548 
F 
() K K ST AND S 4' 11 F A M 
October, 1919 
More Shooting 
Satisfaction 
Whctlicr you hunt big 
game in far places, or 
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LYMAN 
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No. 3, Ivory 
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HOW TO FIND THE NORTH 
SOME WAYS OF WORKING OUT YOUR BEARINGS 
WHEN YOU ARE LOST IN THE TRACKLESS WILDS 
By J. W. STOLLE 
GREAT deal has been 
written, and much 
more has been said 
concerning the sub- 
ject of finding that in- 
tangible, elusive some- 
thing called North, 
withouta compass, 
when you have lost 
your way in the big 
woods. The theory 
that moss always 
grows thickest on the 
north side of a tree is false and some- 
times seriously misleading. The Indians 
of the north woods used to note the di- 
rection of blown down trees — not one, but 
several at a time — and knowing the di- 
rection from which prevailing gales blew, 
they could easily find their way. But in 
order to utilize this knowledge the trav- 
eler must know from what direction the 
sti’ong gales usually blow in that particu- 
lar region. 
Then there is the method of finding 
South by pointing the hour hand of your 
watch toward the sun. Half way be- 
tween the hour hand and twelve o’clock 
on your watch is south, whether the ob- 
servation is taken in the forenoon or 
afternoon. Provided, however, your 
watch is going and at least approximate- 
ly on time. This method is very reliable 
and transforms your watch into a solar 
compass wheyi you can see the sun. But 
when the snow is falling or it’s murky 
o’erhead — well, that’s different. 
It is like looking for a needle in a hay- 
stack — this trying to find your way once 
you’ve lost it, unless you have a compass 
or know the trick. Before I finish this 
article I am going to convince the reader 
that, no matter how badly he is lost, no 
matter what kind of a forest he is in, 
no. matter what the weather is so long as 
it is daylight — there is no cause for 
alarm or insanity. Provided he keeps 
cool. 
It seems unbelievable that full grown 
men, more or less accustomed to the 
woods, will sometimes become so hope- 
lessly lost that they will not believe that 
a river fiows downstream, even though 
their own eyes appraise them of the fact. 
Lost men have been known to throw 
sticks and chips into a river to ascertain 
which direction the current was flowing. 
I once came upon a log cabin on a little 
spruce covered knoll in a Maine cedar 
swamp, and, though I had left that very 
same cabin, with which I was quite fa- 
miliar, barely twenty minutes before, I 
did not recognize it until I opened the 
door and looked in! I had been traveling 
willy nilly through the woods, looking for 
deer, and thought I was at least a mile 
from that cabin. A cedar swamp on a 
cloudy day is bad, unless as I said, you 
have a compass or know the trick. 
But it is not always so bad as you might 
think it to be when you first consider it. 
O NE of the surest signs that you are 
really and truly lost is when your 
compass points — south! Don’t be 
a fool. If your compass pointed north 
when you left camp, it still points north. 
Depend upon that. Even though you 
think you know better — you don’t. Of 
course, if you are in an iron country your 
compass might vary considerably. But 
the chances are that you are not in an 
iron country, and even if you are, you 
can check your compass, as will be shown 
later. 
On a memorable occasion I was lost for- 
eight hours in fiat cedar swamp coun- 
try in northern Maine. I was then a 
tenderfoot and did not know when I 
started out from camp that morning that 
I was walking deep into the bosom of the 
unknown. I had taken the -wrong trail 
leading off from the tote-road, to make a 
short cut to the clearings on Trout Brook, 
near Ashland. I had a compass and for 
the first mile or so the trail led in the 
right direction — southeast. But as I 
traveled on I was more and more dis- 
mayed to find that the trail persisted 
in swinging to the right, almost due west. 
At last I became disgusted with the trail 
and swung off on a south-easterly course 
through a dense cedar swamp, knowing 
full well that the clearings could not be 
more than three miles distant at the 
most. Presently I struck a small brook. 
By this time I was so badly lost that I 
could not be sure whether it was the head 
of Horse Brook, Trout Brook, or Shield’s 
Brook, all of which, according to my 
map, headed somewhere in that region 
within a radius of five miles. I decided 
upon one point, however, I would follow 
that brook to its mouth, be it on the 
Machias, Aroostook or Kennebec River. 
I began to feel the terror of the un- 
known and hurried, tearing my clothei 
in the chaotic tangle of blowdowns, old 
tops, alders and cedar roots which, with 
the rank ground moss hid deep hollows 
washed out by the creek in freshet times. 
On and on I hurried, ignoring direction, 
determined to follow that brook to its 
mouth. There was about two inches of 
snow upon the ground and the ice on the 
still w’ater in the occasional beaver dams 
was about three inches thick. - 1 could 
have retraced my steps to the known 
ground of the tote road, but a man never 
retraces his steps when lost. Why should 
he, when his objective is always just 
ahead? 
I carried a hunting knife and a rifle 
but no grub. Once, long after noon I 
treed a partridge which would have made 
a good meal, but I had no time to waste 
in shooting partridges. My one idea 
was to get out of that menacing, mock- 
ing wilderness before dark. I crossed 
and recrossed that brook a hundred times, 
always picking the side that afforded the 
greatest freedom to a man in an immense 
hurry. At every step I strained my eyes 
' (CONTINUED ON PAGE 
