AtjG. 1, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
SB 
The Copperhead. 
OAKLANn, Cal., July 16,— Editor Forest and Stream: 
The results of my inquiries through the Fobest and 
Stream in regard to the habits, habitat and appearance of 
the copijerhead demonstrated the profound sagacity of the 
move. The snake editor came promptly to my aid with 
a more minute and lucid description of the reptile than I 
had obtained from any other source. Then Coahoma, 
whose special field I am aware I was exploiting and from 
whom I hoped to hear, followed a close second with a lot 
of interesting information. Antler a little later added his 
mite, and lastly our old friend Aztec gives us some very 
important personal experience, which in some particulars 
is more satisfactory than anything I have yet received. 
That the first two and the last describe the serpent 
whose identity I sought to establish, there is, I think, but 
little doubt; but for this reason and from my own experi- 
ence I am inclined to think that Antler is barkine up the 
wrong tree and has mistaken some Other, probably harm- 
less snake, for the deadly copperhead. 
I was born in New England and spent the first twenty 
years of my life before the war in Rhode Island and 
Massachusetts. I have caught trout and all or nearly all 
the other fresh-water fish indigenous to that section, and 
believe I am famiUar with most of its reptile productions, 
but I never saw any copperheads there. 
I know that many people are apt to consider every 
snake with which they are not perfectly familiar as ven- 
omous and I have even heard the common garter snake 
called a copperhead because of its yellow stripes. If 
there is any venomous snake in New England except the 
rattlesnake, which I beheve is not quite extinct there, it 
will be news to me to learn it. We used to think that 
the horribly ugly flat-headed adder was as deadly as the 
rattlesnake, but like the horned toad its appearance was 
what created the impression, as all authorities now 
declare both to be perfectly harmless. 
The Forest and Stream describes the copperhead as 
an upland snake with a bright, copper-colored head. 
Antler's article speaks of its having a "horseshoe-shaped 
spot on its bead which takes on a metallic coppery color" 
when he is mad, an entirely new feature, and leads us to 
infer that he lives in or about the trout streams. 
That the copperhead "does exist" I can no longer 
doubt, but I am not yet prepared to believe that it is 
found in New England, or to any extent west of the Mis- 
sissippi, and it fortunately must be very rare in all but a 
few localities, or there would not be so many who, 
although born and reared in the States where it is said to 
exist, still know so little about it save from hearsay. 
Forked Deer, 
[The copperhead is rare in Connecticut, but becomes 
more abundant further South.] 
§^ ^nd §mu 
HOW SPORTSMEN ORIGINATED? 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
It has occurred to me that, notwithstanding the pride 
which we feel in our sportsmanship of to-day, we are not 
the sportsmen that our ancestors were in the early days 
of our Republic. It is true that we claim we are better, 
and that we truly believe we are so is also true; but I greatly 
fear that if one were called upon to give the evidence in 
support of that belief, he would encounter no little diffi- 
culty in producing any wgrthy of credence. We are 
disposed to magnify the men of our own day because 
they are of our day. Men whom we know seem better 
than men who are far away, as do the affairs of our own 
people seem more important than the affairs of a distant 
people. 
The sportsman of the early American days had no 
effeminacy, nor was there any lamentable inefiiciency 
in his efforts. He plunged into the forests with that 
calm assurance which came from a knowledge of wood- 
craft, and a heedlessness of consequences which came 
from a spirit inured to dangers. Travel he ever so far, 
he was never lost. He could return on a true course at 
any time by his knowledge of the lore of the woods, for 
he could tell the points of the compass by the moss on 
the trees and rocks, the direction that the grass pointed 
and occasionally by the moon and stars. He felt neither 
pain nor hardship. Were he chased by Indians, he ran 
on and on, day after day and night after night, without 
any nervous perturbation or timorous apprehension of 
danger that might befall him were he captured. He 
quaffed a draught out of the crystal springs and rivulets, 
tarrying for a moment only as he ran onward in his tire- 
less flight. A week or more, night and day, he ran on 
till the Indians were left far in the rear and safety was 
reached. Were he hungry, he killed a deer with one shot 
from his unerring rifle and gave the steak an added 
relish from his own cooking of it, if he bothered cooking 
it all. In chasing the Indian he was relentless and 
sagacious. A few pieces of bark served for an ample 
shelter, and a few branches or old leaves served for a 
couch. One suit of clothing served for a lifetime, and 
history fails to chronicle his discovery of any laundries. 
Observe the modern sportsman, fie carries with him 
to his week's or month's camping ground nearly a dupli- 
cate of everything which he has in his every-day life. A 
cot which would do well enough to sleep in the year 
round at home, blankets of the warmest make, rugs to 
keep his feet off the ground, camp chairs designed for the 
greatest enjoyment of indolence, and a cooking outfit on 
which anything can be cooked which can be duplicated 
by the greatest chef in Paris in his exclusive kitchen. He 
has a tent which is as large and comfortable as a house 
and the commissary would be a revelation to an epicure! 
But the camper himself — a dream of beauty in a creation 
of the tailor's art— is the crowning glory of the many 
glories of the venture into the wilderness from two to ten 
miles from town. Compare this specimen of woodsman 
and woodsmanship with the hardy man who, with rifle on 
his shoulder, plunged into the trackless wilderness where 
dwelt the tiger, the wild bear, the wolf, and the dreadful 
Indian. He was ever restless, and if he found another 
man of his kind within a thousand miles of him, forth- 
with he denounced the place as being too thickly settled 
and he sped on to the true wilderness; that is, where there 
was no white man other than himself. Even when his 
home surroundings became too familiar to him — that is 
the wilderness for a few thousand miles about— the spirit 
of unrest and the spell of the forest impelled him to seek 
diversion and adventure a few thousand miles further; 
and when he felt the need of a real vacation he just 
started out and never came back at all. There were true 
woodsmen in those days. Alast either the days are dif- 
ferent or the men have changed more than the passage of 
the years doth warrant. Our poor attempts at woodsman- 
ship, when set up side by side with the sterling stuff of 
our daddies, would in a way resemble a comparison be- 
tween an Indian war canoe and a modern battle ship. 
And this brings me to think that perhaps if we have lost 
in some things we have gained in others, though of course 
that does not in the least affect the question as it is herein 
raised. Dick of Connecticut. 
A WEEK AT COBB'S ISLAND. 
Two weeks ago I was showing the series of beautiful 
and interesting "Shooting Pictures" by A. B. Frost to a 
friend of mine. When we came to the ' 'Bay Snipe Shoot- 
ing" Dave had a "point"; his eyes bulged out; he seemed 
to be living in the past or having a gunner's dream. He 
was; but a slap on his back awoke him. "Jay," he said, 
"that reminds me of Cobb's Island; that was my blind on 
Curlew Bar fifteen years ago." He told me of his trip 
there and how often he had wanted to go back. We were 
not inoculated against the shooting fever, and besides, "it 
was a long time between hunts" for both of us. In a few 
minutes our plans were made to spend a week at Cobb's 
Island. 
We met in Philadelphia, and at 11 P. M. got aboard the 
Cape Charles sleeper. After cautioning "Old Virginia" to 
get us up at 5, as we were going to get off at Cobb's Sta- 
tion, we turned in. It was raining hard when we found 
ourselves and our impedimenta in the midst of a sweet 
potato patch; but after the train had pulled out we saw on 
the other side of the track a cube 10ft. on a side labeled 
"Cobb's Station." We were just about enough awake to 
have sense to "come in out of the rain" and hold a con- 
sultation to find out where we were "at." 
When Davy had been there before he had come around 
the cape, but now an oyster shell ballasted railroad (quite 
a curiosity to us, accustomed to the Pennsylvania) puts 
you off at Cobb's. In a few minutes a young jehu ap- 
peared with a carryall and informed us that if we were the 
young gentlemen who were going over to the island we 
were to go to "ma's" for breakfast and the launch would 
come over for us at 11. You may be very sure that after 
our two-mile drive in the rain we were glad to see "ma," 
but gladder to see the breakfast Auntie prepared for us. 
After breakfast we walked down to tbe snore to look 
around and see what the prospects were. We were de- 
lighted to see quite a number of curlew and gray backs out 
on the mud bars. Finally the naphtha launch appeared, 
and we were soon winding our way in and out of "creeks," 
as they call them there, but in reality channels between 
the mud bars, as it was ebb tide. In about an hour we were 
approaching this little island, ten miles out at sea, con- 
taining only fifty-four acres, one acre more in number 
than the handful of men with whom Sir Francis Drake 
"picked the lock of the new vrorld," 
We were welcomed at Cobb's and soon found ourselves 
quartered in the Baltimore House, our bodily wants to be 
attended to by Preston, a genuine Virginia darky than 
whom there could be none better. We were a little crest- 
fallen when we asked Arthur, our guide, what the pros- 
pects for shooting were. He said: "You are just be- 
tween seasons; May and August are the best months for 
birds." But we were not easily discouraged and made up 
our minds that we would keep everlastingly at it and get 
all there was out of it. 
It is always cool there, with only ocean breezes and, 
better still, no mosquitoes. You shoot on either the ris- 
ing or falling tide, not between tides, and it depends on 
the tide what time you have to get up in the morning to 
shoot. Between Cobb's and the mainland is Broadwater 
Bay, nine miles wide and fifty miles long, which at high 
tide is a beautiful sheet of water, while at low tide thou- 
sands of acres of mud and marshy flats, bars, creeks and 
channels are exposed. 
Our first morning's shoot was to be at Cove Creek and 
Preston had us up and our breakfast ready at 4. It was 
nearing low tide when we sailed away in our 20ft. Eng- 
lish-rigged boat. An hour's sail brought us near our 
blind, to which we waded with our guns and shells. Our 
guide, after anchoring his boat, set out the decoys, snipe 
and curlew, thirty-six in all, some in a little pond in front 
of the blind and others on the shore in the mud. He 
then took up his place back of us and we were ready for 
the first incomer. The blind is about 6ft. in diameter, 
made by sticking branches of trees in the mud and cover- 
ing them with dried grass. While waiting for the birds 
to come in we ask our guide innumerable questions. We 
find out that he is not married, that he made the decoys 
in winter, that he had never been off the island except 
for two years' schooling on the mainland, that the shoot- 
ing is not so good as it used to be, that the island is grad- 
ually being washed away, and while we were talking the 
selfsame tide had been rising and must have covered 
some bar where the snipe had been roosting, driving 
them off to seek higher ground and their breakfast, for 
our guide said: "Mark — front; get down." When Ar- 
thur said "Mark" there was never a doubt in our minds 
but that the birds were coming in; it was like seeing a 
dog point. He began to whistle and soon we saw two 
birds flying low, turn and come toward our decoys. They 
came in, circled above the false lights, and would have 
lit among them, but Dave said: "You take the one on 
your side and I'll take the other." Dave got hia bird 
with the first barrel, while I went "bang I bang!" and 
saw my bird just get out of range for Dave's second shot. 
Thus it was the birds came in and for an hour we had 
plenty of chances and picked up twenty-three graybacks. 
We could have had half a dozen shots at willet, but they 
were protected by law until Aug. 1, Hungry and tired, 
we returned to the island perfectly satisfied with our 
first shoot, ' 
Thirty yards frdm our house was the ocean and a great 
surprise was in store for me, who had only bathed on the 
Long Island and Jersey coasts, to find absolutely no under- 
tow and yet a magnificent surf. You can go out as far as 
you please on either the rising or falling tide and yet en- 
coimter no imdertow. It was the grandest bathing we 
ever had, and daily, sometimes twice, we enjoyed the 
Atlantic main. 
Our next shoot was on a falling tide on Curlew Bar. 
In addition to our sailboat we took along an 8ft. shooting 
boat. Anchoring the sailboat, we paddled about a quarter 
of a mile and ran the boat into the blind. When the 
water got down to about a foot jfrom the bar we put out 
the decoys and waited and watched the receding waters. 
In half an hour one bare spot appeared in front of us and 
in ten more minutes probably an acre of ground was bare. 
The birds flew thick and fast and, as around our blind was 
their only feeding ground at present, we had ajme very 
nice shooting. It was over only too soon — a few minutes 
more and there were miles of mud bars exposed teeming 
with small crabs, food for the snipe. After a few shots 
at an occasional bird flying past us on the way to some 
feeding place our guide pulled our little boat, now high 
and dry on the mud bar, into a small creek and then a 
paddle back to our large boat. Eleven curlew was our 
bag, more than enough to satisfy two city chaps who had 
traveled 600 miles to get them. Curlew are nice birds to 
shoot at; I say "at" because you don't always get them. 
While they do not decoy so well aa graybacks, they are 
much larger and make a better target. 
In one week we shot five tides, never getting over two 
dozen birds at one shoot and never an empty bag. Fish- 
ing is very good there, but the way they do it does not 
offer the sport or attraction to one whose good fortune it 
has been to have spent a month on the Nipigon River — 
the finest trout stream in the world. A hook, a line, a 
bait, a bite, a fish, a surfeit; they don't fish with rods and 
reel and never play the fish, and yet they call it sport. 
November and December are the best months for shoot- 
ing ducks and geese at Cobb's. The guides leave their 
blinds stay in the water and mud from season to season, 
as they say and believe that the birds get accustomed to 
seeing them there and are not so shy as they would be if 
the blinds were set up new each season. 
The guides are courteous, good-natured fellows, their 
services expert, their compensation moderate. In shoot- 
ing without a guide one would be very apt to find one's 
self high and dry on a mud bank with the pleasant pros- 
frect of waiting twelve hours for the tide to float him off. 
n fact, you must know how, or you can't do it. Shoot- 
ing without a guide reminds me of the story of a man 
who shot over a dog for the first time. He was a West- 
erner and a great hunter, but he had never used a dog, 
and had only a faint sort of an idea that in some way a 
dog was of some assistance to a hunter. The dog was sent 
to him from the East, and the next day he took the 
pointer out quail shooting. That night he came home 
without a bird, and so disgusted was he that he gave him 
away to a friend of his, telling him that he was the worst 
dog he ever saw. His friend asked him what was the 
matter with the dog, and he replied: "He has fits. He 
was trotting along ahead of me all right when he got his 
first fit and stopped right in his tracks. He stuck his tail 
straight out behind as stiff as a poker, drew up one foot 
and stretched his neck out till his eyes nearly popped out 
of his head. There he stood like a stone dog, and I 
couldn't make him move. I whistled at him and called 
him, and then I walked around in front of him to see if 
he had gone mad. Just then a whole flock of quail flew 
up under my feet. If that dog hadn't got that fit right 
there I'd have got about half a dozen birds out of that 
flock. If you want him, you take him; I wouldn't have 
such a cur to hunt with." 
Our week passed altogether too quickly, but we prom- 
ised ourselves to go back soon again to this "sportsmen's 
paradise." Jay Eightt-Six. 
PrrrsBXJRG, July, 1896. 
CARIBOU AND CALIBERS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The article in your issue of July 4 by Mr. J. W. Davis, 
"On Newfoundland Marshes," brought up pleasant mem- 
ories; for I spent three weeks last season at the same 
camp with L. Buffe and Martin Williams, and hunted 
over the same marshes and hills. And it was the kind- 
ness and courtesy of Dr. S. T. Davis that enabled me to 
make arrangements for the trip. 
On our way in from West Pond and just at the edge of 
the Barrens we met a party of Micmacs coming out. Old 
Harriet, she of the long gun, reported "Plenty deer — 
thousands." The next morning, Oct. 19, 1 secured a good 
stag and a barren doe out of a herd of sixteen at Han- 
nah's Lookout. This doe's head is here by me at present 
writing. The antlers are the finest of all I have seen, 
having seventeen points. In my three weeks' stay in- 
camp I counted 120 caribou. Perhaps half a dozen of 
these were so far off that we could not make out the head 
clearly. All the others, both male and female, except 
favns, had horns. Fawns were very scarce. 
It was a disappointment not to see the large heads of 
caribou, such as were seen by Mr. Davis and his party 
the year before, but we were too late. Martin Williams 
was in on Wolf Hill and Grandfather's Lookout about 
two weeks before I reached camp. Deer were plentiful 
enough then. From Oct. 19 to 23, inclusive, we coimted 
sixty, but after that fewer were seen, and when we broke 
camp, Nov. 9, they were about gone. While waiting at 
Pilley's Island for the steamer, John Paul came down 
from the White Hills and said there were no deer at all. 
The so-called migration through that country seems to 
have been about two weeks earlier in '95 than it was 
in '94. 
Let me say here to A. H. that I have watched the cali- 
ber controversy with much interest, and that his conclu- 
sions are about correct. Only it doesn't need a herculean 
hunter to handle a .45, because the gun need not weigh 
over 7f lbs. I used a Winchester extra light .45 70, and 
found it an admirable gun. Any other make of same 
weight would no doubt shoot as well. As my tramping 
weight is about ISOlbs., heavy ordnance is avoided as 
much as possible. In getting a light .45 you do not nec- 
essarily dispense with accuracy. While testing this gun 
on the range at German ring target, SOOyds., thirty-nine 
shots in all were fired one afternoon, and it placed all but 
four of them in the black. The shooting was from a rest, 
of course. Lyman hunting sights; charge, 75gr8. Hazard 
F. G. powder, and the Gould 330 hollow point bullet and 
350gr. solid bullet, about an equal number of each. That 
afternoon there was one run of eight shots scoring each 
21 or better. The charges mentioned are what I used on 
caribou, but the Gould bullets were soon given up on 
account of their lack of penetration. They did not mush- 
room, but the sides broke off and you would find nothing 
except the butt piece. The first stag shot was hit in the 
shoulder with one, but he did not go down. After receiv- 
ing the next shot, a solid 350gr,, he ran some distance 
