638 
Nov. 15, 1913. 
The Sportsman Tourist. 
North Carolina. 
HUNTER’S LODGE! 
Good Quail Shooting! 
Choice accommodations for ladies and gentlemen. 
Best Chef south of Potomac. 
Terms: $3.00 per day; $75.00 per month. 
GEN’L FRANK A. BOND :: Buies, N. C. 
Best Mixed Shooting in America. 
Ducks, Geese, Swans, Quail, Shore Birds—White’s Pre¬ 
serve, Waterlily, Currituck Sound, North Carolina. 
GOOD DUCK AND GOOSE SHOOTING.— Canvasback, 
Redhead, and other ducks from battery. Also brush 
blind shooting on Currituck Sound. Address J. B. LEE, 
Tulls, Currituck county, North Carolina. 
Pennsylvania. 
Shooting at New Spruce Cabin Inn 
Rooms en suite and with private bath. Electric lights. 
Steam heat. All amusements. Excellent Grouse, Squirrel, 
Rabbit and Deer shooting. Open season for Grouse, 
Squirrel and Rabbits, Oct. 15th to Dec. 1st. Deer, Nov. 
10th to 25th. D., L. & W. R. R. to Cresco Station, Pa. 
W. J. & M. D. PRICE, P. O. Canadensis, Pa. 
Virginia. 
SPORTING RESORT. 
No Equal on Coast. 
Ducks, Brant, Geese, Quail, Rabbits, Bay Birds, Fishing, 
Boating, Surf Bathing in season, Automobiling, etc. 
Hotel accommodations and outfit to let or 
FOR SALE—DIRECTLY ON HUNTING AND FISHING 
GROUNDS —An ideal proposition for clubs or families, 
$3,500. Can be sold in shares by right party, $7,000 to 
$10,000. For detail information address 
A. H. G. MEARS, Wachapreague, Eastern Shore, Va. 
Begin right—select a field of possible buy¬ 
ers, the extent of which affords ample latitude 
within the limits of your financial resources. 
Then, through intelligent, persistent and force¬ 
ful advertising develop your customers. 
Property for Rent. 
SPORT FOR THE WINTER 
SEASHORE, PINE FOREST 
AND SHOOTING 
Large cottage and grounds in the pines to rent 
for the season on Broadwater Island, 25 miles 
above Cape Charles, Virginia. Delightful and 
invigorating Winter climate, sea beach, bay and 
wildfowl. Address, 
WALTER GEORGE SMITH 
1006 Land Title Building "Philadelphia, Pa. 
Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk Tales 
By George Bird Grinnell. A splendid collection of 
tales and folklore collected by the author during a resi¬ 
dence with the tribe, when the nights were given up t« 
story telling. Many of the tales are of thrilling interest, 
and in addition to this, the author’s observations on the 
Pawnees, their history, life, characteristics and progreo> 
are of more than passing interest. Cloth, illustrated, 4T 
pages. Postpaid, $1.75. 
FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING CO. 
127 Franklin St.. New York. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
tunate to engage, and at quarter to seven Tues¬ 
day morning our parly of six, including guide, 
were under way, gliding down Spring Lake in 
two canoes to the carry at the eastern end, three 
miles away. The early morning gave every 
promise of a hot August day, just the faintest 
breeze rippling the surface of the lake. At the 
end of the . lake we take to the carry, almost a 
mile in length, a trail mostly down hill and not 
difficult of travel, which leads to the Dead River, 
where a motor boat, which we had engaged by 
telephoning ahead, lies waiting to take us four 
miles north to Grand Falls, otherwise known as 
the Dam. The manner of conveyance was 
adopted in preference to the slower but more 
enjoyable canoe because of the limited time at 
our disposal, and wishing to give all that we 
could to fishing. Dead River is here a sluggish 
muddy stream, and slowly finds its way to the 
Dam, where a short distance beyond it con¬ 
verges with Spencer Stream, where with much 
greater rapidity it rushes eastward to the Ken¬ 
nebec. 
Arriving at the Dam in the course of an 
hour we leave the boat and take up the trail to 
Spencer Lake. The sun is now well up, and the 
sky practically cloudless, while the freshening 
breeze seeks to temper the hot rays of the sun. 
We follow on behind the heavy stride of “Phud,” 
who is a big strapping built fellow, his hob-nailed 
boots striking into the ground with a dull thud, 
scratching every granite rock and boulder and 
slippery log that partially covered some brook 
or bog, he continues on while most of us with 
heavy woolen socks and an extra innersole in 
our sneakers avoid these boulders and logs with 
a marked difference, which oftentimes it was 
found impossible to do; whereat we jumped, 
hopped and skipped over and on to each rock 
or place that appeared to serve as a footing after 
the manner of a mountain goat. 
For a short space the open fields of the 
abandoned Hill farm afford a pleasant change, 
the tall grass now crisp and dry from the sum¬ 
mer heat and billowing in the wind that sweeps 
this high and open ground. Its patches of wild 
bluebells, ox-eyed daisies, yarrow and marguerites 
clustering everywhere in profusion, and the last 
visible evidence of what this place once was, the 
toppling structure of a barn long since fallen to 
ruin. 
A forest of open timber soon looms ahead 
through which the trail extends in a northeast¬ 
erly direction as far as Spencer Stream, which 
is forded with little or no difficulty, the water 
now shallow, the dam at Spencer Lake holding 
back much of its natural flow. Once across we 
pick up the trail to cover the five remaining 
miles of the trail which lead through forests of 
birches, cedars and tall white pine now grown 
to beautiful proportions, whose sapling days 
many decades ago first heard the crash of their 
fallen kindred under the mercenary blows of 
the woodsman’s axe. 
Some of these still lay where they first fell, 
left for some reason to wither and rot, are now 
dressed by the sympathetic hand of nature with 
a shroud of thick green moss. 
Here we linger for a while, not to rest so 
much, as under the wonderful spell which the 
heart of the woodland casts about us. 
The air sweetly scented with odor of balsam 
still retains its alluring freshness of the early 
morning under a canopy of thick foliage through 
which the streaming sun partially gleams, while 
the silence of the forest primeval reigns supreme. 
With reluctant steps our party pushes on¬ 
ward over the trail, every turn and angle, eleva¬ 
tion and depression, unfolding new and bewilder¬ 
ing vistas that are met with exclamations of in¬ 
tense admiration and surprise. Continuing on 
over “Horseback,” a high ridge about a mile and 
a half long, flanked heavily on each side with 
forests of pine and cedar, while Spencer Stream 
follows along the eastern side and is heard more 
often than seen as it winds its way onward to 
the waters of the Dead River. 
A few steps further bring us to the southern 
end of Spencer Lake, where a motor boat of 
comfortable dimensions and fairly reliable engine 
helps us complete the last leg of our day’s jour¬ 
ney, as we have planned to stop over night at 
Spencer Lake camps. 
A cool shady slope in the neighborhood of 
a lively brook affords an ideal rendezvous for 
such an important function as preparing the noon 
day lunch, which our guide soon has ready, and 
which is quickly disposed of prior to our trip 
up the lake. 
Spencer Lake is a beautiful sheet of water 
over six miles in length, the mountains rising 
sharp and bold on all sides, Bear Mountain ris¬ 
ing on the west with its heavy growth of timber 
and foliage,“Hardscrapple,” bleak andbare,loom¬ 
ing up at the north, while the broken outline of 
Mt. Bigelow stands out clear against the southern 
sky in a deep purple mass. 
In the course of an hour we arrive at the 
camp located on the northern end of the lake. 
It is now 1:30 in the afternoon, so we lose no 
time in putting our rods and reels together, and 
in a few minutes are passing through the nar¬ 
rows on our way to Fish Pond, about two miles 
further up the lake. The sport here is reported 
quiet, which does not surprise us, so are not 
disappointed at our meager catch of trout which 
are more plentiful in the spring. A few hours 
later we return to the camp to rest and go over 
the prospects of the morrow, under the birches 
that shelter the cabins on the edge of the lake. 
The evening, delightfully cool, was favored with 
the presence of the August moon, which rose 
large and luminous over the eastern mountains, 
so under its spell and the solace of a pipe and 
good tobacco we were lured from our intention 
of returning early. 
The next morning at 8 o’clock, the early day 
gave every promise of being fully as hot as the 
day previous, with the exception of a few sus¬ 
picious clouds that hung heavily over the lake 
that indicated the possibility of showers later. 
Our packs adjusted, we take to the steep and 
much discussed trail to Enchanted Lake, two 
and one-half miles east. We had been agree¬ 
ably informed by other travelers whom we met 
on their way from Enchanted that their stopover 
there had proved profitable. 
So with visions of a nice catch of the 
speckled beauties to pay us for our efforts, we 
sallied forth over Enchanted trail, which, once 
over Enchanted bridge, rises sharply in sections 
to a total height of 760 feet, which necessitates 
a slow and laborious climb, compelling one to 
halt for a while and rest under the sheltering 
pines and cedars that frequently cover the trail, 
which is much the same in character, but just 
a bit more broken with brooks and bogs and 
large boulders than the Spencer Lake trail. Many 
