Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXIII. October 10, 1914 / No. 15 
A Winter in Michigan 
The Second Instalment of What Generally is Considered the Best Work of America’s Greatest Outdoor Writer 
From Dashville to Corning, from Corning to 
Bath, Bath to Buffalo, Buffalo to Detroit, Detroit 
to Grand Haven; and, in a small “ornery” tavern 
at the latter place we halted for rest and con¬ 
sultation. Ned—I blush for him as I record 
it—was for taking the back track incontinently; 
“the season was too wet, deer getting scarce, no 
use going so far from home when there was just 
as good hunting ground nearer; Michigan was 
marshy and unhealthy anyhow, and we were used 
to hunting in a healthy, mountainous region, etc., 
etc.” To all this I answered, “If the season was 
wet we could get about more silently, if deer 
were being thinned out the more reason why 
we should go far back to find them. As to deer 
being just as plenty nearer home why didn’t he 
think of it before? And as to the health of the 
country did he fed himself getting bilious or 
homesick, or lovesick or anything?” 
Moreover, at Grand Haven I came across old 
Gillett, the wolf-trapper and still-hunter, whose 
word on forest lore was law. To him I pro¬ 
pounded my stereotyped question, “Where could 
a good hunter be sure of one fair shot a day 
hunting on wood moccasins and without a dog?” 
His answer was short and to the point, “Any¬ 
where within twenty miles of Muskrat Lake. He 
had killed fifty deer in two weeks himself, be¬ 
sides attending to his wolf traps; he could kill 
a dozen deer a week anywhere on the upper 
Muskegon and not half try.” 
This silenced Ned and 'decided us to try the 
upper Muskegon. At. the bay we found a band 
By Nessmuk (Writen about 1890.) 
of Chippewas and one of them called Pete was 
recommended to us for a guide. We offered to 
employ him, and he not only entered our ser¬ 
vice willingly but brought two shaggy diminu¬ 
tive ponies with him, which turned out to be a 
most judicious move and a lucky thing alto¬ 
gether. It was really surprising to see the load 
these little rough, clumsy looking animals would 
manage to travel under. One of them, a pepper- 
and-salt hairy little fellow, scarcely larger than 
a sheep, I can hardly call to mind without a smile 
yet. His load consisted of two bags of pilot 
bread, each holding a trifle over two bushels, a 
couple of kegs, one holding two gallons of syrup, 
the other a like quantity of old Jamaica rum, 
and a two-'bushel bag containing tea, coffee, sugar 
and a lot of trifling but indispensable things 
appertaining to camp life. As he was the lead¬ 
ing or “bell” pony old Peter mounted him (or 
his load rather) whenever he chose to ride, the 
general tout ensemble being laughable beyond 
description. Even Ned, who was not in a laugh¬ 
able mood by any means, could not repress a 
smile as the ludicrous vision met his love-sick 
eye, while the writer, who happened to be in 
spirits, shouted jubilantly as the odd-looking 
cavalcade wound up the banks of the Muskegon 
in Indian file. Our order of march was, first, 
the writer with a io lb. double-barreled rifle; 
next, Indian Pete, with the pepper-and-salt pony, 
then the sorrel pony, laden with ammunition, 
kettles, blankets, salt, axe, etc., etc., and lastly 
Ned, who had no heart to shoot, but had meekly 
volunteered to bring up the rear and look that 
nothing went amiss or got lost through slipping 
off the ponies and being left behind. We left 
the route entirely to Peter, and he, with a sub¬ 
lime contempt for lumbermen and their roads, 
took the old Indian trail, whence it happened that 
we scarcely saw the face of a white man on the 
route, and knew little more of the “lay of the 
land” at the end of our trip than at its com¬ 
mencement. 
All along the trail I managed to keep on the 
lead for the chances of a shot, and to say truth 
the chances were well worth the taking. Almost 
every half mile we flushed the ruffed grouse, 
hare, or the beautiful American quail, while, after 
the- first day, it was but little trouble to get a 
shot at deer. I killed six of the latter with but 
slight effort, during our five days’ march on the 
trail, and also a two-year-old bear, while Ned, 
who was usually all eagerness for a shot at a 
deer, killed nothing at all, nor did he make an 
attempt to get a shot, but shambled along behind 
the sorrel pony in a maudlin, babyish manner 
that fairly made the toe of my moccasin itch. 
It must have been about 3 o’clock on the after¬ 
noon of the fifth day, when we halted at a very 
good spring near the right bank of the Muske¬ 
gon, and Peter announced our journey at an end. 
This was not according to contract for Peter had 
agreed to pilot us to the banks of Muskrat Lake, 
which he now utterly refused to do, saying, “Dis 
good place, plenty deer, plenty elk, plenty bear, 
plenty fish; Muskrat Lake no good"; too much 
mash, too much mud, white man get lost.” Per¬ 
haps he was right, at all events a pleasanter place 
than he selected for our camp it would be hard 
to find. It was in a valley, the general course of 
which was south of east, and through which ran 
a considerable stream, fed by numerous springs; 
near one of these we had halted, and there, after 
a little prospecting, we concluded to make a 
permanent camp. On either side of the stream 
the land rose in handsome swells, covered by the 
grove-like growth of timber, known throughout 
the west as “oak openings,” while along the 
banks of the stream the timber was much 
heavier, much of it being black walnut and elm 
—many of the latter trees being prostrate. 
Against the trunk of one of these—a giant elm 
nearly 7 ft. in diameter—we built our camp 
after the fashion sometimes called a “coalman’s 
shanty,” and, as it makes a good winter or 
summer camp, perhaps I may be pardoned a 
brief description of the mode in which it is made: 
Cut two strong crotched posts, the one io, the 
other 4 ft. in length; these with a stout pole 18 
ft. long constitute the timbers. Set the posts 
firmly in the ground 12 ft. apart and lay the 
pole in the crotches, letting the small end, which 
should be sharpened for the purpose, into the 
ground a foot or more, so that it cannot slip. 
Fell a straight basswood, poplar or pine; cut into 
proper lengths and rive these into shakes; place 
the shakes on each side of the pole, letting them 
diverge some 8 or 9 ft. at the front or highest 
end of the shanty, the shakes being shorter and 
the shanty growing lower and narrower as you 
work back to the far end. Set the shakes edge 
to edge as closely as possible and cover the 
whole with earth to the depth of a foot not 
forgetting to place a layer of grass or dried 
leaves beneath the dirt to prevent its sifting 
through the chinks. Place a foot log across the 
broader end of the shanty and fasten it with 
pins driven in the ground. This is essential, as 
without it the shanty is pretty certain to take 
fire sooner or later. If the shanty is only in¬ 
tended for autumn weather you will hardly need 
a fire-place; but if to be occupied during a part 
of the bitter northern winter make a snug fire¬ 
place and a close chimney by all means. To do 
459 
