Sept. 6, 191 3- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
301 
After Platypus. 
BY AUSTRALIS. 
The Australian platypus is an extremely in¬ 
offensive and harmless animal, and in the ordi¬ 
nary course of things he offers little amusement 
to the sportsman. But he has many cunning 
tricks, and these allied with his nocturnal habits, 
make it often very difficult to bag him. At the 
present time the platypus, although still fairly 
plentiful, is wisely protected for the whole year. 
But about ten years ago, in my own district, a 
fair amount of platypus shooting was indulged 
in, the object being to secure skins for rugs. 
The skin of the platypus, when the coarse hair 
has been plucked only and the skin dyed a rich 
brown, is the finest skin procurable in Australia. 
At the present time a decent rug in first class 
condition brings .£100. I had collected a few 
dozen skins and wanted a couple of dozen more, 
so getting a mate I decided to spend a week ex¬ 
ploring a creek and lake situated some forty 
miles from my home. 
We set off early one bright summer morn¬ 
ing in a wagonette with a pair of strong horses, 
loaded with a camping outfit and a good store 
of provisions. It took us all day, trotting slowly 
along a rather rough track to reach our destina¬ 
tion. We saw a few kangaroos and emus on 
the track, thousands of rabbits and a couple of 
foxes. The only animals we fired at were the 
foxes, my mate K. being lucky enough to bowl 
a big one over with his Winchester. The other, 
though hit, got away. It was after sixr when we 
drew up on the banks of Lake Firelit, so-called 
on account of the effect of the setting sun on its 
surface. We soon had the . horses hobbled out 
and a fire going. A billy full of strong tea was 
made, and some bacon broiled. Then we sat 
down and filled ourselves “real full,” as they say 
in our bush. There was still plenty of daylight 
left after washing up, so we got our guns out 
and made ready for a roam down along the 
creek. The creek was running freely, but at 
summer level, with here and there a large pool. 
It was all timbered country, with great eucalyptus 
overhanging the creek and a lot of undergrowth, 
tea tree and hop bush principally, coating its 
banks on either side. We wandered on, of 
course, not looking for platypus, which do not 
move until the sun sets. Soon the sun disap¬ 
peared in a blaze of splendor. Then, coming to 
a likely looking spot, we searched for platypus 
burrows. In a few minutes we found a couple. 
The platypus burrow has two entrances, one 
above and one below water. It is no use trying 
to dig one out, unless both entrances are attacked, 
as the animal at once escapes by the other. The 
platypus is very nervous and easily frightened. 
Its sight is poor, but it has excellent ears, and 
I think a bit of a nose. K. and I decided to 
leave the burrows alone and perch ourselves on 
a log some distance away to watch events. Dark¬ 
ness came down on the pool, and it was accen¬ 
tuated by the trees, which grew all around. 
After a while we could hear the plash and paddle 
of several platypuses, but as the moon was not 
up, we could see nothing. There was nothing 
to do but wait. I heard a heavy splash right 
under my nose, which gave me quite a start, but 
I could see nothing. A golden-bellied waterrat 
crept through the brush beside me. I could 
almost see it as it plumped noisily into the pool. 
These rats have good skins, but we were after 
better ones. Presently a good moon arose and 
soon a stream of silver light shone on the pool. 
Probably acting on their instinct, the platypus 
immediately became more wary. Both K. and I 
strained our eyes, and we could hear them 
splashing about, but it was all in the shadow of 
the scrub. Presently I saw the bill and head of 
one showing above the water, but before I could 
fire, the animal had dived, and either gone to 
his burrow or come up in the shadow. At last 
I saw K. raise his gun and carefully follow 
something. It was a platypus making for the 
bank. It reached the bank and climbed out, to 
be immediately turned over by K.’s shot. In¬ 
stantly the pool was as quiet as a grave. All 
the other platypuses vanished, but a noise in. the 
bush does not scare animals for long, so we 
waited. After about a quarter of an hour I 
heard a splash and soon they were all at work 
again. Again I saw a platypus’s bill just above 
the water in a shallow, and taking a snapshot 
saw him roll over, kicking. We then retrieved 
our two victims and found that they were both 
large males. On their hind legs they each wore 
long and nasty looking spurs. I have had a 
wounded platypus dig their spurs into me with 
the result that my arm was bad for a month. 
After the second shot the platypus disap¬ 
peared for the night to their burrows. At any 
rate, after waiting for an hour no more appeared. 
It was possible of course that there were only 
two in the pool. We had brought our fishing 
rods and lines with us, so we tried for a few 
eels, the principal fish in our creeks. The pool 
held plenty, and we soon had a dozen beauties, 
ranging up to two pounds in weight. Some 
people affect to despise the eel as food, and most 
anglers hate to hook one. A bit of broiled eel 
is, however, to my mind, a regular dainty. 
It was midnight when we reached camp. We 
were up betimes in the morning and had a swim 
in the lake where we saw a few rainbow trout 
rising. After breakfast we fashioned a rough 
dugout and tried for them. After much labor 
we got a couple, but our tackle was not of the 
best, nor were we very expert. We returned 
and fried them for lunch. We spent the after¬ 
noon fox hunting and got four foxes, whose 
skins were very acceptable. Then, after sun¬ 
down, we watched at another pool. This night 
we got three platypus. This was continued 
through the week. One evening we were very 
lucky, getting eight platypus, apparently drop¬ 
ping upon a favorite haunt. At the end of the 
week I had two dozen skins and was well satis¬ 
fied. 
So getting our traps together, we set off 
home. On the back trip we had an adventure, 
being tipped out, owing to a defective ford. 
One side was washed away and our near wheels 
got into the washaway, with the result that “over 
went the show.” Everything went into the water 
but fortunately we recovered everything except 
a packet of cartridges. 
Cape Cod Cranberries. 
Down on Cape Cod they are getting ready 
to harvest the famous cranberry crop. In some 
places picking has already begun, and hundreds 
of the brown-skinned Portuguese are bending 
over the bogs in Plymouth and Barnstable coun¬ 
ties picking the ripe, red berries and packing 
them in barrels for shipment to all parts of the 
country to be made into delectable sauces and 
cranberry pies. 
All indications would seem to point this year 
to the biggest crop on record since the experi¬ 
ment was made of cultivating the wild berries 
found by the early colonists on this curious spit 
of sand running out into the sea. Last year’s 
crop amounted to over 125,000 barrels, a con¬ 
siderable increase over that of the previous year, 
and to move this crop required 1,000 freight 
cars. It is estimated that probably 1,500 cars 
will be needed to move this year’s crop, and its 
value should run well over $1,000,000. 
The cranberry bogs are scattered all over 
the Cape itself, and in Plymouth county and al¬ 
most every little station on the Old Colony lines 
in that section, has to have its cars for loading 
cranberries when the picking season is on. 
Cranberries represent an agricultural special¬ 
ty in which New England has secured pre-emi¬ 
nence. Only New Jersey and Wisconsin really 
attempt to compete with the Cape Cod berries, 
but the latter are generally recognized as sur¬ 
passing all others now in quality. New Jersey’s 
crop last year amounted to about 140,000 bar¬ 
rels, but this was not as large a crop as the 
previous year’s, whereas the Cape Cod crop 
shows a decided increase. Wisconsin’s crop 
amounted to about 45,000 barrels. 
1 he bogs where the Cape Cod berries are 
grown now cover over 6,000 acres. To those 
not familiar with it, it is a curious industry, 
the cultivation of this tart, wild berry, whose 
possibilities were first discovered by the Pilgrim 
fathers. Across this low, sandy stretch of coun¬ 
try one can now see hundreds of these bogs, 
level patches of green in the early summer, 
turning to red as the berries ripen toward fall, 
and crossed by many dykes through which they 
let in the water to flood the bog if a heavy frost 
is imminent. Thus they save the vines from 
being killed, and it is for this reason you always 
find cranberries growing near a water supply. 
Some of the growers own as many as 300 acres 
of bogs and have laid out extensive canals and 
irrigation schemes, representing large invest¬ 
ments. Low, marshy land is needed for a cran¬ 
berry bog, and the clearing of this often re¬ 
quires much labor, as not only do all the trees 
and stumps have to be removed, but the turf 
also. This is generally used to build the dykes 
to hold back the water. Once this is done a 
layer of sand, from four to six inches deep, is 
put on, and then the vines are set out. Usually 
there is a crop by the third year. 
It costs nowadays from $300 to $1,000 to 
make an acre bog in the Cape Cod district, de¬ 
pending on the character of the ground. Land 
suitable for bog purposes brings $100 an acre. 
However, a yield of 100 barrels an acre is ordi¬ 
narily expected, and this means a net income of 
from $300 to $500. 
Throughout this cranberry country of New 
England to-day you find the dark-skinned Portu¬ 
guese in increasing numbers, and it is largely 
they who in the next few weeks will be pick¬ 
ing the berries now ripening on the Cape. 
To be alive only to appetite, pleasure, pride, 
money-making, and not to goodness and kind¬ 
ness, purity and love, history, poetry, music, 
flowers, stars, God and eternal hopes, is to be 
all but dead.—Maltbie D. Babcock. 
