10 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 6, 1912. 
Deer Shooting in North Carolina 
By H. H. BRIMLEY 
left. I got a pair, and then Charlie got another 
that flushed late, six birds. 
“Nice shooting, that,” said my companion, as 
we gathered up the game. “Old Jumbo is some 
dog after all.” 
We followed the covey to where they had scat¬ 
tered in a bit of sedge grass, dotted with small 
growth, and there we had what my companion 
called our Christmas tree. The fat dog won 
back his lost reputation and made us—for the 
time being—forget that he had a fault. 
One by one, without an error, he picked up 
those single birds in heavy cover, until he had 
given us fourteen shots, netting nine birds. Only 
one double, mine, and only one eye wiped, mine 
also. A big strong-flying cock bird ripped out 
at my feet and swung round left. I tried him 
twice, missed, and after he had passed beyond 
ordinary range Charlie dropped him, clean killed. 
“Spring down there in the hollow; let’s go 
eat,” said Charlie, after we had gathered in our 
birds. “If we were home I’d give Jumbo a por¬ 
terhouse steak with mushrooms for his beautiful 
work on those birds, but as he has to walk some 
yet. I’m afraid to feed him at all.” 
After lunch we found a covey of birds and 
followed them on to the adjoining farm. A 
belligerent looking farmer came hurrying to¬ 
ward us at the sound of the first shot. 
“Don’t know whether I know him or not,” 
said Charlie. “Be shocked, mortified and grieved 
if he tells us we are over on his land, for he may 
cut up rough.” 
“I don’t ’low no shootin’ here,” shouted the old 
man, as he drew near. “Got stock in all these 
fields.” 
Charlie explained that we had been invited 
to shoot on the adjoining land, and had fol¬ 
lowed the birds over without really knowing that 
we were trespassing, and—and—but I paid no 
further attention to the conversation. When any 
one listens to Charlie for the first half dozen 
words he will continue to do so as long as 
Charlie wants him to. He could talk a bulldog 
with a ■ gumboil into a good humor, so I was 
entirely prepared for the usual result. 
“Well, don’t shoot near the house, an’ you are 
welcome. Yes, thank ye, I do smoke sometimes. 
That’s a nice fat dog. Well, good-bye, come 
again when you like.” 
We got only three of the birds, not enough, 
Charlie said, to pay for placating the farmer. 
Back on our old grounds we found another 
covey, and scattered them in the woods, where 
the shooting was hard. The dog did well, but 
could not find the birds as he had those in the 
open. 
We got seven up and five down when I came 
to grief. Climbing over a brush pile a bird 
flushed behind me. Turning quickly I fired, and 
at the same moment slipped and fell, striking my 
head on a log. Fortunately the log was decayed 
and my cap heavy, but the whole milky way 
passed rapidly in review before I collected my 
scattered wits. 
“If that log had not been rotten.’’ said Charlie, 
“you would have solved the ancient problem of 
‘when an irrisistible force meets an immovable 
object, what’s the result?’ I think it would have 
been a busted crust in this case.” 
With my head singing like a beehive I sat on 
a stump and watched Charlie finish working out 
the cover. He and the dog broke even, each find- 
Continued on page 24. 
T he deer shooting areas in North Carolina 
cover two entirely different types of terri¬ 
tory. These are the mountain region in the 
western part of the State and the low-lying lands 
of the East. In the former, deer are not plenti¬ 
ful, except in a few closely protected areas, and 
the open hunting is an almost negligible quantity. 
In the eastern section, however, deer are quite 
common in many localities and are pretty well 
able to take care of themselves, the natural con¬ 
ditions under which they live making for their 
preservation. This section, roughly speaking, 
covers the whole of the State coast line and fifty 
miles inland from the coast, and may embrace 
nearly a third of the State’s area. 
This is the land of the open sounds, the broad 
estuaries; of creeks, rivers and lakes. The un¬ 
cultivated areas—of which there is an abundance 
•—are long-leaf pine forests, cut-over pine lands, 
open savannahs, pocosons, scruboak lands and 
gum and cypress swamps, with all sorts of varia¬ 
tions and modifications of them all. 
The hunting is mostly by means of dogs, with 
the gunners taking stands in places where the 
deer may possibly run. Some still-hunting is 
carried on, but the character of the country al¬ 
most prohibits any other form of this type of 
hunting than waiting around late in the after¬ 
noon for a chance deer to come along. I have 
tried this method scores of times, but never saw 
any animal larger than a ’coon. 
In running with dogs the chances are all with 
the deer, my personal experience being that not 
more than one in seven or eight chased are even 
shot at by the hunters. 'Very soon after the 
season opens they learn the game and exert all 
their native cunning in outwitting both dogs 
and men. And one seldom kills a fat deer after 
the first week or two of the open season. They 
seem to soon train down fine, and then are able 
to give any pack of dogs a’l they want in the 
running line. 
When first jumped the deer usually makes for 
the nearest thick pocoson, and once in that he 
will give the dogs a hot time for an hour or 
two. These pocosons are characteristic of this 
section and are often miles across. The tree 
growth consists of scattering pines, usually of 
dwarf habit, with an undergrowth of gallberry 
and bay bushes of varying height, but the barbed 
wire entanglement of bamboo brier (smilax) is 
always present. Some ’of the more open, or 
“light” pocosons, where the growth is low— 
averaging waist high or less—make good deer 
stands, though a light ladder propped against a 
pine is often used to enable one to see further 
across the bushes. Where the growth is thicker 
and higher no shooting is possible, and as long 
as the deer chooses to remain in this kind he is 
perfectly safe from both dogs and men. What 
a deer can leap lightly over the hounds have to 
force a way through, and the work is very hard 
on the dogs. But sooner or later the deer, as 
a usual thing, takes to the water, and once there 
he is safe for that day. 
The great element in conserving the supply of 
deer on our hunting grounds is the glorious un¬ 
certainty as to what they wi’l do and where they 
will go when in front of dogs. At the camp from 
which I hunt—which is typical of the whole re¬ 
gion in the character of the hunting—we fre¬ 
quently have as many as three deer running at 
once with all the dogs within hearing distance, 
and 3'et, with four or five guns posted in the 
most likely places, the proportion of the hunted 
deer that come within rifle range of any of the 
gunners is quite small. It is usual, though, that 
one or more of them are seen, sometimes out on 
the marshy border of one of the lakes, sometimes 
in the open swamp, or out in the pocoson. 
Of course, camp ethics prohibit catching or 
killing deer in the water, and shotguns are not 
looked on with favor, wdiere fifteen years ago 
they were almost universally used. But the shot¬ 
gun is still the weapon of the old timer, though 
I am glad to say that the rifle is steadily gain¬ 
ing ground. 
Perhaps the description of a hunt that took 
place just three days before last Thanksgiving- 
Day, in w'hich “tenderfoot luck” was largely in 
evidence, may impart more information than 
mere generalizing. 
It was arranged that two of the party should 
take stands along a path between the lakes, tak¬ 
ing a couple of dogs to be turned loose just be¬ 
fore reaching their stands. Two others were to 
go out in the low pocoson three-quarters of a 
mile from the first pair, while the remaining 
three were to take four dogs and go down the 
road northeast of camp for about a mile, where 
one was to put out a coup’e of the dogs in the 
thickets nearby and then drop back and cover the 
camp road. The remaining two men were to 
move on a mile further, then turn into the woods 
for a half mile or so before putting out the re¬ 
maining couple of dogs. The tenderfoot and I 
happened to have this last assignment, and we 
went in. 
Now, the tenderfoot, whom I will call A., is 
by no means green to the woods or to a gun, but 
he had never seen a wild deer, let alone shot one. 
'We turned our dogs loose and moved on. 
The dogs began trailing immediately, and we 
moved deeper into the woods, which here con¬ 
sisted of logged-over long-leaf pine ridges. (In 
this country a ridge means land dry enough to 
grow long-leaf pine and wire grass, but may be 
only a foot or two higher ground than the 
swamps and bottoms.) 
Becoming rather warm from the walk and the 
heavy clothing worn, we sat down on a log to 
rest and listen to the dogs. I had taken off my 
coat and was preparing to tie it up in blanket- 
roll shape, for greater ease in carrying, and had 
my hand in my pocket searching for string when 
a movement in front caught my eye, and there 
was a deer leaping lightly across not more than 
forty yards away. “There’s one,” I said, and 
came to my feet, rifle in hand. A. did the same, 
but hesitated, waiting for me to shoot first. 
“Shoot!” said I, “shoot!” and he fired—and 
missed clean. Then I got the .25 auto going 
and his second shot and my first sounded al¬ 
most as one, and the deer was down. 'We 
walked over and A. was jubilant on finding that 
both his bullet and mine had taken effect. 
