520 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Oct. 26, 1912 
A Day’s Hunting in the Maine Woods 
By MOCCASIN MAC 
O NE bright, frosty October morning the 
writer hit the trail about 7 : 3° and, full 
of high anticipations—and a good venison 
breakfast—hiked briskly along the Backboard 
Road for a mile and a half, then turned to the 
right up the Shawmut logging road, and with 
eyes and ears alert for any sign or sound of 
game, climbed slowly and stealthily up the steep 
incline back of Hard Scrabble Mountain to the 
base of Rowell Mountain. I worked my way 
laboriously over the fallen trees, gradually as¬ 
cending the fire-scarred side of the mountain, 
looking carefully and expectantly among the 
spruce tops and prostrate tree trunks where 
deer signs were abundant. For here deer found 
excellent feed in the luxuriant growth of weeds 
and tender shoots, which had sprung up on the 
burnt land that was fire-swept two years before. 
Here deer might lie unseen among the rasp¬ 
berry bushes, or stand quietly concealed be¬ 
hind the spruce logs so like them in color. 
Stealthily, with eye and ear alert, I climbed to 
the top of the mountain and silently traversed 
the moss-covered corridors of the green woods 
where fire had not wrought its desolation. It 
was high twelve and I had not had sight or 
sound of game. Reaching a commanding view 
I rested and contemplated the illimitable woods, 
dotted here and there with shining lakes and 
ponds, that extended in billowy mountains to 
the horizon round. I enjoyed the vast forest 
and the wild beauty of the rugged landscape. 
All this panoramic view seemed peaceful and 
quiet, and yet the stillness was broken by many 
sounds of life. In the distance the log cock 
called shrilly and hammered loudly on a dead 
tree. Nearby the hairy and downy woodpeckers 
kept up their calls and hammering on the trees. 
Further down the mountainside could be heard 
the peculiar call of the black three-toed wood¬ 
pecker. Whisky Jack perched on a nearby limb, 
and uttered some of his various calls. A red 
squirrel came almost within reach and then 
scampered up a tree and chattered and laughed. 
As I sat there, contemplating wild nature. I 
realized that the enjoyment of the day’s hunt 
was not all in the game secured. Were it so, 
some days would be very stale. Finally, with 
limbs rested and eyes and ears feasted with the 
sights and sounds of the great wilderness. I de¬ 
scended slowly and as silently as possibly the 
north side of the mountain, passing again over 
the strip of burnt land that encircled the moun¬ 
tain, now well covered with a growth of weeds and 
bushes, where fresh deer signs were everywhere 
to be seen, gradually down to the heavy hard¬ 
wood growth where the fire had not traversed. 
Here a good view could be had for some dis¬ 
tance among the great trunks of the beeches 
and maples. Glancing to the left, as I walked 
quietly and cautiously along carefully scanning 
every object in sight, I saw, about seventy- 
five yards away, a reddish-brown object—the 
right color for a deer! My rifle came quickly 
to my shoulder, with the hammer at full cock, 
my eye ran along the barrel and drew a fine 
bead on the brown object. I hesitated. This 
object had no legs or head, and any kind of a 
decent deer should have both. It might be 
standing behind some obstruction that concealed 
the legs, but a deer would certainly have a head. 
No, it was not a deer! It was a partially de¬ 
cayed stump of some huge tree that had been 
felled by the lumberman’s ax years gone by. I 
lowered my rifle. I wasn’t going to shoot a 
stump! But how easily 1 could plunk it if it 
had been a deer! I looked at the stump wist¬ 
fully and more carefully and fancied I could 
see the black of a deer’s tail hanging down. 
No, it was only a burnt place on the stump. I 
moved a little to one side and looked at a 
slightly different angle and was sure I could 
see the white hair on the side of a deer’s tail. 
A conviction flashed through my dull brain, it 
is a deer! At the same instant a white flag 
flashed up from that stump and went waving 
and tossing down the mountainside just show¬ 
ing about the underbrush, as its owner bounded 
away faster than any stump ever moved before. 
Oh, yes! it was a deer! 
I turned back over the mountain and 
passed down its southern slope toward camp, 
lamenting that I had not fired, for it surely 
would have done no harm to shoot a stump, if 
it had been a stump. But then, I reflected, it 
was only a doe and it would have been difficult 
to drag the carcass back over the mountain any¬ 
way. Thus blaming and consoling myself by 
turns, I hunted slowly along, scrutinizing every 
object closely, determined not to be fooled 
similarly again or miss another opportunity, 
when suddenly down through the vista of trees 
ahead I saw two big ears above the low bushes! 
(Ccniimtcd an page 544.) 
STARTLED IN THE MOONLIGHT. 
