S70 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Nov. 8, 1902.] 
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on watch and are also careful to select a place where 
there is clear water all around them. There is usually 
one or two flocks every winter on Hood Canal. It 
might be possible to get one or two shots into them 
by rigging up a float, well covered with brush or some- 
thing else that would not alarm the sentinel and then 
float down on the flock with the wind. The first attempt 
might prove a failure, the birds taking alarm at the 
strange object, but if there was no attack, they would 
become accustomed to the float, and look upon it 
as a harmless object. A second attempt to approach 
the flock by the floating process would probably be suc- 
cessful, but after one volley the sport would be ended 
for all time, I have heard of a few geese being killed 
near Oak Harbor and Coupville on Whidby Island, and 
I know personally that the birds like those localities. I 
prestime it is the warm reception that they get which 
compels them to seek other quarters. One afternoon 
three or four j^ears ago, Ned McCrohan, of Oak Harbor, 
and myself, sat on the roadside and watched a large 
flock of geese preparing to settle in the stubble of a 
field, which was partly surrounded by timber. It was 
fulb^ three-quarters of an hour before they went down 
and threw out their sentinels. First they circled the en- 
tire field and swooped down as if about to alight. 
"They are down," said McCrohan; "T have a mind to 
try a sneak on them." 
No sooner had these words left his mouth than we 
saw the entire flock suddenly rise into view and com- 
mence circling again. They went very slowly and ap- 
peared to be examining every inch of ground for signs 
of danger. As we had been shooting quail in that field 
only a short time before, the geese may have imagined 
that a foe was under coA'-er. It was amusing to see the 
way thej' inspected the side of the field along which 
the woods ran. They would approach rather high in the 
air and wing slowly along, gradually dropping down 
to a height that seemed to ns not much above the trees. 
They would fl'oat along and then suddenly climb irp into 
the air at an astonishing rate. I don't suppose that 
all flocks require three-quarters of an hour to make up 
their minds to take earth, but I mention this instance to 
show how carefiil they are. 
We learned of a field where a certain flock made its 
appearance every day at a certain time. Our plans of 
battle were as carefully arranged as possible, and when 
we took our stands everything was in apple-pie order. 
The water in which the geese passed the afternoon was 
a comparatively short distance from where we lay, and 
was separated from us by only a narrow strip of timber. 
We could hear the geese, so we knew positively that they 
were in the vicinity, and it seemed certain that our 
plans were about to be successful, provided wc could 
shoot straight. We waited, and we waited. The "ap- 
pointed" time came and passed. Still we waited. We 
were calm outwardly, but inside all sorts of emotions 
were playing ping pong with one another. 
■'Now, wouldn't that make you sick," remarked Mac, 
as we crawled out of our hiding place and started for 
home. If I remember correctly, I answered in a man- 
ner that destroyed all the good marks we must have re- 
ceived for the outward calm maintained so long under 
high pressure. 
The next morning Mac and I went- up to the post- 
office when the steamer Fairhaven came in from Seattle, 
The farmer who owned the field where we had planned 
our battle and subsquently fought it out with ourselves, 
was "just hitching his horse. He looked up with a sort 
of half apologetic, half amused expression, and re- 
marked: 
"Say, Mac, those geese were in that field less'n fifteen 
minutes after you got out." ' 
" smart geese, said Mac. 
Once in a great while a flock of geese will light in 
Lake Washington, but never on Sunday. They couldn't 
find their way down through the rain of lead anywhere 
from the head of Squak Slough, through Lake Wash- 
ington to Renton and from there to the end of the 
White River valley. Last winter, during the snoAvstorm 
that made all Seattle wonder what had happened, Lake 
Washington went on a rampage and threw things at the 
Eagle Boathouse into all kinds of. shapes. Captain 
Jacob E'. Johnson and Otto Stark came tumbling out 
of bed to see what was going on and found enough to 
keep them busy all night. Between the boathouse and 
the ferr}' slip was a large barge loaded with wood. The 
barge discharged its load into the water, and when 
Stark appeared on the scene, cordwood was floating 
around in all directions. Among this wood, and serene 
as if nothing had happened, floated a large bird. Sta^k 
watched it, and it watched Stark, but made no efTort to 
get away. S.uddenly Stark caught on to the fact that 
he was looking at an immense Canadian goose. "It 
didn't take me more than thirty seconds to get my gun," 
said Stark, "but when I got back the goose had disap- 
peared." The goose, like many other birds and ani- 
mals, may remain still when surprised, until the sur- 
priser makes a motion, then it immediately seeks safety 
in flight. ' 
Eastern Washington of¥ers the best gpose shooting in 
the Pacific Northwest north of Oregon. Eureka Flats, 
thirty miles northwest of Walla Walla, is the most fa- 
mous ground. It is an immense wheat field, about 
thirty-five miles long by fifteen wide. No one lives on 
it permanentlj'', and after the harvest it is deserted save, 
by wild fowl and hunters, Geese find good feed, but are 
Gom-pelled to fly every morning and evening over to 
the Snake River, some twentj'^-two miles, to get water. 
This condition of aft'airs has given rise to the story that 
when the geese come south in the fall they all bring 
canteens of water with them to the Eureka Flats. The 
farmers haul water around on wagons during the plant- 
ing and harvesting seasons. Horse Heaven, in Yakima 
Count3% is another favorite spot. Many places along 
the Columbia River, which forms the dividing line be- 
tween Washington and Oregon, affords good sport. 
PoRTUs Baxter. 
All communkatipns intended for Forest and Stream should 
always be addressed to the Forest and Stream Publishing Co., New 
York, and not to any individual coowptgd witji th? papef. 
Across New Brunswick on Snow- 
shoes. — VIIL 
That we had not yet left the moose country was abun- 
dantly proved the first evening Henry Braithwaite and 
I went out to prospect from his Indian Lake camp. We 
followed along his trapping trail for a couple of miles 
and counted fourteen distinct moose trails, old and new. 
I found the country here thickly timbered, with hills 
perhaps not quite so steep as north of the Tobique 
Divide. We were still in the great central wilderness of 
New Brunswick, and had abundant proof on all hand.s 
of the plentiful supply of game. 
"If we only get a good hunting day to-morroAv," said 
Henry. "I think I will be able to show you something." 
At the last moment — that is to say, the next to the last 
day of the shooting season — fortune smiled on us to a 
certain extent. A gentle snowstorm came on which 
deadened the sounds on the old crust and which was at- 
tended with sufficient wind to render the woods a bit 
noisy, conditions Avhich make to the success of a moose 
hunt on snowshoes. Carefidly consulting the direction 
of the wind, Henry started up a long ridge back of the 
camp, which I think he called Beckwith Mountain. We 
two went alone, Adam and Charlie staying at the camp. 
Adam told me to go ahead and kill a moose if I could, as 
he thought I would feel better if I shot something before 
leaving the country; and since both he and Henry seemed 
entirely agreeable to that effect, I resolved to do a little 
hunting that day, and see if the luck was going to turn 
at the lagt moment. 
Henry and I labored on up the mountain for a couple 
of miles or so and found ourselves by that time in the 
very center of what seemed like a general moose yard, 
extending over a mile or so of ground. There was 
abundant horn sign, and very many trees showed the 
sharp chisel marks of the moose family. The ground 
was cut up with the deep tracks of moose, which seemed 
to be traveling backward and forward between this ridge 
and another higher one which lay across a little valley 
from us. Henry picked up the freshest of the larger 
tracks and we made a cautious little hunt after a bunch of 
three moose, one of which seemed to be a big bull. We 
had about the same luck with this which had attended me 
heretofore. We watched the sign gradually grow fresher, 
timed ourselves so that we concluded that we were but a 
few minutes back of the moose and at length came to 
the beds where the animals had been lying down. Be- 
yond the beds stretched a series of widely separated 
tracks. 
"Jumped !" said Henry. I was used to the word. We 
had jumped a good many moose before that, and I was 
beginning to believe that we would never be able to get 
good enough weather to make it possible to come up with 
a moose on this kind of snow. 
We tried again, presently finding another fresh trail, 
and once more we went through the same performance. 
"Jumped," said Henry, and we looked wrathfully at the 
series of tracks showing where a good moose had gone 
off at a gallop. 
We pressed on up to the top of the ridge, winding 
in and out, and at length we came to a series of tracks 
v/hich we knew could be made onl}-- by good bulls. There 
were three of these trails, and we were satisfied that we 
had game here worth the following. We crept along on 
this promising lead for a half-mile or so, and finally 
found ourselves at the top of a little ridge, beyond and 
below which lay a bit of dense cover. We worked up 
a little above the trail in order to have a better chance 
of seeing the game. "It's no use going down in there," 
said Henry, "for we couldn't see to shoot if we did start 
the game." Hitherto we had been hunting in fairly open 
country, which would allow us to see game in some cases 
for 100 yards or more. 
Still reluctant to leave these big tracks, we swung down 
the hill, across the series of zigzagging tracks of the 
yarding moose, and followed along the hillside for a 
little way. Presently we came to three great beds in the 
snow. "Jumped !" said Henry, and we saw where the 
last moose out of seven Avhich we had started had gone 
oft' through the thick cover. How they did it without 
our hearing them is something we never could tell. It is 
l)ossible they heard us speaking as we stood on the knoll 
directly above them. At any rate here were the gallop 
marks. In some places we could see where twigs had 
been broken off and carried forward on the trail, un- 
doubted horn marks. Moreover, when we went back to 
the beds we saw where one moose had cut; a big groove in 
the snow with the tip of his antler as he swung his head 
around. So now we knew that we had jumped three 
bulls, and that at least one of them had good horns. Of 
course we did not undertake to follow any of these moose, 
for that is something no moose hunter thinks of doing. 
We swung around on the back trail from the place 
where we had jumped these last moose, and came down 
into a little valley whc there was a sort of pool or 
spring at the head of i Httle brook. Here the ground 
was tramped down as tWJgh it had been a cattle yard. 
How many moose there had been that morning tramping 
and standing around in the water we could only guess. 
There was a regular trail leading up, and many radiating 
trails. It was from this place, without doubt, that the 
three bulls had come which we had but recently started. 
"If we had been here an hour earlier," said Henry, 
"we could have shot into the flock." 
At Lastt 
By this time I must admit I had lost considerable of 
my hopefulness in regard to the moose question. I had 
been out with the best moose hunters in the Province, 
and we had certainly started moose cA^ery time we had 
gone out, but first one thing and then another had been 
against us, although I felt that we had done all that any 
hunter could have done. So, half the time a trifle 
chagrined at the probable failure of the hunting side of 
my trip, and again reflecting on the foolishness of that, 
since I had had so grand a time, I blundered along with 
head down, after Henry, as he plowed on through the 
blinding snow, which was now sifting down steadily. 
We walked from this stamping ground of the moose 
perhaps 200 or 300 yards, there being moose trails to the 
I'ight above ua on the hill, and some more off to the left. 
Henry's active eyes were scanning the country steadily as 
he went on, although I must admit that I was about 
ready to conclude that my last day's hunt was drawing to 
an end, although it was not yet noon. 
All at once, as I glanced up, I saw that Henry had 
stopped, and I saw the wave of his gray-mittened hand, 
v/hich told me to come forvs'ard quickly. He didn't say 
anything, but looking in the direction toward which he 
was glaring, I saw, up on the hillside above us and a 
trifle behind us, some 75 or 80 yards away, a large, dark, 
indistinct outline, half-hidden among the trees. 
There are all sorts of curious things which you see in 
the Avoods Avhen hunting, stumps and tops of bunches of 
roots, boughs, all of which sometimes take on the ap- 
pearance of game. Yet as quick as I saw this dim out- 
line, showing heavy and black through the trees, I knew 
that it was a moose, my first moose, a live one, a wild 
one, and, of course, a bull, else why should Henry mo- 
tion me to shoot? I did not see the head of the bull at 
all, and, as it seemed, neither did Henry, although he 
stood further to the left than I did, and had a different 
view. In an instant the cover was oft' my gun and I was 
holding for the only spot of hair that I could see, a spot 
of black about as big as my hat. This was the only 
thing that I could see clearly enough to shoot at, and I 
didn't pause to argue with myself whether or not it was 
the right part of the moose's anatomJ^ As quick as I 
could get the tall front sight of the .,30-40 down to where 
it belonged, I turned her loose, and instinct told that the 
shot had gone home. I also felt at the same instant that 
the game was ours. 
The animal, which had been struck by the first bullet, 
made no leap nor bound, nor yet did it sink down in its 
tracks. A few steps would have taken it across the ridge 
and out of sight, but it was too weak to go up hill in 
that direction. It half -turned and came staggering and 
blundering down the hill toward us. 
Forfot- 
Horror of horrors ! As it turned toward mc, and 
s]]owed through an opening in the trees, I saw the great 
gaunt head of the creature extended far out in front of 
it ; and it had no horns 1 Instead, I could see t-wo little 
bumps in front of the ears, and even on the instant knew 
that the bull had shed his horns ! 
Sick at heart, I none the less stuck to the adage that 
it is well to throw lead as long as thej-e is hair moving. 
As the moose blundered through the trees for perhaps 
fifteen or twenty yards down hill, I fired at it five times, H 
I kept my count correctly. I had told Henry that if I 
shot at a moose and it seemed to be getting away, he was 
to shoot at it, too, as I didn't want another wounded 
moose about loose in his country, and as I was getting 
scared at all of this talk about small bores not killing a 
moose. It was after my second or third shot, I can't tell 
which, and neither can Henry, that Henry turned loose his 
famous two-bushel gun. I presume there is no better 
game shot than Henry, but ju.st as he fired he met with 
one of the accidents which sometimes happen to the best 
of men. He slipped off his snowshoe as he braced to 
take up the recoil of his rifle, and just where he landed on 
the landscape is not yet fully determined. We found one 
bullet in a tree. Henry said it was- mine. Also we found 
two bullet marks or so on the snow above the place where 
the moose finally dropped. We thought one of these 
might have passed entirely through the body of the moose, 
but were never sure. It was all over so soon that no one 
could tell how it happened. Henry called out to me, 
"Don't shoot him any more, he's all right now," although 
the moose was at that time still standing, perhaps three 
or four seconds after the first shot had hit him. I 
kneeled down on my snowshoes and at the last shot 
caught a fairish view of the hindquarters of the moose 
as he stood nearly broadside to me. This time I thought 
I would shoot him through the backbone just in front of 
the hips, as I had a good sight of him for that shot. At 
the crack of the rifle he fell in a heap and Henry and I 
then went up to him. The poor beast was swinging his 
head about in misery, and I finished him with a shot back 
of the shoulder. So, horns or no horns, it was ours, and 
it was dead. I wished very much for a while. that he 
v/as alive. Then on the whole, after mature deliberation, 
I concluded that I would rather wish that he had horns. 
He was a beautiful five-year-old bull, dark, as are most 
of the forest-shaded New Brunswick moose, and of just 
the right age to have a splendid set of antlers. He had 
shed his horns but very recently, one of the stumps being 
still bloody. Henry and I stood by the side of the poor 
old fellow, and now admired his proportions, and now 
cussed at the hard luck which had terminated my hunt in 
this particular fashion. 
At last we began to search the moose for bullet holes. 
"Who cut this big hole in his shoulder?" said Henry, 
pointing to a wound on the side opposite to that which 
the moose had turned toward me when I first shot at 
him. "Why," said I, "that's your tomato can load sure, 
for- 1 never shot at the moose when its right side was 
turned toward me." Henry shook his head. "I don't 
understand that," said he. "If I had hit him he wouldn't 
have come down the hiU to say good morning to us." 
I had a lot of fun with Flenry on the way home, nor did 
he feel easy in his own mind about it until the next 
day, when we cut up the carcass. Then we found that 
his' shot had not struck the moose at all. I don't know 
whether the concussion knocked the moose down or not, 
but I understand it isn't necessary to hit a moose very 
much with a big-bore gun. In the mix-up among the 
trees, the moose had certainly turned his right shoulder 
to me, though neither of us knew it. My first shot was 
delivered very far back, passing entirely through the 
paunch. It practically killed the moose, nor did the 
animal really require another shot after that, although 
it was not knocked down. Had I used my own judg- 
ment and stuck to the hollow-point bullet, instead of the 
soft-nose, which Adam advised me to use, I think this 
hollow-point would have destroyed the animal at once, 
for the bullet would not have passed through, and the 
shock would have been very much greater. As it was, 
the moose was made very sick and would have sunk 
down very shortly had I given him time. It stood no 
longer than I have seen a sheep stand in the same place, 
and did not even go so far as I have seen an antelope 
go shot through three times with a .45-75- The seconcj 
