FOREST AND STREAM. 
2 7 3 
and swore that he didn't Bee anything to laugh at. At 
that 1 sobered down, and told him that if he would stop 
his confounded noise and go ashore perhaps he would. 
But only the sight of the dead deer a short distance from 
the shore would convince him that he had not made a 
clean miss, and he never took kindly to my suggestion 
that he should always shoot just before he was ready. 
The reader may think that all my hunts have been suc- 
cessful, fie will be confirmed perhaps in the idea ad- 
vanced by some that to kill a deer by jack light is just as 
easy as falling off a slippery log. Don't believe either 
one. I think you may put it about in this way: Divide 
all the nights I have ever floated by twelve. On three of 
those nights I have seen one or more deer; on some others 
I have heard, but have not seen any. On one of the 
twelve nights I have had a shot. Seldom more than one 
Shot, for I never hunted after making a kill until more 
meat was needed in camp. 
i apply this average to my whole hunting career. For 
the past few years I have had a better average, though 
one season, four or five years ago, I hunted hard night 
after night on every halfway decent night during a four 
weeks' trip and never drew blood. This, too, with a 
modern jack and gun and a modern $3-a-day guide in the 
stern of the boat. Everything went wrong. If it wasn't 
one thing it was another. But during those four weeks I 
was about as lucky as any one, for I only heard of three 
deer being killed over a range of many miles, and the 
woods full of them and hunters too. That was one time 
at least when jack-hunting was not destruction to deer. 
On one of these nights we were camped on a stream, 
harrow and brooked with marsh and alder shores for 
miles. We had run down stream some two miles when 
we met another boat hunting up stream. It was very 
dark and threatening rain and even as we sat chatting 
the big drops began to patter on the bushes and make 
b'dbbles on the water. "Boys, we had better get for camp: 
there will be no hunting after this and we will get wet." 
Well, I should say we did. 
Our camp being the nearest shelter, we were soon 
hustling for it as fast as strong arms and skillful hands 
6ould shove the boats. Down came the rain, first in drops, 
then in streams, then by the bucketful it seemed, and we 
were all thoroughly soaked and our boats nearly half full 
of water by the time we reached shelter. Here we found 
the other hunters of our own camp, who had gone up 
the river, and also another party, all more or less and 
more rather than less wet. 
A pail of water was hung over the fire to heat, the dish- 
pan brought out, the juice of half a dozen lemons squeezed 
into it, sugar added, the contents of a long black bottle 
labeled (perhaps) Godfrey's Cordial allowed to gurgle just 
a little, hot.water to suit the taste and, well, the boys said 
they didn't mind a wetting half as much as they thought 
they would. 
In all my night hunting I have wounded and lost very 
few deer. -No greater percentage of hit deer ever escaped 
me than from the average still-hunter. Sometimes a deer 
has to be followed next morning and is found alive. I do 
not like that; it is too much like butchery (yet how many 
still-hunters get their game with the first shot). I like a 
clean kill or a clear miss. I never in my life made a night 
shot at a deer without making a thorough search next 
day, if the deer runs off. By doing this I have first and 
last saved several deer after my companion on this hunt 
had given them up. 
Perhaps the reader will also think that to kill is all the 
enjoyment I find in the hunt. That would be a great 
mistake. The kill is but the final act that rounds out and 
completes the pleasure of a night that is hardly less en- 
joyable without it. Indeed, more enjoyable in some re- 
spects, for after the excitement of the hunt is over one 
feels more or less compunction for having deprived 
of life one of God's most beautiful creatures. 
This recalls to me a night hunt a few years ago. We 
were camped far away in the deep woods and near a good 
deer pond. My wife was with me and one night she 
went floating with us, occupying a seat between the pad- 
dler and myself. We were going up the inlet of the 
pond, which here ran through an open marsh, and dis- 
covered a deer standing on the bank and looking away 
toward the woods. He knew that something was wrong, 
but couldn't quite determine what it was, As I slowly 
brought the gun to my shoulder Madam whispered, 
"Don't shoot, it looks so pretty," and I lowered my gun. 
After sniffing the tainted air a few moments the deer 
bounded away and soon his shrill good night was ringing 
through the forest. 
My paddler did not like it that I had let the deer go, and 
I had to promise him that the next one should not enjoy 
Madam's protection. An hour later on the owner of a 
pair of eyes that blazed out at me from the dark woods 
on a steep hillside responded to my call, and as the death 
rattle sounded in his throat Madam remarked, "It's too 
bad." 
Now let me take you to the Stillwater. We are a large 
party — four ladies, four men and two small boys. Two 
of the men are guides, one of them the regular custodian 
of the club house and grounds. Jim, as we all call him, 
is quite an artist. No one can draw a finer picture of 
things that pertain to the woods and hunting and fishing, 
sometimes with fewer facts for a foundation. He can 
tell the most interesting yarn imaginable, all from whole 
cloth, as the saying is, and never a wrinkle of the face 
nor a twinkle of the eye will warn the most wary that it 
is not solid facts they are getting. While a good man 
about camp, he iB only at his best seated in the stern of 
the boat at night with the single blade in his hands. 
Here he is a genuine diamond of the first water. Some 
guides paddle, Jim floats. With most guides you can feel 
the boat quiver to a greater or less extent as it responds 
to the effort of the paddler. Not so with Jim. You just 
seem to be propelled by some mysterious power that 
drifts you along through the darkness hour after hour, 
perhaps. 
Well, to our hunting. Ten people in camp and only 
salt pork for breakfast. The night is still and dark and 
we prepare for the hunt. The jack -lamp is filled with 
oil, the wick trimmed afresh, the lens polished, the lac- 
ing of the leather cap adjusted to fit the head and the 
lamp lighted. Then with gun and jack and arms full of 
blankets we go down to the landing. While I hold the 
light Jim arranges the seat and blankets and I step into 
the 30in. canoe and sit down. The blanket is spread out 
well under my feet, so I can move them without making 
a no>se; the sides are drawn up over my knees, both to 
keep them warm — for sitting still hour after hour makes 
one feel chilly even on a warm night late in August — and 
to form a cushion on which to place the gun. Another 
blanket with part of it folded underneath me is spread 
over the back of the seat. Do not go floating without a 
good easy back to your seat. It is back-breaking busi- 
ness without one and you will soon get too tired to feel 
much interest in the hunt, and perhaps in trying to re- 
lieve the pain you can no longer endure you will move a 
little and in so doing make a noise and thereby lose your 
only chance fof a shot that night. 
Wriggling myself into an easy position with body 
turned a little to the right, so as to be able to shoot 
straight ahead of the boat if necessary, I wait till Jim is 
seated in the stern, then put my jack on my head. This 
is placed so it throws the light to the left at the angle 
natural to the line of the gun barrel when shooting, and 
ao it will strike a level with the water at three to six rods 
away when sighting along the barrel. Then I put my 
gUn to my shoulder, pick out a stone or tree to sight at 
and adjust the light so that when I bring my gun to my 
face it will sight well in the center of the circle of light. 
This is very important, and many a novice and a few old 
hands have lost a good shot by neglecting it. Now I am 
ready, and putting the cap over the front of my jack I 
signal to Jim to go. He pushes away from the dock and 
we turn our bow up stream, 
For a distance of two miles and a half the river is 
nearly dead water, with low banks covered with grass 
and bushes. It crooks and turns to all points of the com- 
pass, and at one place comes within half a dozen rods of 
making an island, as indeed it does quite in times of high 
water. A large portion of this distance is good hunting 
ground, with frequent patches of lilypads or grassy bot- 
tom. At the end of this level the stream becomes much 
narrower, with higher banks, numerous sandbars, a 
quicker current and less feed. 
For a furlong perhaps Jim plies the paddle with noise- 
less strokes, and the canoe moves rapidly forward. Then 
we listen. All around us are the noises of the night — 
unwritten music. Here, in a hoarse, bass voice, one in- 
habitant of the stream is telling all the rest that he is the 
biggest frog in the pool, and another answers in the same 
tone, "That's so; that's so." Then another lesser voice 
chips in and says. "He's my uncle," and another asks, 
"What's his name?" and the little frog gayly responds, 
"Pete, "Pete," which is supposed to be short for Peter. 
Then a bat flutters by so close to my face as to make me 
dodge, and a muskrat swimming past suddenly thinks 
there is danger and goes down with a ker-chug that 
makes me jump in spite of the fact that I know what 
it is. 
Slowly we drift alone. Hemlock Point is turned. 
Some distance beyond is Cedar Cove, and as we approach 
we strain every sense to the utmost, for the numerous 
stems of the water lily standing erect, denuded of the 
leaf (for deer do. eat lilypads), show plainly that it is a 
favorite feeding place. Not a sound greets us and we 
float along. Suddenly a few rods ahead and near the 
right hand shore we hear souse, souse, souse, and a deer 
has gone out. A swishing of the grass, a cracking of 
brush, and then his shrill trumpet of alarm warns every 
deer within a mile that danger is abroad. 
Of course I have snatched the cap from the jack, 
thrown off the safety to my Lefever and half brought it 
to my shoulder. No use; the distance is too great, and 
in a moment I cover the light again and settle back to my 
easy position. After all, it would have been but little 
sport to have killed a deer in half an hour from camp. 
Jim mutters imprecations on the jack, which, he says, 
leaked a ray of light and caused the disaster, plugs the 
offensive crack with a piece of cloth torn from the lining 
of his coat, settles back into his seat and on we go. 
Now we are nearing the cut-off that in high water helps 
form the island before mentioned. Here is good hunting 
ground; watch out sharp as we drift along. A heron 
which has been frogging or asleep in the shallows rises at 
our approach with great flapping of wings and hoarse 
croaking — evidently disgruntled at being disturbed — some 
little bird flutters in the bushes on the bank, the night 
wind softly sighs. 
A little further on the cracking of a limb on the left 
hand shore causes Jim to bring the canoe to a full stop, 
and for five minutes or more we listen. Then the whine 
of a hedgehog is heard, and half disgusted we push on 
past Cedar Spring camp ground into the strait beyond, 
on around the bend past Flat Eock Cove, on past Sand 
Cove. 
As we pass Sand Cove another hunt — my first one with 
Jim as paddler — is brought to mind, and I will tell you 
about it as we drift onward. We had been well up the 
river and were on our return. As I remember now we 
had not heard a deer at all, and it was well past mid- 
night. As we approached the cove, Jim's ear — sharper 
than mine — detected the presence of game, and he whis- 
pered to me to uncover the light. I removed the cap and 
peered into a bank of fog. Splash! splash! splash! 
Away went the deer through the shallow water, while 
my eyes tried in vain to bore a hole through the mist. 
Climbing the bank the deer swung sharply to the left 
to go up stream. In turning he for a moment showed 
me the gleam of one eye, and instantly the gun came to 
my shoulder and its loud report woke the echoes and 
silenced the noisy frogs in our immediate vicinity. 
Then we listened. The deer went on, making but little 
noise, and I felt but little confidence in the success of the 
shot. Next morning, however, we found a few rods back 
a nice spike-horn buck with but a single shot through his 
neck. 
While I have been yarning it, we have approached 
Burnt Rock. Just below it is quite a crossing and feeding 
place for deer, but the river is so full of lilypads, grass 
and rushes as to make it almost impossible to get up to 
one. This was our luck to-night, for though we heard 
one and Jim did his best to get there the deer took the 
alarm and was soon at a safe distance in the woods, from 
which vantage ground he sent us the usual compliments. 
For another hour we go on; on out of the broader river 
into the more narrow part, past sandbar and cove, with 
only the frogs and muskrats to keep us company. Now 
we are almost up to the hay meadows and our chances 
seem rather poor, when a deer is heard walking in the 
water a few rods ahead. Instantly we are on the alert, 
and as we get a little nearer Jim whispers to uncover. 
Off comes the cap, and I fully expect to see a deer, or at 
least its eyes, but neither are visible, and I begin a care- 
ul search ahead, 
A few rods further on the river makes an abrupt turn 
to the left, and in the point of the elbow of the stream is 
a small cove. Just at its lower right hand side grows a 
single alder. This is not enough to hide anything by 
daylight, but at night it casts a shadow. I can see noth- 
ing until, as I am partly past this bush and slowly swing 
my light to the right, there in full view stands a deer. 
I say stands, but it is hardly that, for it is already going 
into the air. It is a beauty, and so clearly is it shown by 
the light — I never before nor since saw one so well— that 
I seem to see each separate hair and to gather in an 
instantaneous view every graceful outline of its shape as 
the tense muscles are already at work to carry it away 
from danger. For almost less than an instant I enjoy 
this beautiful picture, and thus the hunter's instinct 
recalls the hunter to his senses, the gun springs to my 
shoulder, the muzzle is thrown upward and as far to the 
right as a brief instant will allow, in hopes to catch the 
quarry while in the air, and the trigger is pressed. Then 
we listen. The deer runs away very clean, but then there 
are but few bushes on the bank here and these are but 
small ones. After a few moments Jim says: 
"You never touched it." 
"I think I did," 
"No, you didn't, You never saw that deer until it was 
in the air." 
"I know it." 
"And you took no aim." 
"I had no time." 
"You didn't even look along the barrel." 
"I know it; still I think I hit the deer. It seemed to'me 
that my gun was well ahead when I pulled." 
"No, you were right onto that deer, and if you had hit 
it at all you would have broken it right down on its 
tracks. You weren't twenty feet from it." 
"Oh, yes, I was. I know I was very close, but£I was a 
good deal more than twenty feet." 
"Well, you haven't touched it, that's all." 
"For all that we will look for it in the morning." 
The run home was a repetition of the hunt up, except 
that no sound of deer was heard. Tired with my night's 
work and perhaps having little faith in the success of my 
shot, while Jim had none whatever, it was well on 
toward noon when we landed where the deer went out. 
Not a drop of blood could be found and but few marks 
on the hard gravelly shore among the little [scattering 
bushes. 
Looking over the relative positions of the deer and of 
the boat as nearly as we could place it, Jim was satisfied 
that I was from 50 to 60ft. away instead of 20, and he 
said, "It has made a little more sign than a wild deer 
ought to, and did not blow. Still, if you had hit it why 
didn't you drop it in its tracks, or why don't we find any 
blood? We haven't found even a drop." 
I felt I could say very little in reply. Slowly and most 
reluctantly I was beginning to feel that I must have made 
a clean miss. Just then Jim pointed to a witch hopple 
leaf on a low bush before me, and asked, "Is that blood 
or only a red leaf?" "Only a red leaf, I think," and in- 
deed it looked much more like that than anything else. 
Jim picked off the leaf, wet his thumb in his mouth and 
rubbed it on the leaf, and, lo! his mouth widened and 
widened until it seemed as if his ears would tumble off 
the brink and be engulfed. His thumb was red with 
blood. I only caught the last of his next remark, but it 
sounded very much like, " you did hit it," and 
presently, "Yes, for here's a piece of bone. Now give 
me the Winchester and you stay behind, for Jim has got 
to do some fine tracking, for any blood has all dried 
up." 
Slowly and with the greatest care Jim picked his way 
across the flat and up the hill out of sight. A few min- 
utes later the crack of the rifle told me that the hunt was 
ended and that the camp could give salt pork a vacation. 
My shot had broken one hip. Since that night Jim has 
paddled me to two deer, neither of which got out of the 
water until we took them into the boat. 
As I said earlier in the story, many another night's 
hunt has burned no powder nor wrought any havoc 
with the game supply. Many a time I have in the small 
hours of the morning returned to camp, shivering with 
cold or wet to the skin perhaps from some sudden shower. 
At other times we have run ashore, hauled out our boat, 
turned it bottom upward and got under it till morning or 
till the clouds rolled by. 
I never hunted a night when I did not enjoy it, whether 
it brought any addition to the larder or not; but a better 
pen than mine is needed to describe all its attractions. 
Adirondack Deer. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Gov. Morton advised in his message that hounding, 
floating and killing of deer in water be made unlawful, 
and he is right. 
None of those methods are fair or sportsmanlike, but 
are brutal and take advantage of the game. 
We paid large amounts for bounties on wolves in order 
to get them exterminated, and one dog loose in the Adi- 
rondacks will kill more deer than ten wolves would; for 
they only killed to eat, while dogs kill for slaughter just the 
same as they kill sheep — and it is a fact that many hounds 
are allowed to run loose winters in the woods in order to 
get their own living, and many more get loose and go off 
for days at a time, killing deer in the deer yards and on 
the crust, only returning home when satiated and tired 
out. 
We should have, say, open season for still-hunting forty 
days — from Aug. 15 to Sept. 25— for those who like to go 
into the woods in warm weather, and say twenty days — 
from Nov. 10 to 30 — for those who would rather go in on 
the snow and when the weather is cool enough, so that 
venison can be kept and sent home, and when it is fat 
and at its best. 
No person should be allowed to kill or take more than 
two deer any one year, and only to ship them when he 
accompanies the shipment. 
Another thing — about small game. I hear there is an 
attempt being made to have open season for partridgesj 
woodcock, squirrels and hares begin Nov. 15. That will 
be wholly unfair to the sportsmen in the State north of 
the Pennsylvania line, for all woodcock have gone to 
New Jersey and Long Island before that time, and the 
bad fall weather cuts off nearly all shooting after Nov. 1 
even. The open season should begin Sept. 20 to Oct. 1, 
and close Jan, I— except on rabbits, to Feb. 1. 
0* Li Pabkbr, 
