42 
FOREST ANID STREAM. 
tj^AN. IB, iM. 
Just About a Boy,— :L 
Once in the time that is now represented by pictures 
in the mental gallery only, I fished a Western stream. 
It was a pleasant stream, I remember, that dimpled in 
little waves where the gentle south wind kissed tiie wider 
reaches, and there were curious, wavy shadows under the 
opposite bank where the grasses hung down and the cot- 
tonwoods spread their ample branches to shade the water. 
Hidden reefs made riffles in the current. Circling eddies 
behind the boulders that occasionally poked up above 
the water furnished resting places for big blue channel 
catfish that took my minnow or frog with a savage rush 
like a salmon. 
The water was cool and clear, and the fish that lived 
there were full of fight, and such good eating that I often 
wandered to this Western river and cast my bait. 
True, it was "not all of fishing to fish" in those days, 
just as it is now, and I mixed my time between fishing 
and watching the natural beauties of the landscape. 
One particular day in June I had waded down the 
stream until the drowse of noontide was in the air. 1 
was tired of fishing and of fish, had fought great blue- 
black fellows until, for once at least, I wanted no more; 
so I climbed out on the shaded point of the little island 
in mid-stream and stretched at full length along the 
grass, resting and content in watching tlie life 1 saw 
around me. 
Swallows came tacking along near the surface of the 
river, darting up, down and crosswise, as they feasted 
on the insect inhabitants of the air, Fleecy clouds floated 
overhead and disappeared in space like phantom balloons. 
A saucy kingfisher flashed up from somewhere and came 
to a stop on a nearby snag, looking for all the world 
like a part of the dead wood. A moment after he 
alighted, and I forgot all about him until 1 heard a splash 
and knew instinctively that another small fish Ificked" 
wisdom, but had found it out too late. 
Bees, the only busy things in sight, fumbled the yellow 
heads of a few rosin weeds that looked toward the sun. 
The river people sang with crooning voices an under- 
water song in the hurrying riffles. Tinkle, bubble, gurgle 
— ^the quiet swirl of the waters. A splash up at the head 
of the rapids where "the big one got away" an hour be- 
fore, another splash in the pool below, and a circle of 
ever-widening rings. 
A big heron stalked lazily along a sandbar 300 or 
400yds, down stream, and the summer air made him as 
big as an ostrich. 
A soft patter of bare feet announced the arrival of the 
boy. He had waded across to the head of the island and 
then came by land to the lower end. He saw me and 
stopped short, hesitatingly. 
He was all boy, too, about fourteen or fifteen years old, 
sturdy, bright-faced, exceedingly homely and clad in a 
straw hat the worse for wear, a flannel shirt wide open 
at the throat, a leather belt with a knife sheath dangling 
from it, and — ^well, the rest of his costume was mostly 
an expression of gladness. He was certainly a picture 
of health and youthful "orneriness" as he stood there in 
the June sunshine, digging one bare toe into the sand 
and balancing himself with a long cane fishpole in an 
uneasy way, and I made a mental note that 1 somehow 
liked that boy. 
"Hello, young man! Fishing,, are you?" 
"Yep." 
"Catch anything yet?" 
"Yep. , 
"Where are your fish? 
"Got 'em picketed out up at the head o' th* ilan'. Git 
any?" 
"Yes, I have quite a string down there," I said, point- 
ing toward the water where I had secured my fish. 
The boy walked down, droppe'd his fishpole and ex- 
amined my string with a critical eye. "Got some good 
ones, ain't yeh?" 
"Yes, pretty fair, I think, for half a day's casting." 
"I got about that many, and I've on'y bin out 'bout 
two hours. Run out o' bait 'n' come down here for min- 
nies." 
I saw no net or other contrivance for securing min- 
nows, so I asked: "How do you catch your bait?" 
"Seine 'em," laconically. 
"Where's your net?" _ 
"Over yonder," jerking his thumb in the direction of 
a dense clump of willows. "Got 'er cached sost I can 
get it when I want it. Say, gee! that's a dandy pole you 
got, hain't it, 'n' a reel too!" he remarked, casting an 
admiring glance at the old lancewood rod that leaned 
against the bushes, 
"Yes, that old rod is a good one; not very handsome, 
but it has stood the test, and I know what it Avill do," 
"Gee! wish I had a pole like that. Must be fun to see 
ole Balaam go with all that line; 'nen a little Rastus 'd 
make 'er bend, too, I reckon," he added, reflectively. 1 
did not then understand that this boy had a pet name of 
his own for the people of the wilderness, but I afterward 
learned that "Balaam" meant a large' fish and "Rastus" 
was a small one, so I replied that all kinds and sizes of 
fish "made her bend." 
The boy closely examined and tested the balance of the 
rod, remarked that "she switched like a buggy whip," 
and showed so much interest that I concluded to let him 
"try her." 
"Would you like to catch a fish with my rbd?" 
"Would I? Well, I guess yes," 
"AH right, now I'll show you a few tricks about hand- 
ling it, so you won't smash ray tip, you know: and then 
you may try your skill." 
He was delighted, and paid strict attention ss I ex- 
plained the wrist movement in the cast. In a few trials 
he had mastered the knack; indeed, he took to it as 
naturally as a duck to water, and was ready. 
"Reckon I'll git a few dandy red-horse minnies, "nen 
I'll git a Balaam sure right crost there by that old root. 
They's alius a Balaam er two over there, 'n' I'll git 
one all right," 
He scrambled into a thick clump of willows on the 
island, ducked in among the branches and brought out 
a minnow net made of a yard or so of blue mosquito 
bar, with the ends rolled around a couple of willow 
sticks. With this primitive outfit he waded out into the 
current, and making a quick sweep through an eddy be- 
hind a rock, dipped up about a dozen fine red-horse min- 
nows, bright as a bit of rainbow, and brought them 
ashore. Here he picked out three or four, remarking: 
"You want to git these rough-nosed fellows if you want 
good bait," though I saw no difference in the color or 
size or any characteristic of the minnows until the boy 
showed me the heads of two or three of them. One was 
smooth and slippery as any fish is, while the other fish 
felt as if it had a skin of sandpaper, it was so rough. The 
boy declared that a catfish took the rough kind "quicker 
'n lightnin', " when it would not notice the smooth kind 
that looked just like it. 
He put the few baits that he had selected into his hat, 
and then complacently put the hat back on his head, say- 
ing: "They're handy that way, an' you can git 'era fresh 
whenever you run out of bait." He strung one on the 
hook to his liking and then waded out into the stream 
within casting distance of the old root he had mentioned. 
At the third cast he got a strike, and in a moment I saw 
he had a large one. "Got ole Balaam, sure!" he shouted. 
I gave him directions about handling for a few moments, 
but soon saw that he instinctively understood the hand- 
ling of a rod and reel, so I stood still and watched the 
fight, and a pretty one it was too. 
In about ten minutes the boy started back for shore, 
working the fish slowly and carefully across the stream, 
leading him alwaj'S into the stiffest currents he could. 1 
waded out with the net and stood ready, and when the 
catch came within reach 1 landed him safe in the net. 
"Gee! that's a slick way to get your fish, too," said the 
boy, as he noted the landing-net act. We walked up 
on the island and unliooked the prize, which tipped the 
pocket scales at pj^lbs., and then sat in the shade talk- 
ing. The boy was enthusiastic about the working of the 
rod, though a gib. fish seemed to interest him only as an 
adjunct to the sport of reeling in and reeling out. 
"Gee! that's a mighty nice pole. How much d' yeh pay 
for 'em?" I told him the run of prices on rods, and ex- 
plained the points of a good one to him. "I'm goin' to 
have one like that," he said, and 1 knew he meant it by 
the snap of his square young jaw. 
In our conversation that afternoon I round that the 
boy knew every foot of the river for miles up and down 
stream, and every foot of the surrounding country be- 
sides, for he had a shotgun and a rifle and hunted in 
season. 
He said he went t'o school "sometimes," and always 
camped out in vacation. He had his boat and cayuse too, 
so he was fixed for aU kinds of outdoor sport. When 
the sun began to lengthen the shadows the boy reckoned 
he'd "vamoose," but we parted firm friends, and with the 
understanding that we would meet again on the following 
Saturday at the dam, and fish the riffles down stream 
together. 
"So long," said the boy, as he gathered up his long 
cane pole and his big fish, and silently disappeared into 
the bushes of the island, barefooted and barelegged, un- 
mindful of the scratching bushes or the saw-hke edges 
of the wiry slough grass. 
"There is a boy that is a character and is a good one to 
study," I thought. I was right too; for I saw him grow 
up, hunted, fished and traveled with him, was at his wed- 
ding and am good friends with his five-year-old — but Til 
have to tell you about the boy in some other article, for 
I could write a book about him and the years we have 
spent together. This time you must be content that 
you have met him. Maybe you will have a chance to go 
over some old trails with him later on. 
El Comancho. 
North Carolina Wild Turkeys. 
Ever since the day that the Philistines answered Jona- 
than and his armor-bearer and said: "Come up to us 
and we will shew you a thing," there have been, and al- 
ways will be, people — Philistme or Israelite, Gentile or 
Jew — who will take great pleasure in showing anybody 
and everybody something. My purpose in writing is to 
tell the readers of Forest and Stream something about 
the wild turkey and the methods practiced in hunting 
the great bird in this section. 
Four miles south of IMew Berne, in the county of 
Craven, the hamlet of Thurman is situated upon a level 
plain between the Neuse River and the A. and N. C. R. 
R. Just three miles in a westwardly course from this 
point the waters of Bryce's creek are reached. The length 
of this creek, from its source to its mouth at Trent 
River, is nearly fifty miles by water route; by land, upon 
railroad or county road, the distance is covered by about 
fourteen miles, fhe novelist would, no doubt, describe 
this water as being a silvery stream, serpentine or tor- 
tuous in its course; but the fellow who paddles a ducking 
boat against it When it :s running at the rate of eight 
knots per hour, soon discovers that the water is as black 
as tar and torturous to his back, arms and wrists. Along 
the course of the creek, from mouth to source, upon 
either side, high rolling ridges of land jut out in points 
through thiclcly matted and ever-green canebrakes to 
the stream, or become gradually flattened as they meet 
and are lost in the peat and mire of cypress and black- 
gum lowlands. The growth of these ndges consists of 
red, white and black oaks, hickory, dogwood, holly, gale- 
berry, hazel and the ever-present pine. Where the point 
of ridge reaches the lowland the water oaks and black- 
gum trees attain huge proportions, and furnish acorns 
and gum berries in great quantities, which are highly 
relished and devoured with avidity by turkeys and others 
of the feathered tribe. 
Here is the natural home of the red-legged, black- 
headed, pure-blooded bronze turkey. The gabble of the 
gobblers is heard when the dogwood is in blossom, and 
they are struttifig and parading themselves before the 
females of the flock, using all their cunning to get as 
many hens as possible to accept them as lord and leader. 
At this time of year the gobbler is a gallant bird. His 
instinct seems to teach him the fact that he is not being 
hunted; hence his gabble, gabble, from every dell and 
every hill upon the course of Bryce's creek and Trent 
River. The hens commence laying in this section in 
April; some years as early as March. By Nov. i those 
hatched in April and May are large enough to be killed, 
and have by this time acquired sufficient wariness to be 
game w^orthy of your steel, be it laminated or Damascus 
twist, with hammers or hamraerless. AH combined are 
useless unless the hunter gets close enough to the bird. 
To find the range over which a particular flock is feed- 
ing is the first step to be taken if you want a turkey. 
The number_ contained in the flock can be ascertained 
by the experienced turkey hunter by the space scratched 
over. Old scratches can be distinguished from new or 
fresh ones, and the birds can be followed by coursing 
their scratching. When doing this walking is out of the 
question; you must creep, crawl, slide -get there any way 
you can. When you have got close enough to hear 
them scratching, stop and rest; get your nerves steady, 
and just now, should the whole flock fly off and you 
didn't get a shot, don't curse your luck, but kick your- 
self for not getting to the other side of them. Don't be 
discouraged at this, your first failure to bag the game. 
There are other turkeys feeding in the woods. • 
Should you follow a flock by trail all day and fail to 
get a shot, there is a chance to get close enough to. them 
to hear them fly to perch just after sunset. Upon a 
calm evening the sound produced by the wings of a 
flock when flying to roost can be distinctly heard at a 
distance of half a mile. When their roosting place has 
been accurately located to get close enough to shoot 
them before night conceals them from view is the ob- 
ject. When you have picked the bird most plainly seen 
and easily to be reached, all possible stealthiness must 
be observed while approaching the point to shoot from. 
Turkeys don't go to sleep immediately after perching. 
When they have tried the limbs upon which they pur- 
pose to spend the night, they stand up, spread their 
wings, stretch their necks to the fullest extent and look 
cautiously around them in all directions. When they 
have repeated these tactics three or four times they settle 
down to sleepy witli both ears and one eye open. Now 
is the time to get close enough to shoot. You can 
plainly see the bird's shape when at a distance of 60 or 
,70yds. from him, and at this distance he can be easily 
killed with No. 2 shot. Should it be too dark to see 
your gun-sight a sulphur match rubbed around and upon 
it will enable the shooter to draw a fine bead. Time 
will be wasted should the hunter try to pick a gobbler 
from the flock while they are roosting. The whole flock 
does not roost upon the limbs of one tree, but divide 
themselves into squads of three, and four, which number 
occupy a single tree. The gobblers roost alone, and 
always some distance in the rear of the hens. The male 
is not in December or January the gay, gallant bird he 
was when the dogwood was in bloom. He has ceased 
to strut and gabble, and is satisfied to eat the berries 
of the trees, and remain always in the rear, like the 
general of an army, while the hens of the flock are, like 
the privates, graciously permitted to be to the front 
in time of advance, and allowed to look out for the 
rear in time of retreat. 
When turkeys are shot at while at perch they become 
scattered. After shooting them at night, get to the 
perching place again the following morning, before sun- 
rise, and call them to you. This is done easily enough 
by the aid of a "caller," or "yelper," made of two joints 
of reed or cane, the smaller joint telescoped into the 
larger, the small end being inserted between the lips, 
while the larger joint is held between the hands, the 
fingers of the right hand being placed lightly over those 
of the half-doubled left; suck the reed held between the 
lips three or four times in quick succession. A little 
practice with this call soon enables the hunter to lure 
the turkey hens, but the gobbler is seldom fooled; he 
lets the hens go to the call of distress and investigate 
to their satisfaction or destruction. 
When wintry weather prevails in this section and we 
have had some ice, the turkeys no longer roost upon 
the high lands on the pine trees, but perch upon the 
cypresses, close to the margin of the creeks and smaller 
streams. Now, if we have to get a turkey, the 8-knot 
per hour flowing creek must be tackled, and after in- 
dulging in the healthful exercise of paddling up stream, 
for some hours, we lie alongside the bank, wipe the 
perspiration from our face and tie up until sundown, 
when we haul aboard our painter and drift down stream, 
using all our strength and skill to keep the boat from 
ramming its head out of sight into the reeds, brambles 
and briers which line the creek side. If we get the 
turkey, a few scratches upon the hands and face, tox"n 
and shredded coat sleeves and the loss of a handful of 
hirsute covering are not taken into account. 
We had a very dry spring and summer in '97, there- 
fore turkeys and quail are plentiful. The last turkey I 
killed was an old gobbler weighing close upon 2ort)S. 
His beard, or tassel, measuring pin,, is presented to the 
editor of Forest and Stream. A friend enjoyed the old 
patriarch upon Christmas Day, 
I was out in company - with Mr. J. S. Hardison on 
Dec. 28. We walked about six miles and surprised a 
flock of turkeys, and they surprised us by flying before 
we got close enough to shoot. After they had made 
their escape we called upon an honest old negro, Tony 
Haddock, who lives back in the woods. Tony is a very 
truthful old man; arithmetic is unknown to him; he 
has never learned to multiply 10 trotting turkeys by 4 
and make 45 or 50 of them. Some white folks' in this 
section can perform this operation without the use of 
pencil or paper. Mr. Hardison asked lony if he had 
seen any turkeys around lately. Tony very truthfully 
replied: "No, sah, I hain't seen none, but dey penny- 
rates through here, an' I can't see like I use ter, but 
sometimes I stumbles over dey tracks down in de fiel'." 
We proceeded to look for the tracks, but stumbled 
over none. However, late in the afternoon Mr. H. shot 
a turkey. 
1 do not profess to knoAv all about the wild turkey, but 
I have killed many. If any readers of Forest and 
Stream will come down to us, we will promise to show 
them a thing or two and give them a chance to kill wild 
turkeys. !■ C. Thomas. 
THLTtMAJT, N, C, 
