Jan. II, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
41 
The squirrels resented my intrusion, one in 
particular making a great fuss. Sitting up with 
his front feet on his chest, as though squeezing 
his bagpipes, he scolded steadilj^; but I would 
not be driven away. The carcasses had been 
there two weeks, but were not touched until 
the snow and sleet came, when the ice-covered 
trees kept the chickadees at bay and perhaps 
signalled the open season on bears to the 
squirrels. 
One morning I made the round of the traps 
with the guide. 'I'he result was three moose 
birds—no more, no less. 
On Nov. II, carrying our packs, we w'alked 
down twenty-four miles to another camp, in 
order to change our environments, perhaps. 
Much of the walking was through wet valley 
land, caused both by a wet farll and beaver 
dams along the brooks. We came to one in¬ 
teresting place in an old road, where there 
were the tracks of four caribou, a moose, bear, 
deer and fox. We were tired and wet when 
we got to camp; but w'e burned wood freely 
THE ROAD TO MORE CHEER. 
and soon had the stove red hot and the cabin 
warm. For two days 1 w'eakly allowed the 
guide to induce me to tramp the woods. He 
went on the theory that “you never can tell 
what’s coming dowm the mountain,” and that if 
you cover ground enough you are liable to run 
into something. But at every step the crust 
“crunched” under foot and it was useless 
hunting. 
On the third night in camp a gentle, fleecy 
snow stole down upon us wdiile we slept, and 
by noon the walking was fairly good. The 
crust still broke in places, but the snow muffled 
the sound. We walked several hours without 
seeing a track, and it seemed as though nature 
was at rest under a snowy shroud. At last we 
saw a moose which had just got out of his 
bed. He stood with his head behind a tree, so 
that we could not see his horns. His frame 
was immense, but he appeared to be gaunt. 
Shortly he trotted out into full view. He had 
a round horn extending down parallel with his 
head, but not quite to the nose. On the other 
side there was no horn to be seen from where 
we stood. He evidently was old and his race 
about run. We walked over to where he had 
been lying down and found it had only been 
for a few moments, as the warmth of his body 
had made no impression upon the snow. We 
went on a short distance and saw a moose track 
filled with snow. It was about four hours old. 
I he guide said, “This is a pretty old track, but 
we may as well follow it.” 1 said I thought it 
was made b}" the moose we had just started. 
W e followed tlie tracks about fifty yards, when 
they abruptly became fresh, and within twenty 
feet we saw the bed the old bull had just left. 
He had been standing still in his tracks for 
about four hours beside a little spruce tree. 
How different from a deer or caribou! This 
ended our day’s hunt. 
The next morning we started a cow and 
calf. That was all from seven to eleven. It 
was probably too soon after the storm, or per¬ 
haps the moose had moved into another sec¬ 
tion. This was the last hunt from this camp, 
and we inoved across three miles to another, 
where the team was to take me out the next 
day. We stopped only long enough for lunch 
and a smoke before again starting out. Within 
two hundred yards of camp we came upon the 
tracks of three moose. We followed them to a 
high bank overlooking the trail we had just 
come over to our new camp, when they had 
turned back, evidently having seen or heard 
us. One of them was a bull. He avoided all 
places where the trees were close together and 
often circled places through which the others 
passed. We followed them for over ten miles 
along side hills, over down timber, through 
thickets and swampy places, through which 
they had wallowed, until we came to where 
they had crossed the northwest branch of the 
Miramichi After dark, wet and leg weary, we 
were back in camp. 
Owing to a tip-over, we were late in start¬ 
ing for the settlements, but arrived in time for 
the midnight express, which was to take me on 
the first stage of my journey back to Chicago. 
How Fast Do Ducks Fly? 
Buffalo, N. Y., Dec. 28 .—Editor Forest mid 
Stream: I wish to make a .few remarks about 
the speed in flight of some ducks. I see that 
a number of writers estimate the speed of ducks 
in flight at from 50 or 60 up to 100 or 120 miles 
per hour, and some say that with a gale of 
40 or 50 miles they will make 150 miles per hour. 
Now I do not propose to say they do not 
do this, and I do not claim to be an authority 
on this subject, only to relate what I have seen. 
My business has for a number of years caused 
me to make the trip over the Pennsylvania divis¬ 
ion of the New York Central Railroad between 
Geneva and Corning about as often as once per 
month. This road runs near Seneca Lake for 
a number of miles, especially between Dresden 
and Geneva where the road is very close to the 
water for some ten miles. A number of so- 
called duck houses—that is. large boxe.s—are set 
out in the water a short distance from the 
shore on spiles, and the hunters get into them 
and set out decoys in front. 
A number of times in the season I have seen 
ducks fly into these decoys, and after being shot 
at fly the same direction of the train, and at no 
time have I seen the flocks keep ahead of the 
train for any great distance. One time in par¬ 
ticular, just as the train was approaching one 
of these houses, I saw a flock of golden-eyed 
ducks, called whistlers in this part of the coun¬ 
try, swing into the decoys, get four shots into 
them, and those that were left, swung out al¬ 
most exactly parallel with the train. We passed 
this flock inside of half a mile. I went to the 
conductor and asked him to give me as near as 
possible what he considered the speed of the 
train. He said about fifty miles an hour. I 
then spoke with him aliout the ducks. He said 
he often raced with them and generally beat 
them when going fifty miles an hour or better. 
On another occasion 1 was on the trolley 
car between Tonawanda and Niagara Falls when 
the car kept up with a flock of ducks flying down 
the river parallel with the car for about a mile. 
The ducks seemed by their flight and size to be 
the lesser liluebills. 
1 am inclosing a clipping which shows that 
ducks in migrating do not fly as fast as some 
people claim: 
“On Christmas day, William A. Eddy, the 
kite expert, at Bayonne, N. J., measured by 
BRUIN STARTLED. 
means of his kites the altitude of the thousands 
of wild ducks which were flying southward along 
the coast. The average height of the flying 
ducks was found to be 1,500 feet. They passed 
across the cross-wire space of Mr. Eddy’s kites 
in about three seconds. This time was taken 
repeatedly, and twenty observations confirmed 
the speed traveled. It was found that the ducks 
were traveling very nearly 47^2 miles an hour. 
Although the kites were up but 500 feet, the 
ducks appeared to be afraid of them, and re¬ 
peatedly great flocks steered off to one side or 
the other as they approached the point where 
the kites were. IMr. Eddy had aloft two nine- 
foot and two seven-foot kites. On Dec. 20 Air. 
Eddy, by means of his kites, found that the 
cirrus clouds were traveling at the rate of 173 
miles an hour, which is the highest velocity yet 
recorded.” E. P. R. 
New York Zoological Society Meeting. 
The nineteenth annual meeting of the New 
York Zoological Society will be held in the Grand 
Ball Room of the Hotel Waldorf-Astoria, Fifth 
avenue and Thirty-fourth street. New York city, 
on Tuesday, Jan. 14, 1913, at 8:30 o'clock p. m. 
An interesting program has been arranged. 
