Dec. i, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
857 
Our Opening Day Hunt. 
We discussed it seriously, planned it carefully, 
and executed it brilliantly, on November first, 
opening day—the Boy, Lady and I. It was dry 
and hot in the sun, but several good frosts had 
browned the stubble. Lady and the Boy were 
game from start to finish, although they are both 
in the infant class. 
We had traveled over much rough territory 
before the first covey was found, and the manner 
of finding it reflected little credit on the dog, 
and afforded little immediate satisfaction to the 
sportsmen. It was on the upper side of a 
ploughed field—where a- heavy growth of timber 
stood—that the birds were lying in the warm 
sunshine, dusting in the loose dry earth, and it 
was a tremendous covey. Lady managed to 
stumble into the center of it, and when birds 
to the right of her, birds to the left of her, and 
birds literally all around her—“volleyed and 
thundered”—she forgot her blood, breeding and 
record. 
Fortunately they scattered in all directions, and 
as she tried to chase everyone that flushed, she 
did not get far away before I got her again 
under control and calrned down. I fired at one 
big, strong flying bird, which dashed back through 
the trees over my head while I was protesting 
vigorously to the dog; but when I saw shot cut 
leaves falling about eight feet out of range of 
the bird, concluded I was too mad to shoot and 
quit. 
They scattered out in the woods, thick with 
underbrush and many laps where sawmill men 
had worked, and we only succeeded in flushing 
four birds, two singles and one pair. The first 
single I missed. The second flushed wild—out 
of range—and of the pair, I sent an entire broad¬ 
side at the one offering the fairest shot, scoring 
a miss that the veriest amateur should have been 
ashamed of. We tried long and hard to find 
more of them, but the cover was so thick and 
dry we failed. 
The Junior had several times suggested the 
propriety of pausing for refreshments, so select¬ 
ing a sheltered spot, among the trees, we pro¬ 
ceeded to the always pleasant task of eating 
lunch. Thinking it likely we would hear some¬ 
thing from the scattered birds before long, I 
did not hurry through, and as we were about 
getting to the finger bowl stage of our dinner 
party the calling began. Low', but distinct, we 
heard—first in one direction and then in another 
-—the musical, flute-like whistle of the quail, and 
as we made no sound or motion we soon heard 
ari occasional rustle in the dry leaves as a bird 
w'ould run from one thicket, or tree top, where 
it had been hiding, to another where one was 
calling. 
I finally saw two birds cross an open space and 
run into a pile of loose tops and limbs, and hav¬ 
ing experienced the difficulty of finding them, 
without knowung their exact location, concluded 
to try to make sure of this pair. Calling the 
dog w r e went to the place and catching scent at 
once she drew up to the brush and came to a 
point with her head thrust through the forks 
of a large bush limb. I saw from her steady 
eve that she was close on a bird, but even my 
stamping on the limb failed to flush it. 
The Boy then proved his ability to be useful 
by climbing through the loose limbs from the 
other side and approaching the place where the 
dog pointed. “I see it,” he announced. “Can 
I catch it?” 
Having my permission to do so, he stooped 
slowly, with hand extended, and making a quick 
grab got the bunch of leaves in which the bird 
hid. while I got the bird. As he straightened up, 
with an exclamation of disappointment, the other 
bird flushed, flew in line with the first, and at 
the crash of my second barrel we had a pair. 
More hard tramping in the thick cover ensued, 
but no more birds flushed. Passing through the 
heaviest part of the woods, en route to cover 
beyond, the Boy and I walking single file along 
a path, I stooped to pass under an overhanging 
limb and found that I had planted my feet on 
either side of an ugly looking black snake about 
five feet long. I knew instantly that the snake 
was harmless, but a crouching tiger, famished and 
ferocious, could not have startled me more. 
The path was on a steep hillside, sheer ascent 
and descent on each side, the Boy was behind me, 
and the head and most of the snake’s body in 
front so straight up was my only line of retreat, 
and to the very best of my ability I pursued it. 
I will not attempt to stake how high I jumped, 
nor will I stand for the Boy’s statement that 
it was “most out of sight,” but I can truth¬ 
fully say that I jumped just as high as I could 
and staid up as long as I could. 
The snake sprang into' the air at the same time 
—not trying to strike, but evidently surprised 
and startled—and when compelled to return to 
the earth we were about in our original positions. 
Without a moment’s hesitation I jumped again, 
as did the snake. 
With the next jump I combined a kick which 
landed and spoiled the snake’s jump, and com¬ 
ing down just right set my heel with full weight 
upon it, causing it to thresh about desperately 
for an instant and then beat a hasty retreat. 
Straight down the path toward the Boy it went 
with wide sweeps. I could not shoot it, with¬ 
out endangering him, and could only call out 
reassuringly: “Stand still, it won’t hurt you.” 
The distance was not over twenty-five feet, and 
it took but an instant for the snake to cover it. 
I hoped it would turn aside from the path before 
reaching the Boy, but apparently it had no such 
intention. 
Just as it reached the little fellow—standing 
wide-eyed and motionless—it swerved very slightly 
to one side, but the quarters were too close. 
With a yell all out of proportion to his size the 
Boy sprang for a sapling growing near at hand 
and ran up it like a squirrel. As his feet cleared 
the path I sent a load of shot into the snake, 
raking it fore and aft, and although I deprecate 
the killing of all harmless serpents, I have not 
yet felt regret for this case. 
Out in the open once more a rabbit was the 
first thing up, and as the dog did not see it, 
we added it to the bag. A single bird next 
flushed wild from a bit of very heavy cover the 
dog was threshing around in, giving me a long 
hard shot on which I scored. 
The Boy found the next game—a bird flushed 
at his feet that evidently did not know I had 
my shooting clothes on and tried to cross my 
bows, thereby putting us one more to the good. 
We felt that the day was turning out well, and 
our bag increasing nicely, in spite of the dis¬ 
couraging beginning and the snake incident, and 
concluded to keep on trying. 
Our next find was another covey on the edge 
of the woods. On the flush they went into the 
woods—flying low—and to my surprise, and the 
Boy’s delight, I made a double. Remembering 
our former experience we did not try to follow 
them, but one straggler out into the open we 
did follow and find. This bird, shot in the head, 
bored straight up to a great height, dropping 
back stone dead, as I have often seen them do. 
Nothing more offering for a while we con¬ 
cluded to call off the hunt and strike for the 
point where we had engaged our conveyance to 
meet us. 
We were pretty well tired out, but the little 
dog was making quite a brave show of attend¬ 
ing to business, covering the ground nicely well 
out to the front. Once she thought she had found 
something, and stiffened out on a point, but as 
I closed up on her she reluctantly admitted a 
mistake. 
When almost to the last fence, and while in 
the act of removing the shells from my gun, she 
began acting suspiciously again and roading a 
few steps pointed again—steadily and fast.. 
I did not expect to find game, but—giving her 
the benefit of the doubt—stepped up ready and 
thereby added two more fine birds to our bag, 
clean killed from a small covey that flushed from 
the point I had doubted. 
We were more than satisfied with our bag— 
nine birds and a rabbit—and almost inclined to 
feel quite “cocky” over seven straights, and two 
of them doubles. Although a veteran I don’t 
often shoot like that, even when allowed to> make 
my own report. Lewis Hopkins. 
Long Canoe Trips of 1906. 
I have another good trip to record, one made 
by Prof. Stevenson-Smith, of Hampden-Sidney 
College, Virginia. This trip should settle the 
question, if it ever were a question, as to the 
existence of brook trout on the Hudson’s Bay 
slope. Prof. Stevenson-Smith writes to Dr. 
Robert T. Morris : 
“You will doubtless remember that I called to 
see you last May in reference to the feasibility 
of a trip I had planned into the Hudson’s Bay 
country. We were entirely successful in carry¬ 
ing it through, and as you can well believe it 
was one of the most enjoyable summers of my 
life. The people of Moose Factory begged to 
be remembered to you, and as I know that it 
was more than a polite conventionality, I am 
anxious to deliver their message. 
“Our trip took us down the Missanabie river, 
and after we had visited Fort Albany we re¬ 
turned by the Abitibi. At New Post we stayed 
a couple of days with Mr. Barret. As he was 
afraid that he would not be able to get a letter 
out after we left, and as he had neglected to 
write while entertaining us, he asked me to com¬ 
municate with you and report my own experi¬ 
ence.” 
Prof. Stevenson-Smith gave details of the In¬ 
dians catching brook trout in the A'bitibi waters, 
but says that he caught none himself, probably 
owing to muddy water. He says: “We caught 
white fish on bait and shot with a rifle a couple 
of big sturgeon in the grass on the side of the 
river, but our flies were no good to us on the 
Abitibi. The Missanabie is good trout fishing, 
especially just below long portage, of which I 
send an illustration.” 
Dr. Robert T. Morris writes me: 
“When I said one day in your presence that 
it was reported that there were no fish of con¬ 
sequence in the Missanabie and Abitibi rivers, 
you responded, ‘Oh, nonsense. It is just like the 
Moose river reports you got, and disproved.’ 
Prof. Stevenson-Smith came in to get points 
