FOREST AND STREAM. 
tJuLY B, 1905. 
At Dawn with the Capercailzie. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I was on a short hunting trip after the capercailzie a 
couple of weeks ago, and, as it might interest some of 
your readers, will write a short account of it. The 
capercailzie, or tiur as it is called here, is found all over 
Norway, where there are large areas of pine woods, even 
in the interior of Lapland I have found them very plenti- 
ful, in the valleys. Their numbers have, however, in the 
last few years diminished rapidly, especially in the more 
settled portions of the country. The open season is now 
besides the fall shooting, two weeks in the spring — May 
IS to 31 — ^and then only for the male bird. This spring 
shooting of the male* is a rather peculiar way of hunting, 
and by hunters who know the tricks, is enjoyed very 
much, although there is much hard work and roughing 
it in connection. 
The capercailzie has certain spots called “lek” or play- 
grounds where he retires in the spring to mate. These 
play-grounds are used year after year, and as long as 
there are any birds left in the district and the trees not 
chopped down, will keep using the same place. 
The play-grounds are generally located on the edge of 
a marsh, where there are some large, scraggy pines, 
away back in the woods or mountains, away from people 
and civilization. Early in the season the birds, as a rule, 
play on the crust of the snow, strutting like a turkey cock 
with tail spread fan-shape and acting in a very dignified 
manner. Later, when the snow is gone, they generally 
choose the limb of a pine tree. 
It is during the “play” the hunter, who knows the 
tricks, has the “bulge” on the wary old rascal. The 
“play” is in three periods, (i) The “knepping” — sound- 
ing like rapping a pencil sharply against the teeth. The 
bird is then very alert. (2) The “klunck,” which follows 
immediately after the “knepping,” and sounds like pull- 
ing the cork out of a bottle. (3) The “sawing,” a hiss- 
ing sound lasting six to eight seconds, and not very loud, 
during which the bird shuts his eyes and seems com- 
pletely deaf. 
The hunter generally hears the “knepping” first and 
advances carefully until the “klunck” is heard, which is 
the signal for him to run, as a rule, three steps, while 
the bird is “sawing.” When the “sawing” is over he 
must stand perfectly still and not move as much as _ a 
finger or, when near the bird, look at him, as he will 
notice even the winking of the eyes. In this manner the 
hunter can approach very close, right underneath the 
tree sometimes in which the bird sits, and by putting the 
hand on the trunk the whole tree can be felt to be quiv- 
ering from the bird’s motions. 
The above will give a little idea of the mode of hunt- 
ing, only it is not so easy as it may seem. There are 
many things to contend against, the rippling and gurgling 
of the streams and brooks are a great source of trouble, 
as the bird cannot be heard for any distance, or you rnay 
strike a bird who knows a “thing or two.” _ He will_ give 
the “klunck” and then stop to listen, _ while you inno- 
cently advance thinking everything all right, but you will 
soon find out your mistake. 
The hen that coyly trips around in the brush is prob- 
ably the worst of all, as her warning “zok” will make her 
lord and master depart in a hurry. 
I have a certain place up in the mountains, far from 
any settlement, and where I am pretty sure of not meet- 
ing any rival hunters. Here the cock repairs to fight 
and court the favor of the fair ones. To this place 
I generally go, when the season opeiis, and have a little 
hunt by myself. The 15th of May this year found me at 
sundown as usual under the big pine, where I’ve made 
camp for the last few years, gathering firewood, chop- 
ping down some fir boughs for a bed, and making things 
shipshape generally. 
After having a cup of coffee and a bite to eat, it was 
getting dusk, so I took the gun to have a look around. 
(The birds come to their places about dusk and “play” 
till dark, at the first streak of dawn commenciiig apin.) 
I had gone about 300 or 400 yards when the faint “knep- 
ping” of a bird was heard. It was very difficult tO' locate 
the direction, but thought I had him on a ridge a" short 
distance off, in which direction I walked carefully until 
the “klunck” was heard, when the stalking commenced — 
three long steps at first and later, when nearer, only two. 
I knew he was not far away, but by this time it was get- 
ting pretty dark and I could not catch sight of him to 
save my life, so I started crawling on all fours. This 
crawling in the dusk is by the way a rather dangerous 
proceeding when there are other hunters around who 
might be stalking the same bird and by rnistake send you 
a charge. 
A little distance ahead was a big stump for which I 
was aiming, thinking when I got there to take a pod 
observation. The play was very puzzling; sometimes 
very plain and then again faint; but I knew the bird was 
right by and as I came to the stump 1 laid the muzzle 
of the gun up on the edge. It happened, however, to 
slide a little and scrape against the bark, when up rushed 
a big capercailzie and disappeared in the darkness before 
I had a chance to shoot. He had been sitting right on the 
other side and was probably an old fellow, as they are 
not so loud voiced as the youngsters. I made a bee-line 
for camp feeling rather “hot,” but a cup of mountain 
coffee, black and strong, followed by a pipe, soon 
smoothed down my ruffled feelings. 
As daybreak would come about i A. M., there was no 
time to sleep, so I lay dozing and smoking by the fire 
until the first call of the ptarmigan cock was heard and 
the first faint streaks of dawn showed in the east. After 
a bite to eat the start was made in the opposite direction 
from last evening, along a ridge bordered pn one side by 
a marsh. I had not gone far before a bird was heard, 
very faintly at first, but presently I got the direction of 
it and stpted running, three steps at a time, and had 
not gone far when I suddenly caught sight of him against 
the sky, sitting on the branch of a big pine with head 
pd neck extended swaying slightly up and down. Aim- 
ing low along the barrels — it being too dark to see the 
lights — the trigger was pressed, and at the report he 
came to the ground with a gratifying thump — a nice fel- 
low tipping the scales at a good 10 pounds. 
After hanging him up in a tree I proceeded in quest 
of more but without success, and was back tO' camp about 
3 A. M., when it felt very cozy to crawl into the reindeer- 
skin sleeping bag, for the night was cold, thick ice form- 
ing on every water puddle. 
I woke up about 8 o’clock with the feeling of being 
cooked and found out that I was lying right in the sun, 
which was shining out of a sky cloudless- and blue as it 
only can be in the mountains. During the day I went 
over the ground thoroughly and found by the droppings 
that there were quite a number of birds. 
At dusk I was at them again, stalking one who 
“played” very irregularly, stopping sometimes five min- 
utes at a time and acting mean all around. The result 
was that it got so dark it was an impossibility to see him, 
although standing right close by. 
It is strange how difficult it is to see such a big bird, 
when it is a little dark. If he can’t be gotten against 
the_ sky it is almost useless to look for him. He was 
sitting there still when I left for camp with the resolve of 
coming again in the morning, and when I came around 
again about i A. M. he was going like clock-work. When 
within fifty yards he was heard to fly up, but immediately 
began again and kept on for a few moments, when a 
rush of wings was heard and he came flying toward me, 
giving me_ a pretty side shot that sent him down like a 
load of bricks. 
_He proved a little smaller than the first, weighing about 
nine pounds. It was something unusual for him to- fly 
off so early in the morning, but he was probably chased 
by some old fellow who did not want any young ducks 
around putting on airs. As there now were two birds 
besides sleeping bag and gun to tote, I decided I had had 
enough, and, after a bite to eat, started to do the ten 
miles with a railway station at the end of it. Chr. G. 
Hamar, Nor-way. 
Points of View. 
What shall he have that kill’d the deer? 
His leather skin, and horns to wear. 
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born; 
Thy father’s father wore it, 
And thy father bore it; 
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
Is not a thing to laugh to> scorn. 
—As You Like It. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Recently your correspondent, Cecil Clay, urged that it 
would be good to flush or start something to arouse the 
entertaining contributors to Forest and Stream. 
In my opinion Flint Locke, in your issue of June lo, 
has put up quarry worthy the attention of the best men 
in the field. 
Alluding to antagonistic criticisms of President Roose- 
velt’s sportsmanship, Flint Locke, very commendably 
sees in them an attack upon the most conspicuous repre- 
sentative of modern sportsmen. Flint Locke does not 
keep to the main track constantly, but is inclined to caper 
and break at intersecting trails or cross-scents. Never- 
theless he is bellowing on the right course and very like- 
ly a little encouragement will send forward the pack in 
full cry, 
“Crook-kneed and dew-lap’d, like Thessalian bulls.” 
“But,” says Flint Locke, “one’s point of view changes, 
and now I question seriously the moral right of man to 
kill without necessity any other living creature.” _ This 
right to kill, is then, the essential question for discus- 
sion, and it is a very old problem. 
For the purpose of argument I side with F. L. ; even 
to going a step farther to say that there is no morality 
in killing any creature — without necessity. Necessity 
is the only warrant. Define necessity and you have the 
humane principle. 
Adversely, point to point, I oppose his stand that it is 
“fantastic hypocrisy to demand the enactment of string- 
ent laws for the preservation of game in order that we 
may have always something to kill.” 
I can cite nothing of more antiquity, nor more gen- 
erally accepted, than Scripture, giving man dominion over 
all the earth. Lord of creation, he has subsisted by de- 
stroying life, as far backward into the abysm of time as 
we can trace history or tradition. While man is the most 
destructive of animals, I do not believe it possible for 
any animal to subsist without preying upon or destroying 
other animals. Even the herbivorous must destroy plant 
life and animal organisms. Whether it is more immoral 
to destroy an elephant than a microbe let some one de- 
termine. 
It would seem that this is one of the immutable, inexor- 
able laws of nature. 
The natural world in its entirety is an inconstant con- 
dition, or state, of perpetual dissolution and recreation. 
Where man, with his destructive instincts, attributes and 
powers desires, he can and does obliterate anything and 
everything endowed with life. Just as the civilized usurp- 
ers of North America could, with little effort, extermi- 
nate the pitiful remnant of the great throngs of buffaloes, 
or the last of the American Indians, so, by united effort, 
the powerful element' of organized mankind might de- 
stroy any other order of animals, including his own. 
But man may be constructive and productive as well 
as destructive. It is certain that he can restore nothing 
once extinct, but he can and does, by proper methods, 
encourage, multiply and increase whatever he wishes, un- 
der ordinary natural conditions. 
It seems to me that the chief virtue of civilized man, 
his distinguishing trait above the barbarous, is the degree 
to which he labors to restore something of that which he 
destroys. He may do this through the selfish desire to 
protect himself, but it implies forethought for the future 
and often care for his posterity, or his estimate of what 
may be of benefit to his family, his country or' the world. 
Where man has found other animals of service to him 
he has domesticated, reared, and improved them in cer- 
tain of their qualities. Some of our animal friends have 
been cherished and protected since the first glow of en- 
lightenment and humanity. Whether Romulus and Remus 
were or were not suckled by the she-wolf, the Senate and 
people of Rome, in the full glory of their power (or the 
full power of their glory), honored the female canine 
with statue and monument, and with the credit of nur- 
turing the founders of the great republic. If the Romans 
did not extend protection to the wolf tribe, by the enact- 
ment and enforcement of laws, perhaps they domesticated 
some of them and passed down to us some good dogs. 
If they did neither I’d rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
than such a Roman. 
Many creatures die that men may subsist; many men 
die that other men — or animals — may survive. In the 
eternal alternation of life and death, as to- types or indi- 
viduals nature seems passive, indifferent, unconcerned. 
Forests that have been centuries in reaching grandeur and 
strength, together with animals in myriads, are swept 
away by conflagration in a few hours. The floods, fam- 
ines, pestilences — all devastating agents of nature, are 
unpitying, implacable, indiscriminate. If a man is caught 
in a forest fire, or if he is inundated by the Mississippi, 
he may be Christian or pirate ; he may pray in Latin or 
lingo. To save himself he must make tracks rapidly or 
swim like a cork. If he perishes, neither fire, flood nor 
nature give a token of regret. No; the fire roars in tri- 
umphant indifference, the waters boom on, insolent and 
invincible. Nature does not send him a stick of drift- 
wood when she has forests to burn. 
Fine sentiments are fine things. Snug churches with 
sky-piercing steeples are often, perhaps, quite harmless; 
but there is neither virtue nor policy in man’s deceiving 
himself with fancies and superstitions where they are 
constantly disproven by material and tangible evidence. 
This clouds his best faculties. Law and legislation be- 
come more and more wonderful. Pity it is that it is not 
less so, but somewhat simpler. In this connection, it 
may be fantastical hypocrisy to enact game laws, but the 
very best thing the sportsman can do is enforce the pre- 
servation and protection of game and fish, and, above all, 
■forest reservation- and kindred measures as best he may. 
Heaven help the country that is completely tamed and 
laid off into square fields and town lots, but let me live 
in some other. 
As to the “Heroic Pose” that’s a false scent. Let the 
real man be proud of manly achievements and honest 
trophies. Pride is not a bad thing. It depends upon the 
man. One may be proud of slaying a deer or two or a 
wild beast. Such achievements often require more com- 
mendable zeal, exertion and energy than the doing of 
smart tricks in a thousand other matters. If President 
Roosevelt’s critics would go upon a bear hunt, even they 
might be no more ferocious than they now are. I have ■ 
known bear hunters, who, after finding a bear, were about 
the least ferocious people I ever saw. They had fine 
guns, too, which they sometimes mislaid or dropped in 
their solicitude to restrain their ferocity. But I agree 
with Flint Locke, to the extent that I consider the glory 
of killing things greatly reduced by modern engines. I 
would rather have hunted deer with Robin Hood than 
with the meat hunters of 1900. I would rather have gone 
to war with the knights of King Richard than with 
the victorious Japanese this year. Modern engines of 
destruction are infernal machines. Gunpowder is an 
attribute for the devil and belongs in hell. It smells of 
brimstone. 
The problem as to man’s moral right to kill wild ani- 
mals is rapidly adjusting itself. In a . score or so of years 
there will be no game animals worth powder outside the 
limits of such parks or refuges as can be wrested from 
vandalism — incorporated and independent. The sports- 
men of California, like those of other parts of the world, 
are little more than vandals, destroying angels of civili- 
zation. They are degenerating into hordes of petty 
poachers, the greatest of whom haunt summer hotels in 
the mountains and the least of whom dynamite fish and 
shoot turtle doves and robins. The latter class delights 
in trespassing upon private lands, or in lying in ambush 
near springs and water-holes to assassinate small crea- 
tures. The heroic day of Kit Carson and Fremont was 
a little less glorious than the era of Daniel Boone or 
Lewis and Clark. Rifles should be prohibited where rail- 
roads are established, and no guns should be allowed 
within 500 miles of a city restaurant, unless as auxiliary 
to settling a bill. 
Railroads advertise and exploit the game as if it were 
part of their stock in trade or equipment. The inns and 
hostelries for summer tourists do the same thing. News- 
papers and sporting journals lend themselves as a purely 
business policy to the inevitable period. There are those 
who ridicule every attempt at game and fish protection 
with the worn phrases — “there will be game and fish 
when we are dead,” “forests will flourish after we are 
gone,” and any amount of such venal logic. 
All of the above mentioned commercialists must either 
trim their sails or suffer in their turn. The consequences 
are obvious and inevitable. The rifles of many sports- 
men rust in their racks, or in the junk shops. The guns 
are following faithfully, the large bores rustiest. The 
