Jan. 2, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
15 
latter worked hard, early and late, but were 
unable alone to cope with so extensive a fire. 
At another fire near the railroad the fire 
fighters permitted the flames to spread the while 
they peacefully dozed or smoked on the depot 
platform. 
These men live in the woods. The forest 
gives them homes and employment. Yet they 
seemed to be—some of them even so expressed 
themselves—absolutely indifferent to conflagra¬ 
tions that were eating up the forests on every 
hand. Not one of them had a word of con¬ 
demnation for the fiends that had started fires 
for revenge or in order that they might the 
more easily obtain shots at deer; in fact, they 
appeared to look on the whole terrible situation 
as a good joke on somebody or the deer. 
Fires in the woods cannot be readily sub¬ 
dued’ except by a God-sent rain, but they can 
be confined. I saw a piece of work done seven 
miles back of Childwold Station, in October, that 
not only proves my assertion, but it was re¬ 
markable. Careless persons started a fire along 
a roadway on a hogback between two ponds. 
Perhaps one hundred acres were ablaze when 
discovered by persons on an adjacent club pre¬ 
serve. At the foot of the hogback was a great 
slash—the topping-out place of a recent lumber 
camp. The fire was proceeding in that direction 
rapidly. It must be stopped or it would sweep 
away the preserve and all its buildings. For¬ 
tunately, Frank Rubar, the keeper of the pre¬ 
serve, is a cool-headed, intelligent woodsman. 
Almost single-handed and alone, he ran a line 
around that fire, cleared it of leaves and under¬ 
brush and dug a shallow trench. From the dark 
of the morning to the dark of the night he 
paced that line steadily and constantly, pushing 
the fire back on itself. In three days it burned 
out. It never crossed the line. This fire oc¬ 
curred and was subdued in the very dryest 
period of the drouth, and six or seven denizens 
of the woods sat around and watched Rubar 
accomplish this work, mildly interested in his 
intelligent method of fighting fire. 
It is probable that the great State of New 
York—my home State—is not as indifferent to 
Adirondack dangers as is certainly true of many 
of the residents of the mountains, but it falls 
far short of measuring up to the real situation. 
'Its fire fighting force is not at'all competent or 
energetic. I refer to the force in the woods 
and not to the executive officers of whom I know 
nothing. In some cases, if not all, the fire war¬ 
dens are such because political debts are paid 
thus. They are, as a rule, not one whit more 
active, watchful or competent than the men they 
call to meet fire emergencies. Were the State 
to properly organize its fire forces, properly in¬ 
struct them and give them proper power, it 
would not cost $130,000 to fight even such gen¬ 
eral and aggressive forest fires as occurred last 
fall; Indeed, such fires would be impossible 
no matter what the weather. In an educational 
way the State does nothing, practically, and 
ignorance and indifference hold sway among a 
people whose life and hope and homes are being 
swept away. In furnishing protection to the 
forests the State is, also, sadly derelict. An¬ 
other year like 1908 and there will not be enough 
of the Adirondack forest left to hide and feed 
a dozen deer, and the State will be forced to bid 
farewell forever to the Mohawk and Hudson 
rivers, to say nothing of hundreds of beautiful 
lakes. And, in addition, its most conspicuous 
health-giving region will be reduced to a bar¬ 
ren, desolate and charred waste. The lumber¬ 
men and pulp men are doing a-plenty to the 
woods as it is. Fires should be and can be 
minimized, if not prevented altogether, by edu¬ 
cational and proper protective measures. Those 
measures are not now employed. 
Anticipating that someone will accuse me, 
•probably, of being a club member or lumber 
owner, I will say that I am neither one nor the 
other. I have hunted and fished on and off 
club preserves, and hope to do so in the future. 
I am a firm believer in the proposition, however, 
that the unfenced hunting club preserves are the 
salvation of the deer supply in the Adirondacks 
at the present time, for the reason that they fur¬ 
nish safe breeding places for deer and proper 
protection to those that are growing or are 
grown. From these club preserves the woods 
are stocked annually. I am convinced that, were 
the Adirondack wilderness an open country to 
all hunters, there would not be a deer in that 
region in less than five years. The situation is 
now nicely balanced. There are enough open 
places and enough preserves. 
Fred Leslie Purdy. 
A Boy’s Moose Hunt. 
Greenfield, Mass., Dec. 26 .— Editor Forest and 
Stream: My father always goes hunting in the 
fall, and last season, igo8, he decided to go 
moose hunting in New Brunswick. I am thirteen 
years old, and I asked him to let me go with 
him. He said I might go if my uncle, who was 
MASTER snow's TROPHY. 
also going, did not mind. Uncle did not object, 
so my father made arrangements with Charles 
Wright, of Three Brooks, Victoria county. New 
Brunswick, to take us into his hunting camp. 
We left hume on a Monday for Reed’s Island, 
where we changed from train to wagon. We 
met Charley Wright and Adolf Giberson, who 
were to go in with us, and Adolf told us of his 
brother who had been with a party that had 
gone to Labrador to see the Grand Falls of the 
Hamilton River. We arrived at Reed’s Island 
at 10 o’clock P. M. and had supper. 
The next morning at 8 o’clock the team came 
up and we packed our things in the wagon and 
started on the tramp of twenty miles to camp. 
It was a beautiful day. The wagon was hauled 
by two fine strong horses, Layde and Clyde. I 
walked about three miles, and on the way fired 
at a big owl and missed him entirely to the up¬ 
roarious delight of the party. Not wishing to 
amuse them further, I decided to ride. I stayed 
with Jack, the teamster, till after we had passed 
the place where the Grand Trunk people are 
building a railroad line, which is about six miles 
from Reed’s Island. About two miles from the 
railroad we stopped beside the Ovenrock to dine. 
I finished dinner first and prowled around the 
adjoining woods., I saw a partridge, and after 
firing four times at him, killed him. When we 
went on again I rode, as I was getting tired. 
After about three miles we came out on the 
barrens and began to see moose signs. The road 
across the barrens was a good one and for about 
five miles all rode except Charley and Adolf. 
While crossing the barren we saw the moun¬ 
tain where the camp was, but were obliged to 
make a long detour, as a big swamp made a 
direct road impossible. From the barrens I 
walked to camp. Soon we came to Charley’s 
old camp, and only about fifteen minutes’ walk 
beyond came to the new camp. 
It is a fine camp and was only built that sum¬ 
mer. It has three rooms, a living room and 
sleeping rooms for both guides and sportsmen. 
I do not suppose there is a better camp any¬ 
where in that country. Here we found the cook, 
Herbert Camber, and Thomas Wright, Charley’s 
father, who was to be my guide. That night I 
ate my supper and went to bed, where I slept 
the sleep of the weary. My father went down 
to the deadwater, but saw only an old cow moose 
about a mile away. Next morning my uncle 
went down and saw six moose, three of which 
were small bulls. Later I went down with Mr. 
Wright, who was seventy-four years old, and 
swamped a trail to the upper deadwater. I killed 
a partridge that day. That evening we went 
down, but did not see anything. 
The next morning the real hunting began. 
Getting up at 4 o’clock and going a mile and a 
half by lantern light over a trail with at least 
two hundred fallen trees in it is hard work for 
a boy, and before I got my moose I got so I 
knew every turn on that trail. Usually my 
father or my uncle had the canoe at the big 
deadwater and Mr. Wright and I hunted the 
little deadwater. 
After my uncle had hunted four days he got 
his moose and also a shot at a bear which he 
did not get. The moose head measured forty 
inches and had twenty-one points all told. It 
was a very even head. After this my uncle 
would not get up in the morning, but lay in bed 
and laughed at papa and me. One night Mr. 
Wright and I packed up our bedding and went 
over to Linsey Brook deadwater, where my uncle 
got his moose, to stay all night. We saw noth¬ 
ing except a few partridges. 
On the 24th Mr. Wright and myself went 
down to the canoe at the lower deadwater. We 
paddled down to the dam, but saw nothing, and 
then decided to go up the stream to the upper 
deadwater where were two cow moose, one of 
which jumped out the moment she saw us, while 
the other pretended she did not know we were 
there. After watching them for about three- 
quarters of an hour we went back to camp. 
The next day we went to the upper deadwater, 
and on calling, Mr. Wright heard an answer¬ 
ing grunt in the bushes, then we heard a moose 
going away for all he was worth, for he had 
smelt us. 
