[June i, 1907. 
856 
Woodcock Ways. 
Doniphan, Mo., May 25 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: Ripley county in southeast Missouri is 
one of the counties lying north of the State 
of Arkansas. A portion of the eastern and 
southern edges of this county contains a vast 
area of wild swamp land, while the central, 
western and northern parts are composed of 
rough hills, covered with yellow pine and some 
of the different varieties of oak. 1 he swamp 
lands of the east and south are inundated sev¬ 
eral times each year by the overflow from 
the Little Black River, a small twisting stream 
that vainly attempts to carry off the annual 
rainfall, but its incapacity for this work is at 
once evident when the heavy downpours be¬ 
gin. So it overflows into the lowlands adjoin¬ 
ing, causing a dense growth of swamp trees, 
and' sloughs and ponds covered with impene¬ 
trable elbow brush. 
Here and there the saw-mills have cleared 
small tracts, only to abandon them, for poor 
facilities for shipping and the difficulties at¬ 
tendant on getting out the logs are often too 
costly a matter to encourage further attempts. 
These abandoned clearings have grown into 
a mass of tangled green brier and elbow brush, 
where even in the driest years the ground is 
covered with water. Adjacent to this are 
dense hazel thickets of great height. While 
all these conditions of swamp country have 
partially defied the hand of man, they have 
furnished a home for woodcock, one of the 
few places left where man seldom molests 
them. The native hunters and trappers who 
frequent these sections, consider them as 
mighty poor game upon which to use their 
ammunition. When turkeys and squirrels can 
be secured without effort, why should any one 
waste a shot on these “wood snipe,’ as they 
call them? So the long-billed worm-hunter 
breeds and increases as long as he clings to 
the sunken lands. I11 spring and fall, during 
the periods of heavy rain, the woodcock move 
to the hills, and usually are found in the hol¬ 
lows, generally on the north side of some hazel 
thicket, where, if the usual supply of mud 
worms is inadequate to his demands, a meal 
of cut worms is often assured. That the latter 
appeal to his taste is manifest, for many 
mornings, just as the sun begins to jump over 
the eastern treetops, I have seen him venture 
to the farm lands—especially the cornfields— 
and gorge on cut worms, the warmth of the 
day soon driving him back to his home of 
hazel and May-apple. Early in fall, upon the 
first approach of frost, these brown mysteries 
of the woods follow the native hogs, for the 
latter possess the faculty, with their indus¬ 
trious rooters, of preparing a feeding ground 
for the birds. A slight freeze does not deter 
his hogship, for his powerful snout will bring 
to the surface worms that would otherwise 
have been inaccessible to the woodcock. Be¬ 
fore preparing for their southern flight in 
fall, they begin to frequent the open, gener¬ 
ally selecting a field of ragweed that is inter¬ 
spersed here and there with sedge or creep 
grass, their favorite food being found near 
the surface during the warm part of day, and 
the dense tufts of grass form a good shelter 
from the cold winds. Some mild winters, like 
the one past, they do not migrate, but re¬ 
main at their old stamping ground, only to 
resume in spring their family cares once more. 
In the past fifteen years, I have never seen 
a human being hunting woodcock here. The 
enormous quantities of quail among the farm 
lands appeal more to the average sportsman 
than the cover shooting on the latter, though 
frequently they are killed out in the quail 
country. Game birds are seldom molested 
here by visiting sportsmen, for generally when 
they do come, they are after deer in the 
pineries north of this section. The big 
meadows that are made by the ranch lands in 
the bottom section are so full of jacksnipe 
that the more arduous task of woodcock shoot- 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
ing is neglected, and only those that venture 
into the open grass lands fall a prey to the 
snipe hunter. 
Truly no sport appeals more to the heart of 
the wing shot than woodcock shooting, d he 
use of a thoroughly trained dog is not only 
a pleasure but a necessity. Thoroughly stanch 
on point and to shot, together with perfect 
control, are the essentials, together with re¬ 
trieving, that bring the game to the hunter. 
Nose is an important item, for the long-billed 
fellows are adepts in the art of hiding, second 
to no bird in existence. Range is not a neces¬ 
sity in a woodcock dog, but rather the con¬ 
trary; bird sense, sufficient to know the likely 
places that should be hunted without being 
directed, are great helps to a dog, for, not¬ 
withstanding the opinion of many, the sound 
of a human voice or strange noise will cause 
the object of your pursuit to hide well enough 
to defy your best dog to find him. I recall 
one instance when hunting with a friend, and 
conversing while working the dog through a 
favorite flat, was surprised by not getting a 
single point. Fifteen minutes afterward the 
dog was worked through with silence on our 
part, and we drew twelve birds over ground 
that was apparently barren on the first trial. 
In the early season, while leaves are still on 
the thickets, belling the dog is resorted to. 
But later on, it is seldom necessary. 
Woodcock shooting gives opportunities for 
the highest class of brush shooting, and the 
pleasure of stopping some birds in zigzag 
flight through a dense thicket is seldom 
equaled by any in the open. No matter where 
the dog has pointed, the woodcock flushes in 
the unexpected direction. While his cousin, 
the jacksnipe, may have swifter flying powers, 
one is seldom required to overcome the diffi¬ 
culties of brush between you and the bird as 
when shooting the former. The question of 
merit, from an epicurean standpoint, leaves 
about everything in favor of the woodcock. 
Loch Laddie. 
Otter Hunting. 
London, England, May 7 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: In common with many English sports¬ 
men of my acquaintance I look forward with 
much pleasure to the arrival of Forest and 
Stream week by week. The articles on sport, 
nature and Indian life, which appear in your 
publication, are both excellent and refreshing. 
Seeing that Americans are, generally speak¬ 
ing, such rattling good all-round sportsmen and 
devoted to field sports, it seems passing strange 
to me that the grand old English sport of otter 
hunting is not pursued by our American cousins. 
I believe there is no dearth of otters on the 
rivers and streams of the United States, notwith¬ 
standing the trappers’ inveterate persecutions, 
and what little I know of your waters prompts 
me to suggest that they could be easily hunted 
by otter hounds. There would be no difficulty 
in importing a “test” pack of otter hounds from 
Great Britain; indeed, I feel sure that our M. 
O. H.s would be only too glad to see their 
favorite sport established in America. Ten or 
twelve couple of old fashioned rough coated otter 
hounds, or foxhounds (some M. O. H.s swear 
by foxhounds) are all that are required to hunt 
this game animal, and although an ardent fox- 
hunter from boyhood, I contend that the “shaggy 
beauties” show the finest hound work in the 
world and their “music” is simply grand. 
Then, again, otter hunting is a sport within 
the reach of men and women of small means, 
“shank’s mare” being the only “mount” neces¬ 
sary. Master Lutra often leads his pursuers 
through the most lovely river and sylvan scenery 
imaginable, and finer or more health giving exer¬ 
cise than a run with a pack of otter hounds 
could not be found. In short, otter hunting is 
a sport which should appeal to all _ American 
sportsmen fond of the chase, and their name is 
legion. J Mortimore M. B. Durham. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any nezvsdealcr on order. Ask your dea'er to 
supply you regularly. 
Days at Hemlock Lake. 
Dansville, N. Y., May n .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: My whole year in a large degree hinges 
on the 15th of September. Everything I do, and 
all engagements that I make, are largely in refer¬ 
ence to leaving that date and the following fif¬ 
teen days absolutely and entirely my own; so 
that when that morning dawns I am as free and 
untrammeled in my movements as my eleven 
year old boy when vacation breaks. 
For the last two years my friend Theodore 
has been my partner and co-enjoyer of the claims 
of Comfort Cove, but last year, alas! stern fate 
drove him to take up his abode in another State, 
so I was left to choose another companion. I 
cast about among my friends in vain. Most of 
them had been to Hemlock Lake in the height 
of the season, when the hotels and cottages were 
full, and did not care to risk the loneliness and 
possible wet and cold of September. So I began 
to think I would have to go alone. 
One day a bright thought struck me. “I will 
ask my wife,” and I did. “Why certainly, I’ll 
go,” she answered. “I have been waiting for 
you to ask me. The children can take their 
meals out, Mrs. G. can stay at the house nights, 
and I can go just as well as not.” And then 
she added: “This is the 10th, you know, and 
we have been married just twenty-two years to¬ 
day, and in all that time, while we have been 
about a great deal, we have never been abso¬ 
lutely alone. Either children or relatives or 
friends have been with us, and I really think a 
few days all by ourselves will do us both good.” 
Of course I agreed, and in due time we were 
surrounded by nature in her autumn dress, with 
the forest clad mountain stretching away at the 
back of the cottage, and the lake lapping right 
up to the porch. With our boats always ready 
for an excursion, an abundant and varied larder 
at our disposal, what wonder that the scroll of 
twenty-two years rolled back again, and we were 
once more the boy and girl of 1872. 
One day we had set aside to make an excur¬ 
sion to Springwater, a little village three miles 
from the head of the lake and five from Comfort 
Cove. There were a few little purchases to make 
and the pedestrian spirit was upon us. At 9 
A. M. the breakfast things were cleared away, 
the cottage put in order, and under a benignant 
sun we started on our two mile row for the head. 
We might have gone directly across and struck 
the highway on the east side leading direct to 
Springwater, but I had an idea I would find a 
footpath leading across the valley above the head 
and intersecting the Springwater road at a point 
about two miles from the village. We rowed 
leisurely along skirting the shore and peering 
inquisitively into the thickets for some new sight 
in nature. Then we dragged our boat out of 
harm’s way on the beach and taking our basket 
followed the foothpath leading in a southerly 
direction across an old pasture. Soon a fat 
mushroom was gathered and placed in the basket 
as a starter. Then the path merged into a farm 
lane leading by a lot of old barns crammed with 
marsh hay and a deserted farmhouse in excellent 
repair. Near the house we found loaded apple 
and pear trees, and right overhanging the path 
was one particular fall pippin that had yielded 
to the ground a lot of fine yellow fruit “suitable 
for pies and apple sauce, and doubtless provi¬ 
dentially placed for that purpose,” said my wife, 
and we decided we would be no better than our 
first parents when we came back. Attracted by 
some white objects in a neighboring field we 
climbed the fence only to find mush balls instead 
of mushrooms. Soon the path turned abruptly 
to the east and made directly across the valley, 
crossing the inlet on a plank bridge and finally 
bringing up in a barnyard beside the Springwater 
highway. Here we found an old gentleman 
digging potatoes and after exchanging a few 
pleasant words with him and apologizing for 
trespassing on his land we struck into the main 
road. The track was perfect and we started off 
blithely, overtaking soon two men, both past 
middle age, well dressed, and evidently well to 
do farmers walking to town. We found that 
one was from Michigan here on a visit to his 
old friend with whom he had grown up in this 
valley forty-five years ago and had not seen since 
