May 18, 1895.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
887 
VIEWS AFOOT. 
To get a perfect idea of the country in detail don't 
rely on the railway, the traveling carriage or the wheel, 
but place your dependence on the legs nature gave you. 
Of course, the great army of wheelmen who traverse the 
length and breadth of the land every season will protest 
against the above advice, but I fail to see how any one 
mounted on a bicycle, flying across the country with his 
eyes glued to the track ahead, watching for inequalities 
and dodging obstacles, can derive any benefit from the 
scenery that stretches away in varied beauty on everv 
side. In driving also, one must watch the horses and 
care for them, and the anxiety devoted to the animals 
detracts largely from the pleasure of the trip; but when 
one walks he sees it all, the smallest item does not escape 
him, he lounges, rests, sees and hears the birds, travels 
slow or fast as his feelings dictate, lunches by the way- 
side spring, chats with the people, and when the day's 
tramp is done finds his mind and note book stored with 
fascinating data. 
Last October, when the leaves were all russet and gold, 
waiting for the sharper breath of November to bring them 
down, I had a long talk with my 12 year-old son as to the 
feasibility of a 50-mile walk. I was a little fearful that 
he might not be able to do the trip safely, but of course he 
thought different, and when he figured that two days out 
of school would follow he was positive that such a trip 
would be just the thing for him. So we laid out our 
route. We were to leave Dansville Friday morning, walk 
to Bert Miller's hotel, on Hemlock Lake, eighteen miles 
away, stay all night; walk to Livonia station, nine miles, 
Saturday morning, get dinner; walk to Green's hotel, on 
Conesus Lake, seven miles, stay over Sunday, and walk 
home Monday, fourteen miles. 
Our preparations were simple. A couple of school bags 
from the store were stored with an extra pair of rubber 
soled shoes, night shirt, stockings, tooth brush and brush 
and comb. A tin box that just fitted in my side coat 
pocket was filled with sandwiches to beguile the interval, 
between home and Bert Miller's. I wore my corduroys and 
broad easy shoes, with an old felt hat that had seen service 
on many a trout stream — on my head. I also carried a 
cane and (I blush to say it) a revolver. The lad wore his 
every-day knickerbockers, and with our "ditty bags" over 
our shoulders we bade good-by to the mother and sister 
at 8 A. M. and started away happy as a couple of school- 
boys off for a vacation. 
The weather had a sort of Friday unlucky look as we 
climbed the dugway road at the east of the town. In fact 
it threatened rain, but little we cared as we trudged along 
whistling and singing, taking in the beautiful view of the 
valley of the Genesee as it trended away to the north. At 
the Lackawanna Railway crossing we stopped to watch a 
train go by and pitied the poor deluded passengers gazing 
out of the windows, wondering if they really thought 
they were seeing the country. The rain held off nobly 
and the roads were fine as heart could wish. The coun- 
try seemed very beautiful to us, clad in the somber stub- 
ble of October. Everything in the way of farm work was 
done except late potato digging and the farmer boys were 
throwing them out merrily as we passed along. Round- 
ing the shoulder of each hill we were thoroughly in the 
country, farms and woodland on every side stretched 
away in pleasing variety, and after our long confinement 
in store and schoolhouse we seemed walking through 
fairyland. Crossing a little trout brook that I have 
whipped for thirty years, we stopped and I showed the 
boy the holes that had yielded tribute to my line in the 
past, and then pointed out the strip of woodland where 
once my friend W. of Salt Lake and I had chased an elu- 
sive flock of pigeons more than twenty-five years ago. 
Six miles on our way we entered Poke-o-moonshine gorge, 
and what a lovely place it seemed, with its towering steeps 
clothed in the reds and ambers of the season. How 
green the ferns were and the partridge berries how 
red, but the rain still threatened and we hurried 
on. and soon the beautiful valley of Springwater lay 
spread out before us like a map. To my questions the boy 
stoutly held to the fact that he wasn't tired, and when we 
walked into Springwater village, ten miles on our way, he 
still averred that he was fresh as a daisy, and invested in 
chewing gum with all the nonchalance of an old traveler. 
It was now noon and eight good miles to traverse before 
reaching Bert Miller's hotel, half-way down Hemlock 
Lake, so we hurried on and left the town behind us. And 
now the rain began coming gently down, but was so warm 
and meager that we minded it not a bit, and keenly rel- 
ished our sandwiches taken with copious drafts of water 
beside a roadside stream. 
Sighting the lake put fresh vigor in our legs, and as we 
took our way down the beautiful road skirting its eastern 
shore our eyes took in the familiar scenes that we had 
marked so well during our summer stay and we seemed 
to be among old friends again. The boy would go down 
to all the docks and peer in the cottage and boathouse 
windows, recognizing this boat and that barn and the 
other cottage; take a sip from some well-remembered 
spring or point out proudly where he had swam between 
two given points last August to the amazement and ieal- 
ousy of the other fellows. At Bailey's barn we sat on an 
old familiar stump and rested, scaring up a trio of grouse 
that had come down the mountain for a quiet pick among- 
the scattered seeds before the big rolling door. Still the 
rain came down softly and steadily, and we were clad 
when the barns and boathouses of Miller's appeared 
around a turn in the road. Heaity was our welcome and 
plenteous the feast prepared tor us, and although we had 
walked but 18 miles, that is enough to try the muscles of 
untrained pedestrians, and we were early to bed. 
But joy awaited us in the morning, for on awakening 
we found the rain had ceased and the bright sun was 
flooding the lake with beauty. We found ourselves a 
little stiff and sore, but Mrs. Miller's good breakfast was a 
panacea for our joints, and at 8 o'clock we were on the 
road again. Bert remarked as we wore leaving that "per- 
haps this walking business was a little more stylish; he 
didn t know, living as he did out in the country, but styl- 
ish or no stylish, he should use a boss and wagon awhile 
yet. 
The shady road along the lake shore showed no traces 
of the ram, and was hard and smooth as macadam, and 
we soon covered the three and a half miles to the fort 
where we stopped for a little time to watch the dredge of 
the Rochester Water Works Company throw up sand 
from the bottom of the lake and deposit it on the shore, 
lhen we left the beautiful Hemlock behind us and struck 
out for Livonia station, passing through the classic streets. 
of Slab City on our way. Fine farms were all about us, 
and that peculiar evidence of prosperity for which the 
rural districts of Livingston county are noted was evident 
in comfortable houses and well-tilled barns along the 
road. Many a kindly invitation to jump in and ride was 
given us from passing vehicles, but we declined them all, 
telling the good-hearted driver that we were out for a 
stroll, to their unalloyed wonder. 
When within about three miles of Livonia the lad's 
ankle began to pain him, and the balance of the distance 
was made by easy stages and with many rests. Arriving 
there we got dinner, and through the ministrations of a 
doctor friend we soaked the lame foot in hot brine, and 
at 3 P.M. we were on the road again making for Green's 
hotel on Conesus Lake. The afternoon was perfect, and 
we dawdled along like a pairgof tramps, stopping now 
and then to make friends with some faithful collie who 
growled suspiciously at our outfit, or telling to some curi- 
ous granger the story of our trip. 
Conesus Lake looked very lovely under that bright 
October sun, its sloping basin tilted to the water's edge 
seemed so different from the steep, wooded shores of 
Hemlock that we had left in the morning. 
It was nearly sundown when Green's welcome hostelry 
showed around a bend in the road, with its long pier jut- 
ting out into the water, its rows of white and green boats 
bottom upward on the beach, and the deserted dancing 
pavilion looming up like "some banquet hall deserted." 
The season was over, but we were given a good room, 
where we soon put ourselves in shape for a hearty sup- 
per with the family in the kitchen. The next morning, 
Sunday, was a glorious one, with the lake like a mirror. 
After breakfast we took a boat and rowed across to the 
east side, where the big excursion steamer of the Trans- 
portation Company was hauled into a little cove for the 
winter. The boy had a good time, exploring the craft 
from top to bottom, and we really felt quite Crusoeish as 
we ransacked about reading the bills on the walls and 
peering into all the available cubby holes. Coming back 
we loafed about, enjoying every moment until dinner, 
after which we crossed the lake again with "Boots'' and 
found a lot of nice belated pears and grapes. The whole 
day was absolutely perfect, one of those rare autumnal 
treats that, coming as they do so seldom in one's life, 
leave an impression that lasts forever. 
Monday morning, what a change, .the wind was 
blowing sharply from the north and the water was 
dashing over the ricketty old pier as if to demolish 
it. We took a run out on the wabbly structure and 
were glad to get back to dry land without being blown 
off. The lad's ankle was all right again, so we started 
off merrily for the. home stretch. Mrs. Green gave us a 
supply of doughnuts and there was no immediate prospect 
of rain, so we walked along without a care, enjoying every 
step of the way and seeing new beauties at every turn. 
At Scottsburgh, six miles on our way, we drank pop and 
sat on the hotel Nerandab half an hour, watching some 
local craftsmen play ball. Then on again toward home. 
We began to know people we met now, and the farm- 
steads began to have a familiar look. We were entering 
the rim of the circle of which our home town was the cen- 
ter. Invitations to ride became more frequent. The 
Lackawanna tracks were crossed again andfar away to 
the south the straggling west end of the town could be 
seen. It seemed as though we had been gone weeks 
when we crossed the park and came to our own street at 
last. We were tired and hungry, but happy, when we 
greeted the mother and sister again, and to this day the 
story of our walk is listened to with wonder and respect. 
In taking an extended walking trip one wants to travel 
as lightly as possible; everything counts on a long tramp. 
Footgear must be perfect, shoes broad and easy, and 
stockings sound and plentiful. Wear easy clothes, not so 
old as to attract the attention of watch dogs or cause the 
suspicion of the honest farmer. Carry a good stout cane, 
but leave the revolver at home. Time your arrivals so as 
to be sure of a good bed and a square meal. 
So shall you travel as nature intended, and gain health, 
strength and knowledge by the outing. H. W. D. L. 
A PRIMITIVE DUCK HUNTER. 
When the kingdom of Mexico yielded to the Spanish 
arms there remained an extensive region in the green 
sierras of Michuacau still to be conquered. These sweep- 
ing, pine-covered ranges smiled then as now upon fair 
valleys cultivated by the sturdy Tarascos. Their capital 
city was Tzintzunzan, nestling just within the crescent 
horn of Lake Patzcuaro. It is now a miserable village, 
suddenly made famous again by the discovery, a few 
years ago, in its tumble-down parish church of a painting 
by a master band — presumably that of Titian. 
These Tarascan Indians have preserved their racial in- 
tegrity to a greater extent than perhaps any other native 
tribe in Mexico. They are still very numerous. One 
authority estimates them at 300,000. The beautif id Sierra 
de Michuacau is sown thick with their villages. They 
lead a primitive agricultural life, a large measure of their 
independence and persistence being without doubt due to 
their land holdings in fee simple. Many of them neither 
speak nor understand the Spanish language, but they are 
exceedingly pacific, and yield for the most part ready 
obedience to the laws of the country and to the severer 
exactions of the priests. 
Lake Patzcuaro is at the terminus of a branch of the 
Mexican National Railroad. It is at an elevation of over 
7,000ft,, and from this circumstance, as well as from the 
pine-covered hills which surround it, has a most perfect 
climate. Around its margin and over the rugged vol- 
canic islands which pierce its blue waters lie a multitude 
of Indian villages. Their inhabitants have been fisher- 
men and hunters from time immemorial. They have 
preserved their dress, utensils, language and social habits 
from of old and almost intact. I know of no other place 
•so conveniently accessible where one can get a breath of 
so absolutely prehistoric an atmosphere. 
The fishing is mostly by means of a dip-net at the end 
■of a long pole, somewhat on the pattern of a landing-net. 
Some of the well-to-do have drop nets. It is said that the 
fish will not take a lure of any kind, though I am inclined 
to think the matter has not been fairly tested. The one 
most commonly taken reaches a length of about a foot, 
and ia a capital table fish. I am not ichthyologist enough 
,to identify him, but his mouth looks to me to be made 
vfor predaceous feeding. He has the general outline of the 
j)ike. 1 can't help thinking, every time I look on the 
fresh, c&ear water of this lake, what a fine habitat it 
would be for black bass. If they are ever introduced, 
they will be in clover. 
But I was going to tell about the hunter. If the 
Forest and Stream artist will kindly work over the in- 
closed rough sketches, perhaps they will help to exhibit 
his outfit. The margins of the lake are in many places 
covered with wide stretches of tule, marsh grass and lily- 
pads, while whole acres of the water, even where it is 
quite deep, are filled with algae, etc. This makes an ideal 
winter home for duck, and many species of them mingle 
their sports and feasting upon the lake's cool waters. 
With them come great multitudes of that ubiquitous, 
awkward, noisy, useless pest, so familiar to the old hun- 
ter and such easy prey to the new hand, the mudhen or 
coot (rallus crepitans). 
Our hunter's weapon is a spear (Fig. 1). It has a rude, 
trident head, the three points not in the same plane, but 
forming a triangle. The tines are of iron, some 3in. long, 
and with a rude inside bark. The form seems to indicate 
that it was once made up of bone. The staff is of: the 
light cane common in this country and known as 
carrizo. It is some 8ft, long and not very straight. 
This spear is thrown with the hand alone, or by the aid 
of a thrower (Fig. 2). This thrower is a flat stick some 
2ft. long, having a handle at one end, with two holes for 
the insertion of the first and second fingers of the right 
hand. This gives better control of it and renders it less 
liable to slip from the grasp. At the smaller end it is 
beveled hollow to within about an inch of the point. This 
hollow terminates there in a little nib which fits into the 
hollow end of the cane. In throwing, the cane and 
thrower are held parallel, and the movement is a com- 
bined jerk and blow, the latter similar to that of a tennis 
racket. I tried to get it, but found that the nib held too 
persistently in the cane's point, and jerked the end of the 
spear out of line. This missile has quite a limited range. 
I suppose it might be thrown 40yds., though I did not see 
any cast that was more than 20 or 25. Its flight is so 
slow that a bird could easily dodge at the longer range. 
The canoe and paddle complete our Indian's rig. The 
paddle is an odd-looking affair, with an almost circular 
blade, and a round handle about 4ft. long. It is trimmed 
from a solid piece of pine and neatly finished. Why these 
Tmao w .2/9 r L oa/0 
=3 
Pa d olE 4-Tt. 
people have never discovered the advantage of an oblong 
blade I do not know. The sufficient reason for most 
things in Mexico is that they have always been thus. No 
man considers himself either better or wiser than his 
grandfather. The canoe is a flat-bottom dugout, made 
from the trunk of a pine tree. It may be anywhere from 
7 to 40ft. long, with a capacity of from one to thirty per- 
sons. Its usual outline is that shown in Fig. 4. There 
is a slight taper from bow to stern, suggested apparently 
by the slope of the tree trunk. But the bow is never 
wedge-shape, so as to cut the water. The flat bottom is 
carried right up to the tip of both stem and stern. An- 
other odd thing is that it is wider at the keel — if the 
word may be used — than at the gunwale. This is shown 
in the cross -section, Fig. 5. This peculiarity of form, to- 
gether with the fact that a liberal thickness of timber ia 
allowed for both sides and bottom, makes the little craft 
very stanch. She has none of the trickiness of the Cajun 
pirogue, so feelingly described by Messrs. Hough and 
Waters. But another result of it is much less desirable. 
When a wave slaps the side, it has every encouragement 
to slide up and pour into the lap of the voyager who sits 
flat in the boat's bottom. Though both canoe and paddle 
are clumsy, constant practice makes the boatmen skill- 
ful, and they are absolutely tireless. When two or more 
paddle the same canoe, they usually sit both on the same 
side. But even thus they keep a remarkably steady 
course. 
Our hunter has a patent grass coat too (only it is not 
patented), but he does not use it for a blind. It is his rain 
coat, and a very effective one, too. So the Chicago peo- 
ple need not have gone all the way to Japan to get that 
little idea. 
The manner of the hunt is about as follows. Some fifty 
or more, all equipped as above, start out together to make 
a corrida. (Very few things a Mexican can do except by 
means of a coriida.) They inclose a corner of the lake, 
or surround a patch of tule. As they close in they slap 
the water with their paddles and ki-yi. Canvasback, 
sprigtail, widgeon and other aristocrats get up, fly high 
and depart. The shovelers fool around and hob their 
heads, and the teal make a break through the lines, under 
their usual delusion that tltey can make up for flying low 
by flying fast. Once in a long while a successful shot 
brings down one of these, or nails a lazy spoonbill who 
pretends his wife was not ready on time. There is great 
rejoicing when somebody gets one of these pico-anchos, 
for though nothing in the meat line comes amiss to these 
poor creatures, they know the difference between a decent 
duck and a mudhen as well as anybody. But the latter 
are the principal sufferers. With the howling and the 
slapping on all sides they get fuddled. They can neither 
fly nor swim nor dive. Sooner or later they are impaled 
on the long spear, and some Indian gleefully wrings their 
worthless necks. Even the grebes get chased under the 
water so often and so promptly that they bob up in the 
wrong place at last and meet a similar fate, 
The admiration of these simple-hearted children of 
nature for a gun and its work, their wild excitement over 
a cripple, and the abandon with which they race for the 
dead, is about as much diversion for the duck hunter as 
the shooting itself. For a few cents a day one of them 
will hire himself and his canoe, and paddle miles and 
miles in the utmost content. They are all afraid of the 
lake, however, and with good reason. Sudden gales 
sometimes sweep over it from the surrounding hills, and 
it is deep and treacherous. Usually, however, its face is 
unwrmkled, and the white walls and red tile roofs of dis- 
tant villages mingle in the blue waters with reflections of 
green fruit trees and barley fields, or with the deep pur- 
ple of pine- clad hills. Aztec, 
