276 
FOREST AND STREAM 
A Day in the Woods with the Camera 
Come and take a stroll with me into the deep 
woods on a fine summer’s morning. We will 
start about sun-up. Of course we will take 
the camera for that is our object, to go Kodak¬ 
ing for the day. 
We hear the birds singing in the trees, then 
we come to a brook. The laughing brook on its 
way to the river. We look around a bit and 
discover that this is an ideal setting for a pic¬ 
ture. It is early morning, and the light is so 
soft. The large oaks on the banks of the brook 
with over-hanging branches throw their shad¬ 
ows on the still surface of the water, not a 
ripple here, but below us we hear the gentle 
fall of the water, like music to our ears on 
this morning. We set the camera up at the 
most convenient point and look in the ground- 
glass, in the back of the camera. Ah, we have 
it. The light is quite a bit brighter now, but 
still not bright enough to make a snap-shot. 
So much the better, we will make a time ex¬ 
posure of two seconds with the largest stop. 
The click of the camera is heard twice, and our 
first picture is taken. We know that we have 
succeeded, and have on the sensitive coating of 
our plate, a record of that morning, of that 
time and place, a beautiful picture. 
We will now walk along still further. We 
hear the brook still laughing in the distance, and 
we follow the sound and come to a miniature 
Niagara Falls, dropping over a small slope, here 
and there a trout jumping to the surface of the 
pond below where the water is falling. 
We set the camera up here and take another 
picture. In our minds’ eye we will look at this 
picture. We see in the lower half a beautiful 
fall of water, showing plainly the splash into 
the pond below the fine spray. In the upper 
half, tall trees, and if we have used orthochroma- 
tic plates or film, we may see the clouds, that 
look almost as if they were floating by, an¬ 
other fine landscape picture, and well worth 
while. 
We seem to be too far away to get this pic¬ 
ture to advantage, so we will go down to the 
immediate vicinity. It is quite a walk, but the 
day being so beautiful it is a pleasure to walk, 
when we know .that it will add to our photog¬ 
raphic album a more beautiful collection of 
woodland scenes. 
Presently arriving at a point near the “Porcu¬ 
pine Mountains,” we are ready for another 
charming picture. Imagine this one as we did 
the other, a vast mountain, a smaller one at its 
side, the bright sky overhead, and the sun at 
its height. We have passed through old lumber 
BITTERN BATTLES WITH MASSANGA. 
By E. D. Moffett. 
The bittern is esteemed by many Indiana 
sportsmen as a table dish. Its flesh is white 
and it has a “breast like a turkey” as de¬ 
scribed by those who have tried it. In flight it 
resembles the King rail in its sluggish straight 
course and sudden drop to cover. When 
wounded the bird puts up a wicked fight and 
few dogs will retrieve it. It is not among the 
early migrants: bitterns began dropping to 
Indiana lakes and streams about the middle of 
June. 
John Holton, a Hartford City merchant, tells 
of a fight he witnessed the 8th of July, between 
a newly arrived bittern and a massanga at 
Dowell Lake, north of that city. Mr. Holton 
was scouting to find out if King rail has nested 
A Bevy of Quail Feeding. 
We cross a larger brook, and find ourselves 
ascending; we look up and see the top of a 
very high hill. This is Sugar Hill, so named. 
We wonder, curious to know how it might 
have come by that name, but looking back 
through years we will find that once this hill 
used to be covered with the sugar tree or Maple. 
Now it is in its second growth, and all beech 
trees. We will go to the top of the hill. It is 
a hard climb, but after we get to the top we 
find that though tired, it has been worth our 
while. Here we may look in every direction. 
To the north two large lakes set among the 
hills, a large mountain, and we look a little to 
the left and see another one. The mountain is 
called, Mt. Seall, the largest in that vicinity. 
We slip our telephoto lens on our camera. We 
can now make a snap-shot, so we point the 
camera toward the lakes between the mountains 
and we have another picture that we may be 
proud of. We look to the other extremity of 
the lakes and behold two more mountains, these 
being called the “Porcupine Mountains,” and 
the lakes that were mentioned are the “Maguerr- 
wock Lakes,” east and west. 
roads that wind round to the other side of the 
mountain, and have taken the picture from 
there, a more suitable point, and have included 
in it, though not to our knowledge at the time, 
a deer feeding quietly (as it turns out), in a 
lower corner of the photograph. So intent were 
we on the vastness of the mountain that we did 
not notice the approach of this wild denizon of 
the woods and it appears that he did not know 
that we were there. Now we are on our way 
homeward. If- we had noticed the distance that 
we had traveled we would have been surprised. 
We have covered at least ten miles; how time 
does fly on such occasions. Many more pic¬ 
tures we get on the way home of similar scenes 
until our plates are exhausted. 
We reach home before sundown, eat our sup¬ 
per and then rest, the whole day ending in one 
of the pleasantest, and one that we will long 
remember. 
EDWARD D. FISHER 
in the shallow reed areas, when a bittern drop¬ 
ped near the bunch of willows that screened him. 
The bird dropped beside a hummock wherein 
lay coiled a black rattlesnake, it rattled and 
struck and the bird hissed. It did not retreat, 
however, but circled its enemy, the feathers of 
its long neck ruffled and wings raised. The 
snake struck again and again without apparent 
effect other than to make the Stake-driver 
more furious, its eyes showing red and vicious. 
Then the massanga lost its nerve, uncoiled and 
took to the water in an effort to escape. It 
was the move for which the bird had waited. 
It struck and its pikestaff bill transfixed the 
head of its enemy. It then clutched the snake 
with its horny toes, flew with it to a sand beach, 
settled and began to rend the body and eat it. 
HUNTING WITHOUT A GUN—Rowland E. Rob¬ 
inson. A delightful description of life in the open, 
and intimate study of the wild things of wood, mead¬ 
ow and waterside by one of the sweetest and truest 
writers on New England topics. Cloth, illus. Post¬ 
paid, $2.00. 
