FOREST AND STREAM 
41 1 
»• Courtesy of Harry T. Rogers 
Four of the Predatory Cats Shot by Harry T. Rogers After Months 
of Watching, Which He Estimates Cost the State of New York 
$1,000 in the Young Pheasants Which They Destroyed. 
Coon Hunting in Old Kentucky 
By Wm. J. Lawrence 
In the early part of the fishing season wet 
flies tied on number 6 and 8 hooks are the best 
sizes to use; during July and the first half of 
August flies tied on number 8 hooks prove the 
best; while for the balance of the season, last 
half of August and all of September, more trout 
and larger ones are caught on number io and 12 
hooks, except on the stream, where number 8 
hooks prove more serviceable and successful. 
Dry flies in the Spring should be tied on num¬ 
ber io hooks both for lake and stream fishing 
and for the rest of the season on io to 14 hooks 
just as one’s judgment dictates. 
There are two ideal months for the fly fish¬ 
erman to be at Kennebago, one is June, the other 
September; these are the months when the very 
best fishing prevails and the largest trout are 
caught and this applies alike to both lakes and 
streams. 
September has one advantage over June in 
that then there are no black flies, midgets, or 
other like insects to disturb the gentle angler, as 
well as the other visitors, and make them irrita¬ 
ble and uncomfortable. 
Of all months in the year September is the most 
beautiful and attractive, for Nature then bedecks 
herself in gala attire, which she changes from 
day to day, and at times from hour to hour. 
If you want the best of fly fishing where the 
“big trout” are to be caught if you know how, 
or if you are not so fortunate but want to learn 
how, go to Kennebago Section. There you will 
find, if you love “the big outdoors,” mountains 
to climb, trails to explore, streams and lakes to 
boat, canoe, or fish on, amid surroundings which 
are ever changing yet always beautiful, and 
where the best of health and goodfellowship 
prevail. 
On the westerly shore of Big Kennebago Lake, 
about three-eighths of a mile to the south of 
Grant’s Camps, there are two old log cabins 
where, during the months of August and Sep¬ 
tember of each year, the writer is to be found 
with friends and guides. The camp is known as 
“Kishacoquillas,” and its doors are always open, 
in fair weather and foul, to the anglers who visit 
this section; and here goodfellowship reigns 
from “early morn to early morn” because it is 
based upon the courtesy, tolerance and respect 
that “makes life worth living.” 
Should any of the readers of Forest and 
Stream who visit Kennebago Section care to 
(and have the time) let them drop in at Camp 4, 
which is another mark of identification for camp 
“Kishacoquillas,” and there spend a quiet hour 
while talking “shop” and smoking a “pipe of 
peace.” 
Long live Kennebago and long live the lovers 
of angling and “the big outdoors”! 
ANOTHER “BOB, SON OF BATTLE.” 
Dog books, books of adventure or romance in 
•which a dog plays a leading part, must be hard to 
write or the success which has greeted them 
would have led to their multiplication. We now 
have an addition to the list in “Wolfine,” which 
Sturgis & Walton Company have just published. 
This is a story with plot laid in New England 
that has for its hero an Irish wolf-hound of ex¬ 
traordinary power and intelligence. It will make 
its appeal to the same wide circle of readers who 
welcomed “Bob, Son of Battle” and “The Call 
of the Wild.” The book is anonymous. Price $1.25. 
It was On the fifteenth of November when we 
decided to accept the kind invitation extended us 
by Mr. Stanley Blake, manager of the Blue Grass 
Farm Kennels, Berry, Ky., for a good coon hunt 
in the hills of Old Kentucky. Upon our arrival 
at the picturesque little town of Berry, we were 
met at the depot by our host, and after partak¬ 
ing of a good old southern meal, we prepared 
for the hunt. It was 8 :oo p. m. when Mr. Blake 
said “All ready,” and we shouldered our axe and 
carrying our lantern, with a quick step and light 
hearts, started off for a night’s sport in the grand 
out-of-doors. 
It was an ideal night for coon hunting and 
we talked of good hunts that we had had, as all 
coon hunters will do when they are together. 
We had only gone about half a mile up the 
creek, when Bally opened up on the trail of a 
ringtail. He was quickly joined by Queen, 
Dinah and Ranger, the four dogs with us, and 
they were making the grandest music any coon 
hunter ever heard. We followed as fast as we 
could, but Mr. Coon evidently thought he could 
fool the dogs by going out on a log, which was 
lying at the edge of the water, crawling to the 
end and swimming across the stream, but he 
was mistaken, for the dogs lost no time in find¬ 
ing out what he had done and were once more 
upon his trail, and before he could get across 
the creek had treed him in an old tree upon the 
cliff. It was then that the ever-ready axe came 
into play, to cut down the tree to get the coon. 
The coon put up a game fight but he had no 
chance with the dogs. We all had our say as to 
its weight; one said it weighed eighteen (18) 
pounds, and others more or less, which actually 
weighed twelve and one-half pounds. 
We sacked our game and led the dogs away 
and it was not long before we heard them about 
a mile away ahead of us. By the time we got 
close enough, they must have seen the coon, for 
they were barking at every breath and jumped 
and seemed to be very excited, and sure enough, 
they had it treed this time upon a larger tree. 
Thinking it would be a shame to cut down this 
tree, we decided to climb up and shake the coon 
off, which was finally done, one of us holding 
two of the dogs so as to give the coon a fairer 
chance, and both the coon and the dogs put up 
a good fight and the dogs of course were vic¬ 
torious. 
The dogs then cast ahead of us and we did not 
hear or see them for quite a while but kept lis¬ 
tening very intensely, when suddenly we thought 
we heard them behind the hill, and sure enough 
it was; by the time we got there the coon had 
taken refuge in an old den upon the cliff and 
much to our disgust we could not get him out. 
We worked for some time and the dogs were 
getting very excited, for they were digging, bit¬ 
ing and barking and trying as hard as we were 
to get the coon. Our host consulted his watch, 
and finding the hour close to 2:00 a. m., thought 
it best to wend our way homeward, so, catching 
the dogs, we started back. After a bit of sleep 
and a hearty breakfast we bid our host good-bye, 
but not until we had promised Mr. Blake, who is 
an enthusiastic coon hunter, that we would re¬ 
turn soon for another coon hunt and in a differ¬ 
ent direction where we knew that the coons 
were more plentiful. 
