July 9, 1898.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
27 
Game in Iowa. 
Vinton, la., June 16. — Editor Forest and Stream: Old 
settlers claim that quail were never so plently as they 
have been during the past year. They may be seen any 
day and at almost any time running along our roads, 
with little fear of the passer by. During the winter there 
were more prairie chickens than at any time for fifteen 
years, and they were native to this locality, to which 
my notes only refer. Adjoining my place was a large 
field of corn that had been shocked up with the corn on 
the stalks, and mornings from 300 to 500 chickens 
would obtain their breakfast from the corn on the 
shocks. There were smaller flocks in different directions 
a few miles awy. A few weeks ago, while taking a ride 
of five or six miles, I counted fourteen chickens that 
jumped up from the roadside and went strutting and 
clucking into the fields. 
The Northern hare, as they have been called by 
sportsmen, or prairie hare, which I think is the correct 
name, are working from Minnesota down through this 
State, and are becoming quite common in the vicinity. 
The first one that I saw was two years ago, and the 
old settlers say they were never here before. They turn 
white in the winter, like the hare in the mountains in 
northern New England, and as I remember the latter 
they are smaller than the ones here. They are popularly 
• called jack rabbits, but the jack rabbits in Nebraska do 
not turn white in the winter, and I believe they are not 
as large as our hare, yet larger than the rabbits that I saw 
in the mountains in Idaho and Wyoming, while they 
all have that peculiar way of running — sometimes a stiff- 
legged canter or a few jumps and a bob-up behind, when 
once seen never to be forgotten. This I believe is not 
true of the New -England hare. 
Bluebirds this summer, I am pleased to see. are nearly 
as numerous as ever. Bobolinks are more numerous 
than I have previously known them to be, and I can 
say the same for hummingbirds, yet the last are still 
scarce. Butcher birds, or shrikes, are very plenty, but 
I seldom see them close to the buildings excepting in the 
winter season. 
One year ago last winter a butcher bird that stayed 
about my buildings used to "make a great bluff" at 
singing. Its song would last from one-quarter to one- 
half a minute. Some of the notes were like those of 
the brown thrush, others like those of the robin, and so 
much so that one day my boys came in and said they 
had heard a robin. The song was pleasing; it was a 
sort of warble, and was always ended with the bird's 
usual war cry. I mention this because it is the only 
bird of the kind I ever heard sing; and some days when 
the thermometer was many degrees below zero I used 
to wonder if the bird was really ha^oy or just singing 
to keep up courage. 
A pair of these birds one winter stayed around one 
of my neighbor's buildings. He had some shocks of 
corn standing in his yard, and when he pulled one over to 
feed to his stock the mice would run to the next one. 
The birds soon learned to watch for Mr. D. at the regu- 
lar feeding time, and when he would pull over a shock 
of corn they would dive down and catch the mice. 
A flock of seven snowy ones established their winter 
quarters in a small cedar tree within a few feet of a 
neighbor's house the past winter, but they littered the 
yard so badly that he tried to drive them away by club- 
bing them out of the tree, which he did not succeed in 
doing until near spring, when thej r made their home in a 
cedar tree in my brother's yard. 
One thing that troubles me is this: I used to like 
to see the upland nlover that had their nests in our 
meadows alight, and while holding their wings straight 
up in the air give their clear, shrill notes. Last summer 
I saw and heard one; this summer so far none. What 
can be the matter? 
What has become of the sandhill crane? I have 
not seen nor heard one for years, with the exception of 
two that were in the extreme northern part of the State. 
Are they getting scarce? If so, let's stop pounding the 
life out of these grand birds for a time, and give them 
a chance. Each spring and fall I scan the sky and listen 
for the old familiar sound that does not come. Can 
some reader of Forest and Stream kindly inform me 
where these birds have their breeding place, and if their 
migratory flight is still over the State of Nebraska, as 
it used to be? 
Cottontails are very plenty. Last summer they would 
fairly overrun a person. I will tell you how I know. 
One day I heard Shep and Mick give a few short and 
excited yelps, and knew that a rabbit chase was on. Up 
through the hog lot came the rabbit; and it was reach- 
ing right out in great shape, for rabbits around my place 
have lots of practice and know how to run. Old Shep 
was pounding along behind and Mick was following 
close up, and laying" right down to business. The rab- 
bit went through the partition fences, but the dogs had 
to go over the top, which gave the rabbit the advantage. 
I saw that the rabbit would lead the race along the 
north side of the barn and shed, and I ran to get past 
the corner of the garden fence to see the race when it 
would get beyond the shed; but Hi e rabbit turned at the 
end of the shed and came straight for the same fence 
corner that I was running for; and right there the rabbit 
and the farmer met. I did not have time to say "Hello!" 
and the rabbit didn't have time to jump one side; so it 
made a frantic effort to jump over my head or through 
me — I have never quite made up my mind which. But 
I could not dodge that streak of rabbit any more than 
a Spanish fort can dodge one of Sampson's shells. It 
leaped head first and heels a-coming full tilt against 
the pit of my stomach, at the. same time giving me a 
kick which doubled me up and sent the rabbit back sev- 
eral feet and to the ground with a broken back, and 
while I was drawing my hand across the contracted 
portion. of my abdomen, just as one will after eating 
green apples, and the rabbit lay kicking on the ground, 
the dogs came up on the dead run; but I straightened 
up in time to stop them and put the rabbit out of misery. 
I can testify that if one rabbit's hindfoot in a pocket 
will straighten one's finances, two hindfeet in the 
stomach will crook his physique. Mount Tom. 
The Forest and Stream 1s pvt u> itn/n.< car% week on 
Tuesday. Correspondence intended fur publication 
should reach us at the lulrnt, Mt Monday, and as much 
earlier m p.rwvq 'tye.. '*' 
A Variation. 
U- £ George Mirror) 
->n angler with a costly pole 
Surmounted with a silver reel, 
Carven in quaint poetic scroll — 
Jointed and tipped with finest steel — 
With yellow flies, 
Whose scarlet eyes 
And jasper win^s are fair to see, 
Hies to the stream 
Whose bubbles beam 
Down murmuring eddies wild and free, 
And casts the line with sportsman's pride 
Where the fish 'neath the bushes glide, 
A shock-haired boy with birch-wand light, 
Pronged somewhat like a fish's spine, 
And on the end a bit of white— 
The common kind of grocer's twine— 
With naught but great 
Ground worms for bait, 
Tramps to the water full of glee. 
His hat beneath, 
Observe the wreath 
Of smiles most beautiful to see, 
While he casts in the plashing brook 
A bended pin — his only hook. 
The angler with the costly pole 
Comes homeward full of airy grace — 
If rapture fills the urchin's' soul, 
It doesn't blossom in his face. 
The former he has twenty-three 
Fishes that speckled in the sun. 
The shock-haired boy 
Is reft of joy — 
He's caught what's known as "nary one." 
The rod and reel have won to-day— 
Somehow it sometimes works that way! 
In the Choctaw Nation. 
Williamsburg, Ind., June 23.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Last May I was down in the Choctaw nation, 
and having some spare time went fishing in the Kiami- 
cha River. It is a fine stream, with many places where 
the water runs over and among lumps and ledges of 
sandstone, and then rests in long reaches of still water, 
shaded by the trees. It looked as if there ought to be 
bass in there, and as if they would be gamy on the 
hook, and appetizing on the table. A trial proved that 
they were there, and that they were hungry for craw 
fish, and put up a gallant fight when hooked; as nice, 
clean-looking fish as ever were landed. A half-dozen 
were taken in an hour, all of which were returned to 
the water but two, and those two had their heads cut 
off while fully alive, were cleaned and salted a little, and 
put in the ice chest over night. Next morning they were 
nicely cooked for breakfast, but they were not eaten. 
They were soft and tasteless, as an August sucker from 
a warm creek. I spoke to one of the local anglers about 
it and he said. "No. the catfish is the only good fish 
in the river; the bass and sunfish are always soft and 
tasteless." 
Now I would like to know if the bass in a sandstone 
stream are poorer flavored than those in a limestone 
stream. Yesterday I asked a market fisherman on the 
Mississippi about it. He did not know, but had heard 
that the fish in a sandstone stream were not good. Asked 
about his fishing, he said: "I follow it because I like it, 
and there is a good living in it. There is enough 
element of chance in it to make it interesting; I don't 
know whether it is going to be a water haul or thirty 
dollars' worth of fish, though I know pretty well that 
with my 250yds. of seines and one man to help me I 
will average $40 a week, and the cost of keeping the 
tackle in repair, and renewing it when worn out, will not 
cost more than 2 per cent, of the receipts from fish. 
The worst thing about it is that when I have a big run 
of luck the money is made so easy that it goes just as 
easy, and I've never got any money when I need it the 
worst. 
"If there is enough water where I am going to fish, I 
splice the two seines together, and fold them in the 
boat, so it can be thrown out as the boat is rowed 
around. . A line 75yds. long is tied to each end of the 
seine. One end of a line is tied to a stake at the edge 
of the water. We row out from the shore and sweep 
around in a semi-circle large enough to require the 
length of the 500yds. of seine, and the 150yds. of lines 
to surround the semi-circle and return to shore, so we 
have enclosed the fish on about fifteen acres of water. 
It isn't very hard work, but sometimes we fish when it 
is so cold that the seine freezes almost as fast as we 
draw it out of the water, and it's a pretty cold job 
then. We make more money out of the German carp 
than any other fish. We ship them to Fulton Market, 
New York, and get an average price of 8 cents per pound 
for them here undressed, just as they come from the 
water. The express rate is $2.25 per ioolbs. I figure 
that they must cost the people that eat them about 15 
cents a pound. I hear that they are mostly sold to jews 
and Italians. Nobody but negroes eat them here. Dur- 
ing hot weather we can't ship them, and have to sell 
them at most any price." 
In the fish house an old wrinkled and dried-up negro, 
a veritable imp of Satan, was cleaning a lot of live cat- 
fish. He hung the fish by a hook through the under 
jaw; two dextrous cuts with a keen-edged knife severed 
the skin around the neck. Catching the edge of the 
severed skin with a pair of pinchers, a quick jerk strip- 
ped the skin from one side of the bod3\ A jerk 
at the skin on the other side, and the skin was all off 
except a "V" shaped piece on the belly. The pinchers 
snapped at the point of the "V," and an upward jerk 
took off the last piece of skin. A quick stroke of the 
knife severed the "bridle" from the head, an upward 
thrust opened the fish, another cut severed the visceral 
attachments, and the still wriggling and breathing fish 
w&§ thrown upon the table, to die at its leisure, J asked. 
the old imp if he didn't think it was pretty rough on 
the fish to skin him alive. He scowled at me a mo- 
ment and said, "I knows da' bones is pow'fu' rough on 
man ban's, jes' cuttin' 'em all to pieces. Doan' know 
nuffin' 'bout de fish, an' don' kcer nuffin' 'bout 'em 
needer." 
When the catfish were finished, he sharpened his knife 
and began to. clean carp. The knife was inserted under 
the scales, and lying flat on the fish quick strokes toward 
the head sliced off the scales and skin in pieces of 2 t« 
3in. wide. There was enough skin take,, off to hold the 
scales together, but the skin on the fish showed no 
marks of the knife. It showed the imprint of every 
scale. It looked just as if the fish scales had been scraped 
off, except that the skin was left smoother and cleaner 
looking than a scraped fish. I said that was a lively way 
to scale fish. "Huh!" said the old darky, -- I ain't scalin' 
detu fish. Yo' caint scale no cahp. Got to skin 'em." 
"Are you skinning them?" I asked. 
"Cose I is. Don' yo' see de skin 1 done took off." 
"Yes, but I see a whole skin on the fish." 
"Cose yo' does. De cahp dun got two skins on 'um. 
Ef yo' doan b'lieve flat, yo' rims' be one of dem folks 
dat doan' b'lieve nothin' dey hears, an' not moah'n half 
dey sees," and with a snort of disgust at my ignorance he 
threw another carp on the table and the keen edged 
knife sliced off the scales again. 
O. H. Hampton 
Katahdm and Big Fish Lake Regions 
(Continued from page 462,1 
The New York angler can leave the Grand Central at 
noon and arrive at Boston in time to connect with the 
Bangor sleeper, and reach Ashland the following day 
in time to try the Portage Lake Inlet before dusk. I t 
the weather looks stormy, stop over night at the settle- 
ment and make an early start next morning; this will 
land you at Big Fish Lake in time for the evening fish- 
ing, provided you help paddle the canoe through the 
still reaches of the Stream. 
I would advise the angler after a few casts in the early 
morning to stow his rod and hasten on his way to the 
happy fishing grounds above. Fish River is shallow and 
rapid, and abounds with numerous boulders that scrape 
an unpleasant acquaintance with the canoe at low water. 
There is a good spring near the lumber camp on the 
right bank going up. Ferguson Brook, High Landing, 
McCloskey's Hole, the Falls and Round Pond are 
passed on your eighteen-mile journey up stream to the 
lake. Big Fish Lake is about six miles long, and will 
average about one and a half miles in width. There is a 
lovely island near the outlet that will well repay a visit. 
June is the best month for brook trout and black flies. 
These pests abound during the early season. Their at- 
tacks can be warded off by a liberal application of fly 
lotion. If you object to this method, wear a head net. 
There are two public camps on the lake, McNally's and 
Orcutt's. McNally's camp, three miles up the lake, fur- 
nishes good accommodations, and the angler can profit- 
ably employ his time at Smith Brook, opposite the camp. 
Deer are often seen feeding near by. There is good fish- 
ing at the inlet and outlet of the lake. Carr Pond, Chase 
Brook, Round Pond, McCloskey's Hole and the Falls 
are easily reached from the camp. Ferguson and Clayton 
ponds are too far away to go and return the. same day. 
In June the average angler can get all the brook trpul 
he desires without going more than three miles from 
camp. Better fight shy of the camp canoe unless von 
are an experienced canoeman; in that case you can dis- 
pense with a guide. In September the high winds that 
prevail on the lake makes the fishing uncertain off the 
mouths of the brooks. By leaving the lake and going 
down stream about four miles to McCloskey's Pool, the 
angler can secure all the large trout he wants when thev 
are in the humor. The canoe is left at the Falls Carry, a 
short distance below Round Pond. 
Ferguson Pond trail is on the opposite side of the 
river. About an eighth of a mile from the landing is 
the only place in this region where worms can be pro- 
cured. Don't be a fly crank; it is better to take some nice 
ones with bait than to return with an empty creel. 
From this point a two-mile tramp along a wood road 
will bring you to a marked tree. Turn in here, and you 
will soon arrive at the best trout pool in the Maine 
woods. See that your tackle is in first-class shape he- 
fore trying conclusions with the large trout that haunt 
this pool. Two_ and a half-pounders are quite common 
here'. I had a bitter experience at McCloskey's one Sep- 
tember afternoon; in the act of retrieving the fy I 
fastened to an immense trout, and after a long-drawn-out 
fight lost him. This trout would have pulled hard on 
the 5lb. notch. My best trout. 2lbs. ooz., failed to con 
sole me for the loss of the big fellow. Any ordinary 
patterns of flies, tied on rather large hooks, will answer. 
Needle-eyed hooks or flies tied on flattened hooks with 
the sliding loop attachment are the best- — no danger of 
slipping. Shipley, of Philadelphia, has this arrangement 
and everything pertaining to the fly-tyer's art. When 
gut is worn at the head of the fly, cut and' tie on a fresh 
loop. Make two turns to the loop knot, same as the 
others; to unfasten pull on the knotted end, working it a 
trifle back and forth. 
A rough trail leads up from the river to Ferguson 
Pond. This beautiful home of the trout has very 1101 r 
accommodations for the angler, A good bark camp is 
wanted here in place of the miserable lean-to that an- 
swers well enough in fair weather, but if rainy wearhc.- 
sets in the sportsman will have to leave and seek shelter 
in the public camps on the lake. This arrangement Suits 
the camp owners immensely. " 'Nuff sed." Sportsmen 
will have to take their chances securing the two rafts, as 
parties are constantly coming and going. 
September is a good month to come up here. There- 
are then no insects to bother, the air is cool and bracing, 
and hunting and fishing are in their prime. 
McCloskey's and Ferguson Pond furnis!- good spr 
Smith and Chase brooks are worth trying under favor 
conditions. There are unlimited quantities of hr 
berries and small trout on the upper waters of 
Brook. Go up the inlet to Mud Pond for deer. / 
good place is opposite McNally's camp. There - 
a number of people camping out around the la' 
September, This make^s sport on the lake ra' 
