588 
lumberman's axe or have been destroyed, that the land 
might be opened up to cultivation. The amount of mois- 
ture wbich scientists tell us is evaporated annually from 
every tree is almost beyond comprehension, and in addi- 
tion the destruction of every tree submits the soil which 
had been protected by its shade and had yielded moisture 
by gradual evaporation to the direct rays of the sun. 
Does not the clearing of every acre of the original prai- 
rie, the draining of every swamp, and the cutting of every 
tree in the vast region of this country lying west of the 
water sheds of the State of New York, through which the 
earth is exposed to the direct rays of the sun, constitute a 
unit in the process of the destruction of the wa,ter supply 
of our streams? And if so, would not the planting of 
every tree constitute a unit of force in the opposite direc- 
tion? 
If there is any force in the above theory, and if it is • 
sustained by the facts, then it must necessarily follow that 
our mountain streams are largely doomed, and that the 
preservation of the treeB at or near their sources will but 
partially save them. 
If this is true, it is to be hoped that the Board of Fish- 
eries, Game and Forest in this State will check, so far as 
may lie in its power, the further cutting or destruction of 
the trees in the cleared lands and woods throughout the 
entire State, and use every effort in its power to foster a 
general spirit in favor of planting and preserving trees 
everywhere throughout the State. 
BLUEFISH, TROUT, SALMON. 
Boston, June 23. — Buzzard's Bay, on the southern coast 
of Massachusetts, is the destination just now of all the 
Boston men who love to go bluefishing. The first good 
run of the season has struck in these waters and everybody 
who can is out after them. Ninety fish were taken by 
one boat last Monday and many good scores have been 
made by others. The presence of bluefish in the bay has 
been so uncertain of late years that a run of this kind 
makes it somewhat hard to secure boats and skippers 
enough to accommodate all who wish to go. Most of the 
Boston men have summer homes on the shores of the bay 
and many have boats of their own, while others engage 
for the season. A great many Western people are sum- 
mering in this locality during the last two or three years, 
and to them bluefishing is a rare treat. 
At the regular meeting of the Megantic Club directors 
held last Tuesday evening, enough new members were 
added to the membership rolls to make the club 
total 296. As the limit is fixed at 300, but four more 
names are needed to complete. This will soon create the 
necessity of a waiting list, when applicants will have to 
await their ton for entrance. Early visitors to the club 
preserve report fine fishing, also that the camps and club 
house are in good running order, and that everything is 
in a satisfactory condition. Landlocked salmon 6 tolSin. 
in length have been taken at Big Island Pond, proving 
beyond all doubt that the fish placed there are prospering. 
A new 30ft. steamer has been ordered and is expected to be 
on the waters of Macannamac Lake, on the shores of 
which the club house stands, in about two weeks' 
time. 
Leon Keach and friends, of Boston, who have been spend- 
ing two weeks at Pine Point camps, Weld Pond, Maine, 
have reached home again, and are loud in their praise of 
the beauties of this locality. The camps are situated on 
a high point overlooking the lake, and occupy an ideal 
position. The fishing during their stay was only fair, 
not so good as earlier in the season. It consists of salmon 
and square-tailed trout, and the best place to drop a line 
is over the numerous shoals, of which there are quite a 
number. Mr. Keach is confident that the lake is full of 
fish, but as it is a large body of water, it is not always 
easy to find them. It is the custom of this gentleman to 
make a map of any country he may visit, and his repu- 
tation for accuracy among sportsmen friends is well 
established. He possesses a natural gift in this direction, 
and generally does much better than those who make a 
profession of making sporting maps. 
Mr. J. N. Parker and wife, of Boston, have recently re- 
turned from Lake St. John. Mr. Parker killed 25 trout, 
all of good size, with the fly the day befiore he came 
away, and had splendid luck" during his entire trip. His 
experience indicates that his trip was timed just right, a 
fact that should be noted by brother sportsmen who in- 
tend visiting these northern waters. 
Salmon fishing at Dan Hole, the New Hampshire lake 
that proved so productive in the early spring, has not 
come up to expectations during the present month. A 
friend who is an expert at this sport tells me that he has 
tried every lure that he could think of, and has devoted 
many hours in endeavors to hook a' fish, but without suc- 
cess. When on the wa,ter in the early morning it was a 
common sight to see big salmon breaking water all 
around, but that was all the satisfaction one could get. 
Joseph Murphy, the actor, who was so successful at Dan 
Hole last year, is fishing there now, but with poor luck 
indeed. F. A. Hersey, of Boston, is fishing in that 
locality, and will visit Dan Hole and try to stem the tide 
of hard luck before returning home. 
A letter received from Mr. C. B. Barnes, of Boston, 
who, in company with Mr. Lyman Nichols, is fishing the 
Barnes pools on the Cascapedia, states that although the 
weather has been unusually warm, still they have had 
very fair luck. Miss Mary P. Barnes has taken a salmon 
weighing 351bs., and Mr. Barnes two others, weighing 
respectively 37 and 421bs. From the tone of the letter I 
judge that several other fish have been taken, although 
no mention of others is made. The party will return 
about July 1. 
Dr. E. R. Cutler, of Waltham, will shortly leave home 
to spend the month of July on the Cascapedia. He will 
fish the R. G. Dun pools some distance below the Barnes 
waters. The fishing on this stream is best in June, but 
there is always a good run in July, and out of this Dr. 
Cutler expects to have good sport. The largest fish 
recorded on this stream, that I have heard of, was taken 
by R. G. Dun, I think, one or two seasons ago, and 
weighed 561bs. The upper part of the river for a stretch 
of some miles has always been reserved for the use of the 
Governor General of Canada. It includes probably the 
finest salmon pools on the American continent, and I 
understand has lately been leased to R. G. Dun and other 
New York men, who, report says, have paid a fabulous 
sum for the territory. 
Philip W. Moen and Geo. F. Blake, Jr., of Worcester, 
are fishing the lower waters of the Cascapedia, and Mr. 
Moen has taken one fish of 32 and another of 231bs. How 
many others I have not heard. 
George von L. Meyer, Speaker of the Massachusetts 
House of Representatives, has left for Metapedia to fish the 
Restigouche. Louis Curtis and F. L. Higginson, of Bos- 
ton, have gone to the same place. All of these gentlemen 
are members of the Restigouche Salmon Club, Mr. Hig- 
ginson being one of the earliest. 
Mr. Henry Whitman has gone to try the salmon in the 
rough waters of the Nepissiquit. He is one of Boston's 
old salmon anglers, and formerly fished on the Nepissi- 
quit at Grand Falls. 
Prof. Sewall, of Braintree, has left for the Marguerite 
River, and Mr. Louis Cabot, of Boston, will soon leave to 
fish his own river, the Grand. 
The Loud party, consisting of Geo. D. Loud, F. H. 
Babcock, John A. Ordway, Jr., and H. J. Hanson, all of 
Boston, and Rudolph Jacoby and Mr. Higgins, of New- 
buryport. have lately returned from Camp Loud, Diddy- 
wash Lake, New Brunswick. This lake is about five 
miles long and one mile wide, and is situated in the heart 
of the so-called Bonny River country. The fishing in this 
region is quite noted, and Did dy wash Lake is said to fur- 
nish splendid sport, the trout running in size from fib. to 
3lbs. and libs, in weight. The party were looked after 
by T. A. Sullivan, who is to that country what Captain 
Barker or John Danf orth is to the Rangeley region. Their 
camp was located on an island in the lake, which is de- 
scribed as a most beautiful spot. In addition to the fish- 
ing, with which all hands were satisfied, the party secured 
a bear and one porcupine. They have been away about 
five weeks and hope to visit the same locality next year. 
Hackle. 
A ONE NIGHT CAMP. 
As I was engaged in garden work one pleasant Septem- 
ber morning, I glanced up the street and saw my Jriend 
Doc bearing down upon me in a highly excited condi- 
tion. I could easily see that something was on his mind, 
for his ordinary pace is rather slow and dignified, and he 
was now coming at a good four-miles-an-hour gait. 
I soon considered his excitement was justifiable, for he 
told me that two men had just come in from Freeman 
Creek with about twenty fine black bass. We at once de- 
cide that we are needing some bass ourselves, and that 
we want them right away, for experience has taught us 
that Freeman Creek bass have very uncertain appetites 
and must be taken (if at all) at early morning and eve- 
ning during the season (here very short) when they bite 
well. 
Freeman Creek is about twelve miles away, though I 
believe Doc calls it sixteen whenever he has a night call 
from that section. So we agree to drive up in the after- 
noon and stay one night, so as to have a chance at both 
evening and morning fishing. About two o'clock we were 
ready to start except that we must still get our minnows. 
Now if we had not wanted a minnow-catcher, the streets 
would have been lined with boys, but as it was there did 
not seem to be a boy in the county. We were several 
times directed to where boys had been, but they were like 
the Irishman's flea, and we finally had to start out after 
minno «vs ourselves, and such a time as we had ! It seemed 
as though every minnow in the country had heard that we 
wanted him, and had found important business some- 
where else. 
Our minnow net was a very primitive affair, consisting 
of a section of mosquito netting attached to two short 
poles, and so arranged with a piece of wire as to form a 
pouch at one end. And maybe that thing wasn't tough 
on a man's wrists. Owing to the fact that my legs are 
longer than Doc's I was elected to work the net, and soon 
had a strong conviction that the boys who did this kind 
of work had never been paid half enough. After repeated 
"water hauls" in the "place where the boys always catch 
'em," we found we were short some breath and a good 
deal of temper, and decided that we would have to walk 
about a mile and try the "hole by the big log." 
We had wasted quite a bit of valuable time, and I tell 
you I set Doc a lively pace over that mile. The first scoop 
of the net at the new location brought up ten or a dozen 
fine minnows, and in a few minutes we had caught all 
we needed, "You bet," says Doc, "we wouldn't have 
sense enough to come here at the start. No, we must fool 
around down by the race because that's where the blame 
kids go. Won't I pound Gyp on the back when we get 
on the road!" So he grumbles away, and I help him a 
little, for neither of us likes to fool away much time 
when there are bass waiting to be caught. 
Fairly off at last, right up the valley we go, passing 
two sloughs where there are fish enough, but the water is 
so choked with moss and weeds that bass can hardly be 
taken except with a long cane pole and short, strong line. 
Neither of us cares much for fishing that way, and so we 
keep on for Freeman Creek and better water. Our good 
Gyp seems to need very little "pounding on the back," for 
when we rattle over the bridge at our destination a glance 
at the watch tells us that we have covered the twelve 
miles in just sixty -five minutes. 
We camp in what was once a nice little grove, but 
which has been thinned out by reckless hunters and fish- 
ermen until only a dozen or twenty small trees are left. 
Our first move is to set our minnow pail in the creek, then 
we attend to our horse and get out our rods, Doc's being 
a 8ft. lancewood and mine a lOift. 8oz. split bamboo. 
Next, there still being plenty of time, and feeling very 
sure that when we get through we shall be hungrier than 
anybody ever was before, we prepare a wood-pile, dig a 
small fire-place and begin to think it is time to fish. 
We cross the bridge, creep cautiously over a wire fence, 
wade through a patch of high weeds with rods held well 
aloft and find ourselves at last in a likely place for bass. 
Out goes my minnow just over and to the left of a little 
clump of lily pads, and it had hardly struck the water 
before a bass has taken it, and the sport is on in earnest. 
Away he goes and Doc stands waiting to see me land 
him. He makes a good fight at the start, but ha3 hardly 
the staying qualities of the small-mouths I used to catch 
in old Sunapee, so in all too short a time in he comes, a 
nice fellow of a good pound and a half weight. 
Within a few minutes Doc gets a strike and lands one 
which is, as he says, "A dead running mate to yours." 
We strip the twigs from the crotched branch of a con- 
venient bush and after a minute or two spent in admir- 
ing our catch, get to work with renewed zeal. 
But we must have caught those two too easily, for with 
the exception of three which are decidedly of the small- 
fry order and which we return too catch another day, 
those were all we got that night. 
This was hardly doing so well as we expected, but we 
console ourselves with the reflection that the morning fish- 
ing will be better and that we have caught enough for 
supper anyway. 
"I'm not dead sure," says Doc, "but I believe I could 
eat a fried mule." "Just out of mule," I reply, "but you 
can have part Of one of these fish." "Part of blazesl why, 
I figured on eating the two." "Well, you don't get 'em 
'til after you've licked me," I respond firmly. 
We arrived at camp just at this point of the argument, 
and at once suspend hostilities and begin to hustle. 
Being chief cook, I busy myself in starting a fire, and 
Doc goes to light the lantern and get some water for our 
coffee. Presently his voice rings out that we have forgot- 
ten the lantern. 
Of course each of us insists that the other was to have 
seen to the lantern's being put in, but to this day we have 
neither of us been able to prove the other's negligence. 
As I am busy cleaning our fish, Doc decides to ride Gyp 
up to Nate Dearer's, get a lantern there, and leave the 
horse in his stable. When he gets back we have our sup- 
per. It is not elaborate, but don't it taste good? Well, I 
guess it does. 
We have our fish, fried potatoes, bread and butter, cof- 
fee, and a small bottle of olives, which Doc triumphantly 
produces from his pocket. We have found it a great con- 
venience in these one-night trips to take along a few of 
the oval wooden plates such as are used by country mer- 
chants for convenience in retailing butter. They make 
good plates, and as they cost next to nothing can be 
thrown away after using, thus saving washing and car- 
riage of crockery. 
We have eaten everything in sight, but that does not 
bother us a bit. Fish and coffee are all a man needs for 
breakfast anyway. We replenish the fire, fill and light 
our pipes, and lie back on our blankets in a blissful state, 
talking little, but feeling good. Talk about happiness ! 
When we have-eaten all we want of something we have 
killed ourselves, have lit our pipes, and have found a soft 
spot on which to recline at full length, kings and princes 
are "not in it" with Doc and your humble servant. 
It grows darker, and how still it is. Faint sounds come 
up from the creek at our backs, and I wonder lazily as to 
their cause, finally concluding it to be a muskrat or 
turtle. And now the yapping of the coyotes begins. 
The breeze has gradually increased until it is now a 
chilly wind, so we stretch one of our blankets between 
two trees, roll ourselves in the others, and lie down. The 
wind increases, grows less, nearly dying out at last, and 
with its gentle murmur in our ears we are soon fast 
asleep. Charlie. 
Eee umh uh is the next sound I hear, and glancing up 
I see Doc on his feet going through a sort of contortionist 
act to get the kinks out of himself. 
It is early morning, quite early, ten minutes of four, 
and I make a mild kick at being aroused before it is time 
to fish. 
"Well, it ain't as early as it was that time you routed 
me out after ducks, anyway," says Doc, and the memory 
of that awful morning when we waited about three weeks 
for light enough to shoot by is so humiliating that I can 
find nothing to say, so I do not answer him, but jump up 
and do a little stretching myself. It is, or rather will be, 
a glorious morning for fishing— perfectly still and rather 
chilly, for there was a slight frost in the night. 
We are still rather sleepy, so we go down to the creek 
and the refreshing water makes us feel better. 
We have got to catch our breakfast before we have any, 
so though it is still a little early we decide to try the "bluff 
pool," and off we go. 
A big hawk is sitting quietly on a post and flaps lazily 
away as we approach. We round a little point and come 
upon a family of ducks, which pull out rapidly for parts 
unknown. Next we see a big muskrat. He is swimming 
sturdily along, towing a green bough, and is so busily em- 
ployed that he comes very close before seeing us. Splash! 
Down he goes and the forgotten freight bobs on the water 
above him. A big turtle slides into the water on the other 
side of the creek. 
By the way, a turtle is a pretty cute bird. If a string 
of fish is left fastened in the water he will chew them up 
in no time; but when still-fishing, how often one will see 
Mr. Turtle lift his head above the water for an observa- 
tion, see the fisherman on the bank and sink down again, 
and never touch the bait. Now, -I believe he lets it alone 
because he sees the man. What do the rest of you 
think? 
All this time we have been plugging steadily along until 
we have reached our destination. There is a faint smoke- 
like mist hanging close to the water, and the sight pleases 
me, for so it was on the morning when I was most suc- 
cessful here. 
We station ourselves about 50ft. apart and are ready 
for business. We have no luck at first, but truly "it is 
not all of fishing to fish," and as we breathe the crisp 
morning air and take in the fresh, sweet, indescribable 
"morning smell" we exult in the joy of living. 
Hullo! Doc has a strike, and a picnic he has to steer 
him clear of weeds. Now the fish seems inclined to cross 
the creek, climb the bank and take to the open country. 
Doc stays with him though, and finally lands the best fish 
of the day. Not a monster by any means, but a good one 
for this water, three pounds and maybe a quarter over. 
"Well, here's my breakfast; where's yours?" says Doc. 
"Oh, it's down here in the creek, be along in a few 
minutes," I reply, and I guessed right that time, for the 
fishing was fine from then on. I can't describe the fun; 
they came too fast for me to remember just how we got 
them, but I can give you an idea of the sport by saying 
that one or the other of us was at the minnow bucket 
about all the time. Before they stopped biting we had 
thirty-one good bass, and thought that would do for this 
time, for a voice within us was howling for breakfast, 
and howling pretty loud, too. We had eaten all the 
"trimmings" the night before, so our breakfast consisted 
of fish and coffee, but we made up in quantity what it 
lacked in variety. We disposed of four of our smaller 
fish — pounders or thereabouts — and I wouldn't dare to say 
how much coffee we drank, but we drank all there was. 
After breakfast we prepare for going home. We 
haven't much to do, and after emptying the rest of our 
minnows into the creek we "half clean" our fish, pack up 
our traps and are ready to start. You will remember 
that our horse was left at Dearer's, and we decide to haul 
