FOREST AND STREAM. 135 
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A Woman’s Moose Hunt. 
Having made arrangements with Daniel I. 
Munn, of Boiestown, N. B., to take us on a 
moose hunt, we left Pittsburg on the evening 
of Sept. 9, going by way of Montreal and 
Quebec, via the Grank Trunk. Qn the morn¬ 
ing of the 12th we changed cars at Chatham 
Junction, taking a branch road south to Boies¬ 
town. Imagine our dismay when we found 
our trunk had not been put off, but was speed¬ 
ing away to Halifax. Our guide met us at the 
station, and after procuring our licenses, we 
had a delightful drive of eight miles over a 
beautiful road to the Holt Farm. This farm 
is on a ridge just on the edge of the forestland 
has a magnificent outlook. From the ridge 
back of the house you can look over miles 
and miles of forest; ridge rising beyond riclge 
until they are lost in the blue distance, with 
no line to show where the forest ends and the 
sky begins; but they meet and blend and reach 
on and on into infinite space. 
It was raining hard the next morning, and 
as I watched two other hunting parties pack 
up and start off in the rain, I leaned back in 
a rocking chair with a deep feeling of grati¬ 
tude that our trunk had not come. The rain 
continued all day, but the morning of the 14th 
dawned bright, clear and bracing—just the kind 
of morning to “hit the trail.” 
Our head guide had procured Archy Munn 
as helper and Thomas Munn as cook. We 
found them very capable and efficient men. 
Dan is a fine caller; Archy calls some and is a 
very alert and efficient guide. 
Our trunk had come the day before, and all 
our duffle and provisions were loaded on a 
wagon, along with a sled, which was to be 
used when the road got too rough for the 
wagon. Not knowing what we had to face, we 
had not ordered horses to ride in to the hunt¬ 
ing grounds. When the Doctor spoke to Dan 
about getting a horse for me, I objected, say¬ 
ing I could ride on the sled when I got tired 
walking. Dan said I ought to have a horse, for 
it made too heavy a load on the sled. He 
could have told me that everything that went 
on the sled had to be tied on. 
We left Holt’s, followed the road about 
half a mile, let down a pair of bars and be¬ 
gan our journey into the forest. The rain had 
filled to overflowing every hole, swamp and 
creek, till the log bridges and corduroy roads 
were floating. I had always had an abnormal 
fear of a horse, and never learned to ride, and 
knew almost nothing about managing one. I 
followed along behind the sled, almost par¬ 
alyzed with fear. The sled would go bump¬ 
ing over a perfect net-work of roots, then one 
runner would climb up over a stump or big 
rock and the driver would jump on that side 
to keep the sled from upsetting. It upset 
occasionally in spite of his efforts, but as every¬ 
thing was roped on, it was soon righted and 
we continued as though nothing had happened. 
There were miniature lakes in the middle of 
the trail, where the water would come almost 
up to the bed of the sled. Sometimes the 
corduroy bottom of these lakes was floating 
and would pile up in front of the sled till at 
last the sled would climb the log pile and 
teeter down the other side. I watched the sled, 
fascinated, in an ecstasy of terror, knowing 
that I must follpw on the horse. I did not 
lament or scream. I was speechless, par¬ 
alyzed with fear. Two or three times I asked 
to be taken off the horse and allowed to walk 
around the holes. I clung to the reins in such 
a frenzy of fear that I drew the horse’s head 
back till she could not see to pick her steps. 
Then she became frightened, and in spite of 
anything I could do, when we came to a 
swamp, she would turn and go back to Dan. 
She knew that when Dan took hold of the 
bridle, I'would loose my hold on the reins. 
Dan owned her, and she was quite a pet. She 
would follow him wherever he went. 
We had just crossed an especially hard place 
when the guides stopped to get a drink at a 
spring. 1 wondered how they could feel 
thirsty, and when they passed the cup to me I 
could only shake my head. I felt as though 
a drink of water would choke me. The guides 
did not know I was afraid of a horse, and the 
Doctor was so busy getting over the trail that 
he thought everything was all right, as I was 
not raising a disturbance. The truth of the 
matter is there was not one bit of danger, and 
they all knew it but me. The whole per¬ 
formance seemed such a foolish risk that I 
said to Tom, ‘“Isn’t it foolish to go through 
this just to kill a. moose?” 
It finally dawned on me that I was holding 
the reins too tight, and I made an effort to 
control my fear and not hold on the reins. 
The second day I got along better, but was 
still afraid. 
Coming home, the ride out was easy, and 
I really enjoyed it. Getting on the horse was 
quite a feat, and I suppose it amused Dan a 
good deal. I would hunt up a good big stump 
and climb on it. Dan would lead up the horse 
and I would make a desperate lurch and finally 
land on the saddle. 
We traveled about fourteen miles the first 
day, and spent the night in a vacant lumber 
camp. The next morning was frosty, but 
breakfast was soon over, and we were again 
on the way. About a mile from the camp we 
crossed the Little Dungarvon River and went 
up a very steep hill. We then wound grad¬ 
ually up to the top of the ridge and down the 
other side. All day long we kept on cross¬ 
ing ridge after ridge, until about 5 o’clock we 
came down a long, steep one, and saw our 
hunting cabin in a clearing on the shore of the 
Dungarvon River. A tent was put up for us 
and everything made ready for light house¬ 
keeping. 
It’ was raining in the morning, but Will 
started back to the settlement with the team, 
the saddle horse following. Dan and Archy 
went down the river for their dugout, and we 
put our rifles in order for work, then went up 
the river to the dam. The dugout was pulled 
over the dam into the deadwater, and getting 
aboard, we were poled up the river. The river 
was full of trout; we could see them on the 
bottom, and many of them were big fellows. 
This was the second day of the close season, 
and trout fishing was not in order, but moose 
hunting was, and the way the shores were cut 
up by the moose was encouraging. At the 
head of navigation we went ashore, and fol¬ 
lowed a trail to an old logging camp. Our 
molasses had been spilled on the way in, and 
we got about a gallon out of a barrel in this 
camp. It was still raining when we returned 
to camp for dinner. In the afterno’on we 
picked blueberries, and I made blueberry pies. 
Dan and Archy made a foot bridge across the 
river, and gathered cranberries. 
The next morning dawned clear and bright, 
and we started for Peaked Mt. Lake, feeling 
that we must hunt in earnest. The Doctor 
still carried his .35 Winchester, but he had 
disposed of mine, and I now carried a .303 
Savage, with a 22-inch barrel. It is a beautiful 
gun, and so light I can easily carry it, and I 
am not afraid of the recoil. 
Peaked Mt. Lake is between two and three 
miles from camp and mostly up hill. Neither 
Dan nor Archy were conscious of that; but 
we had to rest a number of times before we 
reached the top of the ridge. The lake lies 
in a depression on the ridge, and we spent 
some pleasant hours on its shores watching 
the shafts of colored light lengthen and grow 
on its calm surface, as it mirrored the trees 
in their autumn dress. Two cow moose came 
out and fed on the coarse grass in the lake, 
and the Doctor got within close range of a 
young bull on the barren; but the head was 
small—had only two points. 
In the afternoon a cow, a calf and a bull 
came down to the lake to drink. We had 
agreed that the Doctor was to shoot the first 
moose, as no one had any confidence in my 
ability to hit one. The moose was at least 
a hundred and fifty yards away, and the first 
shot struck the top of his shoulder. He fell, 
but got up and was slowly moving off. The 
Doctor fired four more shots, the first three 
were clean misses, but the last one struck him 
and he just wilted down. The first shot had 
shattered the top of the shoulder and broken 
the top of a vertebra, but the spinal cord was 
not injured. The last shot struck his head 
just back of the antler and glanced off, cutting 
the scalp from one antler to the other. The 
bone was not broken, but we found a large 
clot of blood when removing the brain. We 
were a good deal disappointed in the size of 
the head. The antlers looked enormous 
across the lake, but the spread was only 29 
inches. 
The guides skinned the moose and hung up 
the head and one hindquarter, for it was get¬ 
ting late. Archy took one quater on his 
shoulder and carried it to camp. Dan took 
the heart, tenderloins, the cooking outfit and 
1 suppose he carried my gun—he usually did. 
We had seen six moose in six hours, and the 
Doctor had shot one; but he was out of work 
for the remainder of the trip. It was raining 
in the morning, and we stayed in camp. Dan 
and Archy went to set a bear trap and bring 
in the hide and some more of the meat. They 
came back to camp about 4 o’clock, each car¬ 
rying a heavy load. They had been out in the 
rain, which was still falling, since early morn¬ 
ing. The Doctor, who had been in the cabin, 
came out and - sat down on the porch where 
I was. After a while he looked up from his 
whittling and said, “No difference what hap¬ 
pens on this trip, I am not going to complain; 
Dan is sitting in there by the stove singing.” 
Dan’s being cheerful under discouraging cir¬ 
cumstances was making an impression. 
The next morning we went to Harris Lake 
and watched a cow and calf feeding in the 
lake for an hour or more. The cow was very 
large. Dan called her a “big brute.” That 
was his name for a cow, while a bull was a 
“big old one.” The calf was a beauty; he 
was so big and saucy looking. When we went 
to get lunch we saw a cow coming down 
the path toward the lake, but she saw us, and 
took to the woods. The shores of this lake 
were trampled up by the moose till they 
looked like a barnyard. Some of the tracks 
were very large. One we measured in the soft 
mud was 7 inches across the widest part, and 
II from the tip of the toe to the dew-claw. In 
the afternoon there were two cows, a calf and 
a spike-horn feeding in the lake at one time. 
One cow went in so deep that when she had 
her head down feeding, from where we were, 
she appeared to be completely under water. 
When she raised her head we could see the 
top of her shoulders. The cow with the calf 
was quite close, and we saw her take two or 
three steps and turn half way around with 
her head under water. We timed her and 
found she kept her head under water from 
thirty-five to fifty-six seconds. The calf fol¬ 
lowed the cow out into deep water, where it 
had to swim, but it grew tired swimming, 
