Oct. 24, 1896.J 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
S28 
CAMP SIXTEEN. 
At the foofof what is known as the Sixteen-Mile 
Level of the St. Regis River, near Spring Cove, N. Y., 
is located a permanent camp, consisting of two substan- 
tial log houses, well roofed and lighted, and fitted up 
with enough conveniences to insure the pleasures of 
camp life without its discomforts. It is the center of a 
region famous for deer, and friends of mine who had 
just vacated this camp had killed five, Having failed 
as yet to bring in any meat, we bad left Camp Saints' Rest, 
as chronicled in a previous paper, and transferred our 
duffle to this spot. 
About a mile below the camp there is another short 
level, on which, so far as I know, no boat had ever floated, 
and as the signs of deer were plentiful here we decided to 
give the longer level a rest, and put our Saranac boat 
on this one. The trail was fairly good, and Martin's tough 
muscles made light work of getting our craft to this quiet 
bit of water, where we intended to jack that night. Thus 
far we had confined ourselves almost exclusively to still- 
hunting, but with the end of our vacation near at hand, 
no meat in camp and the possibility of a blank score 
staring us in the face, things seemed sufficiently serious 
to warrant us in taking all the chances there were. We 
paddled up the winding river for the purpose of study- 
ing geography a little, when, on rounding a turn, we 
came to a big fallen spruce whose roots were imbedded 
in one side of the river and whose top lay in the bushes 
on the other side. Here was a serious barrier to our 
proposed night hunting; but necessity is said to be a 
near relative of invention, and after putting half a dozen 
.44 bullets through the trunk a few feet from the shore 
we were enabled to break off the top and make space 
enough for the boat to run past. Then we took the 
rifles and went still-hunting, intending to return after 
dark and run the level. But fate had decreed otherwise, 
for at dusk the flood gates of heaven were thrown wide 
open, and Jupiter Pluvius was the only one who fired 
any guns that night. 
The next day we pulled the boat up through the rapids 
to the Sixteen- Mile Level, caught a fine mess of trout, har- 
vested some frogs' legs, cut some firewood, and prepared 
for the night's work. I say "work," because jacking 
comes pretty near being that. It is a novel and exciting 
experience — especially for the beginner — and there is a 
weird beauty and strangeness about the woods and waters 
at night which one sees at no other time; but to sit 
motionless for hours in a boat with no back to the seat 
you occupy, to go through all the incipient stages of curv- 
ature of the spine, to feel the jack gradually taking on 
weight until you suspect that your backbone will ulti- 
mately be driven through the bottom of the boat; and, 
above all, to feel the cold night air soak through your 
clothes and clutch your very marrow — these are the things 
which the man who jacks will recognize as akin to 
work. Nevertheless we went jacking. Salt pork is good 
fare for a week or more, but af ler that venison tastes good. 
It wasn't Martin's fault that we neither saw nor heard 
a deer that night, for his paddle was as silent as the grave, 
and we covered a good many miles before we finally 
started homeward in the small hours of the morning. A 
gentleman from the "West — Beecher by name — with his 
guide, Wes, Davis, was also hunting the river that night, 
and we had heard a shot from him, fired, as we after- 
ward learned, at a big buck that is still roaming the woods 
unharmed. As we neared the foot of the level this party 
came down behind us, and the slight sound of Davis's 
paddle caused both Martin and me to turn at the same 
moment and look backward. Then a funny thing hap- 
pened — that is to say, it strikes me noz« as being funny! 
The cranky Saranac boat, which possesses all the merits 
and the one fault of the best boats made, responded to 
our simultaneous movement with uncalled-for suddenness 
and startling results. Martin and I had been thinking 
for a day or two that we needed a bath, so we took one 
then and there. I do not, as a rule, wear a jack on my 
head when I bathe, and I am not addicted to the habit of 
diving with a gun in my hand and with heavy clothes and 
wading boots on; but it suddenly occurred to me that 
these were eminently proper things to do, and Martin 
seemed to coincide with my views. If either of us hesi- 
tated about going overboard, the other didn't notice it. 
We had been working in concert for two weeks, and there 
seemed no good reason why we shouldn't act together 
now. Besides, we were cold, and the water was warmer 
than the air. For these and other good and sufficient 
reasons we vacated the boat. 
Although our mishap was plainly visible to Beecher and 
Davis, they made no move to assist us, but commenced 
telling about the big buck they had missed, as though that 
information possessed any interest to men overboard in 
themiddle of the night in 15ft. of swift water. Whether 
their bad luck had warped their judgment, or whether 
they feared a submarine explosion from the gun I was 
trying to save, it is hard to say, although they did relieve 
me of it when I swam to their boat and handed it in. We 
worked our boat toward the shore, and after getting a 
foothold righted it and rocked the water out. The seats 
and paddle were picked up in an eddy below, and we 
finally got back to camp, shuddering with cold, but none 
the worse for our accident. Imagine our surprise on 
taking the cover from the jack to find that it was still 
lighted, although I had twice been under water with it, 
So far as I am able to learn, that is the only absolutely 
waterproof jack in the Adirondacks. There was white 
frost on our clothes when we got in, but Luques had a 
good fire going, and we were soon laughing at w^at 
might have been a tragedy, but turned out to be merely a 
comedy. In speaking of the deer he missed, Mr, Beecher 
said he wished to have it distinctly understood that he 
came into the woods not to kill deer, but to gather gum! 
We then turned our attention once more to still-hunt- 
ing. Near Camp Sixteen there is a large tract of burnt 
ground, something more than 1,000 acres, and here the 
deer come out at dusk to feed, returning to the green tim- 
ber and the- mountains early in the morning. Two or 
three old log roads and several deer trails run through it, 
and this burnt ground is one of the best hunting grounds 
in Franklin county. Luques and Mrs. R. struck in on 
the north side, and here tne former got his first shot at a 
deer. It was a long and difficult shot, however, and he 
ailed to hit, much to his disappointment. 
Martin and I went into the edge of the green timber on 
the south side, and just before sundown posted ourselves 
where we could look over considerable ground. It was 
almost dark when there was a crackling in the brush, and 
a small buck and a doe came out of the woods within 
easy shooting distance from me. These were not the big 
deer I had been looking for, but this was my last day in 
the woods and no time for sentiment. Three shots laid 
both of them down. The first bullet went through the 
buck's head, the second was a clean miss, and the third 
went through the doe just back of the shoulder. 
By that time it was dark and we were in a nasty piece of 
country, half a mile from the trail and three miles from 
camp. We cleaned the deer, made packs of them by slitting 
the forelegs and thrusting the hind feet through them .slung 
them on our shoulders and started out. Through bog 
and brush, over rocks and faUen trees we scrambled, and 
I was soon reconciled to the fact that the deer I was car- 
rying was not a very large one. Dripping with perspira- 
tion, we finally struck the trail. The road through the 
burnt ground was plain sailing, but the last mile to camp 
was through thick woods, and the only way we could 
keep in the trail was by lighting birch bark which we 
stripped from the trees. It was 10 o'clock when, tired, 
wet and famished, we saw\ the welcome glimmer of lights 
from the camp. But we had gotten what we went after, 
and a big meal and a smoke soon put us in that blissful 
state of relaxation which only the tired and successful 
hunter knows. 
The next day I pulled out of camp, leaving Luques and 
Martin to make one more trial. Luques got a shot at a 
fine buck and wounded him, but it was then too dark to 
follow his trail, and a heavy rain during the night 
washed the signs away and they never found him. A lit- 
tle later Martin paddled Mrs. R. up to a big doe on the 
river bank, and she succeeded in putting the lead where 
it would do the most good. With the exception of one 
large buck this doe was the biggest deer brought in to the 
hotel up to Sept. 33. 
Thus ended our Adirondack outing, and this meager 
chronicle by no means portrays the pleasures of our ex- 
periences among the woods and waters of that glorious 
country. 
The time spent at the primitive little hotel was scarcely 
less enjoyable than that passed in the woods. Moat of the 
guests were congenial people, and Darwin J. Day, the 
good-natured and accommodating giant who keeps this 
place under the shadow of Blue Mountain, has a heart as 
big as an ox, and not only likes to see people enjoy them- 
selves, but insists that they shall. 
From now until next spring we shall feast on reminis- 
cences of the woods, and from then on to the hunting 
season of '97 we shall indulge in the pleasures of anticipa- 
tion. Arthur F. Rice. 
TOMAHAWK LAKE. 
I HAD been contemplating a trip to the Tomahawk 
Lake in northern Wisconsin the past summer, ever since 
the first appearance of spring had gladdened the heart of 
the fisherman and naturalist, so that when I received 
word from my brother B. in Chicago that he had been 
thinking of the same trip and asking me to accompany 
him, it was an easy matter to decide. Early in June we 
started, going to Milwaukee by boat and getting a fore- 
taste of the pleasures to come in the sparkling, blue 
waters and clear, bracing air. What a relief it was to be 
away from our routine of office work in the crowded city, 
those who have experienced can alone tell. 
From Milwaukee we traveled to Oconomowoc, that 
beautiful little watering place, with its sparkling lakes. 
Fowler and La Belle, their bosoms flecked with pictur- 
esque fleets of pleasure craft and waters well stocked with 
fish, certainly an alluring spot for the tired business man 
and of easy access. 
From here we went to Kilbourn City to visit the wovld- 
renowned Dalles of the Wisconsin, of which it has been 
truly said: *'For wild and picturesque scenery they far 
excel anything else so near to civilization," and while 
this was considerably off our road yet we felt amply re- 
paid, 
Our next stop was at the beautiful island city Minocqua, 
surrounded by beautiful lakes well stocked with bass of 
different kinds, pickerel and that magnificent game fish 
which we were now to "tackle" for the first time, the 
spotted muscalonge, and well do I remember my first 
capture as I was trolling from a rapidly propelled boat — 
the strike, the fight for supremacy and final landing of 
my captive, which proved to be a handsome 10-pounder; 
how we held him up and surveyed his shining sides while 
our heart beat with ecstacy and our pulses bounded with 
joy; but you all know the symptoms, so why continue. 
After that it was our pleasure to make several fine catches, 
but none could take the place of that, our first musca- 
longe. Doubtless in the years to come we will look back 
to that pleasant June day on the lake, surrounded by 
towering forests of pine, the sleepy village nestling on the 
islanci and the numerous fishing craft cutting the trans- 
parent waters, with the same thrill, and wish for the 
moment that we were there again with line in hand and 
landing net ready for the final effort. 
We had not yet reached the end of our journey, how- 
ever; so one morning we took our way northward fifteen 
miles to the village of Tomahawk Lake. Here we 
camped out for a few days, and such delightful days as 
they were seldom come in this busy, toiling world. 
Lulled t J sleep by the dreamy lapping of the waves upon 
the shore, the soughing of the winds through the dark 
pines, and the noisy although not altogether unmusical 
piping of the myriads of frogs, rising with the sun, bath- 
ing in the translucent waters, and fishing to our hearts' 
content. Such appetites as we developed and such capa- 
bilities for long wanderings naturalizmg and botanizing, 
and here were good opportunities for each. 
The Fourth of July we spent in Minocqua participating 
in some of the numerous games and observing the sports 
of the lumbermen, such as log rolling, tub racing, swim- 
ming raceSj etc., and very interesting and novel we found 
them. 
Upon some of our rambles we met with coveys of 
grouse, composed apparently of the parent birds and their 
numerous progeny, while along some of the rivers squir- 
rels appeared quite numerous. One morning upon going 
outside the tent we found a flock of geese circling around 
the lake, upon other occasions we saw small flocks of 
summer ducks, and the surrounding marshes were alive 
with herons, bitterns, red and white-winged blackbirds 
and rail. The latter were very noisy, and we sometimf a 
amused ourselves by tossing in pebbles and listening to 
the hoarse cries that arose from the hundreds of startled 
throats. 
At last came the time to return, and with a farewell 
ramble and a swim in the lake we bade good-bye to our 
pleasant summer camp and started upon our return down 
past the rivers filled with floating logs and their accom- 
paniment of loggers, steering pikes in hand, guiding 
them on their winding way down to their destination — 
the great lumbering camps; on down till we leave the 
pines behind us, on and on past lovely lakes, sleepy 
towns, until the conductor shouts "Milwaukee!" Here 
we leave the train for another brepzy trio down the lake, 
and so our trip ends. Ohas. K. Mtjchmore. 
Indiana. 
THE PINNATED GROUSE. 
BY JOHN JAJHBS AUDUBON.* 
It has been my good fortune to study the hahits of this 
species of grouse at a period when, in the district in 
which I resided, few other birds of any kind were morq 
abundant. I allude to the lower parts of the States of 
Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois and Missouri. Twenty-five 
years and more have elapsed since many of tho notes to 
which I now recur were written, and at that period I 
little imagined that the observations which I recorded 
should ever be read by any other individuals than those 
composing ray own family, all of whom participated in 
my admiration of the works of nature. 
The Barrens of Kentucky are by no means so sterile as 
they have sometimes been represented. Their local ap- 
pellation, however, had so much deceived me, before I 
traveled over them, that I expected to find nothing but 
an undulated extent of rocky ground, destitute of vegeta- 
tion and perforated by numberless caverns. My ideas 
were soon corrected. I saw the Barrens for the first 
time in the early days of June, and as I entered them 
from the skirts of an immense forest I was surprised at 
the beauty of the prospect before me. Flowers without 
number, and vieing with each other in their beautiful 
tints, sprung up amidst the luxuriant grass; the fields, 
the orchards, and the gardens of the settlers presented an 
appearance of plenty scarcely anywhere exceeded; the 
wild fruit trees, having their branches interlaced with 
grape vines, promised a rich harvest, and at every step I 
trod on ripe and fragrant strawberries. When I looked 
around an oak knob rose here and there before me, a 
charming grove embellished a valley, gently sloping hills 
stretched out into the distance, while at hand the dark 
entrance of some cavern attracted my notice, or a bub- 
bling spring gushing forth at my feet seemed to invite 
me to rest and refresh myself with its cooling waters. 
The timid deer snuffed the air as it gracefully bounded 
off, the wild turkey led her young ones in silence among 
the tall herbage, and the bees bounded from flower to 
blossom. If I struck the stiff foliage of a black-jack oak, 
or rustled among the sumacs and brambles, perchance 
there fluttered before me in dismay the frightened grouse 
and her cowering brood. The weather was extremely 
beautiful, and I thought that the Barrens must have been 
the parts from which Kentucky derived her name of the 
"Garden of the West." 
There it was that, year after year, and each successive 
season, I studied the habits of the pinnated grouse. It 
was there that, before sunrise or at the close of day, I 
heard its curious boomings, witnessed its obstinate bat- 
tles, watched it during the progress of its courtships, 
noted its nest and eggs, and followed its young until, 
fully grown, they betook themselves to their winter 
quarters. 
When I first removed to Kentucky the pinnated grouse 
were so abundant that they were held in no higher esti- 
mation as food than the most common flesh, and no 
hunter of Kentucky deigned to shoot them. They were, 
in fact, looked upon with more abhorrence than the 
crows are at present in Massachusetts and Maine, on ac- 
count of the mischief they committed among the fruit 
trees of the orchards during winter, when they fed on 
their buds, or while in the spring months they picked up 
the grain in the fields. The farmer's children or those of 
his negroes were employed to drive them away with rat- 
tles from morning to night, and also caught them in pens - 
and traps of various kinds. In those days, during the 
winter, the grouse would enter the farmyard and feed 
with the poultry, alight on the houses or walk in the very , 
streets of the villages. I recollect having caught several 
in a stable at Henderson, where they had followed some 
wild turkeys. In the course of the same winter a friend 
of mine, who was fond of practicing rifle shooting, killed 
upward of forty in one morning, but picked none of them 
up, so satiated with grouse was he as well as every mem- 
ber of his family. My own servanls preferred the fattest 
flitch of bacon to their flesh, and not unfrequently laid 
them aside as unfit for cooking. 
Such an account may appear strange to you, reader; 
but what will you think when I tell you that in the same 
country where twenty-five years ago they could not have 
been sold at more than one cent apiece scarcely one is 
now to be found ? The grouse have abandoned the State 
of Kentucky and removed (like the Indians) every season 
further to tne westward, to escape from the murderous 
white man. In the Eastern States, where some of these 
birds still exist, game laws have been made for their pro- 
tection during a certain part of the year, when, after all, 
few escape to breed the next season. To the westward 
you must go as far at least as the State of Illinois before 
you meet with this species of grouse, and there too, as 
formerly in Kentucky, they are decreasing at a rapid 
rate. The sportsman of the Eastern States now makes 
much ado to procure them, and will travel with friends 
and dogs, and all the paraphernalia of hunting, an hun- 
dred miles or more to shoot at most a dozen braces in a 
fortnight, and w hen he returns successful to the city the 
important results are communicated by letter to all con- 
cerned. So rare have they become in the markets of 
Philadelphia, New York and Boston that they sell at 
from |5 to $10 the pair. An excellent friend of mine, 
resident in the city of New York, told me that he refused 
$100 for ten braces, which he had shot on the Pocano 
Mountains of Pennsylvania. 
* From the "Ornithological Biography," Vol. H., Edinburgh, 1S34, 
