182 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 1, 1894 
THE FOUR BEARS OF BALD MOUNTAIN. 
"Speakihg of bears," said Frank Walker, the local 
story teller, ' 'you ought to hear Lon Bishop tell how he 
and Waite Hager killed four bears on Bald Mountain five 
years ago. Just you drive up to Lon's sometime and ask 
him to tell you the story: it's worth the ride." 
Frank had been telling how he caught three beaver last 
winter, and I asked for a bear story. His reply brought 
to my mind the four bears I had seen in the hotel office 
about five winters ago, and of reading in the local paper 
something about how they were killed. My wife and I 
drove up over the mountains to Lon Bishop's home. The 
house was little more than a few boards nailed together 
in any shape to form a roof and four sides. Lon is a gum- 
mer, that is, he gathers spruce gum for our j. iris to chew, 
and makes a good living at it. He is a short, solidly-built 
man, with a face like an Indian's and the straight, long 
black hair peculiar to this race. He sells his hair for $12 
every year, he told me. 
When night finds him too far from home to return he 
takes his two straps and hangs himself from a limb of a 
tree and says he sleeps most soundly, and no "bars" 
trouble him. Lon is odd, but he is honest and brave, as 
the story will show. 
"Come into the house, Ed, and you too, Mrs. Parmenter, 
and I will tell you about the four bears and the skins of 
two of them to boot." 
We went in and to our surprise found that the room 
was cool and clean. Lon brought out two bear skins and 
told us they were taken from two of the bears that I am 
to tell you of. They were very fine skins and worth $20 
each, Lon said. After we had drank a cup of tea, to sat- 
isfy Lon, he filled his pipe, after asking permission of my 
wife, threw himself down on the bear skins on the floor 
and told us his story. 
"It was along about Thanksgiving time, and there had 
been a pretty heavy snowstorm the day before. I had 
been chopping up wood up here along with Waite Hager, 
and as I had to go eight miles to our chopping ground 
and didn't carry any rifle with me, I always had my two- 
headed axe, though, and didn't dream of being afraid of 
anything. On this particular morning I started out the 
same as usual, but looked at my rifle and came near tak- 
ing it with me. I knew it was the finest day of the sea- 
son to track bears and came near letting the chopping go 
and having a bunt. I gave it up, though, and left the 
rifle at home. 
"Waite and I chopped all day, and until about 5 o'clock 
in the afternoon. It gets dark early up there in the 
mountains; we could just see to chop when we quit work. 
Our path took us through the thickest kind of woods, and 
we were hurrying along as fast as we could, so as to get 
on the rnabn road before dark, when out from the right of 
the path came four bears — a mother, a yearling and two 
pretty well grown cubs. 
"We didn't think of running, or anything but getting 
those bears, for the bounty on a bear is $15, and the hide 
and meat are worth from $20 to $30. I grabbed my axe 
and started for the yearling, and Waite went for the old 
she one. I brought my bear a clip side of the head that 
killed him dead in his tracks, but Waite did not have so 
good luck. The old bear did not delay to be hit, but with 
her cubs took up the path mightily smart. We chased 
tbeni for 40 or 50 rods, and our yelling scared them, I 
guess. Anyway, the cubs switched off and went up two 
trees, and when the old bear saw them going up, she took 
to a big birch and got up in the branches in no time. 
"What to do we did not know. It was getting dark 
and we were five miles from a gun. We didn't want to 
chop the trees down for fear of the bears getting away 
and we could not drive them down anyway. At last we 
decided that one of us would go for a rifle and it fell to 
me. I made Waite promise to stick to the bears any- 
way and started as fast as I could walk for home. 
"It took me about three hours to go and return, for 
the road was rough, and when I got into the wood com- 
ing back it was mighty dark and slippery. When I got 
near the place I had left Waite I smelled smoke and 
knew that he had been making himself as comfortable as 
he could. I came to the fire but Waite was not there. I 
had brought a lantern and commenced to look around 
for him. I didn't know but what the bears had come 
down and done him up. 
"In an instant I saw how it was. The cubs had started 
to come down and Waite had killed them with his axe 
before they got to the ground. I found a splash of blood 
on the tree that the old bear went up, and after looking 
around found her track and alongside of it was Waite's. 
He had hit the old bear when she came down, but did 
not kill her, and so was following her over the mountain. 
"I started on a trot after him, but did not see him again 
until long after daylight next morning. The track led 
over the mountain there and down through the valley, 
then they went north and came pretty near to the Deer- 
field River, then back southeast again and over Bald 
Mountain. When I got to Bald Mountain it was light 
enough for me to see the track without the lantern. At 
three places along the road I saw where the bear had 
stopped and dug up moss to put in the wound Waite's axe 
had given her. She had bled pretty hard, and I thought 
I would come on to Waite and the bear every minute. I 
did not, though, and up over the mountain I went. Now 
the track led toward the village, and I knew Waite would 
have her anyway. Down the mountain went the track 
and at last followed the main road. Pretty soon I heard 
a rifle, and knew that somebody had shot at the bear. A 
quarter of a mile further I came upon Waite and another 
man. The bear was lying in the road stone dead. Waite 
had come up just in time to see the man shoot her. The 
man was soaking strips of wood for barrel staves in the 
brook beside the road, and had seen the bear ooming. He 
had run to his house and got his rifle and killed her within 
a few steps of where he was at work. She weighed 
39olbs., and I never saw a bigger one. 
"Waite said that the cubs had come down about an 
hour and a half after I started for the gun and he killed 
each one with one blow of the axe. The old bear got 
down before he could finish the second cub, and he had 
to fight her on the ground. His first blow took her in the 
neck and only made her mad. He aimed a second blow 
at her but she struck the axe and sent it off into the 
woods. Before he could find it again she had started ofl 
through the woods. He could hear her crashing through 
the bushes and followed her by the noise she made. He 
thought she would bleed to death before she got very 
far." 
"How far was it you followed that bear, Lon?" I asked. 
"Well, Ed, as near as we could figure it was twelve or 
fifteen miles, and the woods were awful thick, I can tell 
you. Waite had a harder time of it than I had, for he 
had to keep close enough to the bear to hear her crashing 
through the bushes and had to run some of the way. At 
other times the bear would stop and then he would keep 
perfectly still so she would not start until he got his wind. 
He didn't want to fight her again until it got light, for he 
knew he had made her ugly. 
"We gave the man that shot her the $15 bounty and 
took the bear to the village. Next day we brought in the 
yearling and two cubs and got our bounty and the money 
for the meat." 
He did not seem to think it was a bold, fearless thing 
to do to follow a wounded bear for twelve miles through 
the mountains on a dark night, or to kill another with an 
axe; but I do, and would rather have a rifle and daylight 
when I go hunting. 
After a trout supper Lon harnessed our horse for us. I 
gave him my fly-book and reel, and he said there was 
enough tackle to last him five years. 
His stories of bear hunts and gunning expeditions are 
as interesting as any I have ever heard, and the best part 
of it is I know they are true. E. S. Parmenter. 
TWO GREENHORNS AFLOAT. 
At Hathorn's camp in the Adirondacks, I made 
acquaintance, among several others who were stopping 
there, with a young man, a medical student, whose health 
had broken down, and who in consequence had, as he 
said, been banished here for the summer to live in the 
open air and rough it. He had been in the woods several 
weeks, had regained to all appearance his health, and 
looked strong and vigorous. In the way of amusement 
he had become tired of fishing and taken to paddling — 
an art which he sedulously cultivated. His medical 
knowledge had been of benefit to several guides round 
the lake, among others to old Sutton, and the latter had 
in return taken him on several expeditions deer floating, 
and inspired him with the fancy for paddling. He would 
spend hours on the lake by himself in the stern of his 
boat practicing, and in the lo ig summer evenings we 
could frequently hear his song from far out on the water 
— for like the Canadian voyageur, he loved to accompany 
his stroke "with the music of his voice." 
The Doctor and I soon became fast friends, for with 
diversity of taste in some respects, there was that natural 
affinity which attracts even different dispositions. 
One night while chatting round the camp-fire, we were 
discussing the requisites indispensable for a tramp in the 
woods away from hotels and stores. My ideas on that 
subject I have generally found to be more severe than the 
average, and I suppose I had stated them on this occasion, 
probably with the air of one who expected to find no 
sympathizers. What was my surprise when the Doctor 
went over my list, and brief though I thought it was, 
pronounced nearly one-half superfluous. His simple 
traveling kit would have done credit to an Indian. 
I have forgotten now the details, but I recollect he 
dispensed with plate, spoon, knife and fork, declaring he 
could find on any spruce tree a piece of bark which would 
answer for the first, and besides require no washing, 
as wherever he happened to stop he could procure a 
fresh strip, clean and sweet. His pocket-knife would 
supply the others out of any chance chip or branch. 
I felt myself outdone by the austerity of my new 
friend, acknowledged my inferiority and expressed pleas- 
ure at finding a man after my own heart, 
t The upshot was we entered into an alliance to make 
trips together, he showing me such places as he had vis- 
ited, but with which I was unacquainted, and I recipro- 
cating. 
Our first excursion was made to two ponds, the head- 
waters of Brown's.Tract Inlet. We started some time in 
the forenoon, intending to row straight down the lake, 
and after reaching the quiet water of the inlet, paddle 
leisurely along, trying any trout holes we might pass, 
and using no more diligence than was necessary to get 
to our destination by sundown. The distance up the 
stream to the carry is only about four miles, and from 
the carry to the ponds not over three-quarters of a mile, 
so that it was no very arduous undertaking. 
Of incidents on the way there were none that remain 
in my memory, except that at a point on the creek — I 
can see it now as I write, clear almost as if before me — ■ 
in a nook of the bank where a large tamarack tree hung 
its spreading branches over the water, so as to make a 
deep, cool shade, there was a dark pool. The Doctor 
silently paddled up to it, and indicated that there was a 
good place for a cast. It needed no such hint, however, 
for any one who had ever seen a trout hole before could 
see at a glance that here was one certain. I shall not at- 
tempt a description of what followed. Fish stories are 
proverbially suspicious. Let it suffice to say that we left 
that hole with enough trout [for our dinner and that it 
has retained a grateful place in my recollection to this 
day. Other places we found also, and by the time we 
reached the carry we had enough for our meal and some 
to spare. 
At the carry we landed, made a fire, cooked our fish in 
the frying pan, warmed some coffee, and with the bread 
we had brought made a hearty meal, the Doctor's substi- 
tute for plate, knife and fork being adopted and ap- 
proved. 
After a long rest we started for the ponds. Instead of 
crossing the carry, which at this point leaves the inlet 
and runs over to Eighth Lake, we followed up the stream, 
which now becomes narrow, shallow and rocky. We 
soon found it impracticable to paddle, and had to get out 
and wade, one in front pulling and the other behind 
shoving the boat. The stream was so overgrown with 
alder and other bushes, it was difficult work to force our 
way through, and though the distance, as I have men- 
tioned, was only about three-quarters of a mile, it 
appeared to us a good deal more. Finally we reached the 
clear sandy bar at the head of the creek and saw the pond 
open in front of us. Compared with the gloom under the 
bushes, it was bright and cheerful; and we felt like men 
emerging from the darkness of a forest into a clearing 
where the light of day prevails. 
The pond is of small extent, with an island in the mid- 
dle formed of a steep, stern-looking mass of granite. On 
every side surrounded by the primeval woods, it lay there 
Bilent, serene and solitary, seemingly never profaned by 
the presence of man. We rowed around feeling like 
intruders in a sylvan sanctuary. The shores were low and 
damp, and I could see no place dry enough to build a 
camp. The Doctor, however, knew the spot, and Bhooting 
the boat ashore pointed out a lightly trodden path, which 
he said led over to the adjoining pond. Pursuing this a 
short distance we reached the dilapidated remains of a 
rude bark shelter, which he told me Sutton and he had 
built on a previous visit. Our first work was to renovate 
this shelter, which was easily accomplished, and then to 
cut some wood for our night's fire. This done, we shoul- 
dered the boat and followed the path. Between the ponds 
there was a steep ascent, and when we had surmounted it 
we could see the water lying in a longish narrow basin, 
with a sandy beach at one end and under us a steep bluff. 
We carried the boat down to the edge, and launching her 
took a cautious turn round the shores, the Doctor noting 
all the more prominent features, for he now disclosed to 
me that this was a great resort for deer, and as the night 
would be dark he proposed floating. I had noticed his 
gun in the boat when we left Hathorn's, but attributed no 
special significance to it. Though I had no particular 
fancy for this sport I had to assent, and when we returned 
he got some birch bark and constructed a lantern such as 
he had seen Sutton use on similar occasions, put a piece 
of tallow candle ;in it, fixed it on a stick in the prow of 
the skiff, and having satisfied himself it was all right we 
left for our camp to get supper and make ready for the 
night. 
The preparation and consumption of our meal was an 
affair that did not require much time, and when we had 
finished and smoked our pipes it was still too early to 
make a start. With such important business on our 
minds, waiting became tedious. To take a nap under the 
circumstances was out of the question. Our impatience 
soon drove us to make a move. Extinguishing our fire 
and fixing the wood so as to be ready at hand to build a 
new one when we came back — we left. 
Away from the smoke we had noticed that the mos- 
quitoes were rather thick; and as the darkness came on 
they seemed to get worse. The Doctor had brought in 
his pocket a phial with some kind of lotion for anointing 
the face and hands, whose virtues he commended. I 
tried it and found at any rate temporary benefit. On 
reaching the lake we stopped at the top of the bluff to 
reconnoiter. It was still too light, and we had to remain 
concealed among the bushes for a while longer. Here 
the mosquitoes seemed to be more numerous than before, 
and in spite of our lotion gave us a great deal of annoy- 
ance. Without them to pester us, I Avould have enjoyed 
such a situation. There were several elements that com- 
mended themselves to my taste. The night was, as I have 
said, quiet and clear, we were alone in a forest miles dis- 
tant from any human habitation, perhans from any 
human being; the deep silence that reigned was broken 
only by an occasional ripple of the water on the beach 
below us, or the light splash of some diminutive fish and 
rustle of insects in the leaves. It was so quiet, we feared 
even to whisper to each other, lest perhaps the keen- 
eared deer we hoped were down at the bottom of the 
pond, might hear and take alarm. So we sat down in 
silence, lit our pipes and waited. 
At last when the darkness had settled down so com- 
pletely that we could scarcely discern anything beyond 
arm's length, the Doctor got up, and motioning me to 
follow led the way to the boat. The candle in the lantern 
was lit, I took my seat in the front, my faoe directed to 
the prow, with my limbs cramped up in a position which, 
at the time, I thought endurable enough, but which later 
I found otherwise, and with gun in hand I was ready for 
the fray. The Docter shoved the boat gently off the 
sand, leaped into the stern and I could soon perceive the 
influence of his paddle in her motions. 
The art of paddling lies in propelling the boat without • 
taking the paddle out of the water and so quietly that no 
noise, not even of a ripple, is perceptible to the ear. The 
Doctor had practiced sedulously and appeared to have 
acquired considerable proficiency. I felt the motion of 
the boat, but it was so dark I could not make out the 
direction in which he was steering, and how he managed 
not to get lost I do not know. Doubtless he had taken 
a direction on starting and continued it as near as possi- 
ble until some object was encountered that could be an 
indication. The first I perceived was the rubbing against 
some reeds in the darkness, caused, no doubt, by the 
trees on the shore, which we had approached. Backing 
out from among the reeds a little, the boat now appeared 
to change her course and to creep parallel to the shore 
for a while. By and by she ran in again among the 
reeds and some lilypads, and began to back and fill, as 
if trying to work closer shoreward. I began now to 
strain my eyes and peered eagerly into the darkness 
while I listened intently to catch any sounds. 
This continued a long time — how long I could not guess, 
and did not try — but the impression of length was very 
decided and was not lessened by the irksomeness of my 
cramped position, which began to be unbearable. The 
mosquitoes also were peppering me badly. After some 
time I thought I detected the sound as of something mov- 
ing among the brush on shore — the crackling of branches 
and by and by the impatient Btamp of a hoof. The boat 
was now evidently being urged closer in, and I felt the 
moment of action had arrived, and that there really was 
something alive in front of us. I did my best to peer 
into the gloom. The sounds increased in distinctness and 
nearness. The Doctor gave the boat a slight jerk, I sup- 
posed as a hint either that he saw something, or to stimu- 
late me to look. But all in vain. I could make out noth- 
ing, and if he did, he could not dare to speak. How long 
this lasted I know not — it seemed almost a year to me — 
when suddenly there was a start, and an excited snort, 
followed by a crash of snapping bushes as of some scared 
animal in rapid retreat. It was doubtless the deer, and it 
or they were off. The Doctor uttered a sigh of disappoint- 
ment, listened a while, and then said aloud: "It's all up. 
They are gone. Didn't you see them?" I had to acknowl- 
edge that I had not, and — neither had he. 
There was no occasion to tarry longer. We paddled' 
slowly back to the beach, disappointed and disgusted. 
This was my first experience at floating, and whether 
our failure was to be attributed to my want of knowledge 
or not, I cannot say. The Doctor himself had been rowed 
up to deer by Sutton, and had shot at least one; but to 
my knowledge had never before paddled anybody up to 
one himself. We were both greenhorns at the business, 
and as is usually the result, in such cases, had only our 
labor for our pains. 
We returned to our shelter, kindled our fire, took some 
