168 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Aug. io, 1912 
Rough Shooting in Ireland 
By W. R. GILBERT 
W HEN we landed at Greenore, the Mournc 
Mountains near Newey were clad in snow, 
but only very little had settled on the hills 
around Newtown Stewart. Here I found an old 
friend waiting to take me to Plumbridge which 1 
had selected as headquarters for my shooting. Six 
years had elapsed, spent in India and the South 
Sea Islands, since my last visit, but I still met 
some well-known faces. A young man, a bit of 
a gossoon when I had seen him last, called 
round on the first evening to report on the 
prospects of sport on the morrow. Upon his 
advice, we started at 5 a. m., drove eight miles 
and had a day’s rabbiting with ferrets on the 
grounds of Clougherney Rectory, once a fine 
old country mansion, where the former rectors 
kept hospitable house, but now bereft of timber 
and crumbling in ruins, as a result of the dis¬ 
establishment of the Irish Church by Mr. Glad¬ 
stone, the rabbits now burrowing unmolested 
under the floors and outhouses. 
The first day turned out so well that we 
decided to spend another in the same place, 
and we camped in one of the stables, sleeping 
in the hay and cooking our food over a huge 
wood fire with such articles as we could borrow 
in the neighborhood. We totaled up our bag 
after the second day, and found that we had ac¬ 
counted for 31 y 2 couple of rabbits, four pigeons, 
one snipe, and, strange to say, a Solon goose, 
which was flying up the river some miles from 
the sea, and evidently out of its usual haunts. 
After a rest of two days, we started after 
snipe. The weather had now turned frosty, and 
an old pointer we had, made a sad mess of it 
flushing snipe. He came back to apologize, as 
it were, after each failure, but we gave up in 
disgust and requisitioned a Gordon setter in 
the afternoon, who turned out worse still. 
There was evidently something wrong in the 
training. A storm of sleet and snow then came 
on, and when it had cleared away, we tried the 
old pointer again, and he made ample amends 
for his morning blunders, standing as steady 
as a rock, giving us some fine sport, eventually 
bringing to bag twenty-eight birds. 
By way of a change, a day’s coursing was 
proposed. I borrowed a greyhound, and, with 
two young farmers of the district, set out for 
a mountain at daybreak. No hares were found 
until near the summit, about 1,200 feet. There 
they were too plentiful, and besides the ground 
was very rocky. Ten or twelve courses were 
run, but it was impossible to get the dogs back, 
as fresh hares were continually getting up. 
Then a thick fog came on, and I lost both my 
companions and my dog. I was in rather an 
unenviable position, for I did not know the lo¬ 
cality, and after waiting half an hour and shout¬ 
ing and getting no answer, I determined 
to follow a little stream running down the 
mountainside. This led me into a burn, and I 
followed its course for what seemed miles and 
miles. The walking was very rough, and some¬ 
times through water up to the knees. At last 
I heard voices, and trying to find out 
whence they came, was pleased to see the 
figure of a man approaching. He led me down 
to a lane, which eventually took me to the main 
road. I told him I was uneasy about my com¬ 
panions. “You needn’t trouble about them,” 
he replied, “they know every foot of the moun • 
tain, fog or no fog; but you might have fared 
badly if you hadn’t followed the burn.” My 
companions turned up three hours later and re¬ 
ported they had only killed two hares. This 
ended a miserable day’s sport, and we wel¬ 
comed the sight of the village inn. 
The remainder of my time was spent either 
in snipe shooting, or in ferreting rabbits. By 
way of digression I may mention a rather 
curious occurrence illustrative of the vagaries 
of shot. I place a small boy in a fixed position 
behind a ledge, where he was to keep his eye 
on any ferrets which might come out on his 
side. The hedge was high and evidently grown 
up through what was once a stone fence. After 
a short time a rabbit ran across the field and 
was killed at about forty yards distance from 
where I stood. About a minute elapsed and 
another rabbit bolted nearly opposite me and 
ran up the side of the hedge, but in the field 
also. I fired and killed it at about thirty yards 
distance, but was horrified to hear a scream 
from the opposite side, and the words, “I’m 
shot.” I made my way quickly through the 
fence, and found the lad I had placed some 
thirty yards behind me on the other side of the 
hedge engaged in pulling off his clothes. He 
was bleeding from the stomach. I examined 
him and cleaned off the blood, but there was 
no trace of shot nor of any other foreign sub¬ 
stance in the wound. I then examined the 
stone where the dead rabbit lay and looked at 
the angle where the boy had been hit and could 
not account for shot taking a course slightly 
slanting backward from a right angle. I sur¬ 
mised it must have been a splinter from the 
stone, which had glanced from one of the 
branches, but that is mere supposition. The 
lad having got excited, left his position on hear¬ 
ing the first shot and paid the penalty accord¬ 
ingly. It taught him a wholesome lesson, but 
it might have been worse. 
The total bag for the visit—twelve days— 
consisted of two hundred and eight rabbits, four 
woodcock, eight pigeons, twenty-five hares, 
one hundred and five snipe, four wild duck, 
twenty-eight golden plover and fifteen sundries. 
Mighty good sport, too, for rough shooting— 
all the more enjoyable to one who, blase with 
shooting in India, attended by shikaries and 
coolies, now had to do chores himself. 
To-morrow and the Day After 
I F you will take a good map of Wisconsin and 
place your finger upon the square designated 
as Waupaca county, then look in the south¬ 
western portion of the square, you will discover 
a small stream bearing the same name as the 
county — Waupaca. You will also discover that 
the river forks at the city of Waupaca. (By 
this time you must think that “Waupaca” is the 
hub of the Badger State, and there are those 
who think so.) Now follow the north fork or 
branch of the river up into Portage county. 
Note that the stream crosses the Soo Line near 
a little station named Amherst Junction. Am¬ 
herst Junction and not Waupaca is the hub of 
things. Now stick a pin in the black spot named 
By O. W. SMITH 
Photographs by the Author. 
Amherst Junction and settle back in your chair 
while I spin my yarn. 
A rumor of the good fishing to be found in 
a river called “To-morrow” had reached me, and 
be it said that name was new to me. When I 
asked my wife if she had ever heard of a stream 
with such an uncertain sounding name, she 
quoted, “To-morrow never comes.” But still 
accounts continued to reach me of large catches 
taken from the To-morrow River, both rainbow 
and speckled trout, yet the stream itself re¬ 
mained unlocated. You know how such stories 
filter through to a fellow: Tom tells Dick, and 
Dick tells Harry, and Harry, Dick and Tom 
see to it that the story does not suffer in their 
hands, so if you happen to be John Smith, by the 
time the story reaches you it is large enough to 
cause you to sit up and take notice. I had 
heard so much about the stream that it was im¬ 
possible to content myself to be happy until I 
had wet a fly in the new water. Then just as 
I had about despaired of learning where and 
what the To-morrow River was, came a letter 
asking for certain information concerning tackle, 
the writer adding as an after thought: “I took 
a fine catch of trout from the To-morrow River 
yesterday and inclose picture which may interest 
you.” At last something tangible. By return 
mail sped a letter asking for information. That 
angler was a lineal descendant of Father Izaak 
