March 22; 1902.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
£3t 
you go an' take a meanin' outer my words that I didn't 
mean." 
"All right, Alvah ! But if these people don't kill much 
game or fish they can't disturb you much, and I'm a little 
curious to know why you object so much to their 
coming here. The wood.i belong largely to the State, and 
they certainly have the right to come into them." This 
had the desired effect ; it made the old man angry and 
drew his fire. 
"Yes," he said, after turning the thing over in his 
mind in the. deliberate manner common to men of the 
woods, "that's the worst, of it; they've got a right to 
come here and disturb men who've made the^r homes 
in these woods all their lives, and many of 'em 's fools. 
T hate fools, don't you ?" 
Here was a chance to classify fools and to quote Touch- 
stone. : "I met a fool in the forest." but that course 
might not have drawn the old man out, so I simply said : 
"I dunno, why?" 
"Oh. they pester one so. A few years ago one came up 
here and tried to make me believe the world is round and 
turns over upside down in the night, and they all believe 
't, all of 'em, everv durned one that I've spoke to about 
it. What d'ye think o' that?" 
"1 think they're wrong, of course, for we can see that 
these lakes don't spill out in the night. Yet this world 
can't be. as flat as a pancake, for here are the mountains 
which disprove that, and as for turning over " 
"You don't believe it?" 
"Not a word of it!" And we were friends. 
When we met again in 1882 he recalled the trip, and at 
his camp on Raquette Lake he said: "Times is different 
now, an' wus. In them days nobody said a word if a poor 
man wanted a little meat an' killed it, but now they're 
a-savin' it until the dudes get time to come up here an' 
kill it, an' some of 'em leave a deer to rot in the woods, 
an' on'y take the horns ef it's a buck, or the tail ef it's 
a doe., just so's they can brag about it when they go 
home, an' they'd put me in jail ef I killed a deer when 
I needed meat. I dunno what we're a-comin' to in this 
free country." 
There was nothing to be said on this subject, and I 
said it. When dinner time came he called me from the 
lake, and as we two sat at table said: "There's some cold 
boiled ham and here's a stew o' mountain mutton. 
Mebbe it's ag'in your principles to eat our mutton in 
June, so I sot out the ham. I'm goin' to eat the mutton, 
you can do as you like." 
Ham can be had at any lunch counter. The deer had 
been killed, and a refusal to eat a portion of it would not 
restore it to life. Writing of it at this late day recalls 
Wilmot Townsend's picture of the flight of fourteen 
ducks and the query below: "Where would you hold?" 
The Lady or the Tiger? 
Forty years ago Alvah and one of his brothers visited 
relatives at Albany, 111., and his brother died there. That 
one visit satisfied Alvah with the outside world and he 
returned to Lake Pleasant, and since that time he has 
never been outside of Hamilton county, N. Y., where he 
has lived by hunting, trapping and guiding. Tke younger 
generation are disposed to crowd the old man out of the 
woods en account of his following his belief that game is 
free at all times to those who need it, and that the^State 
has no right to pass laws concerning it. In conversation 
with me, my old friend and guide, E. L. Sheppard 
("Jack") said: "I have known Alvah for thirty years, 
and he is an affable, hospitable man of the old style, all 
of whim looked on game laws as infringements on the 
rights of men who live in the woods. He is the last of a 
type that has passed. He kills a deer when he needs 
it; catches a trout out of season to bait his trap, firmly 
believes it a sin to kill wastefully, and destroys less 
game than many who cry out against him." There you 
have the opinicn of one of the best of the Adirondack 
guides, as well as a picture of the man. 
Mr. Bennett, of The Antlers, tells me that Alvah will 
not write any more, but in a recent interview with him 
he got the following from Alvah: "In 1858 Ned Bunt- 
line came into the woods to get' away from civilization 
and write novels. Ned built a cabin on Eagle Lake which 
he called Eagle's Nest, and hired Alvah to work for him. 
They quarreled and Ned killed Alvah' s hounds and they 
threatened to kill each other. In 1865 Alvah built a camp 
on Raquette Lake, where he lived alone, trapping, draw- 
ing his fur on a hand sled fifty-five miles to Boonville 
and bringing back provisions. It took a week to make the 
trip. One winter his skins of otter, fisher, marten, mink 
and bear brought him $743. In 1874 his camp on Sunny 
Island was burned and he lost everything he owned. 
That fall he built a camp on Eighth Lake, Fulton Chain, 
to get out of the way of travel, but in a few years re- 
turned to Raquette and built at Brown's Tract Inlet, 
where he now lives, a much disgruntled man, who says 
the people are wandering all over and spoiling the woods. 
Fifty years ago the Adirondacks was indeed a wilderness 
known to but a few sportsmen. There were but few 
boats in it and no mode of travel except by water. Here 
Alvah Dunning lived, hunted and reigned supreme in 
'his -woods.' " 
Rev. Thomas G. Wall, D.D., of New York city, to 
whom much of the information in this sketch is due, says: 
'Dunning has lived like an Indian, and forty years ago 
he looked like one, and is a very close imitation of some 
of Cooper's models— silent, stealthy in movement, full of 
resources; he could almost speak the language of the 
animals. I have seen him, by a peculiar chipper, call a 
mink from its hiding place in the rocks and shoot it, and 
have known him to bring a deer back into the water by 
bleatihg and making the noise of wading. Dunning was a 
true sportsman, never allowing more fish or game to be 
taken than was needed. He was employed by our party 
in 1856, when I first met him, and I have been with him 
many times since, and always enjoyed his society. In- 
deed, his excellence, when in his prime, was so generally 
known, that it excited much of the enmity with which 
he was regarded by some, for if he could be had he was 
always first choice." 
When I met Alvah the last time — some half-dozen 
years ago — he was living in the past. The future had 
nothing in store but the destruction of the forests, or, 
what was as bad, their being run over by tourists or the 
building of expensive "camps" by wealthy men. The 
gcod times were in the distant past, when he never saw a 
arrange face unless he went into the settlements. "They're 
puttin' steamboats on the lakes to scare the trout to 
death, an' have built a railroad into Old Forge. They've 
put a lot o' black bass into Raquette Lake to eat up 
the few trout that's left, an" what good any one sees in a 
black bass is more'n I know." 
To encourage him to talk, I said: "The black bass 
is a gamy fish — not as gamy nor as good for table as a 
trout— and I suppose they thought 'era better'n no fish," 
and so I excused the crime of putting bass in Adirondack 
waters just to see what Alvah would say. 
He said : "They ain't a bit better than a sucker out of 
a cold brook, either to eat or to bait a trap, and as for 
gatfle — well, I fish for fish when I want 'em, an' don't 
fool away my time playin' a trout, Iettin' him run off 
an' then reelin' him up just to see the pole bend. When 
I hook a fish I use tackle that will stand it and bring 
him in 'thout watchin' his fightin' qualities, but I show 
htm some of mine if he's got time to think about 'em 
afore he's my fish. No, sir, them black bass is the worst 
thing they could have put in these waters — worse'n 
pickerel, for the young pickerel can be eaten by a trout 
because his fins are soft, but these bass are like big sun- 
fish, and not a bit better." 
The old man was not far out of the way in this mat- 
ter. He had watched the new fish, and sized them up in 
his own fashion. The State Fish Commission had put 
the fish in the waters — or rather Seth Green did it in the 
name of the Commission, for in that early day he ran 
the work as he pleased — but the result was a howl, and a 
law was passed restraining the Commission from planting 
certain fishes in Adirondack waters. 
About this time there was a discussion in the papers 
as to the scream of the pather. as the North American 
cougar, or puma, is called in the East, and while I was 
positive that I had heard one when a boy, I wanted the 
opinion of the old woodsman, and* as he was baiting his 
hook I Said : "Some people say that a panther screams 
and others say it never does. What's your opinion?" 
He unhooked a trout and replied : "A panther is like a 
cat, hunts like a cat, always still. Now a cat is a silent 
animal and never makes a noise unless it wants some- 
thing. A. dog will bark just to hear his own voice, but a 
cat'll lie around the stove for a week and never make a 
sound unless it needs something. If it's hungry it may 
meow a little just to let you know it, but that is different 
from a niating call. Now, when the pather wants to find 
one of its kind it can get up a good loud screech. It's 
got to. for they ain't plenty and that call has got to go 
miles through the woods. Yes, they can put up a good 
stiff call for a partner when they want one, but they don't 
do it often. A man might be in these woods a hundred 
vears and not hear a panther call more'n half a dozen 
times. They don't do it often and they are never plenty, 
like deer and bears." 
"How long since there were any wolves in the Adiron- 
dacks, Alvah?" 
"Wall, I don't just know azackly. When I was a boy 
they was common an' you could hear 'em howl o' nights 
along the lakes or up the mountains, an' we used to shoot 
'em an' trap 'em, but never did no p'izinin', like the' do 
out West. Let's see! They was plenty up to about the 
time Gineral Taylor died. When was that?" 
"That was in 1850." 
"The wolves went off about that time; some said they 
went into Canada an' some thought they died. I guess if 
they'd a died we'd a seen some o' their bones som'ers, 
but a few was around here durin' the war, in the 6o's, an' 
I killed a big one then, but ain't seen none since. Some 
men say they've seen 'em o' late years off toward the 
Saranacs, but I can't say. While the war was goin' on 
there wa'n't so many men comin' t» the woods an' things 
picked up a little." 
Alvah Dunning killed the last Adirondack moose in 
March, 1862. 
''When I was a boy," said Alvah, "moose was plenty 
in these woods. Once father an' I killed five in one 
day, an' hauled the most o' the meat on sleds to the 
settlement an' sold it." 
When the last moose was killed Alvah and Ben 
Batchelor were following a wounded bear that the former 
had shot the day before. They found the bear and killed 
it, and then came upon the track of two moose, a bull and 
a cow. They killed the bull that day and followed the 
cow all the next, and killed her just at nightfall. Per- 
haps it's just as well, for it is doubtful if one moose 
would be left a year from now if a hundred were turned 
loose in the Adirondacks. The size of an animal in- 
creases the desire to kill it, in most men, but between 
ourselves I would prefer to kill a woodcock, or a grouse 
on the wing, to dropping seven hundred pounds of meat 
in its tracks. 
Dr. Wall asked Alvah how many moose he thought he 
had killed, and the old man answered : "Oh, I don't 
hardly know, never kept any count, but I guess nigh on 
to a hundred." And then he told how on one of his 
early moose hunts he had got separated from his father, 
killed a moose about nightfall on a cold night, had no 
matches and rolled himself in the warm skin and slept, to 
find himself frozen in at daybreak. 
Writing of Alvah Dunning brings a desire to spend a 
month 'in his cabin, jot down his stories and make a 
closer study of the most interesting man now living in the 
Adirondacks. We all look back on wasted opportunities, 
and while enjoying his company I never thought of taking 
notes for the purpose of writing him up. The man who 
approaches Alvah Dunning in the right way will get his 
confidence and enjoy it, but his opinions of the revolu- 
tion of the earth on its axis, and of the injustice of the 
game laws to woodsmen, are too firmly fixed to be 
meddled with. Let the old man alone, wink at his killing 
a deer when he needs "mutton," or a trout when he wants 
to vary his diet, if he lives for twenty years he will never 
do as much harm to the fish and game of the woods as 
some of the so-called sportsmen. He does not float for 
deer on summer nights and kill the first thing that his 
jacklight shows has a pair of shining eyes, whether buck, 
or doe with fawn by her side. If he needs "mutton" in 
summer he prefers a buck to a nursing doe. 
Young men, some little concession— charity, if you will 
— should be extended to this man who was born in the 
woods and considers it his by right of prior discovery 
and settlement years before you ; were born. I would be 
the last man to tell the story of mountain mutton If Alvah 
cared about it, I saw no hide> hoofs nor 'horns, and 
under oath I do not know of what I partook further than 
it was good meat. The game laws are all right, but no 
right-thinking man should use them to oppress the old 
hunter whose only larder is the woods in which he was 
born a steward. Sock it to me if you catch me, or to any 
other man who pretends to shoot or fish for sport, violat- 
ing those wholesome laws which are made for our benefit 
and which it is a crime for us to violate, but the strict 
letter need not be enforced on the man whose whole life 
has been spent in a struggle for existence in the forest, and 
who could not live out of it. Put yourself in his place! 
Fred Mather. 
A Meeting with Alvah Dunning. 
The death of Alvah Dunning recalls a meeting with 
him. 
In July, 1869, coming down the Marim River from 
Blue Mountain Lake, our party of four, with two guides, 
met suddenly on a trail over a short carry, two splendid 
hounds, and in a few moments a tall, slender, weather- 
beaten man appeared, carrying a pack basket and a three- 
barreled gun (muzzleloading). The two shot barrels, of 
about 16 gauge, on top, the rifle barrel under, with a 
ramrod lying along the side in the groove. The hammer 
of the rifle struck upward. 
The whole get-up meant business. His comment upon 
his gun, "She do throw buckshot wicked," I well re- 
member. 
His pack contained trout for a well-known sporting 
resort in Saratoga, so he informed us. 
We bargained for a few lake trout for supper (as we 
had nothing), and when he estimated their weight at 
eight pounds, one of our guides said, "Ain't that a leetle 
hefty, Alvy?" He replied, "Maybe," and added another 
fish. 
He accepted our silver with thanks, but declined the 
flask with the remark, "YoU can't get none of that truck 
down my throat." 
And so we parted. I wonder what has become of that 
gun. 
We slept that night at the "old Wood place" on 
Raquette Lake, and heard "sounds of revelry by night" 
from the island near by, where "Adirondack Murray" had 
as guests that night Miss Kate Field and her mother. 
Isaac T. Norris. 
liALTmoKE, March 14. 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 
Wading Streams for Trout. 
Chicago, 111., March 13. — A Southern gentleman who 
fishes a great deal in the North for trout, asks for advice 
regarding good wading streams in the Upper Peninsula 
of Michigan. He says: "I usually fish with the fly 
for trout, and am fond of this sort of fishing. I have 
for quite a number of years made my headquarters during 
the summer months at Traverse City, M : ch. The trouble 
with that part of the country is that the rainbows and 
the natives are driving the speckled trout out of the 
streams. While the rainbows are game fighters, I find 
it rather difficult to get them of much size with the fly. 
There is an excellent hotel at Traverse City, which is 
rather a strong attraction for me. From th's place one 
can get at quite a number of streams within a radius 
of eighty or a hundred miles. About the first of July of 
last year I was at Wolverine, Mich, (a little place some 
twenty-five to thirty miles south of Cheboygan), on the 
.Sturgeon River. I had some fair fly-fishing at this place, 
but the accommodations were so horribly bad that I could 
not stand it. I can get along with rough accommoda- 
tions and plain food, but I want things clean." 
I would suggest he try the upper waters of the Ever- 
green River, of Wisconsin, or perhaps the Prairie, out of 
Merrill, same State. The better rivers of the Upper 
Peninsula are boating streams, except as preserved by 
clubs, according to my best advices, though there may 
be good waters of which I have no word. They tell me 
that the upper Brule of Wisconsin can now and aga'n 
turn out a good bit of sport, as it is not preserved for 
much of its length, but this, too, is a boating river for the 
most part. The Little Oconto, of Wisconsin, is a wading 
stream, and thdugh it is not so good as it once was, I 
should think it quite worth trying even now. 
Opening of the Trout Season, 
March 15. — The Castalia, Ohio, trout clubs open their 
season to-day, and among many others who will hasten to 
avail themselves of fhese early advantages are Messrs. 
Robert Forsyth and R. P. H. Durkee, of Chicago, who 
leave to-night and will begin fishing next Monday on this 
historic, stream. Both go well prepared. 
It is difficult to tell where all the fishing tackle goes 
to so early, but for two or three weeks the stores here 
have been busy selling angling goods. The trade is 
getting an early start, and it is the supposition that this 
is going to be a heavy season. One dealer says that he 
has ordered double the amount of goods this year that 
he ever did before, and is having difficulty in getting 
his stock built up to the size which he thinks it ought to 
have at the beginning of the season. At present it looks 
as though we would have an early opening of the fishing 
season this year, although it is too early to predict any 
thing in the way of weather for this vicinity. 
By the way, speaking of trout, Mr. Graham H. Harris, 
of this city, with the writer, is invited to open the season 
on that beautiful little stream, the Pine River of Wis- 
consin. I want to see this stream once more, and to be 
on hand when Mr. John D. McLeod officially opens his 
campaign on the Pine. This he always does by calling on 
a certain big trout which has been the object of his am- 
bition for the last four years. This trout lives under the 
bank below a sunken log, in a certain swift eddy of the 
stream, and he is one of the best known features of the 
Pine. About every other day he will rise to a fly, and 
as quick as he takes it he makes swiftly under the log. 
breaks loose and goes back home. Mr. McLeod never 
goes down the stream without paying his lordship a visit, 
and about every other day, sometimes for several days 
in succession, he will succeed in raising this big fish and 
losing him. When he comes in, his partner, Ben Miller, 
asks him, "Did you raise him to-day, Mack?" and Mack 
says, "Sure, had him on for half a minute," or less, as the 
