330 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March 4, 1911. 
ing on the film. The tree is interesting, for its 
dead branches, gnarled and twisted into almost 
human semblance by long years of contest with 
the winds, remind one of the dwarfed evergreens 
of Japan. 
The last mile of the tramp is by moonlight, 
and by the time the trolley is finally reached 
again, we are willing to admit that for exercise, 
as well as general interest, the Palisades in 
winter possess advantages peculiarly their own. 
[For a number of years it has been the custom 
of a small group of Hudson River canoeists to 
visit Green Brook on Sundays in winter, when 
the river is closed or filled with floating ice. 
They meet at the West 130th street ferry about 
9 o’clock, cross the river and walk to Buttermilk 
Falls, on Green Brook. Just above the cascades 
in a grove of hemlock they build a fire, prepare 
tea or coffee, and eat lunch; then, after resting, 
return to their homes via the same route, or 
follow the footpath under the cliffs. It is a 
walk of more than fifteen miles, much of it up 
and down if the river route is taken. Fair days 
and rough days find them on these outings, each 
equipped with a pack containing food, tiny cook¬ 
ing utensils or cameras. Sometimes the snow 
is deep or the wind bitter, but they love their 
Palisades in all nature’s moods, and the elements 
do not frighten them. They are of the hardier 
set of canoeists who, in summer, have come to 
be week-end fixtures alongshore and on the river, 
but in winter they are sometimes whimsically re¬ 
ferred to as the Blistered Heel Association be¬ 
cause in inclement weather this long tramp— 
the short winter days considered—is disastrous 
to beginners. —Editor.] 
The Otter. 
For the last time, the name of Manly Hardy appears in 
Forest and Stream. This article on the otter was 
finished but thirty hours before he died, and less than an 
hour before he was made to take to his bed. He left 
nothing else prepared, no notes, and no journals from 
which any one but himself could have worked. These 
are his ultimate words. 
Begun when he was in his usual health and worked 
upon leisurely, a few pages at a time, it was finished 
under sharp pain and with the full anticipation of death 
coming soon. Yet no one but myself could tell at what 
point in it he decided that he was doing his last work 
and made haste to finish it. Up to the last word, it is 
the otter that he is hunting, and his only care is to 
leave some trustworthy information about its habits. 
The night before he died I was with him, waiting 
upon him, and among other directions which he gave 
me was the instruction to go to his desk, where I would 
find the concluding pages of this sketch. He had not 
wanted to leave it unfinished, and he worked upon it up 
to the last moment. He had left off where he did, he 
said, wishing to consult me as to whether to add some¬ 
thing about the great extinct mink and otter of the 
Maine coast, which he believed to be different species. 
I considered his own condition, and advised him that 
he had already once, some time ago, given Forest and 
Stream an article upon the seashore mink and otter, 
which seemed to be sufficient. 
“Except for that, is it done?” I asked. 
“Yes, all done. When you typewrite it, make any 
changes you wish to and send it in as my last con¬ 
tribution to Forest and Stream.” 
Here it is as he wrote, save only the minor changes 
always required in reducing hasty manuscript to a 
printable form. Those who would understand my father 
may read here the way in which he always faced death 
and danger, and will better understand that to those who 
knew him it was the omissions in his tales of personal 
adventure that were often the most significant parts of 
his relation. 
“Let others frame their creeds—mine is to work; 
To do my best, however far it fall 
Below the keener craft of stronger hands; 
To be myself, full-hearted, free and true 
To what my own soul sees, below, above; 
To think my own thought straight out from the heart; 
To feel and be, and never stop to ask: 
‘Do all men so? Is this the world’s highway?’ 
To look unflinching in the face of life 
As eagles look upon the noon-day sun; 
To cut my own path through primeval woods; 
To lay my own course by the polar star 
Across the trackless plains and mountains vast; 
To seek, not follow, ever till the end. 
And for the rest—bare-handed have I come 
Into this world, I know not whence nor why. 
Bare-handed and alone and unafraid, 
With heart of fire and eyes that question still, 
Will I go forth into the wide Beyond, 
As went the men who bore my blood of old 
To Eblis or Valhalla nothing loath.” F. H. E. 
One of our most interesting animals, and one 
concerning which very little reliable informa¬ 
tion can be found in books, is the otter. While 
otter are found in most parts of the United 
States and Canada, they vary very little in size, 
though those from the west coast average a 
little larger than those from New England and 
Canada. Otter from Maine and the Provinces 
are from four to four and one-half feet in 
length and usually weigh from eighteen to 
twenty pounds, twenty-five pounds being an ex¬ 
ceptionally heavy weight. 
While not gregarious in the sense of collect¬ 
ing in large numbers, still I know of no other 
of our fur-bearing animals, except the beaver, 
which is so seldom seen solitary, and no other, 
not excepting squirrels, which sp'end so much 
time playing together. Two or three are seen 
together as commonly as one is seen alone. 
Often four or five are seen in company, and I 
have known of seven. When swimming, one is 
usually in the lead and the others follow in 
his wake with short intervals between each, 
and when their backs roll out of water as they 
swim, three or four will often look like one 
body thirty or forty feet in length. The seeing 
of several swimming in this manner has un¬ 
doubtedly given rise to the stories often re¬ 
peated in our newspapers of large fresh-water 
snakes being seen in our lakes. Usually if the 
one in the lead sees or smells anything sus¬ 
picious, he will raise his head and neck a foot 
or two above the water, looking very much as 
the head of a large snake would look, and as 
the others dive when he does, people not used 
to otter are not to blame for thinking they 
have seen an immense snake. This belief is 
further strengthened by seeing places in flag 
beds or on marshy points where it looks as if 
heavy bodies had been dragged. These places 
are made by the otters sliding over them. 
There is one habit which many writers men¬ 
tion. This is the sliding for amusement. This 
otters indulge in at all seasons and in many 
different situations. Sometimes in winter when 
there is a little snow on the crust, they slide 
for rods on the crust where the land is nearly 
level. At other times, in summer and fall, they 
slide down banks only two or three feet above 
the water, or sometimes where the bank slopes 
for twenty to thirty feet, or sometimes in winter 
down banks of snow, and I have once seen 
where they slid down a bank of pure white sand 
which the spring freshet had heaped up ten or 
twelve feet high. In sliding they throw their 
forefeet back over their shoulders and slide on 
their breasts. Whether they ever use their 
hind feet to propel themselves in any cases is 
more than I can be positive of; but I once 
followed two of them more than two miles 
across a nearly flat bog and they slid fully half 
the way. There was a light snow on the crust, 
but I could not see any evidence of their using 
their hind feet when sliding. They will often slide 
on a flag bed where the water is only a few inches 
deep. I have watched two otters slide across 
a flag bed ten or twelve feet wide, one coming 
out of the water about the time that the other 
went under, and repeating this scores of times, 
going so swiftly that it looked as if an endless 
chain of otters was being hauled across it. 
While most animals occasionally quarrel with 
each other, I have never heard of otters being 
seen fighting together, and in handling some 
thousands of their skins I have never seen any 
evidence of their biting one another. I have 
seen two mink, which are a near relative to the 
otter, fighting like bulldogs, and our snow-shoe 
rabbits often fight like cats, but if otters ever 
quarrel with each other it must be very seldom. 
This is not because they are not willing to 
fight with other animals or with men, as I have 
known of several men being badly bitten by 
them. Sometimes when attacked they give a 
sharp scream, somewhat like the scream of a 
mink, only much louder. This and a noise they 
make when they are calling each other are the 
only noises I have ever heard of their making, 
except that I have heard of one snoring when 
asleep, and when one rises out of the water and 
smells a person he will snort or blow very 
much as a seal does. In fact, in many ways 
they resemble seals, especially in the way they 
will rise up straight in the water with head and 
neck exposed, and in the way they rise with a 
fish in the mouth. 
Otters will sometimes whip a large dog in a 
fair fight. I know of one case where there was 
a large bulldog with a lumber crew. The land¬ 
ing sawyers heard him all the afternoon bark- 
