262 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
April 6, 1895. 
AN ADDRESS TO THE AGED. 
The season is open at last. The day so long looked for- 
ward to is upon you. Don't you remember — aged and 
experienced sportsmen — how, when the old kitchen clock 
that you have placed at the head of your bed the night 
before announced 5 o'clock, loud enough to be heard half 
a mile, you sprang out of your warm bed, quickly donned 
your shooting outfit, took your well-oiled gun from the 
corner, whistled for your faithful dog and started off, 
you knew not whither. The old dog suddenly comes to 
a point, and with throbbing heart and trembling hands 
you await the rising of the birds that you know are be- 
fore you. With a rush and whirr the covey at last 
springs into view, and some how or other both barrels of 
your gun go off and only a few feathers drift away with 
the wind, to tell you that you were too hasty. You stand 
looking after the retreating covey, as if you could not 
believe that you had missed so large a mark, when it 
seemed but a moment before that you could not shoot 
into them without at least hitting half the birds. After 
tramping all day, you at last kill one or two lone grouse 
that sit on a limb and watch you while you shoot, and 
after having bought five or six from a more successful 
hunter, you go home at dark well satisfied and tell your 
father and mother or young wife about the good shots 
3 r ou have made that day. 
Do you not remember all these things? Oh, ye aged 
and experienced sportsmen! ye were not always old. 
There was a time when your pulse would beat twenty 
beats a minute, and your hand would tremble as you 
raised your gun or waited for the game to show itself. 
Don't you remember when, after tramping all day, and 
seeing only two or three birds, but bagging these by well 
directed and skillful shots, you raced through the under- 
brush and over fallen logs as though you feared the bird 
would come to lif e and be away before you could reach it? 
Oh! ye aged ones, were not those happy days? But 
now you can stand with a face as long as a ten acre lot 
and knock the birds right and left and never feel that 
thrill of yore. If this is true, and you don't long for the 
field once in a while, I have but one remark to make, 
that is, "You have no soul." J. T. J. 
UNCLE RUSTY AND OLD SILE. 
A Backwoods Correspondence. 
BY E. BERKELEY SMITH. 
OTTER POND. 
Here I be, settin' out afore the shanty. The sun's out 
warm and pleasant, but it ain't meltin' no snow — jest 
warmin' a feller and makin things seem kinder cosy like. 
Besides, it's Sunday mornin' and I don't tend no traps 
during the Sabbath, but ole Drive and me are takin' our 
comfort, so's to speak, arter the alfiredest hard week of 
tendin' I done in some time. Sapil is gettin' powerful 
scarce, and what does run into a feller's beech fall aint 
wuth skinnin'. 
The dog says I'm a fool; that in his idee they aint wuth 
the gittin'. He jest paws 'em over, and lookin' up kinder- 
disgusted like, says, " Aint that the meanest, pusilamin- 
ous batch of hides you ever see!" He's always at me to 
git up to the forks of the river, up back of whar you 
killed that dry doe two years ago. "Thar," says he, "is 
a huntin' ground. ' ' He told me he see where there's been 
sapil, and good ones too, along that leetle "brook jest at 
the bottom of that fust ridge. I dunno; maybe the ole 
cuss is right. I presume likely he's confident; he talks 
about it most all day. He's always complainin' that he 
feels he aint done right by me. That he'd "be daddinged 
if he aint done all he could. He never see no meaner 
time for trappin' nor meaner huntin' — seems though 
there warnt nothin 1 travellin' bigger 'n a field mouse." 
I swan, I never see nothin' that'd ekle it. I reckon we 
can't stand it here much longer; not that we haint had 
enough to eat, for I let down as nice a three year ole buck 
last week as ye ever see travel. The little cuss stood jest 
tother side of maple about forty rod from the pond. Thar 
he stood, cleanin'; a neater pair of horns you never see. 
Now and then some .twig'd crackle, and he'd rise his 
head, or some twig'd come tumblin' down through the 
bare branches and sink into the dry snow, or through the 
woods twenty rods off you could hear a chick-a-dee-dee- 
dee-dee that set yer heart a-thumpin' agin yer ribs, 
afraid the little cuss 'd hear ye before ye could shoot. 
Wall, when the gun cracked that deer jumped two rod 
an. I then stood still and trembled. I see the little feller 
was hit bad and couldn't travel, and 'fore I. could git to 
him he lay down and give up. I swan I never felt so 
mean at killin' no deer, as I done when I see the little 
feller a-layin' thar in the dry snow. He looked so pretty, 
standin' there agin' that maple in the light drift, and 
'twarn't as if it was an ole buck that had tried a feller's 
patience so's to speak. Wall, I dressed him out and slid 
him acrost to camp. Goll, warn't he splendid eatin'. 
Drive wanted I should save his head for ye, and I done so. 
I can't sleep at nights thinkin' about Christmas and the 
dance at Dewey's. Skinner's gals is goin', and Ed Par- 
tridge is a-goin' to fiddle. Does a feller good to git good 
licker and hear them good ole tunes like "Johnson Pond," 
an i " Pass the Butter," and "The Rovin' Sailor," and 
"Hull's Victory." I was wishin' you could have been 
thar last year. The dog and me started Christmas Eve 
and mogged it through to Clear Pond, and jest about 
come night we come out at Dewey's. Goll, you never see 
nothin' luk the crowd-that was thar — dogs and fellers in 
from the lumber shanty. Bimeby ole Hite come out, and 
Aunt Abby she 'vited us in and Ave had ven'son and hull 
chunks of mince pie, and some licker that warn't to be 
beat. Then we begun dancin and kept it right up till 
daylight, and then all hands started out to kill a fox — we 
done it too, and dont you forgit it. I took ole Drive and 
started him side the mountain, and Hike Eldridge killed 
it fore we'd been gone an hour. 
Talk about mushrats! You never been to Moose Island 
up Otter Creek, have ye? Rats? Oh! Oh! Oh! Goll, I 
guess they be. That's the breedin' place fur all the mush- 
rats in Hamilton County. Wall, one] day brother Bill 
and me took a notion to go off up thar and git some 
mushrat. Bill Wilkins, he'd borrowed all my rat trans 
what I had. and the troll durned cuss haint brought 'em 
back yet. But thar, I'm gittin' ahead of my story. Wal, 
I made up my mind I was goin' to git some rats, but I 
had only one number 2 Newhouse trap, so brother Bill 
and me went down the day before to investigate. Wall, 
sir, them varmints was thick, no use talkin'. There 
warn't a spot as big as yer hand along the edge of the 
hull island, there warn't a hole. We commenced plugging 
up all them rat holes 'cept one right on the aidge of the 
river bank, and that we kivered up all around with 
chunks of rotten wood, so jest one of them rats could git 
through at a time. Then me and brother Bill each cut 
u« a gad about ten foot long and went to swishin the 
river. When we come back to that hole we had plugged 
around with them rotten chunks we found it wore from 
the bigness of a six inch stovepipe to a half bushel meas- 
ure whar them mushrats had been clawin' in. Wall, sir. 
we plugged up that hole agin with some more rotten 
chunks, and I squeezed that number 2 "Newhouse" open 
and held the jaws clus to the hole, and then brother Bill 
he begun to dance over the hole. Goll, you'd oughter 
seen them rats come out; out 'd tumble one and I'd nip 
him in the trap and knock his head agin the aidge of the 
scow, and then pop 'd another one, and I'd be ready for 
'em, and all the time brother Bill he kept on dancin'. 
Wall sir, 'fore we finished we'd ketched seven hundred 
and eighty-two of the nicest, fattest mushrats you ever 
see. Brother Bill he said he'd gin a dollar to have had ye 
thar and see the fun. Wall, we had that ole scow loaded 
clean down to the water with mushrats. Bimeby we got 
down to them big rapids and the water begun to slop up 
about us some, and the ole scow begun to wibble wabble 
so's to speak, and my settin' pole slipped, and fore I 
knowed it I went kerslosh into the water, and out 
tumbled, brother Bill and all them rats and we had a 
danged hard time gittin' ashore, and don't you forgit it. 
Sile. 
■ NEAR SITKA. 
In almost every letter received by a "Johnny come 
lately" in Alaska, whether it be from the east, south or 
west, are condolences upon the dreadful climate, the pri- 
vations endured, and other hardships, winding up with 
the request to "tell me all about it," 
Here we are not in Desolation Land. The harbor is not 
filled with icebergs carrying sportive Polar bear, nor the 
streets with the wild Indian in Avar paint and blanket 
bordered with the scalp locks of adventurous globe trot- 
ters. In no part of the world can grander natural scenery 
be found than in Alaska, nor more easily reached. The 
Pacific Coast Steamship Co. brings one here as a prince 
Avould travel, and from the start the question is not how 
to kill time but how to portion it so as not to miss any- 
thing. Each change in the steamer's course brings some 
new beauty of the inland waters to view, until the mind 
is bewildered, and a sense of relief felt when the noon 
bulletin tells us we are due in Sitka the next day. Bright 
and early all are on deck, and soon after sighting the 
symmetrical cove of Mt. Edgecomb, Ave enter the island- 
locked Sitka Bay. The boom of a gun tells us Ave have 
been sighted by those so anxiously awaiting tidings from 
home, and soon Ave glide past the Indian village and are 
abreast the old Russian town. There are flags flying, 
streets are crowded, and all the population seems tending 
toAvard the wharf, where from the deck Ave can look down 
upon them, well dressed men and women are peering 
at us, hoping to see a familiar face; groups of neat-look- 
ing men in uniform, miners, Indians and all others a 
frontier town alone can contribute to make up a pictur- 
esque crowd. We hurry on shore for sight-seeing, passing 
long lines of squaws, surrounded by curios and furs, and 
soon come to and are shoAvn through the Russian church, 
and see the fine paintings, robes of gold and silver, and 
jewelled head dresses, contributed by the nobility of 
Russia. 
Such a variety of trips had been suggested when we 
reached Sitka that in discussing them we got muddled. 
Our first sport, hoAvever, was for the black bass, and pro- 
curing needle fish for bait, and fishing within quarter of 
a mile of the wharf, we caught in an hour oyer 
a hundred, averaging three pounds each. Next we tried 
brook trout on Indian River, and came back with 
dozens of the speckled beauties, which here ignore the 
fly and accept only the salmon roe. During this trip one 
of our party shot a king salmon, and wading into the 
rapids with gun in right hand caught the monster by the 
tail with his left, an indignity the fish protested against 
by one last flap which knocked his captor off his pins and 
into a deep hole, from wliich he was fished out by a smil- 
ing resident with the remark: "You have to be careful 
hoAV you ford the rivers here." 
Silver Bay, eight miles to the south, Avas next visited, 
and from the stream at its head we caught a great many 
large and beautiful cut-tbroat trout. Then came a trip 
to Kobleana Bay, eighteen miles to the north. Starting 
at daybreak a fine wind soon brought us abreast the 
site of old Sitka, where trolling lines Avere hauled in, 
and by the time we reached shore, the three eleven-pound 
salmon we had caught had breathed their last. Here 
some of the party tried some of the small streams for 
trout, and others searched among the scant ruins of the 
old Russian tower, which Avas burned by the Indians and 
its inhabitants massacred in 1802. The catch was small, 
and the find , an old Russian brass lock, so all went 
aboard and in an hour Ave reached our destination, Avhere 
four men in two hours caught nearly 300 pounds of salmon 
trout, many Aveighing four and five pounds. Mt. Ven- 
storia, 3,216 feet just back of Sitka, was next climbed, 
and from its peak, a v iew never to be forgotten, was 
spread before us. Sitka nestled amid its islands, the 
Pacific at last meeting a barrier, lashing the outlying 
reefs into a line of dazzling surf, Avhile to the East Ave 
Avere hemmed in by snow capped mountains. Indian, 
tradition has it that inland onBaranoff Island are geysers, 
and that the country is inhabited by a tribe of natives 
who are never seen. Many attempts have been made to 
cross the is land, only thirty miles wide, but Avithout suc- 
cess, and the mystery remains unsolved. 
Our hunting trip was organized for the- celebrated 
white grouse, but after a four hour climb over the sum- 
mit, of the mountain, crossing two lakes on the ice — in 
August— not a bird Avas seen, save an inquisitive blue jay, 
which was blown to pieces with fiendish delight. Another I 
trip was to the hot springs, eighteen miles from toAvn, 
and after a day's outing nothing can be more refreshing 
than their almost boiling waters whose virtues were made 
knoAvn to the Russians years ago. They cure everything, ' 
from a mosquito bite to "housemaid's knee." Mt. Edge- 
cumb, towering alone and majestic, demanded inspection, 
and a party wa« organized to explore and shoot; its 
island, Kruzob, is the Indian paradise for the Alaska 
grizzly bear and many a time they have opened the gates 
for the hunter to enter — ani deer are found in abund- 
ance. The legends hanging around the island are the 
talk of many a fireside. Little is known of its cruel and 
r-ocky coast to seaward, dense forests and surroundings 
of mountain and ravine, having up to the present time 
prevented a thorough exploration. 
On Sept. 13 a party of five whites, three natives and a 
dog, sailed from Sitka, on the sloop Loeta. At 4.30 p. m, we 
made landing for Avater, and then stood in for Crab fJay, 
where camp was pitched at 7 , and at 8.15 p. m. our first 
game was killed — a Avild goose. At 5 o'clock all were 
aroused, camp was broken and bedding sent off to sloop, 
Which started for the outside of the island while a hunt- 
ing party of six began their climb across it. In about 
four hours we were at the top of the foot hills and for 
miles folloAved the marshy plateau with its many pools , 
covered with thin ice. Here the party spread out, and 
the frequent bark of a rifle and dull report of a shot-gun 
announced the sport had begun — soon followed the hard 
Avork of the day; passing over the densely wooded hills, 
crossing the numerous ravines, many 60 feet deep, and 
only gotten over by following the Avell-worn deer and bear 
trails. One foot print of a bear measured eleven inches 
in length. About half past five in the evening the wel- 
come sound of breakers was heard, and we came out on 
the beach at Chelecoff Bay, near point Mary, a walk of 
twenty miles. 
Sron we were gladdened by the eight of our Sloop' 
rounding the Avestward point of the bay, and amused 
ourselves until her arrival by skirting the beach, which 
here is composed of fine volcanic sand coA r ered with tons 
of pumice stone. At last we saAv the skiff sheer off Avith 
our bedding and stand ready to run her up on the beach, 
which Avas safely done, and she started for a second load, , 
which was mostly provisions, and unfortunately lost i 
through her capsizing in the surf, owing to the darkness. 
The next morning, after a breakfast of venison chops, : 
hard tack and coffee, parties worked along the adjacent j 
hills, and at 9.15 p. m. were safely on board the sloop and 1 
under Avay for Katelena Bay. Before long Ave encoun- 1 
tered head wind and heavy sea, keeping all hands AA'atch* 
and watch. We passed Sea Lion rocks 3.30 a. m. and I 
headed for Virgin Straits, reefed sail and stood off shore 
until daylight, and after several exciting adA r entures came 
to anchor in Katelena Bay, where our last hunting svasi 
done. 
The next morning Ave were underway for Sitka, Avhioh] 
we reached at 9 p. m, with a total reward of twelve deer,.! 
one goose, six ducks, tAvo grouse and a good time in spile] 
of sunburn and dirt. Two Bits. 1 
WHERE GEESE ARE FEW. 
In a recent issue of Forest and Stream there Avas given 
an account of wild-goose shooting in Connecticut. Let] 
me give you a short account of that sport in New Hamp-j 
shire. The first incident occurred at Rye Beach. 
It Avas on a rainy, disagreeable day, late in the fall, 
Avhen the sportsman, who is the object of this sketch, 
had been doing a little sea-shooting early in 1he morning,] 
but had met with indifferent success, and, for a wonder, j 
really Avas glad to haul up his beloved boat and return 
home. Having attended to various duties, he Avalkedj 
along the beach to the other end of the town, a mile or j 
more distant. As it Avas theu raining fast, an umbrella*! 
was taken for greater comfort, and, contrary to usual j 
habit, the gun Avas left at home. 
Near the beach, separated from it only by a high bank] 
of stones, lies a large fresh water pond, nearly half a mile] 
in length. Having reached the top of the high banki 
Avhence he could overlook the entire surface of the pond," 
he carefully scanned the Avater. Suddenly a strange sight i 
greets him. At the opposite side of the pond, a fourth of 
a mile distant, calmly swimming from the seclusion of) 
one branch of rushes to the shelter of another, are two" 
beautiful Avild geese. Now a wild goose i«s a comparatively] 
rare bird in these parts, so imagine his feelings— two] 
geese close at hand and no gun 
Down go basket and umbrella. Avhich are left to their] 
fate. Rushing into the house, he hastily siezed gun and] 
shells, pausing only to. call to his fellow sportsman to 
"come on, there are geese in the pond." Tom followed 
closely after, and on reaching the edge^of the pond they 
separated. Will started off m the direction taken by the] 
geese, Avhile Tom went along the beach under shelter of] 
the bank, as the geese on rising A*--ere pretty sure to fly] 
toward the ocean, and therefore might afford him an op-| 
portunity for a shot. Meanwhile Will crawled, crept 
and squirmed through the alders and rushes, continuously] 
advancing until he was sure that he Avas within a short] 
distance of Avhere he had seen the game. Raising him-j 
self carefully up, he caught sight, through the rushes, of] 
two heads, held up perfectly motionless, but with bright! 
eyes intently Avatching him. They were barely twelve] 
yards "distant. Being a true sportsman, he, of course,] 
prefers to shoot all game on the Aving, so getting his gun | 
in position, he raises himself up a little to start the birds, | 
but to no use, they refuse to fly. At last, not really car-| 
ing to lose so good an opportunity for a roast goose din-| 
ner, bang goes one barrel of the old gun, while the gun. 
is still held to the shoulder to send the contents of the] 
other barrel after them as they rise. But they fail to do| 
so, and as no sign of them is to be seen, he goes forward] 
to inA r estigate. The cause of their quietness is very evi-1 
dent — there lay the two geese, each with a broken neck.'j 
The shot took effect in each case in nearly the same place. I 
Meanwhile Tom, in his hiding place, hearing the single] 
report, Avaits expectantly, but in vain, for either the sec-] 
ond report or some signs of the birds. Concluding that| 
the geese had already flown, he climbs the bank and looks 1 ] 
across the pond, where sat Will calmly Avaiting, evi-j 
dently for his appearance, for he at once beckons him to\ 
come over. 
When Avitiiin speakiug distance, Tom could retain his] 
