176 
FOREST AND 
STREAM 
April, 1921 
MAGNUM 12 BORES. 
SPECIALLY 
BUILT FOR 
LONG SHOTS 
AT WILDFOWL 
EFFECTIVE RANGE 100 YARDS 
A CUSTOMER WRITES: 
Dalbeattie. 
Dear Sirs: — The 12-bore “Magnum” I bought from 
you for shooting herons has been a remarkable success. 
The first shot was at a heron in a spruce tree — it fell 
dead and we measured the distance, finding it to be 
110 yards. There were 5 No. I shots in the bird’s body. 
The second shot, a day or two later, killed a heron 
at 98 yards. Since then we have had a number of long 
shots, which we have not measured. 
Yours faithfully, W. H. A. 
Send for Illustrated Catalogue, 
giving full particulars, with many other 
unsolicited testimonials. 
G. E. LEWIS & SONS 
32 and 33 Lower Loveday Street, 
BIRMINGHAM ENGLAND 
Established 1850 
H. R. Seckel 
won the amateur 
championship of Idaho 
— breaking 293 targets 
out of 300 with an 
Ithaca Gun. That’s 
another Ithaca record. 
Any man can break more 
targets or kill more game 
with an Ithaca. 
Catalogue Free. 
Double guns for gasae $45.00 up 
Single btrrel trap gnus $75.00 up 
ITHACA GUN CO. 
ITHACA, N. Y. 
Box 25 
ITHACA WINS 
J. KANNOFSKY 
Practical 
Glass Blowe 
and manufacturer of artificial eyes for birds, 
animals and manufacturing purposes a specialty 
Send for prices. AH kinds of heads and sknllj 
for furriers and taxidermists. 
28 CHURCH ST., Near Canal St, NEW YORK 
ease mention “Forest and Stream" 
WHEN SPRING COMES 
WHISPERING VOICES TORMENT THE CITY DWELLER UNTIL 
HE MUST PERFORCE DROP ALL WORK AND WANDER AFIELD 
By H. H. SHELDON 
ERMIT thrushes had 
commenced to wend 
their way northward 
to the big timber. 
Varied thrushes were 
well on their migra- 
tion to the sub-arctic 
regions. The golden 
and white crowned 
sparrows were fast 
disappearing. The 
grosbeaks and orioles 
had arrived from the 
south while the humming birds had 
preceded them by many days and were 
building their snug homes. The nuptial 
bird season was at hand and the odors 
of the suburban woods wet with morn- 
ing showers were intoxicating in signifi- 
cance of spring. These and other in- 
spirations told the Judge and me that 
the time had come and we said, “Let’s 
go!” 
Dolly was coaxed from the fields of 
clover and hooked to the shay — now bur- 
dened with the camp equipment of other 
days. Don and Music were barking and 
bounding in play at the old mare’s head 
as she swung into a steady pace, headed 
away from the civilized parts to the 
land of the silent places. We were off 
for some life in the open and the des- 
tined camp was to be pitched under the 
redwood giants that fringe the waters 
of the Gualala River, — a secluded little 
trout stream that spills into the great 
pacific in northern California. 
Twenty miles the first day brought us 
two thousand feet above the sea on a 
mountain range of brush and forest, 
and, though the long anticipated camp 
supper encouraged a continuance of 
travel, the radiant picture that lay be- 
fore us, stretching out to the curve of 
the earth, compelled us to forget the 
nner man and feast instead upon such a 
color scheme as only Dame Nature 
could have conceived. Never was a 
horizon more definitely shown as the 
softening colors of dusk turned the sun 
to a ball of red that glowed over the 
Pacific waters for a distance beyond the 
power of eyes. Silently we watched the 
great sphere slip into the sea, as it 
seemed, and the afterglow showed far 
lelow, a maze of silvery lines. Deep and 
timbered canyons furrowed the face of 
the big range and followed to the sea, 
and the loftiest redwoods were silhouet- 
ted in stately form against its reflective 
surface. Bird notes from the brush and 
air, burst at frequent intervals upon 
the silence of our seclusion, and our ex- 
pressions of praise to the great Creator 
of it all were given in whispers, fearful 
to break the silent glory of the won- 
drous scene. But the dogs apparently 
had other views on the situation and 
whined their disapproval of the delay, 
while Dolly turned her neck at right 
angles and surveyed us with toleration. 
We spiraled and wove in and out, 
down through the brush and redwoods 
to a spring and clearing by the road, 
and camped under a big blue sky, with- 
out much thought of the office and the 
laboring men that were left behind. The 
discord of noise and the smoke and 
grime were out of sight, out of mind — 
we had commenced to find an effective 
remedy for “Spring Fever”. 
O UR camp site was the roosting 
place of a variety of feathered 
friends and the rendezvous of a 
generic assortment of animal life, from 
field-mice and wood-rats to the carniv- 
orous element that yapped and howled 
from distant hills. 
Internal growls from Don and Music 
were often provoked by nothing more 
than the pitter patter of a wood-rat tap- 
ping the dry brush with a foreleg, — a 
habit that many rodents affect when 
alarmed. Screech owls tooted at the 
glow of the fire and horned owls hooted. 
At such instances our sleep was pleas- 
antly disturbed, for it was good to hear 
those sounds again; wild sounds — songs 
of the mountains. 
The scent of burning wood and ver- 
dant foliage struck accord within, and 
went to the depths of eager lungs. It 
was all too good and uncommon to bs 
lost in heavy slumber. 
Billows of fog, white and fleecy, lay 
in a blanket between us and the sea, as 
we somewhat reluctantly left our cheer- 
ful camp the next morning, but at noon 
the scene had changed; the gloom of 
the ocean was absorbed by Old Sol, and 
we contentedly drove along the coast, 
watching the airedales in their tireless 
pretension of hunting along the way. 
Later we descended the long trail to 
the North Fork where the towering red- 
woods greeted us as in days gone by. 
The road now paralleled the river and 
made us eager for a cast to the still, 
transparent waters where trout lay with 
rudders fanning the easy current. The 
freshness of a brand new year was con- 
spicuous from every quarter. Crested 
jays cawed and scolded with notes 
echoing in the big forest, and black- 
headed juncos were twittering in the 
brush that bordered the road. Wood- 
peckers were exercising their hammers 
on dead and pithy trees in search of 
food and nesting sites ; a kingfisher pre- 
ceded us down stream with harsh, rat- 
tling notes, and the woods seemed alive 
with the wild creatures in the sweet, 
budding, life-giving spring. 
D OLLY was given her freedom in a 
glade where the grass grew high 
and sweet and our camp was 
pitched in an amphitheatre of redwoods 
where the music of distant waterfalls 
added charm to the serenity of our home 
in the wilderness. Before this day had 
