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FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 23, 1896. 
Now, by a good many of our noble moose hunters and 
grouse hunters this short morning's experience will be 
scornfully looked at and then passed with a mental 
thought or two, probably not to the credit of the writer; 
still, if those same brother sportsmen could have a taste 
of the crisp, brown hind quarters — which, after being 
carefully cleaned, were placed in salted ice water for 
four or five hours, then rolled in meal and fricasseed — I 
am inclined to think they would smile a goodly smile, 
and borrow, hire or buy a light .22 rifle, and when the 
close season is on their especial game go to some pond, 
bordered with water lilies and green scum, look carefully 
along shore and find no little pleasure in using their skill 
in sending the tiny ball true to its mark. Frogging is 
good sport in any way, but the rifle beats the stiff rod and 
flaming flannel, and a good mess obtained in this man- 
ner requires a good eye and some hunting instinct; for a 
frog is not as stupid as he may look, and often one will 
be heard to jump from concealment where he has been 
solemnly watching the approaching hunter. 
We lay aside the deer and moose rifles with some re- 
gret at the end of the open season, and then argue as to 
the proper caliber, work ourselves in a frenzy and call 
one another sarcastic names through the columns of For- 
est and Stream. But there is only one gun for the 
frog, a light 22 rifld. There is no room for argument 
about that, and a lover of the arm can certainly get a bit 
of sport m its use after this "game." Art. 
The Decrease of the Wildfowl. 
To secure the protection of game, nothing is more im- 
peratively needed than a uniform measure which will 
ifford reasonable immunity to wildfowl that make their 
lome in the United States during the autumn, winter 
and spring. The assertion that any alarming decrease in 
the number of wildfowl that frequent our waters is in 
process of accomplishment has been often denied. This 
negation is based on the fact that localities where they 
were formerly abundant have, after years of apparent de- 
sertion, witnessed their return in large numbers. This 
is a false assumption, as wildfowl, other conditions being 
equal, always congregate where food is the more available. 
Their absence is due to the lack of it. If they return, it 
is at the expense of some other locality, where the 
aquatic plants and Crustacea upon which tbey feed are, 
for the time being, scarce. An illustration of. this is found 
on some ot the bays of the south' side of Lmg Island, where 
broad-bill ducks were more plentiful d uring the autumn 
of 1893 than had been known for thirty years previous, 
This was owing to such an ample supply of food that no 
amount of shooting could drive the ducks away. In the 
autumn of 1894 the same fowl were exceptionally absent 
from those waters. They came, but did not stay. The 
nutriment which was in great plenty during the previous 
autumn was no longer there to tempt them. Some years 
ago, when the wild celery beds of tbe Susquehanna River 
were covered with sand, brought down by unusual fresh- 
ets in that stream, canvasback ducks almost totally 
deserted the locality. Those that formerly tarried there 
during the season resorted to other waters, where they 
found suitable food, and whf re they had not been seen 
for many years previous. With the recuperation of the 
wild celery beds in the Susquehanna the canvasback ducks 
returned to the flats in the usual numbers. This shifting 
habit of wildfowl creates a false impression as to their 
numerical increase. That they are rapidly on the de 
crease is apparent to those who understand the dangers 
which environ them.— Oanton Fay in Atlantic Monthly. 
An Oregon White Deer. 
The citizens of Crook county are much put out on ac- 
count of the slaying of a white deer which has been roam- 
ing over that section for a number of years, and which was 
looked upon as a sort of mascot, and which no one would 
harm, until a short time since one Poindexter wantonly 
shot it. This white deer was no myth, for its snowy hide 
is now in pickle in a taxidermist's shop in this city, and 
Game Protector MeGuire is preparing, at the request of 
the people of Crook county, to make big trouble for Poin- 
dexter, who killed the animal about Feb. 1, during the 
season when it is not lawful to shoot deer of any color. 
There have been many stories about this celebrated white 
deer, one of which was that Baxnum had offered $10,000 
for the animal alone, and it is now said that Poindexter 
shot the deer to get $200 for its skin. The people of 
Crook county generally are much enraged at the wanton 
slaughter of the deer, and collectively aver that they 
would not have had it killed for thousands of dollars. 
Many hunters have had opportunities to shoot the deer, 
but none of them would harm it. There is no question 
about the skin of the white deer being in this city, for 
Mr. McGuire has seen it, and has all the information nec- 
essary to convict Poindexter. — Morning Oregonian. 
The Kootenai Lake Country. 
The following is from a private letter written by that 
well-known sportsman Mr. Thos. Johnson : 
"Winnipeg, May 5— I have just returned from a trip to 
the Kootenai Lakes, situated in the heart of the Rocky 
Mountains and in the center of the great gold fields just 
discovered. This country was interesting to me from a 
sportsman's standpoint. The Kootenai River just teems 
with trout, and the surrounding mountains abound with 
goat, sheep, deer and the different species of bears. It 
was quite interesting when getting off the boat at a point 
named Trail Creek, seven miles from my destination (a 
camp named Rossland), to have pointed out to me the 
peak of a snow-capped mountain 2,500ft. high, and told 
that Rossland was 'over that hill.' Unfortunately the stage 
upBet going up the mountain heights and one of our partv 
had his arm broken. If any of your friends contemplate 
an outing this summer and the country alluded to has any 
attraction, if you will put them in communication with 
me I will be pleased to give them any information they 
desire." 
Game Laws in Brief. 
Thb Game Laws in Brief, current edition, sold everywhere, has 
new game and fish laws for more than thirty of the States. It covers 
the entire country, is carefully prepared, and gives all that shooters 
aud anglers reauire. See advertisement. 
Where Mathematics Failed. 
The story told by a New Haven correspondent of the 
New York Evening Post of the locating of a meteor by 
Prof. H. A. Newton, of Yale, from data obtained from a 
chance photograph of the meteor's flight, recalls to the 
Hartford Courant "another story recently related here- 
abouts by a Yale graduate. This young man, when a 
student, occupied a room in Divinity Hall. One night he 
undertook with a toy rifle to hit one of the lights on the 
campus. His aim was poor and the ball passed through 
the window of an eminent and venerable professor of 
science (not Prof. Newton) and embedded itself in the 
wall. This was the opportunity for the professor and for 
science. He, too, set to work and 'computed the curve,' 
and with the exact skill of infallible figures he traced the 
ball right back to the room of an innocent colleague, who 
didn't even know the rifle had been fired. The unfledged 
minister flatly denied all knowledge of the affair. But 
men, even ministers, have been known to make denials 
in self-defense and the professor had the proof with him. 
There was the bullet, there were the marks of its course 
and there was the computation worked but. It looked as 
if a pulpit career was to be nipped in the bud. But the 
guilty student heard what was going on. He called on 
the professor, confessed the offense, pointed out that the 
man of science was 200ft. out in his computation, and 
advised that the matter be dropped right where it was. 
And that was done." 
FLY-FISHING 
On the North Shore of Lake Superior. 
"I in these flowery meads would be; 
These crystal streams should solace me; 
To whose harmonious, bubbling noise 
I with my angle would rejoice." 
When the bright sun gladdens the cold earth with its 
warm rays and the robin sings among the reeds and 
rushes, where meander tinkling brooks in silvery glitter, 
the ardent angler is fully aroused, and in memory the 
dash and gleam of a tinted trout form a picture of 
radiance he would then love to dearly realize. 
In this retrospective mood he seeks his cherished and 
valued fly- book as a soothing solace, and as he turns its 
feathery laden leaves, which glitter with the colors of a 
rainbow, he clearly reads the exciting battles with his rod 
and reel as he sought his trophies among the spangled 
beauties of the translucent waters of the great Northwest 
or elsewhere. Here he sees fly after fly that had done 
noble service, and that had brought him many a victim 
in red and gold, and is therefore in deep and pleasurable 
emotion over the inspiriting reminiscence. Anon he 
revels over a golden pheasant, in lovely architecture, that 
had allured many a weighty princeling of the stream, 
then a Parmachenee-belle is revealed that looks like a 
veteran in the strife and that in its dainty beauty, so like 
a primrose yellow, had proved more attractive in its 
seductive mission than the artful smiles of an enchanting 
circe. Once more the reminiscent angler is in the realms 
of bliss as he toys with a somber Montreal, ever an un- 
failing lure, and that had to its credit the capture of 
several ponderous patriarchs of the flickered family, 
while the same rapturous affirmation could be made of the 
tempting guile of his favorite hackles which have a royal 
record in the raiding of many hapless victims who have 
had emblazoned on their gleaming armor the colors of a 
sunset sky. 
As he thus lovingly renews familiarity with the entic- 
ing book, so generous in skillfully wrought artifices, the 
praises of which should be sung in mellifluent verse, the 
visions of purling streams and storm-tossed seas of the 
great Northern lakes come to him as old friends, with the 
same impressive beauty, the same absorbing fascination, 
the same golden spoils. He is now in full fellowship with 
the gentle craft and counts every passing hour till the 
joyful time comes when he can but too gladly sever the 
toilsome chains of business and hie himself to the sylvan 
and ragged shores that are musical with rippling waters 
and caroling birds, and where, under skies of golden tints 
and snowy fleeces, he can once more enjoy an angler's 
rhapsody in enticing the ever gameful trout of the radiant 
dyes to the artistic fly, and again hear 
"The chirp of the cricket in the grass, 
The snap of the grasshoppers as they pass, 
The anthems of song birds in the hedge, 
The whistle of snipe across the sedge, 
And all the entrancing symphonies 
Of breeze and wave, of birds and beeB, 
All paintings of nature's matchless art, 
All music of nature that thrills the heart." 
The days at last come when the summer's glow is upon 
forest and field and stream, when the roses have budded 
and bloomed and reddened, when azure skies and gentle 
winds softly sing and sigh. Then the dreaming hour& of 
the patimt angler promise happy realization, for in moun- 
tain stream and shadowy pool the shapely trout of ravish- 
ing tints is eagerly seeking the unsuspecting prey and as 
eagerly snapping at the treacherous line. Ah! but those 
are welcome days, days of incomparable felicity, da;> s for 
strolls along grassy margins of rippling waters, where the 
"lilies are green with gold," and where the violet seeks 
its darkest blue and its purest white, 
"And when night from day is straying, 
As twilight gives its gleams." 
Idyllic reveries are now losing their charms, as we are 
about to enter upon the pleasant pastime that will give us 
many eventful and exciting incidents which we hops to 
faithfully recite. We are to embark for the picturesque 
North Shore of Lake Superior, under the shadows of 
whose towering mountains and lonely crags we will find 
delicious repose and drink deep of the refreshing and ex- 
hilarating atmosphere, while the lake and its numberless 
streams are sure to yield us many a scarlet-finned fonti- 
nalis. 
The meridian of an early June day, which was then 
indulging in a tropic breeza, found us idling along the 
banks of the '-Sao" Canal, awaiting our Mackinac, with 
its contents for camp comfort, which was then being 
locked through the great entrance gates. At last after 
much patient anxiety it was seen approaching, and when 
it reached us we cheerfully stepped aboard, happy as any 
ardent rodster could well be when he feels the coveted 
quarry so near at hand. Our boatmen in charge were the 
same we have had for the past three years, being the in- 
trepid Kenosh and his wideawake son Jo. Let us here 
remark an a simple act of justice to these faithful half- 
breeds that they are the best men that ever sailed a boat 
or made camp life serenely enjoyable and comfortable. 
Nothing seemed too arduous for them, no distance too 
great for a toilsome row, no weather too unpropitious for 
an advance. They are evidently rare exceptions, and 
the sportsmen who secure them for an outing have indeed 
drawn a valuable prize. 
We were in good luck at the start, for just a rod or two 
ahead was a slow-going steamer with a large tow, and our 
men, ever on the qui vim for just such an opportunity, 
quickly had the oars in position, and with a few minutes' 
rapid and vigorous rowing were astern of her last boat, 
and then a line was kindly tossed U3 for a tie by one of 
the crew, who had been watching our earnest efforts to 
overtake them. It meant fifteen good miles up the lake, 
and luxuriant ease in the meantime. The half-breeds 
were in good humor at this unlooked-for stroke of for- 
tune, for a light head wind confronted us, and if sailing 
would have greatly delayed us. 
Gros Cap was our first stopping place, for it was too late 
in the day to reach Grindstone Point, which we had 
mapped out for our initial camp. We would only have a 
two or three-mile sail over to the little island when we 
parted from the steamer, but that was a mere nothing to 
the gain which would evidently accrue to us. 
Steamer after steamer, vomiting forth huge clouds of 
black smoke, passed us en route; a few sailing craft were 
slowly beating up the lake, while some small rowboats 
were lazily moving along the shore as if the heat were too 
intense for a hard pull by the overtaxed oarsmen. 
"What charming weather," says Ned, as he took in the 
situation. "Not a scud in the west nor a thunderhead in 
the east, and a sky as unflecked as a flawless gem." 
"My bones are aching severely," suddenly spoke up 
Kenosh, "and they tell me that we will soon have a atorm,' 
and that with plenty of rain and maybe thunder and 
lightning." 
"Nonsense," replied Ned. "Nothing in the elements 
foretell it." 
' 'You wait a while and see. My bones are a good — what 
you call 'em?" 
"Barometer," I said. 
"Yes; that's it." 
Ned laughed at the prediction, and told him that all 
signs failed during dry weather; and a very long spell we 
had truly had of it. 
I had much faith in the half-breed's prognostications 
about the weather, for during the time we were partaking 
of lunch, which was a couple of hours after our start, the 
golden glow of the water, the purple o'er the distant hills 
and the blue of the sky were undergoing an apparent and 
unpleasant change. Presently the breeze increased and 
leaden clouds began to peep o'er the rim of the horizon, 
and soon the sea ran in ridges and the forests began to 
moan in an unmistakable manner. This condition con- 
tinued for a brief time, and then the elements, as if 
ashamed of their timidity, became emboldened, and the 
sea in consequence rose up in majesty, with the "white 
horses" crowning every curving wave. The sky responded, 
and dropping her wardrobe of blue took up her mourning 
garb, while the wandering winds made sonorous music 
among the leaves and grasses. 
"What you think of my bones now," said Kenosh, with 
a significant smile wreathing his face, when a huge white- 
cap sprayed us with its snowy beads. 
"Your bones are giving us the introductory oratorio of 
a grand Btorm, and I think if we reach that little island 
without a rainstorm we will have much cause for con- 
gratulation," replies Ned. 
We were now all impressed with the gathering storm. 
Clouds fringed ominously with the deepest jet drifted 
heavily yet swiftly over the undulating hills, while the 
wind whistled and shrieked to the sullen roar and battle 
of the billows. On plowed the steamer with much 
stress and strain, though her headway was perceptibly 
checked by the furious onslaught of the heavy waves that 
struck her with terrific violence. It was evident that we 
would have a rough ride to our harbor and doubtless re- 
ceive a wet jacket from either the rising ridges or the 
much threatened downpour. 
Two miles more of a tow and we could part company 
with the big baree and sail for our destination. It seemed 
a long distance just then, for every moment the wind was 
rising in her chromatic scaie and we indeed thought the 
pilch for our untuned ears sufficiently high. At last we 
cast cff and then up go our sails and away we speed o'er 
the roiling seas with a beam wind that makes the cords 
rattle and the canvas hum. It was a good three-mile 
sail, and if we could hit the little island without resorting 
to a tack all would be well. It, however, proved a de- 
cided failure, for long before we were under cover of the 
shore it was apparent that we would be a half mile below 
it, and then it would be either a hard row or a distressing 
tack, which doubtless would insure us the long threatened 
rain ere we reached our harbor. The shore once reached, 
in went the oars and vigorously worked the half-breeds. 
The fierce wind now moaned sobbingly through the sway- 
ing trees and the racing waves washed the shore with 
stubborn and steady spitefulness, while ever and anon 
beamy threads of lightning played along the dark hori- 
zon, veining it with long arrowy flashes of orange and 
silver. 
"When loud winds from different quarters rush, 
Vast clouds encount'ting one another crush." 
Soon a long and loud roar of appalling thunder came 
from the fierce rack of clouds o'erhead which looked 
like "huge witches astride eagle shaped monsters," and 
then the raindrops pattered on the lake and strove 
exceedingly hard to beat down the foam-crowned peaks 
the seas were lifting up in royal grandeur. 
At this uncomfortable state of affairs the men dropped 
their oars, and while the boat drifted out among the 
billows they nicely covered the provisions with some 
available oilcloths, while we slipped into our big rubber 
coats. 
The packages being well secured from the heavy rain, 
the boatmen again sprang to their blades and soon had 
the big Mackinac tumbling over the Bnowy ridges and 
then shortly into the little island, where all hands wen. 
