830 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 25, 1896. 
k% Mp° r t stt l m Satirist* 
ABOUT BLACK FLIES AND THINGS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Up at our fishing camp we are not much troubled by- 
flies, and so long as we stay there we use no lotions or 
other protections against them. When we go out fishing 
we defend ourselves as the case demands. If we are 
going down the Black River between the middle of June 
and the middle of July we do well to take all the pro- 
tective devices we can lay our hands on. But about the 
camp, as I said before, we do not need them. 
Three or four years ago, when I was overseeing some 
work in the rear of the camp, where there were lots of 
trees and bushes, I got badly bitten, so badly, in fact, aa 
to bring on quite a fever, so that one day I was obliged to 
take to my bunk for several hours. But all the rest of 
the summer I seemed to have less trouble from flies than 
usual, although ordinarily I took less pains to protect my- 
self against them. And even since that I think I have 
less trouble than most of my companions on fishing trips, 
and although I get some bites, I doubt whether I get my 
fair share. 
I thought that perhaps I had got partially inoculated 
against them, not enough to last always, but enough for 
one summer. Perhaps if I had let 200 or 300 more of the 
creatures have a go at me and lived through it, I might 
have been completely inoculated for the rest of my days. 
Now, my dear Forest and Stream, I suggest that you 
get somebody to develop this plan of inoculation and set 
up an establishment where folks who want to go fishing 
can go and get inoculated against black flies for a week 
or ten days, or as long as they can afford. Those who 
can go fishing for a fortnight should pay ten times as 
much as the poor fellows who can get only a week off, 
and those terribly rich chaps who can afford to go to 
Maine or Lake St. John or even to the Adirondacks for a 
month or six weeks at a time should pay a thousand times 
as much. 
But as I have no money to make out of the scheme, I 
am not going to bother myself about details. You have 
experts and specialists in New York to arrange all those, 
and if what I have heard about New York is true, there 
are people there who would contract to supply all the 
black fly virus that could be wanted at reasonable prices, 
if well paid in advance. 
I have some more work to do up at the same place as 
before and just at the height of fly time, so I reckon I 
shall know more about inoculation when I get through 
than I do now. I once met a distinguished Eaglisa offi- 
cer up at Roberval who ought to be well posted on the 
subject. If anybody wants information, he might give 
some. If inoculation is any good, he ought to be well 
secure for life. 
While waiting for this establishment to get started we 
shall have to depend on the fly poisons and preventives 
that are on the market, of which there are many that are 
good, but all more or leEs inconvenient, and for one reason 
or another unpleasant. For my part I think any strong, 
pungent odor will keep the flies away, and the main diffi- 
culty is to find something clean and nice that will prevent 
too rapid evaporation. Perspiration, of course, carries off 
the whole mixture in a short time, 
Mosquitoes I don't mind much in the daytime, and for 
the nights our beds are all well netted. If I get a bite 
the effect lasts only a few minutes. In a quarter of an 
hour there is no sign of it. 
I cannot endure those muslin nets that cover the whole 
head and face. They are too hot. And besides they 
leave no place for my pipe, and where should I be with- 
out that? Not that I think tobacco smoko keeps off flies. 
It is not acrid enough. One might think the common 
Canadian tobacco would keep away anything that had 
senses, but for all its smell it is very mild. A black fly in 
good fighting trim would only howl at it, and even a mos- 
quito, when really out for blood, would simply roar with 
laughter. A smoke that does not make your own eyes 
tingle has small terror for flies. 
So I just stitch netting to the brim of my straw hat, fit- 
ting it close to my face in front, so as to leave eyes, nose 
and mouth free, but loose behind, to protect my bald spot 
and my neck. Not many of the beasts get inside it. and 
a plentiful application of weak ammonia when I get to 
camp cools off the bites beautifully. An old pair of stock- 
ings, with the toes cutoff to let fingers through and a hole 
at the heel for the thumb, protects hands and wrists per- 
fectly. * 
But anyway, flies or no flies, I intend to go fishing as 
soon as the ice is out of our pet lake. It looks now as if 
that wouldn't be before about the middle of August; but 
as the latest I ever knew was May 22, 1 have hopes. Last 
year it was April 30. Meanwhile the boats and canoes are 
being overhauled, the fly-book replenished and the rods 
revarnished I remember the girl who said it was "bet- 
ter to be ready and not be aksed than to be aksed and not 
be ready." So about the snow and ice, I feel as the old 
chap did down in Maine, who admitted that the snow- 
banks were still rather heavy, but reckoned "the Fourth 
of July '11 give 'em a sweat." 
So I still feel fairly sure of trout for the Queen's Birth- 
day, and if Her Most Gracious Majesty would come to this 
country and go up to Lake Clair I would give her a taste 
of one such as never tickled her royal palate before. And 
that reminds me. Last year I told one of mv guides that 
1 should expect some guests on the Queen's Birthday, and 
he answered, "Laftte de la Reine, test le 4 Juilliet, rtest 
July^isn't Z) e Qaeen ' S BirtMa y> ^at ™ the Fourth of 
I hope this summer to get a few more of those land- 
looked salmon, the result of my planting in 1892. Last 
year I got two, one of ilb. and one of Hlbs., enough to 
show that they were living and breathing. The lake 
where I took them was not where I should expect to find 
them, it being quite small. There is plenty of food in it 
however so much that the 21b. trout will not always 
bother themselves to rise for a fly. 
I am glad to see that my friends of the Triton Club pro- 
pose to put some ouananiche from Lake St. John into 
some of their waters. To transport the fish alive from 
h,^ e T S i °i hn ^ U ? h i no ! to be difficult for the Tritons, 
but I think that the Provincial Government ought, in 
fairness to lessees and for its own eventual advantage, to 
establish a hatchery for trout and ouananiche somewhere 
up in that region. There is no immediate necessity for it 
but by the time one could be well under way it will be 
desirable to replenish some lakes and stock others. The 
Government should furnish lessees with facilities for 
keeping up their supplies. 
Why don't somebody contrive a landing net of fine 
wire, in which the hooks wouldn't get caught so aggra- 
vatingly as they sometimes do in twine? Small wire 
would be pliable enough and would not offer so much re- 
sistance in rapid water as twine. I have often wished I 
had one down on the Black River. Just under the dam 
the hole where the big trout hide is abDut 2yds. square, 
and all the rest is a torrent. If you strike a two-pounder 
in there and he gets hold of that swift water you have 
nothing to do but to run with him to a little bit of an 
eddy about a couple of hundred yards down stream. If 
he gets out of that he is a goner, and so are your flies, for 
the next holding ground is a quarter of a mile away, 
and you have to go through woods to get to it. 
There is good fishing in the Black River when the 
water is right. G. de Montauban. 
Quebec, April 10. 
FOREST AND STREAM CONTRIBUTORS. 
Antler. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I have the pleasure of sending you a photograph of Mr. 
B. L. Stratton, your correspondent under the name of 
Antler. Mr. Stratton was born in Massachusetts over 
eighty-four years ago 
At his tender age of one year his parents moved to 
Cattaraugas county, New York, where his youth and 
early manhood were spent. 
An ardent hunter from his earliest youth, he has had 
many adventures and hairbreadth escapes while waging 
war on the bear and other "varmints" of that then 
sparsely settled country. 
In 1874, being in very poor health, Mr. Stratton moved 
to the mountains of Eist Tennessee, locating at Grand 
ANTLER. 
View, a small town on the eastern edge of Walden's 
Ridge and overlooking the Tennessee Valley. 
Here in a sheltered spot and near a good spring that 
does not fail him in the driest season, he built his log 
cabin and here you will find him to-day. The pure, brac- 
ing mountain air of this mild climate proved to be exactly 
the thing for his failing lungs, and after a residence here 
of twenty-two years he is still very much alive. 
For one who is looking for an all-the-year-round climate 
there is none better in America than these mountain 
heights of East Tennessee; neither too far North or South, 
where the winters are mild and open, and usually no 
snowfall, 
In summer the thermometer rarely registers above 90° 
and the nights are always so cool that a man feels the 
need of a warm blanket, and can sleep his eight hours 
every night. 
The water is pure and soft, and malaria and mosquitoes 
are things unknown. 
Such my friend has found here, and he affirms that he 
"will not go back on the bridge that has carried him 
safely over." 
Though past the age for active participation in his life- 
long pastime of deer hunting, he dearly loves to stir up 
the back-log in his capacious fireplace, and seated in a 
splint-bottomed chair before its genial blaze recount his 
many adventures of long ago, in which (I suspect) his 
trusty rifle rarely barked in vain. 
Mr. Stratton is a great admirer of the writings of the 
immortal Nessmuk, and was a regular correspondent of 
his for years previous to his death, and never tires of dis- 
cussing that woodsman. 
Though long past the allotted three score and ten, our 
friend is as light of heart as a boy, and for a man of his 
years remarkably active, and in his tramps around the 
mountains might tire out many a younger man. 
May he live to enjoy many more peaceful years in his 
mountain home. Camerambler, 
Gbaud View, Term. 
The Adirondack Land Grab Bill. 
Albany, N, Y., April 17.— This resolution was adopted 
by the Fisheries, Game and Forest Commission at a meet- 
ing held April 8: 
Resolved: That the Commissioners of Fisheiies^Game 
and Forests disapprove Senate Bill No. 964, 1895, entitled 
"An act for the improvement of the Hudson River and 
the driving of logs and of the hydraulic powers thereon, 
and to check freshets therein, and for the better supply 
of water for the Champlain Canal," and do not believe 
the passage of this bill is to the best interests of the 
Forest Preserve and Adirondack Park; and that a copy of 
this resolution be sent to the chairman of the Committee 
on Commerce and Navigation in the Senate and Assembly. 
ESCENAS DE LA BELLA FLORIDA. 
It is undoubtedly true that the scenes and incidents of 
life which the memory loves moBt of all to cherish are 
those tinged with a kind of romantic sadness. The sim- 
ple songs and ballads of a nation, those that portray love 
of country and the gentler emotions, are all inspired by 
serious, sometimes even melancholy, sentiment; by no 
means despondent, but strong, noble and sedate, for all 
noble sentiment is sedate. To these emotions more than 
all other is due the fact that he who loves the manly sports 
of forest and field so certainly imbibes and cherishes sen- 
timents closely akin to poetry. He has roved the moun- 
tain and seen its floods; he has trod the plain, now tenant- 
less of the vast herds of game that once ranged its mighty 
expanse. He has seen the superb forests year by year 
yield to the sordid greed for gain; the beautiful streams 
depleted not only of their own element, but of the crea- 
tures that make their current their homes. He has had 
his noble horse, his faithful dog. He has had gallant 
comrades and formed friendships the like of which are 
formed nowhere else. Some of these he may have yet, 
with whom he happily meets each year, though for only 
a short season, then bids them adieu. Joyous days have 
passed, never to return again. 
Instead of philosophizing I intended to write about Flor- 
ida, and a retrospect of my vacations there brings up a 
thousand recollections much like these sentiments which 
have just escaped me. 
My home is high up in the Southwest Mountains of old 
Virginia, where in the winter time there is ever a war be- 
tween the altitude and the latitude, with often furious 
results of climate. A few winters ago, as a result of try- 
ing to meet the demands of my profession, I was exiled 
to hunt the sun. Who nowadays in this busy nation of 
ours, as a result of hia own folly, has not met a similar 
fate? With gloomy forebodings I received my sentence, 
but whither should I wander? 
Happy indeed is the man thus unfortunate who loves to 
hunt — loves the forest and stream I 
Instinctively I gathered my sporting outfit and found 
myself one morning in the -city of Jacksonville, Fla. 
Never will I forget that day. It was damp, cold and 
dark — the dense fog from the St. John's rolled in and 
wrapped the town in a reeking pall. The inmates of the 
beautiful hotel moved noiselessly over the cushioned car- 
pets; sat muffled in silent, unhappy groups. There were 
no fires — no heat. 
As aimlessly as I had left home I boarded a craft for the 
upper St. J ohn's. It was only just dark, but it was night. 
The waters of that weird old river were black — blacker 
than the night above. I slept, for all else seemed to have 
deserted me, 
How our little craft appeared wending its way I do not 
know. Sometimes pust room to pass the banks; now' 
gliding into a great lake; now overhung by the mossy 
live oak, the dense walls of the hummocks on each side; 
then the boundless prairies. Were they afire, and did 
they burn out this horrible gloom and darkness? 
The dead tall pine, covered with a blaze to its top, bril- 
liant candleB of that spooky forest. The storms of water T 
fowl, the splash of the ugly saurian. None of this did I 
see, nor did I hear, but next morniDg I saw a Florida sun 
and felt a Florida climate. 
Still I wandered from the St. John's to the Indian River 
until good fortune led me to the lodge of Capt. Sharpe, so 
cozily ensconced in the hummock on the banks of that 
beautiful river. There I met some gentlemen whose com- 
pany was destined to afford me among the happiest mo- 
ments of my life. Some of them Btrong men of affairs 
when moving in this busy world, all ardent Bportsmen, 
enthusiastic and brave in the field and forest. 
This region was a revelation to me, all strange and new. 
I still listlessly basked about, and in the little club room 
I would imbibe enthusiasm from the recitations of my 
new acquaintances. 
Being no novice in field sports— save as to this strange 
land — the morning came in an incredibly short time when 
I should seek the noble game. 
Mounted on the sturdy little pony, equipped for a deer 
hunt, I was then truly in Florida, My friends, have you 
seen this beautiful land where I then stood? 
To the east of me, from whose shores I gazed in rapture, 
was the Indian River. It must be the most beautiful 
stream of water on earth— or is it a strem? It is saline, 
fed by inlets from the Atlantic, the muffled roar of whose 
billows I then could hear. Having neither source nor 
confluence, lying north and south, straight between the 
dense walls of forests from end to end; shallow, clear, its 
bed sheeted with sand as white as snow. While filled 
with life above and beneath its surface, still it is affected 
neither by time nor tide. It is the embodiment of perfect 
repose. ' 
Then the day— and all good winter days are alike in 
Florida, yet like no other days elsewhere, for they are 
simply perfect. You have no bald and glaring azure sky 
to rave over; but have you not seen those paintings of pure 
fancy suspended somewhere between heaven and earth , 
and whether meant for human or angel image is unsolv- 
able from the crepon drapery of wings and robe and flow- 
ing hair about the figure, and still the sky beyond? Just 
so inscrutable is the Florida sky. Not far away, never 
glaring, never lowering; here a cloud like a snowbank; 
now another, a long, white, narrow web, from the At- 
lantic to the gulf, corrugated, draped, fringed and tas- 
seled, it hangs till night; then look west when the sun 
sets, my friends, and hide away the crude pigments of 
human art in despair! 
Beyond the shore hummocks west of me is the pine 
woods, through which we must go to hunt; and this re- 
minds me that we must rave no more until I tell you 
about the hunt, for "this that I am gaun to tell" is true, 
and I select my first one, because it so impressed me and 
varies but little from many others I have had. There were 
three of us, Balton on his pony and Bealon his mule. We 
were armed with light double- barrel shot guns, necessitated 
as you will see by the mode of hunting, The dog that was 
to find the deer was Mr. Beal's old Lady, a full-blooded 
hound sent him from Kansas, but certainly as ungainly 
looking a specimen of the canine race as you ever saw. Her 
tail was cut to "scarce a Btump," and her ears showed 
the marks of many reckless encounters with cats and 
coons. Her match for sagacity, cunning and hunting in- 
stinct I never saw. Recently, just after Lady had per- 
formed one of her wonderful feats in finding deer, Bsal 
had her under a string and was affectionately patting 
her, when he said with evident feeling: "Poor old Lady, 
