Forest and Stream 
Terms, $3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1911. 
VOL. LXXVII—No. 25 
No. 127 Franklin St., New York. 
A Moose From a Machan 
T HE full 'moon that comes nearest the first 
of October brings with it the height of the 
rutting season for moose and as a conse¬ 
quence the best of the hunting. Later on comes 
the tracking snow, which closely rivals the rut. 
Between these two seasons comes the last two 
weeks in October, and these two weeks are 
likely to give barren hunting in the New Bruns¬ 
wick woods. As the rut is over, the old bulls 
are wary, and most of the fools are dead. Gen¬ 
erally ice has formed on the ponds and dead- 
waters, and the bulls are on the high beech ridges 
indulging in pleasant and tender memories of 
the last full moon. 
Yet, in spite of the disadvantages of the sea¬ 
son, the 17th of October found me starting a two 
weeks’ hunt with Adam Moore on the little 
Tobique River in New Brunswick. Almost with 
the day the weather turned warm, and two days’ 
hunting convinced us that we had a better chance 
near the water than in the ridges. So on the 
19th, after working over the ridges in the morn¬ 
ing, we ended at noon by visiting a lick which 
Adam had discovered during the past summer. 
It was located about three miles back from our 
camp on the Tobique and consisted of a small 
pond or mudhole about twenty-five feet wide 
by fifty feet long. It was in the depths of the 
forest, surrounded by thickets of young firs and 
spruces, and from every direction muddy game 
trails led into it. The water and mud in the 
hole seemed to have no distinctive qualities, but 
something about it was evidently very attractive 
to the moose. 
When Adam first discovered the lick he was 
confronted with the problem that it was impos¬ 
sible to lie in wait anywhere about the hole 
without the chances being very much in favor 
of the moose seeing or scenting the hunter be¬ 
fore he could get a shot. To obviate this dif¬ 
ficulty he built a platform of logs in the top of 
a large yellow birch near the edge of the hole. 
A rough ladder led up to this, and it formed a 
first rate imitation of the machan of East In¬ 
dian hunting stories. The height of the machan 
prevented the scent from getting low enough to 
give warning to the moose, while the hunter 
could command the entire hole and its ap¬ 
proaches. 
Though the hole was evidently a resort for 
moose, the machan had not been a great suc¬ 
cess, for though Adam had tried it on various 
occasions, he had never seen a bull at the hole, 
yet when we visited it, every appearance prom¬ 
ised moose. Many of the bushes near the water 
By DOUBLE BARREL 
were broken by hooking. The water in some 
places was still muddy where moose had been 
tramping in it the night before, while about fifty 
feet away a desperate fight had evidently taken 
place a few days previously. The ground for a 
considerable space was tramped and torn, all the 
a hunter’s leanto under a towering pine in 
NORWAY. 
From a photograph by Ch. G. 
small trees and bushes were broken down and 
large wads of black and gray hair strewn on the 
ground indicated that some damage must have 
been done. 
After looking over the situation we retreated 
at once as quietly as possible, planning to re¬ 
turn toward evening and “fight the fight of sit 
down’’ in the machan. Accordingly after lunch 
and another fruitless hunt over the ridges, we 
again took the trail for the lick. I was carry¬ 
ing the little double barrel eight millimeter rifle 
which had proved such a success on sheep, and 
I was very anxious to see the effect on a big 
bull. 
When we approached the hole it was about 
4:30 in the afternoon. When we first got a 
glimpse of it, we saw a moose standing in the 
water. Crouching down behind a log we saw 
that it was a spike bull. We watched him for 
a minute or two and I was troubled with an un¬ 
certain feeling that the bull had one large horn. 
Then suddenly Adam whispered, "There’s a big 
bull behind the little one. I see his horn. Come 
on.” We at once crawled into a game trail 
which led down to the hole behind a screen of 
small fir trees, and started quietly down it. We 
were within fifty yards of the water when we 
heard a terrific rushing and splashing in the 
hole, and running into the open, we were just 
in time to see the rear of a moose vanishing 
in a thicket. Whether he was the big bull or 
the spike we could not determine. It was cer¬ 
tain' they had not seen us or heard our mocca¬ 
sins on the soft ground, so they must have got 
our scent, though apparently it was perfectly 
calm. 
This was most discouraging, for when moose 
are badly frightened, they will often leave a 
waterhole for a week or more. Still they might 
even return that evening, so we mounted the 
machan and sat patiently for an hour and a 
half. It is no light task to sit perfectly quiet 
for an hour or two without moving and with¬ 
out speaking or solacing your nerves with to¬ 
bacco. Personally, I consider mountain climb¬ 
ing fully as easy, but a couple of long trips in 
New Brunswick in 1907 and 1908 had taught me 
Nessmuk’s great art of sitting on a log. At 
last it grew nearly dark, and as there was no 
sign of moose, we climbed down and started for 
camp. As soon as it got too dark to walk we 
lighted a lantern Adam had brought for that 
purpose and stumbled back to camp. 
Next morning we were up before daylight and 
back to the hole by dawn. It was undisturbed 
