230 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Feb. 22, 1913 
Xavier Mouchoir’s Bear Hunt 
As Related by Himself 
By KEUKA 
with some of the patterns used successfully by 
other anglers, and they might not care for some 
of our favorites. Yet 1 notice that some un¬ 
known flies quickly win their way, if well de¬ 
signed and natural in appearance. We are all 
hoping for a first rate season, with plenty of 
good trout for everyone. There was much high 
water in the early part of the winter, but very 
little ice. Many fish were seen in the spawning- 
beds, but naturally bred fry have a hard time 
of it. Many applications for fingerlings have 
gone to Albany, and we must all do what we 
can to restock the free waters, which are so 
hard fished. 
When one considers the rapidly growing 
army of anglers, the problem of giving them 
sport becomes an interesting one. If we could 
conserve the streams and prevent the great dam¬ 
age done by floods and ice. if we could break 
the force of the current, stop the masses of 
shifting stones here and there, and have plenty 
of deep water and hiding places for the trout, 
much would be accomplished. The streams 
would support a greater head of trout, the food 
supply would be better and insects (and their 
larva, of course) would be more plentiful. Low 
dams of reinforced concrete, well placed and 
anchored, would not be costly, and would great¬ 
ly improve the fishing. We all wish for trout 
of good size and to have plenty of them. On 
free water they are fished for in every way, 
while in preserved or private reaches the rule 
is flj''-fishing only. This leaves the trout many 
opportunities to feed in safety, as they will not 
always take flies, and often feed freely in colored 
water. We must provide for all kinds of fisher¬ 
men in these large streams if it is possible. 
Every man requires a hobby of some sort 
to divert his mind from the cares and worries 
from which none of us is free, and fly-fishing 
is peculiarly fascinating in anticipation, realiza¬ 
tion and retrospect. One may begin as a child, 
or take up the rod late in life; it makes little 
difference in one’s enthusiasm. Once a fly-fisher, 
always a fly-fisher, and I fanc\' that the man 
who sticks to the fly. uses nothing else, has the 
best of it, although he may not kill so many 
trout. Sometimes it requires considerable 
strength of mind to break the chain of business 
and go where we long to be, but “a stitch in 
time saves nine,” and even a few days on the 
streams in the spring time, while the air is 
fresh and bracing and all the world is young, 
will do much for a man’s health and strength. 
The bit of sport and change of scene renew 
his youth, and he feels like a boy again. 
The spirit of the boy lies dormant in many 
of us. and only needs to be released by just 
going a-fishing. 
Good luck. 
Life in a Gay City. 
BY HEK. 
Let’s see; what shall it be? 
A bout at archery? 
That’s devilish, they say, and rather sporty. 
Shall we go and bend the bow 
And in our get-up show 
An abandon that’s quite summery resorty? 
But, softly, don’t you think 
Those things lead on to drink? 
This fly-casting, rogue, archery and cricket? 
This prattle let us cease 
And stir up the police— 
This town of ours is positively wicked. 
—Chicago-Tribune, August, 1910. 
D L’RIXG a recent stormy, blustering Febru¬ 
ary ■ day, I was seated in my com¬ 
fortable IMorris chair before a blaz¬ 
ing fire of birch logs, which headed the list of 
my Christmas presents (the chair, not the fire), 
and Xavier, who had come in a half hour be¬ 
fore, was listening to the exciting narrative of 
a bear hunt in INIichigan, which I had been 
reading aloud from Forest and Stream for his 
benefit, with considerable embellishment of my 
own. Xavier remained silent and thoughtful for 
several moments after I had concluded, but 
finally without taking his eyes from the fire, 
spoke as follows: 
“Ah’l was notis dat dare was be two kin’ 
bear hunts; one kin’ whare mister mans hunt 
de bear, an’ anudder kin’ wherel mister bear 
hunt de mans. For my own places ah’l was 
not care much fur dat las’ kin’ o’ bear hunt. 
It was mebbe too much lak’ jug han’le. Ah’l 
was be gret persons for fair play. Some fellers 
w’at tell such terribly stories een dat Fores 
Strim lak’ w’at you was jes’ rid, ’bout 
some bears hunt w’at dey never was have, an’ 
talk big Injun me. Bes’ dey go wid me some 
tarn an’ I was show dem some kan o’ bear 
hunt dat dey ken tell dere gran’ chillun, if dey 
be lucky nuff to live troo wid it. Ah’l was goin’ 
tell Fores Strim some tarn ’bout leetly 
scrap w’at me an’ ma brudder Joe was have 
one tarn wid dis kan o’ beas’ daoun ware he was 
live in IMississipp. IMa foi! ma foi! but dat 
was bad mix up fo’ sure. Ever you hav’ been 
down in IMississip an’ see dem ole canebrakes 
wat cover de hull State an’ part de river, too? 
Hein? Wall, seh, bes’ you not try for see him. 
Bes’ let some oder feller go an’ tell ’bout it. 
Wal, seh, it was good many year ’go dat ah’l 
was go down to viseet ma brudder Joe, an’ ah’l 
was tek ma ol’ long bar’l rifle ’long wid me, 
cos Joe was sen’ word to me dat he hull coun¬ 
tree was ’live wid game. (.Ah’l was foun’ out 
bime by dat he was lie lak de dev’ ’bout dat.) 
Anyways, ah’l was git dare af’er ’bout t'ree 
four weeks of it, to ware Joe was live. So nex’ 
day fus’ I git dat way, we was plan fur go 
aout fur bear. Well, seh, dat was beat all 
countrees w’at ah’l never was see hinside mail 
hull laf tarn. We was go troo t’ickets so t’ick 
you was be unable for see seven feets ahead 
nor seven feets to one side, nor two feets to 
de backward where you was be. Canebrakes an’ 
canebrakes—twentee, t’irtee, fortee feets high; 
miles an’ miles an’ miles, widout see one houses 
or one shanties; not one mans be out; if she 
was she mus’ lose hisself biffore she can turn 
roun’ in t’ree minnit. Joe was tell dat dese 
t’ickets keep plentee black bear layin’ roun’ 
loose, w’ich mak’ plentee fun for hunter mans. 
He was so game w’en she runs, an’ more game 
w’en he stan’ up for fight, an’ he was die so 
hard, an’ live so veree long. Ah'l was t’ink 
some tarn dat a bear was mak’ up from all de 
toughes’ kan o’ t’ings w’at was lef’ after all 
de udder animals was bilt of it. W’at you t’inks 
iNIr. Eores’ Strim. ant ah’l was ’bout right of 
it, or was you not have some acquaint wid dat 
kan o’ folks? Wall, seh, mah iirudder Joe she 
have wid heem ’bout de longes’ dog from hees 
nose to de en’ of hees tail dat you can’t fin’ 
in all United States, beside Canady. He was 
not be so awful beamy, but hees bodee was be 
so long in de lengt’ of it dat hees front legs was 
get tired half an hour biffore hees hin’ legs 
ketch up wid it.” 
“Come, come, Xavier, you certainly are now 
going beyond bounds.” 
■'Hoi’ on, ma fren’ hoi’ on, mah brudder 
Joe say he can prove it.” 
‘ Well, all right, old fellow, that ought to 
settle it, anyway; go ahead with the story.” 
"Wal, seh, Bots (dat was be de nam’ of 
de dog) was not be much of a han’ for hunt 
de bird, ’cept duck. Joe was say Bots be handy 
for duck hunt; she was be so long dat it was 
lak bridge, an’ he could walk out on hees back 
an’ git duck w’at fall in de crik or cross over 
some strim —itn bon cliien, ehf Joe was hav’ 
hees back turn w’en he tell dese, an’ mebbe he 
was mak’ joke on dat subjack. Ennyways, bif¬ 
fore we was gon’ gre’t ways long from Joe’s 
house, ah’l was fin’ myself alone rvid Bots. We 
was miss one anudder ah’l b’leeve in de big 
canebrake, me an’ Joe. W’en ah’l was foun’ 
out dis, ah’l was feel veree hanxious ’bout Joe, 
an’ not so very heasy ’bout maself, needer one, 
in such a strange places. Ah’l was not t’ink very 
long tarn, w’en Bots was begun growl lak’ he 
was not so very happy ’bout it heeself. Bime- 
by she was growl more loud, an’ den she was 
bark lak’ he was see some t’ings he not lak’ 
an’ den he was mak’ one gran’ rush behan big 
log w’at was lay partlee in some water. Bif¬ 
fore t’ree minnit ah’l was hear mos’ hawfullis 
roar an’ graouls an’ rackit, lak’ dare was big 
scuffle on han’ behan’ de log. Ah’l was stay 
befront de log wid ma rifle readee for shoot. 
In one minnit dere was cum aout from behan 
de log wid terribly noise an’ howls ole 
Rots an’ big black bear ’bout big as two- 
year-ole heffer, an’ two, t’ree cubs—mebbe four 
of it—ah’l can’t tell, now. Gee! gee! gee! but 
she was roar, an’ ah’l see she was have Bots 
hin her fore paws an’ was squeeze heem lak’ 
sider press; ma foi! But she was yell an’ de 
bear was roar lak’ seven lions bin’ one cage 
hecn circus menagity. Ah’l was putty skare fur 
maself, ah’l was tol’ you, an’ ma han’ was shake 
lak’ ague cheel, but bamby ah’l was got good 
haim at de bear, so ah’l was not danger fur 
shoot Bots, an’ w’at you s’pose, dat dam ole 
gun not go off. She was meesfire! Dat beas’ 
quick lak’ cat, she was spreeng for me. Ah’l 
was feel her hot nasty href hon my faces, an’ 
de frof from hees jaws splatter hall over ma 
coat. Ah’l tol’ you eet was not so verra pleas¬ 
antly for Xavier ’bout dat tarn. Ah’l was t’ink 
of mos’ hevery t’ing w’at ah’l was never do hin 
ma ’hole laf, an’ w’at damphool ah’l was be 
for come aout here, ennywaj'. An’ ah’l was t’ink 
haow ah’l was goin’ be foun’ to tak’ ba’k to 
my famlee. Ba gosh! ah’l was pooty seek of 
