Feb, 10, igoo.1 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
107 
to the trees; and while hatching its young it is much 
; exposed to danger from those marauders, tamed and 
untamed, which make the struggle for life of your Eastern 
pheasants so severe. Oregon has few boys and few de- 
structive wild animals. Here there seems to be an 
abundance of boys, and also many small animals such as 
are most destructiA^e of this kind of life. 
, Neither does it follow, necessarily, that because these 
I birds survived last winter at Lenox, they will continue 
to thrive and multiply in such numbers as to make hunt- 
! ing them real sport. While last winter was a severe one 
I in some respects, it was still comparatively open, and 
the birds could almost always feed with some success. I 
have lived thi-ough a winter in a climate about similar to 
that of Lenox, the weather being milder and there being 
really less snow than there was last winter, and yet a 
week of sleet and cold was enough to practically exter- 
minate the grouse and partridges throughout a large sec- 
tion of country. One controlling cause for the rapid in- 
crease in Oregon of these birds is the fact that the climate 
is so mild and the season so long, that they are not inter- 
fered with in their natural propensity to increase. It is 
well known that one hen pheasant will rear two and 
even three broods in a season, of from, perhaps, ten to 
eighteen j'oung. I have frequently come across birds so 
sriiall that they could scarcely fly, even as late as the first 
of October; and ordinarily these birds will live in that 
climate— but that they would live in this region is at 
least doubtful. 
It does not follow from these considerations, how- 
ever, that the efforts made to propagate these birds in a 
harsher climate will not be successful. I truly hope that 
they will thrive and increase continually until every lover 
of true sport has a chance to know by experience what a 
splendid game bird — a prince among his kind— the Mon- 
golian pheasant is; but it will be found, I believe, that 
the increase will be much slower here than in Oregon, 
and that the bird must be thoroughly safeguarded both by 
good laws and the earnest co-operation of the citizens, 
thus aiding, not hindering, nature, who will always do 
her part. I can say little more in praise of this sport than 
to tell you that until this abundance is reached here in 
the east, I will cheerfully go three thousand miles to 
shoot a "Dennv" pheasant, as it is sometimes still called in 
the Webfoot State. Occident. 
New York, Jan. 29, 
A New Brunswick Moose, 
The great country which forms the watershed of the 
Tobique and Miramichi rivers is perhaps as famous 
moose ground as can be found on this continent to-day, 
and its reputation seems fully justified by the continued 
, successes of visiting sportsmen. It seems to be the 
i game's natural home. A succession of far-reaching 
ridges, covered with a thick growth of maple, birch and 
all the varieties of evergreen, interspersed here and there 
with waterways and barrens, together with its remoteness 
^from any disturbing element, makes it an ideal country 
for this greatest of all game animals. 
But moose arc not its only attraction. Besides a va- 
^riety of other game in abundance, the lakes are full of 
salmon trout and togue; streams with rapids and falls 
aflford every opportunity for the canoeist and the rugged 
land bold scenery is a constant source of admiration, be- 
sides giving many opportunities for the camera. The 
I air is dry, pure and invigorating, and above all, there is 
I the exhilaration and joy which are inseparable from the 
life spent in the heart of the great Canadian forest. 
Last fall, feeling that Maine was somewhat over- 
, crowded, it was toward this country that I turned. _ 
I Arriving at Perth on Saturday, Nov. 4, in the midst 
■of a cold and drizzly I'ain, the outlook for a comfortable 
trip into the woods was not encouraging. This trip by 
team was lengthened by my misfortune in landmg at 
'Perth on a day when no train moved on the "Never 
Hurry," or more properly the Tobique Valley Railroad, 
which runs twenty-eight miles up the valley to Plaster 
[Rock, the terminus. However, my guide, David Ogilvy, 
I of South Tilley, had everything arranged, and within 
I half an bom- we were seated in John Campbell's big farm- 
I wagon, behind his team of strong Clyde horses, and 
I made a beginning of our sixty-mile jaunt. We drove 
through rain, sleet and a cold east wind, until long after 
dark, and found welcome for the night at one of the 
houses along the river. 
Sunday morning broke clear and cold. Continuing 
the journey, we forded the Tobique about 2 P. M., and 
arrived at the edge of the green woods two hours later. 
It had begun to snow, and with the idea of getting better 
shelter for the horses, we took a branch road, which 
led about half a mile off the main road to an abandoned 
lumber camp. 
Here our troubles commenced, for, while the entrance 
to this passage was very inviting, we had scarcely gone 
50 yards before we met an array of boulders, roots, mud 
holes and the like, such as I never supposed could exist 
on any piece of ground ever used as a road. But once 
started, there was no turning back, so in we went, the 
horses up to their bellies in mud and water, the wagon 
now up at an angle of 45 degrees on one side and now 
on the other. With an immense amount of tugging we 
would surmount great rocks and roots and descend the 
other side at a much greater speed and with much less 
effort, but with such terrible shocks that I began to fear 
an explosion of the cartridges, which were packed in 
the center of several layers of blankets. Within 100 yards 
of camp, we were brought up short by a roaring torrent, 
which, swollen by recent rains, had washed away the 
bridge and left an impassable barrier. It was now nearly 
dark, and to return was out of the question, so there 
was but one thing to do, to camp where we were. To 
build a roaring fire was the work of a few minutes; then 
stretching the rubber blanket for a shelter, and with the 
hay from the team under us, we had a good dry camp, 
and passed a very comfortable night. At least I called it 
so, but David and John Campbell called it the worst 
'"chance" they had ever seen. With daylight we were 
on the move, and after a hasty meal, and with many a. 
surmise as to our chances of getting out without a break- 
down, started on the return trip. It was the same thing 
over again, only more so, it seemed to me. Again it 
gave the team a terrible racking, and again those horses 
gave proof of their mobility. Our total damage con- 
sisted of two lost horse shoes and a severe shaking_up. 
David tried to apologize for the road by saying it hadn't 
been used for two years. I think he meant two cen- 
turies. 
Again we were on the main tote road, and in great 
spirits, for the fall of snow seemed to be greater the 
nearer we came to camp, and promised fine tracking. In 
the early afternoon we came upon fresh tracks of moose 
which had crossed the tote road and gone up on to the 
ridge to the south. 
Leaving the team to go on to camp alone, we followed 
these tracks, and within half an hour David pointed out 
a big cow quietly feeding not more than 60 yards away. 
That there were others with her we felt sure from the 
number of tracks about. In working around, however, 
to get a better view of the ridge, she caught our scent and 
glided out of sight without a sound, leaving her route 
plainly marked through the avenue of trees by the snow 
knocked off on either side. This sight of game so early 
in the trip was very encouraging, but with five miles be- 
tween us and camp, we felt that we could not follow it. 
Working out to the tote road again, we reached Trousers 
Lake and camp about dark. 
Here we found Alec Ogilvy, who was guiding a gentle- 
man and his wife, and altogether we made quite a gath- 
ering for that remote stopping place. The "depot camp," 
as they call it, is the living house of an abandoned 
lumber carnp, and admirably suited to accommodate a 
crowd. 
Our stop here was short. The next morning John 
turned his horses toward the river with directions to 
come in for us on the i6th, and David, Alec and I 
started for Long and Island lakes. It was a tough bit 
of tramping, that pica between Trousers and Long lakes, 
and we welcomed the sight of the canoe. Making the 
head of Long Lake about 3 P. M., we decided to .spend 
the night there and have a hunt on some of the ridges 
back of the lake. The camp is an old hunter's lodge, and 
about as primitive as they are made. With a roof slop- 
ing to the ground, a hole about the size of a soap box 
for a door, a fireplace at one end, with a birch bark 
chimney pointing 10 feet into the air, it was as pictur- 
esque as it was comfortable. While Alec tore down this 
chimney, substituted a sheet-iron stove and pipe, and 
fixed up generally, David and I went back on the ridge. 
The woods were wet and quiet, and we made but little 
noise. We bad gone fully two miles before we found 
moose tracks, and then a perfect network of them lead- 
ing about in every direction. Circling around, we found 
the tracks of two leading away from this bunch, and 
within 100 yards suddenly saw two big animals loom 
up through "the trees. We looked in vain for horns, and 
in our anxiety became the observed as well, and they 
vanished. Tired, wet through and disgusted at our luck, 
we followed "Paddy's compass" back to camp. Alec 
comforted me by saying that "I mustn't expect to see a 
bull until I had counted seven cows." Four more at 
this rate meant Friday, but we beat this in time, and 
luimber, as will appear. We rushed our furnace, and 
soon had things dried out and everything comfortably 
fixed for the night. Wednesday morning we took an 
early start for Island Lake, and as the carry between 
the two lakes is short, we made it in good time. Island 
Lake had already taken on its winter coat, but by gener- 
ous use of the paddle we forced a passage down to camp. 
At our destination at last, I resolved on a half day's rest. 
The severe tramping had swollen my feet the first day 
or two out, and I meant to give them every chance to be 
in prime condition for our first full day's hunt. 
Island Lake itself is a beautiful piece of nature's 
handiwork. Nestling quietly among those high ridges 
its surface is dotted with many little islands, some 
scarcely larger than a hay mound, while some are of 
half an acre in extent. Its whole appearance is that of 
a succession of green aisles leading in very direction. 
There is no sign of civilization there, and even the axe 
of the lumbei-man has not intruded. The silence is in- 
tense, and onl}'- broken by the cries of the birds, the 
tread of the wild animals through the forest, or the 
music of the wind through the trees. I can well im- 
agine the pleasure of a summer canoe trip among those 
islands, or the beauty of the scene in the early fall 
months, when the autumn foliage is at its best. Just 
now, however, everj^thing was white and cold. The 
frozen lake, the snow-laden boughs in their setting of 
green, made a typical winter picture. 
Soon after light Thursday morning, David and I were 
on our way toward the second ridge back of the lake. 
We found the snow quite badly crusted and had some 
misgivings as to our chances of getting close to game. 
A partridge gave us half an hour's chase before we got 
him into a light spot for a photograph. A long tramp 
through valleys and over ridges brought us at last to 
moose tracks on the side of a high hardwood ridge. 
Circling around, we found that all the tracks led in the 
same direction, and came to the conclusion that it was at 
present a crossing place. We quickly and quietly chose 
a place with a good view of the ridge and waited. We 
had been seated scarcely fifteen minutes before a crash- 
ing in the woods directly ahead of us made it plain that 
something was coming. The sounds came gradually 
closer, working off to our right meanwhile, and when 
almost in line with our position, a great moose stepped 
out into view, not over 40 j'^ards away. It stood still, 
looking squarely at us, evidently trying to make out 
what sort of queer things we were, and at our cry of 
"cow," and in our frantic efforts to get out the camera, 
it had seen enough, and was off like the wind, followed 
by another which we had not at first seen. We agreed 
to have the camera ready for such an emergency in the 
future, and set to discussing the probability of there 
being anything but cows in the woods. Our talk was 
cut short by another and greater noise from the same 
direction. Something was coming in the tracks of the 
cows, and we strained our ej'es to catch a glimpse of it 
through the forest. In line of where the cows had stood, 
and 200 yards further off, a great black mass suddenly 
appeared through the trees, and the exclamation, "It's a 
bull !" escaped us both at the same instant. With David's 
warning to "shoot low" ringing in my ears, I fired, but not 
low enough, and nothing moved. Another quick shot wit;h 
more careful aim at the indistinct mass and it seemed as if 
the whole forest moved. Small trees, rotten stumps, all 
went down before his mad rush, but his step was uncer- 
tain. So was mine, as I plunged after him and I 
found myself headlong several times over unseen and 
unheeded obstacles. David followed as fast as his work of 
picking up my dropped camera, hat, etc., would allow, and 
kept up a continuous fire of, "You've got him," "You've 
got him," "Don't get too close." But I had reached a 
spot where I had a good clear view of the moose in his 
erratic course, and a shot placed behind the shoulder 
brought him to the ground and to a quick end. He was 
an immense big animal, probably a five or six-year-old, 
but his antlers were not the great S-foot set I expected. 
A very neat and even set of about 3 feet spread was what 
we saw, and as David remarked, "His ears seerned to 
spread nearly as much as his anders." The feeling of 
regret, which foai"l some expression, at having been re- 
sponsible for the death of so noble an animal, received but 
scant support, and it was styled purely sentiment and out 
of all reason. Then followed the satisfaction of having 
gained a magnificent and well-earned trophy so early in 
the trip, and plans for completing our quota of game with 
an early capture of a caribou, and getting out on schedule 
time. But we decided that the moose needed our attention 
just then rather than our future movements, and set to 
work to take off the head, hide and best of the meat. This 
done, we boiled the kettle, and about i o'clock were ready 
for the return to camp. David took charge of the head 
and hide, and I took part of the beef, the axe and rifle, and 
we were off. Not an easy tramp that, through the track- 
less forest with such loads as we had, but with occasional 
breathing spells, some intentional and some not so much 
so, we got to camp before dark, thoroughly tired out and 
thoroughly happy. 
Our tiiought was now for a caribou; and we expected 
but little trouble from the numerous signs about, but we 
afterward agreed that it was never safe to count the points 
on the antlers of any bull until within easy reach. Friday 
we paid a visit to Squam Barren, which is famous caribou 
ground, but saw nothing, nor any very recent signs. Go- 
ing back in another direction the next day to some 
ridges seldom visited, and finding no caribou signs, we 
decided that they were moving back toward Trousers 
Lake. There were moose signs everywhere, and on our 
homeward tramp we visited an old moose yard and made 
the rather unusual find of four moose antlers within a 
radius of 50 feet. Three were fine, large specimens, and 
except that they were somewhat gnawed by squirrels, 
were in a very fair state of preservation. Two of them 
mated, and showed what was originally a set of twenty- 
one points. Sunday brought a fine fall of dry snow, and 
we spent the day around camp making plans for Mon- 
day's hunt, for we intended to try the caribou once 
more in this section. 
Never did a finer day for still-hunting dawn than Mon- 
day, Nov. 13. The snow Avas just deep enough for easy 
walking and good tracking, and David remarked that 
more moose would fall that day than any previous day of 
the season. Perhaps there did; I haven't heard. Never, 
either, did a fairer day dawn. The forest, clothed in its 
white mantle, presented a beautiful appearance, and when 
tlie sun poured its warm rays over the top of the distant 
ridge the whole earth seemed to send back an answering 
smile. The air was crisp and cold, and we started off 
in high spirits. But as the day advanced and we failed to 
find any fresh caribou tracks, our spirits took a corre- 
sponding drop, and to our surprise, we returned to camp 
at night after a jaunt of some eighteen miles, over ridges 
and barrens, country that David said had never failed him 
before, without finding a single track made since the 
storm, other than that of a partridge, sable or rabbit. Our 
plans were quickly made for an evacuation of the country, 
and next morning packing everything on the toboggan, we 
went down over the ice as far as the tote road and were 
iiack at Trousers Lake before dark. 
Here we spent the rest of the trip. I have too keen 
an appreciation of the value of space in the columns of 
Forest and Stream to give the details of the last few 
days. A few words will suffice. Caribou seemed to be 
all around us, and we hunted persistently, following a 
drove of five one night until dark. _ But it was not to 
be, and the trip ended without the sight of one. 
John Campbell came in for us at the appointed time 
and we were out on the Tobique River again Friday night, 
Saturday morning we caught the Tobique Valley Express, 
Limited, and Sunday morning I was again in Boston, 
having been away just fifteen days. It is impossible in 
the space of this article to mention but a few of the in- 
cidents of such a trip. The great forest, which is all the 
same and yet always different, holds many secrets, and 
scarcely a day or hour passed without the sight of some- 
thing new and interesting. In the company of an ob- 
serving guide, it is astonishing what a store of informa- 
tion is revealed by the sights and sounds which are all 
around you. 
What a tale of life and death the tracks in the snow 
relate ! Here is where Bruin passed last night and left 
his measure on that big maple; or here a brood of 
partridges have crossed the road and a little further on 
the scattered remains of a few bones and feathers show 
where the hungry fox lay in wait for his dinner. 
The familiarity of the "gorbie" or moose bird was al- 
ways a pleasant feature of our noon halt. We scarcely 
had the fire going before he was about, usually in twos a>r 
threes; after the encouragement of a few crumbs tossed 
in his direction, he would take a piece of bacon or bread 
from the end of a stick and finally from the open hand. 
Then, with a great flutter he was away to his store house 
and soon back again for more. New Brunswick is cer- 
tainly blessed in its opportimities for the hunter, the 
fisherman or the seeker after a healthy out-of-doors life. 
It seems to have been less visited by the lumbermen, as 
well as the sportsman than Maine, and to have retained 
more of its primeval aspect. The camps are more primi- 
tive, the roads less used and one has the feeling of being 
in a land fresh from the hands of the Creator. 
David Ogilvy, who was my companion and guide, and 
Alec, his brother, with whom I was thrown a great deal, 
have all the qualities of the first-class guide. Capable and 
willing, they are both observing woodsmen and successful 
hunters, and a trip taken with them into this country can 
result in but pleasant experiences. As a result of the. 
