130 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug. 13, 1904. 
iroRTSHAN TOURIST 
Summer Memories. 
In our childhood, time is regarded as an unending con- 
tinuation of the seasons,- and we follow confidently its 
slow, measured pace. Not until this gait changes to a 
run and the past lengthening do we realize that winters, 
springs, summers and autumns are rolling by like buoyant 
waves bearing us unresistingly on their calm or stormy 
crests toward distant lands. 
"Whence have sprung the things that are, 
And whither roll the passing years ; 
Where does Time conceal its two heads, 
In dense impenetrable gloom," 
quotes ■ Thoreau from the ancient poet Ossian's third 
Duan of Ca-Lcdin ; so, no doubt, the onward flow of 
the universe has not gained nor lost in speed, but moves 
the same in accord with the individual spirit. 
To-day a fire gleams brightly on the hearth, while the 
elements of winter hold sway outside; to-morrow April 
buds expand into May blossoms, and this evening sum- 
mer's smiling radiance greets us in the sunset. Thus 
once more the portals of a new season are opened, 
wherein we" enter to wander through flowering fields and 
gardens, perchance finding our way at last to the cool 
wooded regions that beckon us northward ; for in these 
distant, forests the light of a summer sun lingers on 
rugged tree trunks and throws a soft golden veil over 
snowy pond-lilies floating on the waters of sylvan lakes. 
It is both pleasing and picturesque, when pioneering 
north on steel rails through our native State, to observe 
the gradual transition of pastoral scenery into broken, 
half cultivated country, which gives place to undulating 
hills and finally the wilderness itself. Here the bones of 
the "Bark Eaters" — so christened by their brothers living 
further south — rest peacefully under fragrant leaf mould, 
guarded by whispering pines that still stand unscarred, 
and likewise cattle graze in the sheltered meadows of a 
fertile valley that once was a scene of bloody strife be- 
tween the latter and white men. But while forests have 
been almost entirely eaten away in this section, the more 
mountainous home of the aborigines, although seared by 
fire and the inroads of civilization, is still able to stimu- 
late the ozone with a pure breath of coniferous wood- 
lands, and offer one retreats of primeval wildness, where 
vibrations of silence pulsate in the solitude. 
The smooth, rounded slopes of the Adirondacks are 
a distinct pleasure to the eye, for the winds and weather 
of ages have worn down all jagged peaks that probably 
at one time existed, and left undulating ranges mounting 
against the sky in soft harmonious lines. It has often 
been said that the Rockies are as infants beside these 
venerable mountains, whose formation shows both 
volcanic and glacial eras. 
Thick timber covering a mountain side sometimes con- 
ceals wonderful ledges of rocks, and once a splashing 
rain brook led us to discover a wealth of geological 
beauty that was hidden by a luxuriant growth of forest 
trees. We happened to be lifting a bait trap set on a 
small bay that was the culmination of an arm or branch 
of a lake, when the sound of rushing water came to our 
ears from a steep, virgin-clad mountain rising abruptly 
on the south side of the pond-like cove. Anxious to 
know from what source it came, we rowed toward the 
shore, and found a large rain brook emptying into the 
lake, running out under a tangle of bushes and ferns, 
so that at first it was not easy to. locate. Far up the 
mountain side the cool, splashing murmur might be 
heard, and it tempted us to land for the purpose of 
further exploration. Pushing aside the thick under- 
growth, we beheld a series of cascades and waterfalls 
leaping . down the steep incline, broken, moss-grown 
boulders forming its bed, and these aided us in our ascent, 
following one another like rough hewn steps. After a 
few minutes' scramble, I succeeded in landing on a large 
flat rock, around which the water foamed and boiled. 
On the right, reaching up sheer and perpendicular, rose 
a ledge of huge recks, adorned with delicate ferns, 
various tinted mosses and silver lichens, while several 
birches sprouted from deep crevices. Close beside it a 
roaring torrent ran the brook, tumbling over roots and 
stones, sinking into pools and crannies, for falling almost 
straight down the mountain gave the water a fierce im- 
petus. Encouraged to probe still further the course of 
this rushing torrent, we worked our way upward, the 
Veteran making a straight ascent, while Wallace and I 
struck a deer runway, taking a more roundabout de- 
tour in order to avoid treacherous roots undermined with 
invisible water, which made itself known by soft musical 
gurglings. Finally, after again crossing the brook, we 
reached the summit, of a cliff, and looking out from this 
high perch could see the blue lake glinting lazily in the 
sunshine between the trees, while beyond unbroken forest 
rolled away to meet the clear, transparent horizon. In 
stepping. near. the edge of the rock we discovered a deep, 
narrow fissure, yawning down fifty feet or more, and un- 
doubtedly it was a relic of a volcanic age, having an ap- 
pearance as though some convulsive internal forces had 
split and shoved it outward. But new discoveries awaited 
us, which we found later on striking back in the woods, 
where, walking through a sloping fern-grown glen, and 
sinking deep into the thick, spongy mosses, we came un- 
expectedly to another mighty ledge of rocks that 
towered high above us. From its dark, shaded cliff the 
cool drip of water could be heard as clear, crvstal drops 
fell on the moist sides to the rocks below. 
Looking upward, one was able to discern the outlines 
of pines and spruces growing from the top of the rocks, 
and seeming far off against the sky, it must have been 
that the mountain rose in three great steps, for we could 
not imagine there was more than one more ledge beyond 
this. At the foot of the cliff where we stood were strewn 
enormous boulders and stones, which on closer investiga- 
tion shewed the same pink grain or tint that was apparent 
on the larger ones. The radiant beams of the sun, strik- 
ing through the leaves fell on the moist face of the rock 
wall, making it glisten on surfaces exposed to the light, 
and appear dank and moist in the shadows. 
Only the eye, however, is capable of conveying to one 
the reality of such a sublime masterpiece, and how many 
secrets does nature thus obscure? Multitudes that ever 
will remain wrapped in the unknown, as well as those 
works of beauty we discover by becoming more inti- 
mately acquainted with regions already familiar to us. 
Not long since, in reading an eulogy on the Adiron- 
dacks, I came to where it stated that these mountains 
are really an island, being completely surrounded by a 
chain of waterways. The mountains themselves are a 
fountain of lakes, streams, and springs, flowing away on 
every side to replenish others with perennial torrents of 
pure, living fluid. 
Most of the woodland streams, brooks, and occasionally 
a spring are colored a rich brown-yellow from the muck 
or forest mould that forms their banks, but as a general 
rule the lakes are transparently clear, and many of these 
harbor lusty trout, besides numerous other piscatorial 
species." It is quite curious that some sheets of water 
will contain fish of a certain variety, while within a quar- 
ter or half mile of it another lake will be absolutely free 
of them; in one such a thing as a bullhead is unknown, 
yet but a short distance away there exists a pond literally 
swarming with these homely horned pouts. The same 
conditions are repeated in other cases, but there is one 
fish usually found in all the waters of this region, and 
that is the speckled trout cherished so fondly by every 
fisherman. 
After a steady downpour of rain lasting five or six 
hours, small rills and brooks come to life in the woods, 
seeking out old dried watercourses they previously have 
flowed through, and perhaps emptying finally with a, 
pleasant trickle into some pond, where trout gather from 
afar' in order to taste the sweet, fresh water. This is a 
good time to let a bait down between the clusters of 
lily-pads, and one by one pull in" handsome fish that 
usually make themselves known after a lively manner 
at the other end of the light rod. Once when we were 
fishing thus, having already landed nine or ten trout, the 
grandfather, evidently, of them all came along and 
deigned to swallow hook and worm at one gulp. It was 
indeed fortunate that his appetite was primed to commit 
such a rash act, as it fastened the barb firmly in those 
hard jaws and held him secure. After keeping down out 
of sight, fiercely tugging all the while, he made an unex- 
pected appearance on the surface, skipping around among 
the lily-pads until his orange sides were tightly wound 
with the long stems that probably proved a decided en- 
cumbrance to his breath, for shortly he gave up what 
otherwise would probably have been a long struggle. 
On this same pond, one summer night with a clear, 
moonless sky, I spent several hours jacking for deer, 
minus firearms, however, accompanied by another com- 
panion and guide. The mild warmth of the evening, and 
the drone of insect voices suggested the idea that it 
would probably be a good night for deer to work around 
the water, and offer us an opportunity of seeing one 
under a jack light. An old lantern arranged for this pur- 
pose was accordingly brought forth, refilled with oil, its 
dusty glass brightened, and toward eight o'clock we set 
out, trusting that its light might chance to reveal some 
night wanderer to our vision. 
How still and dark the woods as we enter them and 
follow the wavering lantern that sheds a mystic, yellow 
glow on both sides of the narrow pathway. Trees loom 
up like shadowy spectres, and the moist night odors are 
strongly pungent in our nostrils, while only the soft, 
jingling murmur of insects and the quavering peep of a 
tree toad disturb the silence. It was not long before the 
pale reflected glimmer of the pond could be seen through 
the trees, and reaching the shore we quietly turned the 
boat over, adjusted the light in the bow, and taking our 
places pushed out on the dark shadowed surface. 
A cold, thin fog rolled off the water as the boat moved 
silently ahead, and we tasted its damp, dew-laden breath, 
while the zenith was reflected by faint points of light 
from the stars shining down serenely on the solitude. 
The crack of a bush all at once broke the stillness, and 
around went the boat, pointing in the direction from 
whence the sound issued. A gentle shaking motion in the 
stern conveyed the meaning to light the jack; a match 
flared -in answer, and then a misty glare of light was 
turned suddenly on the dark, indistinct shore, illumining 
trees and rocks with a hazy circle of uncertain radiance. 
For a second we caught the faint outline of a deer's 
form, partly shielded by a birch tree, but it was only for 
a second, and a violent snort, followed by crashing 
twigs, woke up the surrounding echoes. Again the shrill, 
frightened whistle rang out, but now further distant, and 
we could imagine this creature of the forest gazing with 
startled eyes into the impenetrable darkness — terrified that 
the same uncanny light might disclose for a second time 
his nightly seclusion. 
However, only a few minutes passed before a slight 
splashing noise attracted our attention across the pond ; 
so we stole out from the black shadows and moved 
over the star-lit expanse of water that intervened. As 
we drew near, the sound grew more distinct, and we all 
but held our breaths for fear of disturbing whatever it 
might chance to be. Expectantly we waited until the 
jack lit up the shore, but our anticipations suffered a 
downfall, for there, humped on a slippery log, sat a fat 
hedgehog, his quills bristling with surprise, and his eyes 
blinking in the strong light. Amused as well as some- 
what disappointed over this apparition, we wreaked our 
vengeance upon him by a push with the paddle that nearly 
upset his portly form, causing him to scuttle hastily along 
the log and disappear with an awkward waddle into the 
protecting shadows of the woods. 
For an hoiir we floated on the still water, making a 
complete circuit of the pond, while we watched a 
luminous star rise over the inky spires of the tree points, 
seen against the paler sky beyond, but the hollow voice 
of a barred owl was all that broke the throbbing silence. 
The dim spark of the lantern led us to the landing 
without trouble, and we left hopes of seeing another deer 
behind with the silent pond. Good fortune, however, had 
not entirely deserted us, for striking off from the path on 
our way back, we surprised a buck standing in a patch of 
briers, and Wallace, who carried the jack light, flashed 
it upon him before he could move a foot. What a smash- 
ing of underbrush followed, as with a springing bound 
he cleared a fallen tree and fled precipitately away from 
the penetrating rays that disclosed him running like a 
phantom through the darkness. Turning around; we 
headed toward the trail again, and had gone but a few 
paces when Wallace whisperingly exclaimed, "Just look 
at those eyes !" and stepping quickly forward, we peered 
into the black gloom. Seemingly far off in the woods 
gleamed two bright, glowing coals of fire, and as I looked 
a pleasant shiver coursed through me at the thought that 
these burning sparks so intently fixed upon us were the 
eyes of some large animal. They appeared not unlike a 
pair of small lanterns shining at a long distance, and here 
was a delusion, for in reality the deer was quite close by, 
and as we walked cautiously ahead in order to obtain a 
better view, they silently went out, no sound betraying 
where their owner had gone. No doubt we dreamed at 
night that these fiery eyes belonged to some aborigine 
chief, whose spirit infested the forests, wandering about 
and somberly watching over his past home. 
Notwithstanding the fact that the Indian dwellers of 
the Adirondacks have passed away, leaving only pic- 
turesque legends and imagination to carry on their 
career, is it not somewhat of a perennial pleasure to 
realize that four-footed creatures still exist where the 
former once pursued them? True, some of these have 
also gone, but two yet remain for time to obliterate, 
namely, the Virginia deer and the black bear, for they are 
the only original varieties_ of the larger mammals left, 
although the smaller species of course are apparent in 
various orders. 
It is a good while, therefore, since a panther's scream 
has started the sleeping wilderness, or sinuous, copper- 
colored hands have torn the bark from silky birches to 
kindle a camp-fire, and' one holds a sincere faith that 
likewise many years will have vanished in the past before 
the laugh of a loon, hooting of an owl, snort of a deer, 
and the grunt of a bear are hushed in these forest abodes. 
Camilla. 
A Meeting with Boone. 
From Audubon's "Ornithological Biographies," 1831-39. 
Daniel Boone, or as he was usually called in the 
Western country, Colonel Boone, happened to spend 
a night with me under the same roof, more than twenty 
years ago. We had returned from a shooting ex- 
cursion, in the course of which his extraordinary skill 
in the management of the rifle had been displayed. 
On retiring to the room appropriated to that remark- 
able individual and myself for the night, I felt anxious 
to know more of his exploits and adventures than I 
did, and accordingly took the liberty of proposing 
numerous questions to him. The stature and general 
appearance of this wanderer of the western forests ap- 
proached the gigantic. His chest was broad and prom- 
inent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in 
every limb; his countenance gave indication of his great 
courage, enterprise, and perserverance; and when he 
spoke, the very motion of his lips brought the im- 
pression that whatever he uttered could not be other- 
wise th?u strictly true. I undressed, while he merely 
took off his hunting shirt, and arranged a few folds 
of blankets on the floor, choosing rather to lie there, 
as he observed, than on the softest bed. When we 
had both disposed of ourselves, each after his own 
fashion, he related to me the following account of his 
powers of memory, which I lay before you, kind reader, 
in his own words, hoping that the simplicity of his 
style may prove interesting to you: 
"I was once," said he, "on a hunting expedition on 
the banks of the Green River, when the lower parts 
