Forest and Stream 
Terms, $3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1911. 
t VOL. LXXVI — No. 25. 
1 No. 127 Franklin St., New York. 
Camp-Fires on the Florida Peninsula 
By C. A. V. 
I N one of those charming books written by 
ex-President Roosevelt, reference is made 
to the Peninsula of East Florida as “the 
land of the cypress, palmetto and live oak, of 
open savannas, of sandy pine forests, and 
impenetrable, interminable morasses.” No¬ 
where in so few words can be found so com¬ 
plete a description of the topography of this 
land of fruit and flowers—a land of which so 
much has been written and of which so much 
yet remains untold. 
Ages ago the briny waters of the Atlantic 
rolled where now stretch those limitless pine 
and palmetto-studded plains, for sea shells are 
found everywhere in the loose white sands. 
When the waters receded a race of Indians 
came and made the peninsula their home, leav¬ 
ing us mute reminders of their presence in the 
shape of huge shell mounds, in structure re¬ 
sembling the earthen mounds of the Ohio 
Valley. Skeletons and pottery have been found 
in great quantities, the former sometimes in 
long rows and face downward. 
Ponce de Leon first set foot on the East 
coast in 1513, and the first settlement was be¬ 
gun at St. Augustine long years before the 
vessels of the Dutch or Puritan fathers fur¬ 
rowed the waters of the Hudson River or 
Plymouth Bay, but in spite of this early settle¬ 
ment, the more southern portions of the great 
peninsula were until a late day as darkest 
Africa to the major part of our people. The 
Rockies, the great plains and the vast, gloomy 
forests of the far North were long ago ex¬ 
ploited by hunters and campers, while Florida 
with her many attractions was neglected, but 
those days are now past. The beautiful lagoon¬ 
like expanse of Indian River, Lake Worth and 
Biscayne Bay—those long ago haunts of buc¬ 
caneers and wreckers—now echo to the chug- 
chugging of the motor boat, while the sailboat, 
too, is still in evidence. Back from the settle¬ 
ments and railroads the camper may still find 
peace and quiet and freedom from convention¬ 
alities. This is still the country of the cowboy, 
the ’gator hunter and the Seminole. 
Here in the South as elsewhere, the fondest 
memories of life in the open are centered about 
the camp-fire. Here again are lived over the 
events of the day and here also you make your 
plans for the morrow. The joys of the day 
come back to you a hundred fold, while the 
vexations and disappointments vanish and are 
forgotten in the genial glow of the fire. Fred 
Mather once said that in referring to his note¬ 
book on one occasion he was surprised to find 
that during a certain trip “the mosquitoes were 
of large size, of great subcutaneous penetration 
and in vast numbers.” His mind had retained 
no recollection of mosquitoes at all, but he could 
very easily recall the pleasant incidents of the 
IN THE LAND OF PALMETTO AND CYPRESS. 
trip, and so it is with us all—the discomforts 
are forgotten but memory fondly restores all 
the roses to the utter exclusion of the thorns. 
Nevertheless, the Southern camper has dis¬ 
comforts aplenty at times. Mosquitoes thrive 
in Eastern and Southern Florida and often at 
night you must choose between choking your¬ 
self with a smudge, smothering under a blanket 
or being devoured alive by the pests unless you 
have the foresight to always carry along a piece 
of netting. 
Bad water is a great discomfort at times to 
those hunting big game on the dry prairies or 
flat woods sections. It is not a bad idea to boil 
all your drinking water during a camping trip 
in the wilds. Impure water, warm weather and 
mosquitoes are bad when combined, but add a 
spell of sickness caused by drinking impure 
water and your misery is complete, so it is al¬ 
ways well to be careful. Medical supplies 
should always be taken on a camping trip. 
1 hey take up little room and you never know 
when they may be needed. 
All discomforts, however, are well repaid by 
the pleasures you have in outdoor life and not 
the least of these pleasures is the preparing of 
the evening meal after a hard day in the field. 
Then there is the glorious camp-fire, fed with 
knots of resinous pine, flickering and sending 
tiny sparks heavenward. The embers glow and 
die away as you watch them dreamily from your 
soft blankets. Your companions moving about 
throw weird hobgoblin shapes upon the dark 
wall of forest trees which rings you round. 
Fancy is given free rein and you are soon lost 
in thought, then sleep. When you awake the 
fire is out, only a few coals remain to mark 
the place where it has been, you feel cold and 
damp, your companions are all asleep and you 
roll up tightly in your blankets, feeling just a 
trifle foolish and for just what reason you 
hardly know. 
The camper in the Florida flatwoods is sub¬ 
jected to great extremes in regard to water. 
Sometimes the entire country is flooded with 
six inches or more of water and campsites are 
at a premium, while again you are obliged to 
dig for water. The following is the story of a 
trip during one of the periods of overflow: 
One fine November evening a few years ago 
with four companions and two dogs I set out 
in a two-horse wagon to enjoy a few days’ 
outing in the wilds. We took along a large 
tarpaulin which we intended to use in lieu of a 
tent, but it rained almost constantly, and it did 
not answer the purpose very well, making it 
a wet camping experience indeed. 
Water was encountered before we were a mile 
from the settlements, and through water we 
floundered for four or five miles. It was hard 
work for the horses, and so we halted for the 
night. Next morning the march through the 
water was resumed and by noon we were on a 
high sandy, spruce-covered ridge and there we 
decided to camp. For a wonder, no rain fell 
