FOREST AND STREAM. 
tbEC. 30, 1905. 
When it does come to the time that carp stuffed with 
crarlic and onions and garnished with sauerkraut be- 
comes our standard fresh-water fish, then we must cast 
our lines seaward and thank the Lord that carp cannot 
thrive in the sea. . . 
It is true that a few men are making a living trom 
handling carp, and the poor immigrant of New York and 
Boston is getting cheap fish. Therc is no question about 
this, but is it not making the public at large pay a heavy 
penalty for the present benefit of the few? 
If the carp does not belie his reputation for multiplica- 
tion he in time will bodily supplant our present fresh- 
water fishes. And when carp become so numerous, as 
they will certainly become, , that it will not pay to catch 
^Nn ’the East wlien salmon were plenty and inhabitants 
comparatively few, it was expressed in the indentures of 
apprentices that they should not be fed salmon more 
than so many times a week. Salmon were cheap and 
plentiful in those days. 1 1 • 
I never think of carp but the incident of the choking 
of Harvey’s Canal near New Orleans comes back to me. 
The brackish water drove the buffalos into this canal in 
such numbers as to make it possible to throw them upon 
the banks by means of a pitchfork. They were packed so 
thickly into the canal that the fish suffocated And when 
the wind blew toward the city it smelled as if the Barren 
Island Company had started rendering menhaden in the 
^'^Th'e^ Board of Health was at its wits’ ends and I believe 
that they only succeeded in getting relief when they cut 
the levee and allowed the Mississippi to flush the canal 
and carrv the millions of stinking buffalos into the Gulf 
to feed the sharks. And for opposition to race suicide 
the bulTalo is not to be compared to the carp. 
There are great days ahead for the fresh water streams 
and lakes— and some of us may live to see carp crowded 
over Niagara Falls because the lakes wont hold them. 
A little far fetched, perhaps, but not without some foun- 
One thing is certain, the men who introduced the Eng- 
lish sparrow and the German carp never by popular vote 
will be awarded a niche in the Hall of Fame or receive 
a Nobel prize. Charles Cristadoro. 
The Minnesota Season. 
Aitken, Minn.. Nov. 30.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
The open season on deer for 1905 is about closed; will 
close, in fact, without further event in the hmiting 
for a great snow storm is on. Eighteen inches has fallen 
and the storm still continues with two days of open sea- 
son left. This ends all shooting on game until bept. i, 
TOOO 
By the wav’-, there is one game bird that nests all about 
us yet we get no chance at it. There must have been at 
least a dozen pairs of woodcock nesting on our place, yet 
by Sept. I they have gone. Thus through July and a 
part of August we can flush a woodcock in almost any 
old-place; when the time comes that the gun is free from 
thrall there is not one to be found. Woodcock and jack 
snipe were the only kinds of game plentiful this year. 
We had some very pretty snipe shooting and there was 
no limit to the field, but a couple of afternoon shoots sat- 
isfied the demand. An all-summer flood drove all other 
kinds of game completely out. Prairie chickens disap- 
peared almost entirely. Ducks were in fair quantities 
but hard of access on account of the impassable condi- 
tion of the country. Our greatest excitement came in 
the deer season, though for hunting weather it was a 
complete failure. A few days before the opening there 
was a good tracking snow and soft weather, which makes 
a. perfect condition. By the loth, opening day, it was all 
gone, then came heavy rains, filling all the low places 
with water. Over this a thin shell of ice formed and 
that condition held until the last few days, when there 
came heavy rains again, filling everything with water. 
Into this came nearly two feet of snow, so that one trav- 
eling the woods sinks through the snow and on into the 
water beneath. So ends the season of 1905. 
E. P. Jaques. 
Translatior* 
Mr. Hallock’s reference to southern California in the 
current issue set me to looking out the window, and in- 
stead of seeing the great white sheet of snow that covers 
everything, I saw waving palms amid bowers of roses. 
I saw orange trees heavily laden with the golden orbs in 
company with groves of lemons. There were trees in 
bearing and trees in blossom, and the air was heavy with 
the odor of the blossoms. 
How ruddy and golden are the oranges peeping out 
from beneath the rich green foliage ! How' easy almost 
to reach out and pick one from the tree! 
The larks in the adjoining meadow have been chorus- 
ing joyously, and now a pair of mockingbirds have 
perched amid the orange trees and are fairly making 
the welkin ring with their melody. We hear the robin 
note, the catbird, the canary, the bluebird, and now and 
then imagine a faint attempt at a mallard in a quack that 
finishes the melody. The very larks are outdone at their 
own music by the mockingbird and become quiet listeners 
like ourselvek How the music rolls from tree to tree! 
There is no cessation, for as one bird stops another be- 
gins where he left off. 
We sit Vv'ithin the bower and find every sense of our 
body gratified. The eye is charmed by the clustering 
roses, the palms and the golden orange-laden trees. The 
sense of .smell is gratified by the combined odor of the 
rose mingled with the blossoms of the orange and lemon. 
The ear is drinking in sweet music such as no orchestra 
can produce. ■ The warm and balmy sun comforts every 
nerve in the body and the sense of taste is met with the 
ripe and luscious orange, which we have just picked in 
the fullness and richness of its maturity from the tree 
above us. And the mockingbirds sing on — and then 
there is silence. Once more and we see nothing but one 
great sheet of snow that mantles the earth as we gaze 
out the window'. The view' of fairyland had vanished. 
But in southern California the mighty Pacific still rolls 
in upon the sands singing night and day its dirge-like 
music. The ' brilliant sun, tempering the ozone-laden 
breezes from the ocean, instils life into the earth and 
the things upon and inhabitants thereof. This is all 
going on as it has gone on for years and will go on for 
years to come, only w'e are not there at the present w'rit- 
ing to enjoy it. Charles Cristadoro. 
The Drumming of the Grouse. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In the Evening Star, of Washington, D. C., of Dec. 5 
I see taken from your paper an article which emphatic- 
ally decides the manner of the drumming of the ruffed 
grouse. Now, I am not an authority on birds, know but 
little of them, but when a lad I watched every live thing 
on the mountains near where I lived, and it so happened 
that I found the nest of a ruffed grouse, and the drum- 
ming log of the male, some four or five rods distant. 
Nearby w'as an old hemlock with bark hanging about it, 
and of this, one morning early, I made a hiding place 
within eight or ten feet of the drumming place, which 
was always between two knots. 
I crept into this and lay in it sometimes five hours 
before the old fellow joined the hen and went off for 
food. He drummed only when she was laying, never 
while sitting, that is, so far as I could see. His manner 
was this. He straightened up very tall, threw his head 
and neck back, brought his w'ings in front of the body, 
and struck the hard, thick muscles of the heavy part of 
Ihe wings together, at the same time pouting somewhat 
like a pouter pigeon. He always began — bum — bum — 
bum — bum, and then on. The first three strokes were 
deliberate, quite a fraction of time between them, paus- 
ing at the third stroke long enough for another stroke, 
and seemed to listen attentively. Sometimes during this 
interval I heard a faint cry, as if from the hen, then he 
began in earnest, going faster and faster, until the eye 
could see nothing but a streak, making as many as a hun- 
dred strokes, and stopping so suddenly as to almost 
throw him from the log. 
I saw this several mornings, until one day I happened 
to hit a piece of my shelter in my eagerness to see him 
plainer, when he stopped, stretched out his neck, looked 
at me an instant, and then he flew far out into the forest 
and never drummed on that log again. 
I only tell you what I saw; it is many years ago, but. 
I was a close student of birds and animals, having no 
other books to study until war time. If this helps out 
any problem, I am glad. H. A. Dobson, M.D. 
Camp Life in Georgia. 
The boats were ready, two of them, one a long, roomy 
batteau, which carried the mess chest containing coffee, 
sugar, a pound or so of best tea, self-rising flour, , pilot 
bread, smoked bacon, mess pork, a couple of hams, cans 
of fruit, bag of dried peaches, potatoes, a goodly showing 
of onions, for what would the duck shooter do without 
this aromatic vegetable, salt and pepper, also a bucket 
of lard and one of butter, enough of all these to supply 
four hungry men for two or three weeks. Then came 
the camp kit bag of heavy canvas, w'hich could boast of 
a big camp kettle, a couple of mess pans, Dutch oven, 
frying pan, w'aflle irons, pot hooks, tin dishes, plates and 
cups, knives, forks and spoons ; next a couple of 
axes lashed together, blades protected in leather caps, 
a camp hatchet, soine nails, _ ball of strong twine. 
There are lots of things handy in camp, and when all the 
walking is to be done in a boat they may as well be car- 
ried. There was a tent large enough to accornmodate the 
party, the box containing the extra ammunition found 
place, plenty of blankets, two rubber overcoats and two 
rubber blankets, in fact, everything to insure comfort in 
all kinds of weather. My friend and I had a kit bag be- 
tween us containing extra clothing, for the duck shooter 
must not only go w-armly clad, but be prepared to change 
his clothing, as he is often exposed to a drenching rain- 
storm, or an involuntary bath in the river. The batteau 
carried all this plunder neatly stow'ed and was captained 
by the irrepressible Joe, our cook. 
The second craft was built with a sharp bow, plenty of 
room amidships, flat-bottomed and arranged for tw'O 
shooters to sit “for’ard” in the cockpit, one behind^ the 
other; the shooter aft to rise and shoot, the one for’ard 
to keep his seat and shoot. A second fifteenth-amend- 
ment paddled this boat sitting in the stern; a big-headed, 
thick-lipped negro, with an enormous mouth and overrun- 
ning with good nature, his name was Alex. The stars 
were beginning to pale in the east, when with boats and 
plunder loaded oh two wagons, we left the old town fast 
asleep, directing our course south for Horse Creek, five 
miles distant, a small, rapid stream, on which we w'ould 
launch our boats and be carried to the Savannah River 
three miles below the city of Augusta, Ga., and 175 miles 
by river above the city of Savannah. 
“Dick, it will be ii o’clock before we can get ready for 
the start. Wha: say you if we have dinner on the bank 
right under those trees, and while Joe is getting it ready 
we will launch the boats and have all in ship-shape ready 
for the start,” said Mr. Mac. 
This arrangement was carried out. Joe soon had hot 
coffee and flapjacks, and shortly after ii o’clock we were 
prepared to run the rapid and dangerous Horse Creek. 
My friend, with Joe in the shooting boat well loaded, 
started a hundred yards in advance. A few moments 
later Alex and I, in the heavily ladened batteau, swirled 
away from the bank, waving a good-by to the teamsters, 
and instantly found ourselves doing battle with a narrow 
stream and powerful current of water, sharp points of 
land armed with fallen tree tops, snags and oartiallj' sub- 
merged stumps and logs. It was very exciting, and the 
pace was tremendous ; each man armed with a strong 
paddle ; place one at bow and one at the stern. As the 
craft would sweep around one point, the next on the 
opposite side would appear. Qreat skill and coolness were 
necessary to successfully run these points, to say nothing 
of the hidden dangers in the way of stumps and snags a 
few inches under water. The banks on either side were 
very high, offering few if any places to land and rest. 
The distance had been two-thirds run and I began to 
congratulate myself that we would get through safely; 
when rushing round a particularly dangerous point we 
saw a fallen tree projecting nearly half way across the 
stream and only about three feet above the surface ; I 
struck my paddle in the water to go round the tree, and 
Alex at the stern paddled to go under it. In an instant 
we found our mutual mistake; I had only time to dodge 
the branches as the batteau swung by and under the tree 
top expecting the next moment to go over or at least have 
all duds swept overboard within reach of the terrible 
trunk. At this instant my paddle broke short off. I 
looked back ; the batteau had swung under the tree and 
its motion was for a moment arrested ; Alex had risen 
superior to the situation and grasped the tree trunk in 
his, powerful arms, vainly endeavoring to stop the batteau 
and force its bow into slack water to the right bank near 
the roots of the tree. It was of no use, the powerful 
current carried the heavily loaded boat against Alex’s 
feet and legs with such force as to literally boost him up 
and over the tree trunk and drop him in the water head 
first. The whole thing was so quickly and completely 
done, and the situation of the darky so supremely ridicu- 
lous, I simply rolled off my seat in a paroxysm of laugh- 
ter. I sat up and laughed, stood up and laughed, laid 
down and laughed. If one weak effort on my part would 
have saved the boat from total wreck I would have been 
utterly unable to have made that effort. I imagine that to 
my last hour I will not forget the expression on that 
darkey’s face as he paused for one brief moment over that 
tree trunk, head down, eyes protruding, and as large as 
doorknobs with fright, his pnormous feet, encased in No. 
12 shoes, high in the air gyrating in a vain and frantic 
endeavor to ^ve himself, his big hands stretched out 
within a few inches of the water and his fingers working 
with the energy of despair. He took the plunge in fifteen 
feet of icy . water with a yell of anguish. Coming to the 
surface near the batteau, fortunately, he grasped the side 
and clambered in — a soaked, frightened nigger. _ Seeing 
,my face and quickly realizing the situation, the air was at 
once filled anew with vocal explosions that might have 
been heard a mile. 
“Well, Alex, get in the bow of the batteau and I’ll go 
aft, and we will soon reach the river. You must do some- 
thing to get warm. We will make camp at 4 o’clock or so 
somewhere below .Sandbar Ferry.” 
The exciting journey was recommenced, and in a short 
time the broad waters of the Savannah were reached 
where the leading boat was found awaiting us. The cause 
of delay was explained, and provoked mirth from the 
whole party. Joe had no time or opportunity to moral- 
ize then. 
The river current was not fast; we floated and paddled 
until nearly 4 o’clock, then camped on the sandy beach 
fifty yards from the river. Stakes were driven and boats 
securely fastened, the tent put up in a trice, gun cases ; 
and camp plunder housed, the fire was soon glowing and 
dinner well on the way, and presently Mr. Mac and I , 
were seated for Joe’s camp dinner. Before the meal was ■ 
finished rain began to fall, and drove us inside the tent. ‘ 
Soon the short winter day ended and night. ., shut down ; 
like the lid on a pot, amid a dismal pouring rain. The 1 
camp-fire was kept up and the end flaps of the tent parti- • 
ally opened. We sat on our blankets, smoked and talked 
of to-morrow’s work and about where we would begin to 
find the ducks. Nine o'clock found us sound asleep, thor- 
oughly tired out, sleeping a sleep known only to those . 
who court the open air, the woods, the fields and the 
streams. 
The camp on the river beach was comfortable. I awoke , 
once during the night and heard the rain pouring on our ■ 
canvas roof. The thought of the dismal and wet condi- 
tion of things outside made me more appreciative of the \ 
warmth and snugness of things inside.. 
Six o’clock I immediately arose and indulged in the .1 
usual “matinal walk over” the darks, which, in due time 
and in the usual course of affairs, turned them out. Hast- 
ily dressing and going out I looked upon a dull leaden , 
sky and dismal rain. The wind blew the mists and rain 
in from' the river with bone chilling force. Pools of ; 
water here and there surrounded the tent, the trees were ' 
dripping and the comstacks in a neighboring cornfield ' 
looked woebegone and despairing in' their wet and ' 
stripped condition. A crow sitting in the branches of a 
persimmon tree gave a despairing croak and shook his s 
sable plumage in disgust. The camp-fire refused to burn, 
and only spluttered after Joe’s patient and vigorous ef- 
forts to start it. • 
A dismal camp, a dismal scene and a dismal company. * 
