462 
FOREST AND STREAM 
August,. 1920 
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T HE Upper Mississippi has been 
called the bass fisherman’s para- 
dise, and it certainly does deserve 
the appellation, which, if true, exhausts 
superlatives with which to describe the 
headwaters of the streams entering the 
Mississippi. I could sit down now and 
draw up a list of streams, running from 
A to Izzard, which in my estimation 
makes that widening of the Father of 
Waters at Wabasha, Minn., known as 
Lake Pepin, look mean in comparison. 
Of course there is good fishing all along 
the river there, but it does not compare 
with the headwaters of several conflu- 
ents I could mention. I like to cast 
over lakes, for I like to fish for bass any- 
where, any way, any time, but for pure, 
unalloyed quintessence of sport with rod 
and reel forever commend me to the 
active bass of the upper St. Croix River. 
If the readers of this journal want a 
week of heavenly sport let them start in 
with canoe at Gordon and float down the 
St. Croix to, oh say, St. Croix Falls. 
That will give them the delightful 
Crooked River Rapids as pie after the 
feast of fishing. Take my word for it, 
it is a great trip. I’ll tell you what I 
will do, take the trip, keeping account 
of all expenses, and if at its end you 
are in the least dissatisfied, send the bill 
to me and I will send it to the Kaiser. 
GUNNING DAYS ON 
TURKEY CREEK 
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 424) 
clad in corduroy, with a wide brimmed 
hat and long, drooping tobacco-stained 
mustache. Andy offered him a cigar, 
and I tendered my pocket flask, both of 
which were accepted. As he handed back 
my flask he wiped his mouth with the 
back of his hand, and said: “Thet’s good 
licker. Whar are you fellers from?” 
We told him New Jersey. “Wal,” he 
said, “you’re a long ways from home, 
and I don’t want to be hard on ye, but 
I reckon ye got quail enough anyhow. 
So long.” And swinging the grey around 
he cantered back the way he had come. 
Andy and I looked at each other. Surely 
we had enough quail. The shooting had 
been so phenomenal that we had been 
carried away by the exciting sport, and 
had not realized how the bag was grow- 
ing. If we killed any more, what would 
we do with them? So we ate our lunch, 
then crossed the creek and headed back 
on Uncle Billy’s side. We still flushed 
plenty of quail but shot no more, and 
separating, tried to see if we could start 
some chickens. Presently I came to 
where the spring overflow had spread 
out over quite an expanse and left be- 
hind a large amount of drift trash. This 
had not been mowed for hay by the 
ranchers. As I started to walk through 
it, away went a rabbit. A few steps 
more and away went another; then 
another and another. The grass was 
alive with them. They were as thick 
as meadow mice. I shot one to see if 
they were the same as our eastern rab- 
bits, and could see no difference. The 
number of them was astonishing. They 
were very tame and would make just a 
few hons then souat and look at us. In 
crossing this strip of perhaps two hun- 
dred yards, I must have started a dozen 
of them. I believe I could have killed 
fifty in a short time had I so desired I 
question if they had ever been shot at. 
Late in the afternoon we reached Uncle 
Billy where he sat at his ease in the sun 
beside the hay stack. “Well!” he said, 
“you fellers have surely had some fun. 
Sounded like a Fourth of July celebra- 
tion. How many did you get?” We told 
him we did not know. We then emptied 
our pockets and smoothing out the feath- 
ers of the little beauties, laid them in 
rows en the grass, and when we counted 
them we found we had fifty-nine. I pre- 
sume if we had been shooting number 
eight shot, we could easily have killed 
a hundred in the day’a shooting. I ques- 
tion if dogs would have been of any 
advantage on that day, on account of 
the enormous number of the birds. 
A S we sat resting and watching the 
sun slowly but surely sink in the 
west. Uncle Billy said: “See here 
what’s coming!” And from the prairie to 
the west came a large bird, which, alight- 
ing on the top of a nearby hay stack, 
proved to be a prairie chicken. Straight 
and silent as a ramrod he stood for a long 
time. Said Uncle Billy: “I bet he is a 
scout.” Fully ten minutes he stood there, 
while we never moved a muscle, then he 
took wing and flying across the creek made 
his way to a large corn field on the up- 
land opposite to us, where he alighted. 
Scarcely had he done so when Andy ex- 
citedly cried: “Look there!” And from 
the direction the lone chicken had come 
from, came a great “pack” of fully two 
hundred of them. They followed the scout 
and dropped in the same cornfield. Andy 
and I had taken off our rubber boots to 
cool and rest our feet, but they were 
now quickly pulled on. Leaving Uncle 
Billy to carry the quail and three teal 
to the bridge I borrowed a handful of 
his shells. Then Andy and I picked up 
our guns and made our way across the 
creek in the direction the chickens had 
gone. From the creek edge to the corn 
field lay a newly sown wheat field, the 
young spindling grain about two inches 
high. You would think a meadow mouse 
could be seen fifty yards away, but as we 
passed across this bare field, from under 
my descending foot, up sprang a chicken 
in my very face, and away for the corn 
field, though badly rattled. The trusty 
gun came instinctively to my shoulder 
and at its report the bird fell dead. 
“Andy,” I said, “they are surely fine 
shooting.-” How that big bird, as large 
as a Leghorn pullet, could lie unseen by 
either of us on that bare field is one of 
the wonders of nature. As we entered 
the corn field about fifty yards apart, a 
pair of chickens flushed before Andy; 
one straight away the other crossing be- 
fore me. Now Andy was usually rather 
slow, but quick as a wink he cut down 
the straight-away, then just as my finger 
pressed the trigger on the crossing bird, 
“bang” went his second barrel and the 
bird dropped like a stone, but too late 
for me to hold my fire. “Say, Neil,” he 
said, “they are fine shooting ain’t they?” 
As silently as possible we stole down the 
rows with the sun at our backs. The 
