Dec. 28, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
815 
tomed from youth to study very carefully the 
wild life about him, and now stored chock full 
of most interesting information pertaining to 
wilderness ways on the island of Newfoundland. 
An Ai mechanic withal and equally at home with 
the needle or the ax. Better all around man 
for such a trip I would not wish to meet. 
My hunter, Robert S. Brooking, of Alexan¬ 
der Bay, was an indefatigable tracker, persistent 
as Satan in pursuit of game and possessed of 
a pair of very long range blue eyes which kept 
about one lap ahead of the binoculars all day. 
He was obliging and considerate to the last 
degree; a first class man for results. 
Our cook, Ralph S. Beach, of Grand Lake 
Stream, Maine, was “young and strong lak' 
moose,” a master canoeman, careful and obser¬ 
vant, a skilled juggler of the frying-pan, out of 
which by his magic he continually took all man¬ 
ner of good things to eat; well informed, but 
not afraid to learn. An old head upon young 
shoulders, and a good tent companion, for he 
does not snore. 
I was at considerable pains to select these 
men, and the combination was a good one, in 
sharp contrast to some past experiences. I have 
upon occasion expended hard-earned kopecks to 
obtain the “services” of a Western guide who 
after breakfast each morning would mount his 
horse and keep to the trail a mile ahead of me, 
leaving me to my own devices. Upon the ap¬ 
pearance of any game he would leap from the 
saddle and start his Winchester to squirting 
lead across the face of nature. I have had a 
horse wrangler who, upon observing me to light 
one of the very few cigars I ever carry, would 
with an air which plainly said, “One man is just 
as good as another and a good deal better,” re¬ 
mark : “Boss, I’ll stick one of them things into 
my face, too, if you don't mind.” 
In Mexico once we had a cook with us. He 
was “a white man, you understand” who, upon 
my timidly suggesting that during the hours be¬ 
tween dawn and dusk while along in camp he 
fixed up a sort of a low table upon which the 
necessities of life might be displayed instead of 
disporting themselves longer in the sand, replied 
that better men than we had before now been 
“damn glad” to come right up to his frying-pan 
and get their grub, and that was just what we 
could do or starve. 
All of which has made me a trifle gun shy, 
and the careful observer will note that all my 
kyacks, duffle bags, etc., carry chain locks where¬ 
by maple sugar, tobacco, cartridges, etc., may be 
preserved for the enjoyment of the proprietor 
and invited guests. This trip, however, was made, 
as I am glad to say many others have been, with 
everything unlocked, and it was a pleasure to 
be able to distribute equitably among the boys 
the small stock of extra luxuries which I al¬ 
ways try to carry for this purpose. 
My Newfoundland trip was one of the best. 
The island is easy of access, the people kindly 
and considerate. There is an atmosphere of real 
wilderness about t-he country which the North 
Woods of Maine and Canada do not possess for 
me. Good wood and pure water are plentiful, 
game abundant; what more could one ask? 
Every little hunting trip has some character¬ 
istic all its own. The peculiar feature which 
this Newfoundland hunting impressed upon me 
most particularly was the traveling about the 
edges of the bogs, and from camp out on to 
the bogs and back, through the caribou leads, which are cut down ten or twelve inches below 
the surface of the moss. Across these leads small spruces and firs have everywhere fallen, 
so that constantly, save when right out on the open bogs, one is stepping up over these little 
hurdles. Until the leg muscles become adj usted to this action, the effect is very tiring, and par¬ 
ticularly after a very long hard day, when one is rather irritable, on the way back to camp, there 
seem to be literally thousands of these little sticks to step over. But there is absolutely no 
other way to get back to camp, and one has to keep right on stepping over them, the feet de¬ 
termined to drag back, the toes catching and tripping. With Bob ahead of me, my eyes 
watching the sticks and following his heels up and 
down, there would run constantly through my head 
the complaint of Kipling’s raw recruit marching in 
the Boer war in the rear rank of his company: 
“Nothin’ but boots, boots, boots, boots, 
Cornin’ up and goin* down, 
And there’s no discharge in the war.” 
Our train arrived in due time, and with a hearty 
farewell from our good friends, Bob and Lionel, Ralph 
and I departed. At midnight we went aboard the 
steamer Invermore again at Port aux Basques, and 
putting out into the choppy sea, 
which was running in the Straits of 
Cabot, said au revoir to Newfound¬ 
land. 
[the end.] 
“that grand head.” 
Shot by the “Judge” and referred to in this chapter and in our editorial entitled “King Caribou” in issue of Nov. 23, l'J12. 
