250 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 24, 1898. 
gagement for the next day would prevent John going 
in with us, for I had learned by experience that he 'was 
an excellent man to have around a camp in the woods. 
I also learned that a new trail had been made to the 
pond since I was last there,, which lessened the walk by 
a mile and a half. 
After breakfast ihe next morning John drove us five 
miles on the road to Errol Dam, from which the new 
trail to the pond started. John provided two men, Jim 
Griffin and Bob Hilliard, to carry the duffle, and with a 
parting salute 5rom John we started on the four-mile 
tramp. The walking for the most part was good, and in 
less than two hours we were at the new log camp, which 
we found spacious and comfortable. We did not lose 
much time in putting up our rods and taking to the 
boats, as the trout were breaking the surface in all 
directions. Bob guided the boat for Mr. Gilbert, while 
I nulled out alone, and let the craft drift at her own sweet 
will. ' But we soon discovered that the trout were 
doing anything but feeding; they were simply playing, as 
it were. Occasionally one would take the fly, but the oc- 
casions were rare. But I soon found that it was not all 
of fishing to fish, so after a while I sat in my boat and 
watched Mr. Gilbert cast. I had an idea that I could 
cast fairly well, but that day I learned more about fly- 
casting than I ever knew before. Mr. Gilbert's work 
with his extremely light rod was something wonderful, 
and I watched it with some little envy and a great deal 
of delight. Meanwhile Griffin was preparing dinner of 
good things, which Mrs. Chandler had put into the pack, 
and when we were called in we had only half a dozen 
trout. But Mr. Gilbert declared he had had lots of fun. 
and I was not far behind. In the afternoon and the next 
morning they were jumping as before, but our flies were 
not what they were looking for. In all we got about 
twenty, and" we took them with us in good shape. The 
fourth day saw us in Jefferson, and although I was great- 
ly disappointed in the fishing I recognized the correct- 
ness of Mr. Gilbert's remark, that it wasn't the first 
time he had been served so. To conclude, we had a very 
delightful trip, pleasant weather, and I count myself 
fortunate in making the acquaintance and enjoying the 
companionship of so thorough a gentleman and sports- 
man as H. Bramhall Gilbert. William B. Smart. 
No More Trout. 
Middletown, N. Y., Sept. 16. — Mr. B. S. Smith is 
one of the oldest fishermen and gunners in this part of 
the State, and is entirely familiar with the conditions. 
He says the cutting off of timber is ruining all sorts of 
sport. The old trout brooks in the Walkill Valley have 
either dried up or become the home of carp, and trout 
have almost entirely disappeared. Mr. Smith has traded 
his trouting outfit for ammunition, but the cutting off 
of the timber is now driving game away. In one 
spot famous for woodcock a portable sawmill has 
driven all the game away. The only hope for sportsmen 
is the abandonment of the farms, which is rapidly tak- 
ing place, owing to the low price of milk and other 
farm produce. There are thousands of acres in Orange 
county which have been cleared and cultivated, but 
now growing up with brush, which must eventually be- 
come forests. In time these trees may restore the water 
to the brooks, but it will probably take a century to do 
it. In the meantime sportsmen must go into remote 
sections far from the ordinary haunts of men if they 
would catch trout or shoot game. G. 
Bloefish and Birds at Chatham. 
Chatham, Mass.. Sept. 14. — This season has been a 
record-breaker here, both in regard to a remarkable 
run of bluefish on the 4th inst. and a flight of beetle- 
head (black-breasted plover) on the 12th. 
The bluefishing was described in Forest and Stream 
of this week. The 12th was the largest plover day ever 
known here. Forty-four were killed, and thirty other 
large birds, making the total score for the day seventy- 
four, of which fifty-three were brought in by four gun- 
ners, there being eleven out. Sully Cochrane, of Boston, 
killed twenty-nine large birds, as follows: Nine beetle- 
heads, six winters, two godwits, four red breasts, five 
chickens, one summer and two grass birds, besides a 
large string of sanderlings. Other large strings were 
those of John and Hoods Plankinton, of Milwaukee — 
thirteen — and R. P. Barry, Jr., of Melrose, and F. W. 
Ramseyer, of Hyde Park — fifteen — the larger part of 
these strings being beetleheads. This score would have 
been doubled had the flight arrived on a high course of 
tides; as it was, the tide did not come within 100yds of 
any box. Bumble-bee. 
Plankton. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The Standard Dictionary has this word and defines it 
as follows: "Plankton, n. Zool. Pelagic animals collec- 
tively: distinguished from coast or bottom forms. Gr. 
plattktos, wandering [placo, wander]." Prof. Reigard's 
use of the word in the reports of the Michigan Fish 
Commission and the American Fisheries Society, for the 
past few years, includes minute vegetation as well as ani- 
mal life, and all small life on which young fishes may 
feed in the first few days of their existence. 
Kego-e-Kay. 
The Irish Setter Club Prizes. 
Philadelphia, Pa".. Sept. 15. — In order to avoid any 
misunderstanding, the total amount of prize money 
offered by the Irish Setter Club of America is $60. Any 
surplus remaining, should the whole $60 not be awarded, 
is to be devoted to paying $10 for each Irish setter run- 
ning until such surplus is exhausted. 
Geo. H. Thomson, Sec'y. 
Mr. T. Morgan, of St. Louis, has sold to President 
Dias, of Mexico, the pointer dog McKinley, out of Lass 
of Hessen, by Keswick's Tip. This would naturally 
lead one to infer that Mexico's chief executive is some- 
what of a sportsman himself, Paul R. Litzke. 
he fflmnel 
Fixtures. 
BENCH SHOWS. 
Oct, 14-15. — Braintree, Mass. — N. E. K. C. open air show. Ad- 
dress Secretary Open Air Show, Braintree, Mass. 
FIELD TRIALS. 
Nov. 7. — Indiana Field Trials Club's trials, Bicknell, Ind. S. 
H. Socwell, Sec'y. 
Nov. 11.— Eastern Field Trials Club's trials, Newton, N. C. 
S. C. Bradley, Sec'y. 
Nov. 15.— International Field Trial Club's trials, Chatham, Ont. 
W. B. Wells, Sec'y. 
Nov. 15-17. — Central Beagle Club's annual trials. L. O. Seidel, 
Sec'y. 
Nov. 22. — Fourth annual field trials of the Monongahela Valley 
Game and Fish Protective Association, Greene county, Pa. A. 
C. Peterson, Sec'y, Homesdale, Pa. 
Dec. 5-6.— Missouri Valley Field Trial Club's trials. C. H. 
Werner, Sec'y. 
Dec. 5. — Continental Field Trial Club's trials, Lexington, N. 
C. W. B. Meares, Sec'y. 
His First and Last Coon Hunt. 
^.'Hello, Tom! Don't you want to go out with the 
Ketch'em Koon Klub to-night?. We've got a new dog 
down from Maine, and want to try him." 
The red-faced, portly man, seated at a roll-top desk, 
to whom the question was addressed, wheeled around 
quickly in his revolving chair and glared at his ques- 
tioner, who had dropped familiarly into a chair. There . 
was silence for a moment, and then the portly man broke 
out: 
"Naw, I don't want to go out with the Ketch'em Koon 
Klub to-night." 
Then he wheeled back to the desk, picked up a pen 
and began to write savagely. Evidently the portly man 
thought the interview was at an end, but the young 
fellow in the chair only looked amused. Presently the 
pen was thrown into the back of the desk with a rattle 
and the portly man's chair squeaked as he wheeled about 
again, 
"I went on one coon hunt," he blurted out. "I know 
what they're like. I'm one of those fellows that believe 
if a man's bamboozled once he's unfortunate, but if he's 
caught the second time on the same thing he's a blamed 
fool. That's my style. Hold on there! You needn't, 
tell me any of those stories about the beauties of the 
trackless forest at night, with its strange sounds and 
mysterious shadows; or the silvery moonlight hiding 
imperfections on hill and vale, and dancing on the lake: 
or the excitement of the chase; or the noble hound whose 
voice is imisic to your ears. I've heard it all, and for 
just once I yielded to the tempter, but only once— 
thank the Lord! 
"But I was younger then, and 1 dunno but that had 
something to do with it, At any fate. 1 hope I didn't 
make such a blamed fool of myself with full possession 
of my faculties. It was soon after I was married, per- 
haps that's the reason; but no matter about that, t 
was up in Vermont with my wife one fall, enjoying the 
mountain air and good, plain living at a comfortable 
farmhouse. Stopping at the same place was a party of 
hunters from Boston, and would you believe it, there was 
a girl in the crowd that put on a short skirt, toted a 
gun and hunted with her dad and her feller, who made 
up the party. Well, those people didn't do anything but 
hunt. It was foxes in the morning and birds in the 
afternoon; or squirrels in the morning and rabbits in the 
afternoon. There wa'n't no such thing as rest, and 
when night came it was coons. There Were guns in the 
corners, shells on the sideboard and hunting coats in 
the chairs. And it was talk on hunt hunt, hunt, until 
you couldn't hear anything eke, 
"Well, I confess that the stories that they told about 
coon hunting rather appealed to me. They told all 
about its beauties and so forth. How easy it was just 
to go out and stand around till a coon was treed, and 
then to go over and cut the tree down and see the dogs 
tackle him, until I thought it'd be fun. 
"Those Boston people used to hire a man to come 
over regularly every good night with his dog, but that 
fall the man had been entertaining a city friend, and it 
had been too much for him, so he didn't show up for 
several days. But one fine night he came with his friend 
and his dog just as we were getting ready to play whist. 
There was a scramble, and before I thought much about 
it my wife and I were getting ready too. They in- 
sisted on her going because the Boston girl and the 
farmer's daughter wanted to go, and they said my wife 
could be chaperon. Well, pretty soon we started. There 
was Hake Smith, he owned the dog, and his city friend. 
Hake, at the head of the line, carried a lantern, and his 
friend lugged a jag with considerable difficulty. Then 
there was the man from Boston, my wife and the far- 
mer's son, who carried an axe; the farmer's daughter and 
I. then the Boston girl and her feller, and down at the 
end of the line the farmer, carrying another lantern. 
And then there was the dog, an uneasy little cuss that 
swished up ;nd down the line looking us all over. It 
was a beautiinl night, one of those gems that you find 
late in October. The great full moon shed its mysterious 
light generously, the air, though cool, was free from 
dampness and invigorating. Just for a few moments I 
almost enjoyed myself, _ everybody else seemed to; but 
just ahead of me was the farmer's son hanging on to my 
wife's arm like a barnacle to a ship. I didn't like it. To 
be sure I had the farmer's daughter, a plump, buxom 
lassie, and she held on to me in a clinging way that 
would have been very pleasant if my wife'd been home 
and abed. But it couldn't be helped, and I plugged along 
and pretended to be as happy as everybody else. 
"We trudged up a hill, turned into a mowing and 
made our way across it to a cornfield, where we gathered 
beside a shock and waited while Hake put in the dog. 
The minutes dragged on, but no sound broke the still- 
ness. After a time that pesky dog came up waggin' his 
tail just as if he'd treed a whole family of coons. 
" 'Funny,' muttered Hake, 'this is ther fust time t'l 
ever put in hyar 'thout startin' 'tin.' 
"Then we formed in line again and started down the 
hill. I with the farmer's daughter and my w.ife. with 
the farmer's son, Before we'd gone many .steps, Hake 
missed his friend and asked us to wait while he went 
back to hunt him up. He found him asleep on a corn 1 
shock, and tried to get him up, but the tramp had been 
too much for him. So he covered him up as best he 
could, came down to us, and we started again. 
"Then, I suppose, was the real beginning of the hunt. 
First we had to crawl over a rail fence that was grown 
up with thistles on tme side and blackberry bushes on the 1 
other. The farmer's son cut a path very carefully for my 
wife. Then for half a mile we slipped on rocks and 
tripped over vines as we made our way down hill through 
a pasture. Then we crossed another stone wall forti- 
fied with birches, and a few minutes later were in a 
swamp. It was blacker than a raven's wing,- for no 
moonlight found its way through the pine boughs over- 
head. As we pushed along leafless twigs slapped us in 
the face, and pine hemlock boughs jabbed at our eyes, or 
brushed our hats off. Every third step we slipped from 
a bog into the muck, anywhere from ankle to knee deep. 
The lanterns at either end of the line were of little use. 
Everybody laughed and thought it awfully funny. Hugh! 
The farmer's daughter clung to my arm more affection- , 
ately. I knew my wife was doing the same thing with 
the farmer's son. I began to get fierce, but I managed 
to keep quiet. Just back of me the Boston girl and her 
feller were cooing away like doves, and talking about 
love and war. The further we went the worse the travel- 
ing got. Then muck became water, which splashed Avhen 
we stepped in it. After a time Hake called out: 
" T say, Aub (that was the farmer), guess we're lost, 
ain't we? Tho't thar wuz an old loggin' rud. hyar, but 
don't seem ter find it.' 
"Then the farmer came panting and puffing up from 
the rear, exclaiming: 
" 'You danged idiot! You bin huntin' all this time fur 
thet rud? It's off tew ther right half a mile or mo'.' 
" 'G'ess not, Aub,' was the slow reply, 'must be pretty 
close to hyar. Bin thro' this swamp number times and 
kinder kalculate I know't a trifle.' 
"And then Ross (that was the farmer's son) broke out: ' 
" 'Did you say north, dad? Wall, 'tain't. It's 'bout ten 
rods to ther south, or I'll chop ther winter's wood 
fur ther fun on't' 
"Then the young feller from Boston managed to leave 
his girl long enough to express his opinions, but as \ 
long as he'd never been in the woods before they didn't 
count for much. There was a gradual gathering to- 
gether, and after a little council of war Hake and Aub 
and Ross decided to circle in different directions until 
they found the road. The rest of us camped down on 
stumps, rocks and other dry places, while they went 
crashing off. hallooing every little while to get their 
bearings, 
"Pleasant, wa'n't it? Coon huntin' you call it, do you? 
Yes, and mind you, all this while not so much as even a 
whine from that lazy pup. 
"Well, they found the old road after a while, and 
the feSt of the way was easy. A little while later we got 
into a little clearing on a hillside. In the meantime the 
skv had clouded. Aub started to build a fire so we 
might dry and warm ourselves a bit, but the young feller ( 
from Boston thought it'd frighten the coons, and so he 
gave it up. 
"Hake couldn't stand that, and he remarked dryly, as 
he stamped his feet: 
" 'Don't 'spose they c'u'd take thar tracks with 'em if it 
did, der you, Aub?' 
"Then that pup. dirty and wet, came trotting up. wag- 
gin' his tail in the same old way. I tell you it was 
disgustin', 
"Pretty soon Hake said he knew of a swamp where 
he always 'got 'em goinV I told him he meant 'another' 
swamp, but he didn't mind, and on we started again. 
When we arrived at the place we decided to let Hake 
go In with the dog, saying we'd wait until he got 'em 
treed before we went hi. Then all of a sudden it sug- 
gested itself to Hake that he could send the dog in and 
, we could follow around the edge. I wondered why he 1 
hadn't thought of that before. We waited from time to 
time, as we proceeded, while the dog skirmished about, 
but it was the same old story. A regular coon hunt! 
"Pretty soon we came to some scrawny apple trees, 
tried to eat the apples we found on the ground, and felt ' 
sorry afterward. Hake picked up one and showed us 
where a deer had bitten into it — that very night, he i 
thought. Then the dog came trotting up with the same 
disgustin' wag of his tail. Then it began to sprinkle, and 
for a wonder somebody had sense enough to know 
that it was proper to go in when it rained. As we 
started up the hill, the drops became bigger, and be- 
fore we'd gone 50yds. it was pouring. That was some- 
thing we hadn't figured on. It wasn't long before it 
began to come through to the skin, and all the while 1 
Aub and Hake were trying to decide whether we were ' 
six or eight miles from home. We plugged along 111 
silence. No one seemed to be particularly happy, and 
that fact consoled me a little. In the course of half an 
hour we struck a road, and the remaining distance was ' 
finally covered. There was a bright light in the win- 
dow of the farmhouse, shining out into the mist. As 
we stepped inside, logs were crackling in the fireplace 
and an odor of coffee floated to our nostrils. The high 
clock in the hall~was about to strike one. 
"Everybody hurried to get on dry clothes, for the 
farmer's wife said a lunch was waiting. I grumbled 
away at my wife and tried to make her think she'd die 
of pneumonia if she didn't take a dose of hot whisky 
and go to bed, but she only laughed at me and said 
she felt like a lark. 
"Not daring to do anything else. I went downstairs 
with the rest. The fireplace did look rather cozy, and 
the coffee and lunch tasted mighty good, but, will you 
believe it. that whole crowd of galoots sat about till 
nearly 3 o'clock chatting like magpies, going over the 
whole trip again and again, stopping e-^ery now and 
then to jump up and down and exclaim: 
" 'Wasn't it too jolly for anything?' " 
The red-faced, portly man wheeled back to his desk 
and exclaimed, as he picked^ up his pen: 
"Get out of here, Sam; and don't ever say coon hunt 
to me again." 
A moment later the door closed softly, and there was 
a queer smile, on the face of the chap who made his; 
way downstairs to the street, Herbert L. Jillson, 
