FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 4, 1907. 
69b 
Quail and Pheasant Shooting. 
In those “Early Days in Iowa,” of which in 
previous articles I have been endeavoring to give 
the sportsman of the present day some faint idea 
of the great abundance of game over all that 
section in which it was my good fortune to have 
an abiding place, I realize the necessity of 
moderation in my statements. The fact is that 
game of all kinds was so plentiful that to tell 
the whole story would perhaps cause some 
readers to consider one a modern Munchausen 
and the stories those of an old man in his dotage. 
For example, were I to say that for the winters 
of 1854-5 and 1855-6, whenever a few quail were 
wanted, these could be procured without going- 
outside our own yard, it would be the truth. 
The same thing can be said in regard to shoot¬ 
ing three or four prairie chickens within the 
same inclosure. Perhaps it might be well to 
state that the yard consisted of eight lots, and 
that nearly three lots in one corner were left 
just as they were before being entered with white 
and red oak trees. During fall and winter there 
were always quail in the brush, and when shot 
into, and they flew away, within a short time 
they would be back again, as they had not as 
yet become gun shy. So with the prairie chickens. 
They would sit in the tree all humped up, with 
heads under their wings, and allow one to ap¬ 
proach, using other trees for cover, to within gun 
shot, and when one was killed and the others 
flew away they would be replaced by others in a 
very short time. The rifle was generally used. 
Getting within short rifle range the hunter would 
give a low b-r-r, at which the chicken would 
start up with head erect, and the head was always 
shot at, as the bullet would tear the flesh if it 
struck the body. Usually a shot meant a chicken 
minus a head. 
Many quail were trapped during the winter, 
the trap being made of lath about thirty-six 
inches in length by twenty-four in width. This 
was laid on the ground and at the center of 
one of the narrow ends a trench was dug, com¬ 
mencing about a foot back and running under¬ 
neath the edge and ending at about the same dis¬ 
tance inside of the trap. Grain was scattered 
plentifully inside the trap, along the trench and 
beyond. "When the quail followed the grain, 
through the trench and came up inside, they never 
attempted to get out the way they came in, but 
would fly upward in the endeavor to escape. 
When a few were inside they would call others 
and often a whole bevy. When they were shot 
it was always on the wing, as I believed in giv¬ 
ing game a square deal, and in all thes-e years 
I have never sold or received a penny for a 
game bird or fish of any description. I have 
always followed both branches of sport for the 
sport itself, and the relaxation it gave from the 
usual routine of business. 
In later years I had fine quail shooting in 
Minnesota along the river of the same name. 
One hunt in particular I recall on account of the 
peculiar conditions that existed. There had been 
a fall of snow to the depth of about six inches, 
followed by a light rain, and during the night 
it had frozen, making a thin brittle crust. A 
friend and I, with a fine pointer dog, started out 
for an afternoon’s sport, and while we found 
plenty of quail—killing forty-three—we only 
brought in twenty-three of the number. When 
the birds fell they would break through the crust, 
and the light snow underneath would close over 
them, making it impossible for the dog to get 
the scent. In addition, as the shooting was along 
the banks of the river and among small scrub 
oak trees, from which the wind had blown many 
dead branches which made holes in the snow, it 
was impossible to distinguish between these and 
that made by the quail when dropped. Even 
when we marked down with the eye, and started 
as soon as the shot was fired to the spot where 
we supposed the dead bird fell, we were unable 
to find it. 
To show how plentiful the}'- were in that local¬ 
ity, the landlord of the hotel in the little town 
bought and put in cold storage a hundred and 
ninety dozen for use during holiday week, and 
we had them on the table at every meal while I 
was there. While pheasants were never very 
abundant in those early days in Iowa, there were 
enough of them in the heavy timber to repay 
the hunter for 3 day’s tramp through the thick 
underbrush and blackberry. - Usually four or five 
brace was the reward for such a day s outing. 
They were a beautiful bird, a_ little smaller than 
the pinnated grouse or prairie chicken, both birds 
belonging to the same species. The coloring 
of the feathers was very similar to that of the 
grouse, but much lighter in shade, particularly 
on the breast; the browns and grays were much 
softer. They were difficult to shoot on account 
of the dense undergrowth in which they were 
generally found; also from the rapidity of their 
flight which resembled that of the quail. I 
always shot from breast high instead of bring¬ 
ing the gun clear up to the shoulder. After a 
little practice this is easily acquired, and is simply 
an inherent sense of direction that all good wing- 
shots do or should possess. 1 he expert does 
not linger long over the front sight on the barrel 
when lie drops his cheek against the stock. 
Neither does the expert pistol shot take de¬ 
liberate aim, but pulls the trigger when the eye, 
through the medium of the brain, telegraphs the 
tensor muscle of the index finger to press. 
The Indian—in the time when the bow and 
arrow was his principal weapon, both of war and 
the chase—never took aim but with the arrow 
pointing to the ground, suddenly extended the 
left arm, drew back and discharged the arrow 
long before the hand reached the level of the 
eye. The reason for using the snapshot was ap¬ 
parent ; for had one waited to take sight the bird 
would have been out of sight behind some nearby 
tree or bushes before the trigger could have been 
pulled. 
The flesh of the partridge, when cooked, is 
much whiter than the prairie chicken, and the 
only way to properly prepare them for the table 
is to stuff and bake or roast them, as it is usually 
termed. Prepared in this manner, and served 
with currant or plum jelly, they make a dish “fit 
to set before the king,” or better still, a plain 
American citizen, the only trouble being that they 
are in the same class as the roast goose of which 
Dr. Johnston once said: “The goose is a very 
inconvenient bird; it is a little too much for 
one person, and not quite enough for two.” 
The whereabouts of these birds could often be 
located by their drumming. They would jump 
upon some fallen hollow log and beat against it 
with their wings, making them move so rapidly 
that the noise resembled that of an Indian tom¬ 
tom and could be heard for a great distance 
through the quiet timber. However, they were 
a very uncertain bird, and were liable to fly up 
from almost under your feet at any moment, and 
eternal vigilance was the price of pheasants. I 
orce went out with a friend who owned a small 
cocker spaniel trained to range through the 
underbrush and flush the pheasants, which would 
fly to a lower limb of some nearby sapling, and 
while the spaniel executed a war dance on the 
ground beneath the limb, emitting a succession 
of frantic yelps meantime, the pheasant would 
sit and gaze at him in mild-eyed wonder, with 
no thought of flying until, guided by the noise, 
the hunter appeared on the scene, and the bird 
was soon our meat. 
Now the heavy timber has all been cleared 
away, the land grubbed and the brush piled and 
burned, and I doubt whether a single pheasant 
could be flushed anvwhere in that section. Quail 
are still plentiful, the game laws being strictly 
enforced and at one time it was closed season in 
the State for three years. The weather, how¬ 
ever, has more to do with their preservation than 
statuatory enactments. If there should be two 
or three fairly open winters the quail will be 
found in great numbers the following seasons. 
Rut if there comes a severely cold winter, dur¬ 
ing which there is an unusually heavy snowfall, 
thousands of these birds will perish, being smoth¬ 
ered in the snow. They seek shelter beneath 
some clump of willows or hazel bushes, the wind 
drifts the snow over them, and like the ten little 
Tniuns. “then there are none.” 
I may be accused by my brother sportsmen of 
having become in my old age a “softy,” but am 
free to confess that when I go hunting at the 
present time I prefer the camera to a gun, and 
let those of younger blood, if they choose, do 
the shoot in". The thin veneer that we term “ad¬ 
vanced civilization” is after all but a conventional 
covering, and human nature is in reality not 
very different from that of the centuries that 
have passed; only the fresh coating of varnish, 
added by the years, keeps the veneer from crack¬ 
ing and peeling off. When the lust of killing 
possesses one there is little difference in any of 
us. The only excuse that can be offered for 
the slaughter of the innocents in those early days, 
of which 1 am writing, was the great abundance 
of game of all descriptions that made it appear 
inexhaustible and the rivalry among the sports¬ 
men as to whom might show the greatest skill, 
the proof of which was the number of victims 
obtained. 
Parties of hunters often chose sides and started 
out to demonstrate which party could in a speci¬ 
fied time bring in the most game. The supper 
given by the losers to the victors was the usual 
meed of reward for superior skill. It may be 
said in palliation of our offenses that none of 
the game was ever sold, nor was any wasted or 
spoiled. There were always plenty of families 
who were the.grateful recipients of any surplus 
the hunters had. I remember one man who came 
to me saying, “Captain, we have a few friends, 
visitors from the east, who' have never seen a 
chicken hunt and we are anxious to take them 
out. We have the carriages, lunch and every¬ 
thing necessary provided for, but you know that 
we are not extra good shots and our dogs not 
the best, so we want you and your two dogs to 
go along and show them how the thing is done.” 
Of course such delicate flattery was irresistible. 
We went. There were four ladies and four 
shooters, besides myself, in the party. We 
started early in the morning, getting a little of 
the forenoon shooting; had an elaborate luncheon 
at noon, and when we drove back at night there 
were thirty-seven young chickens in the wagon 
of which the other shooters killed five. Arriving 
at my home I picked out three birds, enough for 
a meal for my family and myself, and was bidden 
an effusive good-night. Two' or three days after¬ 
ward I met the promoter of the hunt and he in¬ 
formed me that they had figured up the expenses 
of the trip—carriage hire, luncheon, ice cream, 
etc.—and that my share of the same would be 
three dollars, which I paid without a whimper, 
but like old dog Tray was “never found in that 
company again.” The Captain. 
A Prophesy Fulfilled. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Apropos to the present agitation about the 
proposed grab of Adirondack privileges by the 
lumber and power interests. I quote for your 
columns from the preface of Headley’s “Adiron¬ 
dack.” published in 1849, and now, unfortunate¬ 
ly, out of print. The historian states that con¬ 
siderations of health and the imperative advice 
of an able physician “impelled me to under¬ 
take at first what two years after I prosecuted 
with pleasure. Thus much for the reasons 
which first induced me to penetrate the pathless 
and unknown wilderness of Central New York. 
“I publish the results of my two trips, because 
I wish to make that portion of our State better 
known; for it bears the same relation to us 
that the Highlands do to Scotland, and the 
Oberland to Switzerland. That relation will be 
acknowledged yet, and every summer will wit¬ 
ness throngs of travelers on their way to those 
wild mountains and surpassingly beautiful lakes. 
No such scenery is to be found in our pic¬ 
turesque country, and none that in my opinion 
will match it, this side of the Alps. Description 
cannot, of course, give an adequate idea of it, 
as Prof. Emmons in his work embraced in the 
great geological report of the State says of the 
scenery, ‘It must be witnessed, the solitary 
summits in the distance, the cedars and firs 
which clothe the rocks and shores must be 
seen, the solitude must be felt, * * * the echo 
from the thousand bills must be heard before 
all the truth in the scene can be realized.’ ” 
The prophecy of 1849 has been abundantly 
fulfilled—the pleasure and profit of the historian 
shared by unnumbered thousands. Would that 
his grateful appreciation might be so wide 
spread and manifest that the land and power 
grabbers, ravagers of nature and robbers of the 
people, would be forced to hide themselves in 
very shame! Juvenal. 
