. "Apporte, Nero!" But the dog would not budge 
an inch. He gave me a sly, deprecatory look, turned his 
head slowly half round, and pointed across the valley. I 
took one step beside him, when up sprung a brace of 
black game from under his very nose, and I shot them ; 
right and left, before they could rise over the cliff wall. 
At the report a fourth bird rises and flies chattering away 
from my empty barrels. 
On for half an hour, when, coming to a crest of the 
hills. I looked down upon a beautiful lake glistening far 
below me. At the same time I hear "Poo! poo! poo!" 
This is the Swedish halloo, and the pooing was from my 
friends who had come out to meet me. I soon saw them 
far down the mountain side, and hurried onto join them; 
but when very near, Nero came to a point between us. 
"Move to the left there, and look sharp." I cried; "here 
are birds." Up got three black cock. But three sports- 
men standing facing each other were too many; we 
made a mess of it, and although all fired only one bird 
dropped, proving again the old rule I always insist upon, 
"The more sportsmen, the less game." 
Here were Mr. Fred. W. Stoddard and Mr. Oscar Lind- 
berg. Mr. Stoddard enjoys the peculiar distinction of 
being a Swedish-American Scotchman, for he has good 
claim to ail three nationalities, and Mr. Lindberg is a 
Swedish-American, and so old a friend that we had 
ward, as we lay back on the hay and talked over the for- ' 
tunes of the morning. 
It was late in the afternoon when we were once more 
on the march. Now we would hunt up the two black J 
game we misBed. My friends went in search of the bird 
that flew to the right, while I toiled up hill after the one 
that disappeared over the mountain. Half way up the ' 
hillside I stopped to rest and, turning round, witnessed a 
pretty sight. Far below me, in a little inclosed field, I 
Walli was making game; Oscar was close behind, en- 
couraging his young pointer to advance. A gunshot 
ahead, at the corner of the fence, stood Stoddard, gun all 
ready, eager, watchful. A moment more and I see the 
bird rise from under Walli's nose and fly straight for 
Stoddard's head. He allows the cock to pass, then a puff 
of smoke, the bird drops, and Walli starts to retrieve ] 
before the laggard report breaks upon my ear. 
Gaining the top of the hill, Nero found the bird we were '] 
in search of, and I had just time for a snap shot as it dis- j 
appeared over the crest, I send Nero on at a venture into 
the valley beyond ; but a moment afterward his head « 
pops up over the Bteep cliff edge with the black bird in his j 
red jaws. 
We found no more game that day, but we were well 
content as it was. Three capercailzie and ten black 
game, over 501bs. weight, we packed into the dog cart, 
and, with our pointers nestling in the warm hay behind 
us. drove swiftly over the ten miles home. 
Oscar and I stopped at his comfortable farm house, 
Lindas. Here we quickly exchanged our shooting 
jackets for dress coats and white ties and drove on to | 
Bryngelsnas, the charming and hospitable estate of Mr, 
Stoddard, and most pleasantly wound up the day at a > 
grand dinner party given in our honor by our genial com- j 
rade-in-arms. 
On this day, as on many another, both afield and at 
home, the thought has occurred to me, ' 'Why not intro- 
duce the capercailzie and black game into the United 
States?" Of all the birds of the Old World I do not know 
of any whose acclimatization among us could be so easily 
accomplished or would prove so beneficial. 
The capercailzie — Tetrao urogallus — is the largest and 
noblest of the grouse family, the family to which our 
pinnated grouse (prairie chicken) and ruffed grouse (par- 
tridge or pheasant) belong. 
The full grown cock capercailzie weighs from 10 to 121bs. , 
and some specimens considerably exceed this weight. 
These birds, in fact, approach very nearly the size of the < 
wild turkey of America. 
The home of the capercailzie extends over a wide range 
of latitude and temperature in two continents. From the 
wooded mountainous regions of northern Spain and 
