Oct. 9, 1909 ] 
569 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
came in and expressed much relief at finding 
us safely in camp, as they feared we would 
try to return in the darkness and get lost. 
“You fellows must have had a tough night,” 
1 said Joe. “Oh, we have seen worse,” replied 
Mr. Johnson. Quite likely, though I do not 
seem to recall the occasion. 
Somewhere about Renous Lakes or Bamford 
Brook I called every night and morning for a 
week without getting an answer. By that time 
I was losing faith in my ability to call a moose, 
but now I know I was calling too early in the 
season. Guides like to get their parties in 
early to make the hunting season as long as 
possible, but my experience and that of prac¬ 
tical hunters with whom I have talked indicate 
that Sept. 20 is as early as success can reason¬ 
ably be exp'ected, and from Sept. 25 for a week 
or ten days is the very best time for calling in 
New Brunswick. The time allowed for our 
stop at Renous Lakes being passed, we turned 
our faces homeward, coming out by easy 
stages, till on Sept. 25 our camp was made only 
nine miles from Coldpaugh’s, at a point where 
a stream joins Renous River. 
The last night for calling had arrived. If 
success did not come at this time the trip 
would prove a failure, so far as moose hunt¬ 
ing was concerned. Our men told 11s of a small 
meadow on this stream near our camp, and 
here I went to call. Joe went with me to this 
meadow at about half-past four and it was an 
ideal evening for calling, still and cool. By this 
time continual calling morning and night for 
ten days had made my voice strong and clear 
and tone sure. 
At the foot of this meadow beavers had at 
some time long ago built a dam, and as a re¬ 
sult, there was an open space 200 yards long 
and 100 yards wide fringed with alders, and 
back of these was a thick growth of spruce. 
The mud-bottomed stream flowed quietly along 
one side of this meadow, and I called from the 
bank opposite, so that most of the meadow lay 
before me. A short distance above my station 
two branches of the stream came together and 
itheir alder-grown valleys stretched away. As 
no answer had come by 5 o’clock I suggested 
to Joe that he go back to camp and get sup¬ 
per ready, but at the first call after he left, a 
moose answered from far up the thickest of the 
alder runs. 
Faintly came that unmistakable sound—some¬ 
thing like the barking of a dog in the distance 
—something like blows with an ax, yet in its 
time and tuning not quite like any other sound, 
and once heard, not easily forgotten or mis¬ 
taken as to its origin. When a moose thus 
answers from a distance it is well to im¬ 
mediately call once or twice, in order that he 
may accurately locate the caller, and moose do 
this with wonderful certainty. This moose ap¬ 
prised me well of his coming, and his re¬ 
sponses might be called a continuous perform¬ 
ance. The answers grew louder and more dis¬ 
tinct, and then came the noise of great antlers 
tearing through bushes—of a great body com- 
mg through blow-downs and splashing through 
-vater. But fast faded the light, and it seemed 
t" take a long time for the beast to get 
Trough the alders. Sometimes the bushes 
’eemed to hold him, and then he would tear 
Trough with a sound of rending branches and 
°me on again. At length he answered from 
just back of the edge of the meadow and about 
150 yards away. 
Remembering the injunction of my teacher 
in this art—“Don’t call too much when the 
moose is handy by”—I at first gave no call, but 
stepping into the brook, stirred the water with 
my feet like an animal wading and poured water 
from the moose-calling horn. This did not 
start him, probably because he did not hear it— 
so very reluctantly, fearful of a false note, I 
gave a low call. Instantly he answered and 
started again, coming to the edge of the 
meadow, perhaps 100 yards from me. 
All this had taken about an hour, and the 
darkness of a moonless night had come on so 
that in this low ground I could see scarcely 
■anything. Again I stepped into the brook and 
tramped and again the moose started. This 
time he came fast and noisy. I saw indistinctly 
a black object swinging across the meadow, but 
when he stopped as he did twenty yards from 
me before a black background of alders and 
spruces, moose and woods were one black 
mass. Moose grow very bold in darkness, and 
the noise of his roaring was most satisfactory, 
but shots aimed at a noise are very uncertain. 
This then was the situation: alone in the dark¬ 
ness, standing knee-deep in mud and water 
under a bank reaching to my waist and twenty 
yards away on the meadow a great moose 
roaring and grunting with excitement. Here 
was my moose, called sure enough, but how 
was I to get him? And how I did want him! 
If he would come close enough his body would 
show against the sky line above the trees and a 
shot would hardly miss. Again I stirred the 
friendly water and again the moose started. 
But he had just a little caution and instead of 
coming directly on, circled and entered the 
brook about fifty feet above my position. This 
made the situation no better, and after a little 
time he worked back in the direction from 
which he had responded to the call, still 
answering as he withdrew. 
Mr. Johnson had returned to camp from a 
stillhunt when I came in, and around the camp¬ 
fire we talked over the incidents of the call 
and made plans for the morrow. At earliest 
dawn we were at the meadow. The experiences 
of the evening before, with so much calling, 
lying in wet grass, and wading in the brook 
showed in the hoarse and broken voice in 
which the moose was coaxed to return. After 
a few trials I threw the horn down in dis¬ 
couragement and saying, “Let us see where 
the moose stood last night,” led the way down 
the brook to a better crossing, about fifty yards 
below. Passing over the stream and up the 
“Up with the lark” fails to cover our situa¬ 
tion, as long before this often referred to but 
seldom encountered songster had forsaken 
the fragrant seclusion of his leafy covert, we 
were seated on a substantial stone fence at the 
top of the hill in the rear of our camp, waiting 
other side of the brook, we came to where the 
moose had stopped for some minutes the night 
before. Just a little beyond this stood a stack 
of old hay that had been cut on the meadow, 
and coming from behind this ahead of Mr. 
Johnson, I looked up the meadow whence the 
moose had come the night before, and behold! 
there was my moose in full view about seventy- 
yarefs away. Only those who have seen a full- 
grown bull moose at his best in the autumn 
know what a grand animal he is. This one 
stood over six feet at the shoulder and carried 
well above this height a heavy, symmetrical set 
of antlers. Black, glistening, and well rounded, 
stood in the morning light on the open meadow 
before a background of green alders the em¬ 
bodiment of strength and wild beauty, the 
finest product of the wilderness and nature’s 
perfect work., Two quick shots from my rifle 
and another from Mr. Johnson's as he ran, and 
the moose was gone. 
Our hearts sank within us as we found no 
blood in searching the direction he had taken, 
but not for long, for there came a sound of 
great smashing from a knoll of small spruces 
nearby. Instantly our rifles were cocked, and 
we stood back as far as possible from the 
woods, expecting to face a charging wounded 
moose. But presently all was still, so we 
ventured in the direction of the spruce knoll 
and came on a trail of blood. The men at camp 
who had heard the calls, the shooting, and the 
noise the moose made, now came up, eager as 
hounds to take the trail, but we made them go 
back to camp with 11s to breakfast, and after 
an hour or so, our whole party with rifles, 
axes an<J knives, went back to the trail. It 
mattered not in this case how soon the trail 
was followed, for within a few rods of where 
we first found blood lay the moose, and the 
noise we heard was the breaking of dried 
spruces as he fell. 
Of many days of wild country sport, this day 
stands out in the clearest and most pleasing 
light. Every sportsman who seeks big game, 
cr birds, or trout and bass, has some such day, 
the memory of which brings pleasant thoughts 
ever after. Since that day, I have called a 
number of moose, but this was the biggest of 
all and the first. As we had the team at the 
camp, it was an easy matter to get head, hide 
and meat out to Blackville the next day. At 
that time and in that section little attenion had 
been given to hunting moose, except in winter, 
and a good set of antlers was rarely seen in 
Blackville, so that this head attracted much at¬ 
tention. The general opinion, as expressed 
there, was, “Boys, boys, he a big one!” 
for the team, not the train. A team in Maine 
may be a vehicle drawn by one or half a dozen 
horses, but anything on wheels drawn by 
horses, oxen or mules is a team, and for this 
team we waited on the hillside. 
Away up in the mountains of Maine we sat 
The Ba.it Catchers of the Belgrades 
By J. CHARLES DAVIS 
