Forest and Stream 
Six Months, $1.50. 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1913. 
VOL. LXXXI.—No. 11. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
My First Deer 
By ERMIT 
T HE writer does not hope to entertain the 
experienced hunter of big game, but if 
the busy business brain of some young 
hunter is for a brief period relaxed by reading 
this tale, the narrator will be fully rewarded. 
Many generations of American pioneer an¬ 
cestors have no doubt transmitted a love for 
the forest, and that prince of weapons, the rifle. 
It was well on toward middle age. however, be¬ 
fore the time and opportunity offered me a chance 
to carry the rifle in pursuit of deer. Our 300 
or more miles of journey ended on Saturday 
night by a wagon ride into the forest from 
the railroad to the hunting lodge. What a de¬ 
lightful Sabbath followed—a day of rest, com¬ 
plete in God’s first temples — the groves. A 
beautiful world greeted us on Monday morn¬ 
ing, for during the night the first snow of the 
season fell, about six inches of the fluffy white¬ 
ness to usher in the first day of the deer sea¬ 
son. 
We were in that delightful land of Michi¬ 
gan, near Lake Superior, a region of little lakes 
and billowy hills, majestic hemlocks and hard 
wood ridges — the white hunters’ happy hunting 
ground. We left the camp soon, as it was light 
enough to distinguish objects, and followed a 
southwest course. How quiet it was! Not a 
raven croaked; not a bird note sounded. W’e 
were in the silent places of nature, and the law 
of the place was respected by 11s. We looked 
and listened, but spoke not. Dreamed and for¬ 
got the busy world we had left behind. A few 
paces and stop, to observe the beauty of the 
scene — a snow-laden evergreen forest. Three 
hours we spent and traveled a mile and a half 
and came to the edge of what is locally termed 
the “plains” — a territory fire-swept many years 
before. Mile upon mile of wave-like hills, with¬ 
out timber, but fern-clad, with here and there a 
patch of wild raspberry bushes, and in pleasant 
weather the feeding ground for deer. At the 
edge of the timber my companion, nearing his 
three score and ten, sat down to rest, while I 
continued out upon the plains intending to visit 
the feeding grounds and perhaps discover a 
fresh deer track. 
Killing the game is not the sole object of 
the hunting trip, but an incident, and while not 
bloodthirsty, I count it no sin to try for a nice 
piece of venison. The family at home would 
enjoy it. The law of the State had sold me a 
license to take it; in fact, to take two, but being 
firmly of the opinion that one deer should be 
the limit, the second coupon of the license 
caused me no trouble, but was determined to 
use every effort and all the theoretical skill at 
my command to kill one deer. Continuing 
around the .southern shoulder of a knife-like 
ridge, which projected from the forest into the 
open land, was again impressed with the change 
of scenery. No towering hemlocks here, but the 
stillness of it! Here again was tonic for tired 
nerves. No telephone bell to disturb; no din 
of busy streets, of factory whistle. Quietness 
reigned supreme. Not a movement of animal 
life. No sight of human habitation far as the 
