202 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 8, 1894. 
A WISCONSIN HERONRY. 
Augusta, "Wis.— "Bald eagles? of course they're bald 
eagles. Don't you suppose I know a bald eagle when I see 
one? Haven't I seen 'em flying that way by the hundreds?" 
Thus replied a long, lank, weather-beaten specimen of 
humanity to our question regarding certain rumors of a 
roost of birds dimly located among the pines anywhere 
from fifteen to twenty-five miles northeast of Augusta, 
Wis. Our informant was one of those queer characters 
who appear periodically upon the streets of any Western 
village in the timber districts, a perfect Leather-Stocking 
i n inclination, but lacking somewhat his moral qualities, 
ready to eke out an existence by picking blue or black- 
berries in season or shooting deer out of season; usually 
well posted on any of nature's products which might con- 
tribute to his maintenance, but rather too apt to jump at 
conclusions on other questions. 
While, personally, we had seen no bald eagles, it had 
been our luck to occasionally bag or stir up fine specimens 
of blue herons, and we noticed that those which escaped 
our guns invariably took a direct N.E. course from here. 
Others started up at various distances, took a course so as 
to land in the same locality, and in time we had a series 
of lines of flight all centering in one general locality like 
the spokes of a wheel, the hub, we figured, being some- 
where between the North and South forks of the Eau 
Claire River some twenty miles away. It was natural 
then that we sought information from hunters and others, 
but the story of a great number of bald eagles pouring 
daily into the forks of the Eau Claire River called forth 
certain suppressed smiles and these in turn called out the 
remarks at the head of this article. Nevertheless, on July 
5, a party of three, a doctor, a professor and the writer 
started out with team and full camping outfit to solve the 
question. Our route after leaving the farming district 
beyond Coon's Fork lay along the old ' 'tote road" toward 
Wilson's Camp as far as Horse Creek, eleven miles 
distant, where we turned down the bank to the left, follow- 
ing the trail a mile until the south branch of the river 
was reached, which we forded without difficulty. From 
this point we followed an old winter road, long in disuse, 
which led in a northeasterly direction to Hamilton's Falls 
on the North Fork, six miles away. These roads through 
old pine choppings are hard and smooth in winter when 
covered by well packed snow, but in summer they are 
deserted and grown up with brush. The creeks and 
waterways have their temporary log and brush bridges 
washed out by the spring freshets, necessitating a sharp 
plunge of team and wagon down the steep bank on one 
side and a lift at the wheel on the other. To add to the 
vexation sundry dead trees are blown across the track, 
which have to be cut out with axe and moved to one side 
with heavy levers. In crossing a hardwood ridge we 
were delayed two hours by a windfall of large hardwood 
trees which are easily uprooted by the winds as soon as 
the protecting pine is cut away from about them. This 
meant two hours of the hardest kind of chopping and 
lifting, during which the mosquitoes, buffalo and deer 
flies made life miserable for man and beast. Clearing 
this obstruction in a heavy shower, we gradually de- 
scended toward the North Fork, jumping a log now and 
then with all hands at the wheels, until we came within 
hearing of Hamilton's Falls. Within eighty rods of this 
is Devine's Camp, once one of the best equipped lumber 
camps on the river, but having served its purpose during 
the period of denuding the country of its pine forests, now 
lies deserted, the ground about being covered with imple- 
ments, water carts, wire from baled hay and huge mar- 
row bones from the numerous beef quarters consumed by 
the small army of men formerly employed here. 
On the way over we had noticed a scattering flight of 
herons centering still further up the forks, and from the 
hardwood ridge we could discern now and then a number 
coming and going from the North Fork and its branches. 
The two lines apparently met over a half section of tall 
pine timber about two miles a little to the south of east of 
our camp, but as it was now dusk and showery we prepared 
supper and turned in for the night. 
Four o'clock next morning found us up, breakfast 
cooked, and ready for the voyage of discovery, and voyage 
it proved to be, with mud at times ankle deep, and every 
leaf supporting great drops of water, drenching us to the 
skin in a few momenls. 
Instead of keeping around to the right, where the 
herons seemed to fly, we made a short cut through the 
great pines whose tops towered fully a hundred feet above 
uur heads, with but little underbrush beneath. As we 
rested among these grand columns no wonder we all 
echoed the Doctor's sentiment when he remarked, "If I 
were a squirrel this is just the place I would live, and I 
would like to stay here a month, anyway." 
Gradually working our way toward the south edge of 
the pines, all at once a harsh, grunting, croaking sound 
greeted our ears and we stopped to listen. Then a louder 
combination still nearer, another off to the left, then half 
a dozen, which from a distance seemed not unlike a great 
many hogs fighting, grunting and squealing, confirmed 
our surmise that the roost was at hand. 
We soon discovered that every pine for a distance of per- 
haps two acres contained a large stick nest, not flat aud 
spread out like the nests in the cypress trees in Florida, 
but a huge round affair, large and deep on the outside as 
a bushel basket, not on the flat surface of spreading 
branches, but right in the very top where the tree sepa- 
rates into many parts. In one case where a tree formed 
into two great forks 30ft. from the ground, the top of 
each contained a nest, while a third nest was placed lower 
down on a side shoot; this tree, together with one other 
which spread ou t into a broad, flat top, were the only ones 
containing three nests, although quite a number had two. 
There were usually three young to a nest, and they stood 
upright on the nest or on branches level with it near by, 
and upon the arrival of the parent would all scramble 
into the nest, setting up meanwhile a great squawking, 
grunting sound, in a volume hardly to be expected from 
three birds. 
The old bird usually alighted on the smaller branches 
near the nest, proceeding immediately to it, thrusting her 
bill well into the outstretched throat of the nearest, the 
heads and necks of both birds weaving back and forth 
during the process, the other two keeping up an infernal 
squalling all the while. As soon as the bill was withdrawn 
another bird was served in the same manner, while the 
third made a vain effort to get his bill down the throat of 
the one just fed, which would indicate that such thefts 
might be successfully made. 
The old birds were constantly coming aud going and 
therefore the combinations of noises were almost con- 
stant from one part or other of the heronry, the noise 
coming only from nests where birds were being fed. In 
the tree with three nests the birds in the nest being fed 
made the usual outcry but those in the remaining nests, 
not ten feet away, paid no attention to it. 
The young were nearly full fledged and about ready to 
leave the nests, and when standing upon the branches 
were hardly distinguishable from the old birds except by 
close examination of the feathers of the breast which did 
not have the dashes of as deep black as the old birds. 
We attempted to secure a set of young to mount for 
the local High School Museum, but when shot they invar- 
iably fluttered and scrambled about, finally landing on the 
nest. 
From the old birds we selected fourteen of the hand- 
somest, taking only one from a tree, for mounting purposes. 
These with our guns proved a tremendous load on the 
two miles through the brush, swamp and over logs to 
camp. 
Rolling each bird in squares of cheese cloth and the 
whole in blankets we made ready for the return trip. 
The trip out was an easy one compared to our ride in, 
and only one incident is worthy of record. When half 
way out we heard a hearty "Hello, boys, what d'ye get?" 
"Only a few of those bald eagles you were telling about." 
"Let's see 'em." He approached, and lifting a flap of the 
blanket exposing a bunch of long, slender toes. Lifting a 
little higher, his eye followed up a long vista of legs. 
"Let's see the other end." Peering in there a mass of long 
yellow bills met his gaze. Lifting a little higher, his eye 
followed up a long vista of necks. "Say, boys" (changing 
the subject), "did you get any deer?" "Didn't see a deer." 
"Well, if you went to Devine's Camp you passed within 
ten rods of my best salt lick." Framc S. Daggett. 
Habits of the Rail. 
Sweet Springs, W. Va., Aug. 27. — I have many times 
seen and heard it stated that sora leave a region immedi- 
ately upon the advent of the first frost. I have' recently 
been told by two separate parties, voluntarily, that they 
killed sora here last fall after heavy frosts. One said he 
caught two in a trapset for mink and muskrat, and I killed 
them last fall after the early frosts. Can you offer any 
explanation of this circumstance? C. R. C. 
[The popular notion about the disappearance of the rail 
with the first frosts is erroneous. Probably the greater 
part of the sora do go about the time of the first frosts, 
but we have seen them in Connecticut in November, after 
real hard frosts, and the few birds then killed are large 
and fat.] 
Turkey Buzzards in New York. 
New York, Sept. 1. — While swimming in the Hudson 
River last Saturday at the foot of the Palisades opposite 
Croton Point, a solitary turkey buzzard came circling 
down the wooded shore, and seeing me, sailed out to in- 
vestigate. I turned on my back and watched him as he 
came within about 40yds. and made a turn directly over- 
head. Satisfied that I was not to furnish him a meal he 
glided in shore again and continued his course down the 
the river, following high water mark and scanning the 
drift with his keen eyes for whatever dainties might es- 
cape his equally keen nose. He had lost feathers out of 
both wings, and looked the outcast and wanderer that he 
was. J. B. B. 
[Comn-pnting on our note in last issue, the Evening 
Pout sa^ - that turkey buzzards are annual visitors at 
TJnionvilld, Orange county, N. Y.] 
St. Augustine Song Birds. 
St. Augustine, Aug. 27.— Our Common Council passed 
a local bill for the protection of song birds, but of course 
it is useless. We've had one for years. Such laws "don't 
go" here. Didymus. 
dtt[e 33<tt] m\A §un. 
BEAVER TRAPPING WITH PENOBSCOT 
JOHN * 
BY THOMAS CHESTER. 
When a young man about twenty years of age I trapped 
one fall at Twin Ponds, on a branch of the Penobscot 
River, with an old Indian of the Penobscot tribe named 
John. He was nearly full-blooded and about 65 years old, 
of medium height, spare build and very straight. He was 
strong and rugged for his age, his limbs were supple, and 
he retained that light, cat-like tread peculiar to the race 
and which so few white men acquire. His habits were 
good. He was temperate in all ways save smoking and 
eating, kind and considerate; so a very good Indian, as 
most of them are when left as nature reared them, un- 
affected by the evils which follow in the wake of civiliza- 
tion, which are nearly all that reach him in his contact 
with the whites. John said to me: "What you think, 
s'posin' you me go up Two (Twin) Ponds by by and trap- 
pm' some? S'posin' we catchem some beaver, some otter, 
some musquash, maybe somethin' else? Maybe we do 
purty well, don't know, maybe so." 
" I told him I did not care, guessed we would, and asked 
him how we would trap together — how divide up the fur. 
He thought a moment, and then said; "Um, got no 
money, s'pose you got some?" 
"Yes, a little." 
"Well, s'pose you get something to eat for two, you and 
me; then you taken my canoe up and traps, maybe 
twenty-five, s'posin' you taken up twenty-five the same. 
Then we divide fur two parts, and maybe me show you 
how to catch ole cunning beaver. S'pose you catch some, 
maybe not ole, cunning fellow. Sartin he cunning ole 
rascal, me know him purty well." 
This seemed to me to be a very good offer. I knew old 
John to be an excellent trapper, having followed the occu- 
pation all his life, and thought his experience and instruc- 
tions would be a benefit to me, for I was then a very 
indifferent trapper, especially of beaver. So I told him 
"all right, I would go," and asked him when he would 
start. He said: "Purty soon, maybe three or four days; 
no catchem much here." 
Twin ponds were part of the headwaters of a large 
*See paper by same writer on beaver habits in last issue. 
stream which emptied into the main river from the west, 
about three miles below my camp. From the mouth of 
the stream up to the ponds was about four miles. An old 
tote road, which was formerly made and used by lumber- 
men in getting out pine timber, followed up the stream to 
the headwaters. The ponds themselves were each about 
a mile long and half a mile wide. A thoroughfare or 
dead wat r reach of about half a mile long connected 
them, and the main inlet, which empties into the upper 
one, is slack water, up, for a mile, and bordered on each 
side by low, marshy lands, conditions favorable for trap- 
ping all water game. Within a radius of three or four 
miles from these waters are several other small ponds, and 
the whole surrounding region is wild and well wooded. 
This section of country was well known to us both, 
though neither of us had been there for about two years. 
Following the thoroughfare between the two ponds we 
came to a small rise of land. Here a good camp site was 
found, about eight or ten rods from the shore. The land 
was high enough, and dry, with plenty of spruce and fir 
for building purposes, and enough hard wood for fire. A 
small spring of cold, clear water trickled down from the 
side of the little hill, and was well shaded on all sides by 
the coniferous trees. 
We chopped down trees eight or ten inches in diameter 
and cnt them up into sections for the walls of the camp. 
We needed a room about twelve feet square, so cut the 
logs fourteen feet long; this would give length sufficient 
to interlock them over and under each other, at the 
corners, making the walls firmer and stronger. We 
logged the sides up about six feet, then we put on four 
pairs of rafters. Across these, on the outer side, we placed 
ribs a foot a part, then for covering over all we thatched 
sheets of white birch bark, making a roof proof against 
rain and snow, and fair to look upon. The gable ends we 
sealed up with long shingles or "splits," worked out of 
straight-grained cedar found back in a swamp. For a 
floor we cut down fir trees and hewed them down to plank 
three inches thick, smoothed and matched their edges as 
well as we could. Then placed some sleepers on the 
ground within the camp and placed the plank on them, 
making a very fair floor. Next we made two narrow 
bunks in the rear end of the camp, one for old John and 
one for myself. Then we built a stone fire-place and 
chimney up against the interior of the front wall. For 
plaster we used blue clay and sand, thoroughly mixed and 
thinned down with water This makes a much harder 
and more durable cement than can be made with lime. 
We chinked with moss the crevices between the logs, and 
fitted in an old window sash with six lights of 7x9 glass, 
which I had taken from my camp on the river. Then 
we fitted in a small door in the west wall, picked fir 
boughs and placed them in the bunks about a foot deep, 
making a soft and delightfully aromatic bed 
And so, after about a week of hard work, we got our 
camp done and everything moved into it; and congratu- 
lated ourselves much on having such good quarters. Old 
John standing in the room and looking it over, with a 
satisfied look on his face, said, "me like 'em very well; 
me sleepim much here." But as I shall show further on, 
his last expression was for a time not to be fulfilled. 
The next day after we got all fixed up at camp, old 
John proposed that we should go up to the second pond 
and look for some beaver; it was rather early in the sea- 
son to trap them, but we wanted one to eat. So we paddled 
up through the thoroughfare to the foot of the the pond 
and skirted its north shore up, about a quarter of a mile; 
here we came to an old beaver house newly repaired, and 
evidently occupied. Here old John began a close scrutiny 
of the signs— peelt d sticks lying along the shore, teeth 
marks in the wood, clippings of the twigs along the mar- 
gin of the water, and tracks made in the mud. From 
these observations he concluded that the house was 
tenanted, by only one beaver, and that one very large and 
very old ; and by further inspection of the tracks, that it 
had lost one forward foot. 
After these discoveries, old John looked somewhat 
troubled, and spoke, partly to himself, in a sort of under- 
tone, "Sartin', he very big, cunning ole beaver. Losem 
one foot in trap some time. That makem scare much. 
Me try catchem purty hard. Maybe cheatem by and by," 
It was evident from the tenor of this monologue that he 
felt that he had found his match, or something very near 
it, and would have to put forth his best efforts to achieve 
success. Here were the representatives of two long lines 
of ancestors pitted against each other. The Indian 
anxious to catch the beaver. The beaver wary, alert and 
watchful to avoid and to detect all danger; both well 
fitted by nature to prolong existence, both having their 
faculties sharpened and quickened by necessities by a long 
life and experience. But the Indian stoically accepted 
the situation. And so did the beaver. 
After reconnoitering to our satisfaction, we went back 
to camp, cut some firewood, caught some good sized trout 
in the thoroughfare a little below the landing, cooked 
and ate dinner, and talked over plans. It was about the 
first of October, rather too early to i catch anything but 
muskrat; so we agreed that for two weeks or so John 
should work on the beaver and catch what musquosh he 
could; and I should cruise over the country, look up all 
the ponds, blaze all necessary fines and make some esti- 
mate of the quantity and kinds of game in the region. 
Along about the middle of the afternoon we put some 
traps in the t canoe and went up to the beaver works to 
look up a chance to set them. We found two paths, or 
trails, leading from the water up, back a few rods, on to 
the land, where the old beaver had recently been -work- 
ing. On one of them it had cut some poplars only the 
night before. Here, at the mouths of these trails, in the 
water, old John set the traps, while I managed the canoe. 
We did not go ashore as we had all necessary things 
aboard with us for fixing the traps. The conditions 
seemed very favorable; the water was the right depth; 
the bottom was soft, making it easy to cover the traps; 
old John worked with care and circumspection, and I 
confess that I considered the chances of getting the beaver 
that night very favorable. John did not appear to feel so 
hopeful. 
After fixing the traps as well as we could we wentbaok 
to camp, took about twenty more traps and set them 
about the shores of the lower pond for muskrats. Early 
the next morning we started out on our respective labors, 
John tending the beaver and mukrat traps and I going 
out to a pond about two and a half miles away and flay- 
ing a line over the route. I spent the day cruising about 
and exploring around the pond till the lengthening shad 
ows of the trees on its banks warned me that it was tM»e 
