618 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 22, 1911. 
The Use of Game. 
Albany, Ore., April 5.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: I am interested so far as this State 
is concerned only in the question of beaver and 
elk. 
I am opposed to the protection of beaver in 
this State for the reason that great damage has 
resulted to the farmer and stock men of Oregon 
by these—I might say—pests. The damage far 
exceeds the benefit derived from the skins. In 
Oregon elk should be protected for twenty years. 
They are very scarce. The idea of domesticat¬ 
ing these animals does not appeal to me as practi¬ 
cable, for the reason that when they are domes¬ 
ticated they become like the cow—lazy and of 
no interest to the sportsman. 
These are the ideas I have of the situation in 
Oregon. J- W. Baker. 
New York City, April 15. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: My opinion, gradually formed, seems 
at the present moment to be fairly well 
fixed. It is my belief that game should be raised 
for the market by individuals or corporations 
so disposed, and that such game should be sold 
freely, as it is in other parts of the world. It 
seems also desirable to have game sent to mar¬ 
ket from localities where protection has allowed 
a great increase. 
Having stated these two points I would qualify 
them by saying that the time is not yet ripe for 
any such disposition of game, and our legisla¬ 
tion in various States is not adapted to the plan. 
I seem to feel that we must shut down the mar¬ 
ket absolutely in every State for every sort of 
game for a certain period of time, wiping out 
at one stroke the mesh of legislation with its 
loopholes occupying larger space than the thread. 
We can then begin all over again, upon an en¬ 
tirely new basis, which will allow game to be 
again sent to market for public consumption. 
Keeping game out of the market has probably 
been a necessary step in the evolution of the 
subject, and requisite before we could take the 
next step in advance, that of allowing the sale 
of certain kinds of game under proper restric¬ 
tions. Close seasons for a period of years have 
been worse than useless in some instances which 
have come under my observation for two dif¬ 
ferent reasons. 
When an area has been protected for a term 
of years, the balance of nature is maintained by 
an increase in the predatory birds and animals 
which live upon such game. When, at the end 
of a certain number of years, the area is open 
again to sportsmen, so many go to that par¬ 
ticular point that the balance of nature is very 
much disturbed. A large proportion of the game 
is killed off, leaving the vermin out of propor¬ 
tion, and the large proportion of vermin then 
proceeds to wipe out the small stock left by the 
excess killing of sportsmen. Keeping game out 
of the market is only partly successful, and does 
not comprehend the whole question, which must 
always include attention to the increase of preda¬ 
tory birds and animals. 
It is probable that in the end we shall follow 
in America the plan which has been adopted in 
older countries, of making a business of raising 
game, which will be sold freely in the market 
under proper restrictions. 
Robert T. Morris. 
Game in the City Streets. 
Lockport, N. Y., April 11 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: This morning Maurice Blumenthal, 
civil engineer, engaged on the barge canal here, 
brought to me a Wilson snipe that he found 
under an electric light. It had probably flown 
against the light during the night. I have sent 
it to the taxidermist to be mounted. A moment 
after I had dropped the package in the postoffice, 
as I was leaving the building, a cottontail rabbit 
came across Main street and passed within ten 
feet of me on the cement walk. It did not seem 
to be frightened. As it came opposite me it 
turned and crossed Elm street, took the cement 
walk until it met two boys who tried to catch 
it, and then took to the pavement until they 
passed from sight. J- L. Davison. 
SEAM 
n _ 
tSe t mm 
-^ 
A Day With the Trout. 
Tiie startling ring of the alarm clock caused 
me to reach peevishly forth in the inky black¬ 
ness, and having at last found the offending in¬ 
strument, cram it under the pillow until the 
whirring mechanism had finally run itself out. 
A look outside revealed the faintest glow just 
perceptible above the eastern horizon. The 
lamp lighted, I was soon clothed in fishing togs 
—and optimistic hopes. 
Breakfast was finished and the inevitable 
lunch, thoughtfully provided the night before, 
crowded into the capacious rear pocket of the 
canvas coat as real daylight dawned. Gathering 
up my paraphernalia, I opened the door quietly 
and strode forth into the anticipatory atmos¬ 
phere of that day among days—the opening day 
for trout. 
What mattered it if the top came from the 
can of worms and my pocket became a minia¬ 
ture garden bed; enough that I was at last on 
the trail to the brook. Longingly I had 
watched its rise and fall for the past few weeks; 
with impatience I had checked off each day on 
the calendar in an effort to speed the time to¬ 
ward this auspicious morn. 
The scent of the arbutus- came to me from 
the sandy patch of woodland beneath the pines, 
the spring call of mating crows sounded from 
reddening hillsides; the fuzzy buds of verdant 
willows advised me of the arrival of spring, and 
the skittering of an awakened water spider 
across some roadside pool reminded me that 
the insect world was resurrected, and that on 
such a day the trout should bite. 
At length I received the laughing invitation 
of the beloved brook. What anticipations— 
born of blessed memories—the soft, soothing 
sound of the babbling stream awakened in me! 
Impatiently I forced my way through the in¬ 
tervening thicket of laurel and rhododendron 
until, rod in hand, I stood at last by the side 
of my woodland idol. I noted with approval 
the increased depth of the pool to the right; or 
again, with some concern, the extension of that 
offending bar to the left. What! could it be 
possible? Yes, as sure as fate, a trout rose 
just below me, and my peaceful reminiscences 
gave place to feverish activity. 
The little rod, so carefully oiled and tended 
through the long winter months, was soon 
joined together; the same old line, having been 
carefully tested the day before, was hurriedly 
run through the guides; a grass-color leader 
and tempting fly, of style and variety to please 
the individual taste, was quickly tied on, and 
drawing up my waders, I stepped into the water 
—and paradise. 
The first chill of the stream electrified my 
blood and put vigor into every nerve and 
muscle as I worked carefully along close in¬ 
shore toward the exact spot where I noticed 
that alluring rise a moment before. The sun 
was now above the hilltops and I stole forward 
a foot at a time, careful to cast no shadow on 
that promising circle of dark water. My boots 
found firm footing on the gravel bottom and 
everything seemed propitious for the first strike 
of the season. How the thought of it thrilled 
me! Rod in one hand, line in the other, I 
moved toward the desired spot until at last 
within casting distance. It was fairly open 
overhead and risking a forward throw, right 
in the center of that still pool fell the tempting 
fly; but there was no response and the tense 
nerves relaxed somewhat with the recovery of the 
line. It was rather early for this style of fish¬ 
ing, but I was out to beat old records and had 
never before taken a trout with the fly this 
early. Besides, I distinctly saw that rise when 
I first reached the brook; so again the attempt 
was made. 
Ziz—the taut line cut through the water as it 
circled the pool, fast in the first trout of the sea¬ 
son. The pliant rod bent warningly as the gamy 
captive darted about, seeking cover. By quick 
work he was turned from a submerged tangle 
of driftwood toward which he had cunningly 
headed. Down the stream he went and I dared 
not check him, for I would not have lost him 
for a hundred dollars just then. He zig-zagged 
toward the opposite shore and I fearfully “ap- 
