A Whiff of Nature. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
My backwoods friend was anxious to take a 
run up to Horn Lake, Adirondacks, to try some 
early trout fishing. It was midnight about the 
last of April that we left Northwood with a 
work horse which could make at least two miles 
an hour. 
There is something mystical about night in a 
thinly-settled region. As the old horse plodded 
along, the intense darkness pressed upon us. 
Our thoughts harked back to ancient fears, I 
suppose, for there seemed to be something wild 
and savage in the air. The crash of a wheel on 
a rock contrasted hideously with the stillness. 
Only a violent jar of the buckboard brought 
one to his senses. 
Finally the blackness became gray and the 
freshness of early morn was upon us. The un¬ 
certain thoughts which in our ancestors pro¬ 
duced real and vivid images, slunk from us. 
Then as the whitethroat began its plaintive 
song, the ex-guide began to talk. He told of 
men he had guided, of the life in a former gen¬ 
eration, and of the life history of the woods. 
The natural history of guides must be closely 
scrutinized. They jump to conclusions. What 
they see an animal do once they are likely to 
take for granted that it always does the same; 
and yet they are full of hints and ideas that on 
investigation prove to be true. What books 
some of them could produce if they took notes 
and had the scientific spirit. 
We swung into North Lake, put out our 
horse and were soon gliding with firm stroke to 
the inlet. Here the shallow bottom glistened 
with thousands of pieces of fool's gold. They 
were spread there on the sand by the torrent 
that gushed from the woods. 
We followed trail, gutter and skidway and 
were led by blazes; sometimes, it would seem 
by instinct. How differently had spring touched 
the forest from the manner it had caressed the 
clearings. Only chickadees, juncos and the usual 
winter birds were to be seen in the woods. In 
the swamps three feet <?f snow yet blanketed the 
ground. On the northern slopes the snow was 
still deep; on the south side buds were swollen 
by the warm air. In the woods the lower 
branches leaf first and finally the topmost 
limbs. It is curious to see a tree having quarter¬ 
sized leaves on the lower branches, while the 
buds in the top are scarcely swollen. A temper¬ 
ature zone of two weeks’ difference is expressed 
from the top to the bottom of a tree. The 
moderate zone is at its foot. 
In spite of the warmness on the floor of a 
forest, why is it that there is always more snow 
in the woods than in the clearings? It is al¬ 
ways deeper and lasts longer in the woods. It 
isn’t because the branches shade the ground, 
though that helps some in the hardwoods and 
very much in the swamps. It is cozy and warm 
in a hardwood when it is cold in the clearing. 
One would think that this would take off the 
snow faster than in a clearing. The explana¬ 
tion, to my mind, is that the snow in the clear¬ 
ing is evaporated by the wind, while the forest 
snow must melt almost entirely by sunlight and 
rain. It is surprising to leave a cold wind-swept 
pasture bare of snow and enter a hardwood, and 
there find the sun beating down warm upon 
two feet of snow. It seems to prove that wind 
is more powerful than sun in removing snow. 
That snow does constantly evaporate in freez¬ 
ing weather is shown by animal tracks. A fresh 
track is sharp, an old track is dulled by the 
wearing away of snow particles. The lower the 
temperature the longer does a track appear to 
be fresh. It has the appearance of freshness in 
the woods longer than the same track in the 
field, where the wind blows. An experiment 
can be made to prove that snow evaporates in 
freezing weather. A wef cloth frozen stiff will 
dry in temperature below 32 degrees. 
An occasional deer track led across the snow. 
Once we came upon a bear track. It was two 
or three days old and the sun and warm air 
had melted around the edges, so that it had 
grown to about twice its former size. What a 
monster sprang up before the imagination as 
we looked upon the great track! 
We arrived at the lake and found in the camp 
eight or nine Remsen Welshmen, all named 
either Jones or Hughes. We threw up a brush 
shack, made some tea backwoods fashion, and 
then floated out on the raft into the lake. Our 
success was not marvelous, although we caught 
a couple of fair sized trout. One end of the lake 
was frozen over, hence we inferred that we were 
too early in the season. The trout were not 
biting and hadn’t been. Our brush camp was 
not comfortable, and Bill wanted to return. It 
is the nature of man to be moving. 
Long before we reached North Lake we 
noticed the cool, fresh air of the water. This 
is frequently noticed in the woods. Soon we 
were gliding over the glistening iron pyrites out 
into the lake. 
It was a short trip—a mere whiff of nature— 
yet it is remembered along with those of greater 
duration. Eldridge A. Spears. 
Starling in Connecticut. 
New York, May 11 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: Last week I had the good fortune to 
spend a day in the country, something that I 
have not been able to do for many years, dur¬ 
ing the warbler season. 
On two or three occasions I saw a Cooper's 
hawk, rather an unusual species at the locality, 
Milford, Conn. 
What I wish especially to speak of, however, 
is the fact that I saw here a single starling, the 
first I have ever noted at that place. Here in 
New York and in many outlying districts round 
about, and eastward at least as far as New 
Rochelle, starlings are pretty common, but I have 
not known of them in a purely farming coun¬ 
try. Some years ago you printed much about 
the starling in America, but I have not been able 
to look the matter up. Is it spreading rapidly 
into the country districts? G. 
A Plea for Clemency. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Of all the recreations known to me the only 
one which continues to hold its charm and 
grows rather than diminishes with the passage 
of years is the quiet and harmless pastime of 
observing all outdoors. I do not pretend to be 
a scientific naturalist; in fact, find it almost 
impossible to subject a specimen to the rigid 
scrutiny of the microscope, yet I never grow 
tired of gazing at a certain pool containing with¬ 
in its quiet depths the gently waving stems of 
the golden club. A dozen times a day there 
passes across my mental vision the vignette of 
an incomparable dingle, just now ablaze with 
marsh marigold. 
I can feast my eyes upon the wondrous flanks 
of a brace of trout until night sets in and heaven 
has swung her million candles. In former years 
I approached a stream to fish, trembling with 
suspense, and so excited that my wavering 
fingers could hardly slip the leader loop upon 
the line; but now, having absorbed some of the 
wonderful calm of Mother Nature herself, who 
never hurries except with a certain majesty of 
pace, I often find myself after sitting down to 
assemble my rod, allowing the minutes to slip by 
one by one, while I gaze upon the landscape 
or the windings of the brook, sometimes until 
the hours for fishing are past. I am wont to 
throw myself down bodily, so that I may gaze 
into the heart of a flower or watch a bumblebee. 
Where formerly I stalked the rabbit my 
present pleasure is to catch the long-eared fellow 
at his continuous meal, and where, in former 
days, I would have been sure to set a steel trap 
for the weasel who dwells in yonder rock pile, I 
now recognize his equal right to life, liberty 
and. the pursuit of happiness. 
In shooting, who has not felt the sharp twinge 
of his conscience upon picking up the riddled 
heap which, a moment before, had been a bundle 
of life and animation. Who has not realized 
that the fulfillment falls far short of the antici¬ 
pation. How often have I regretted, and still 
how often has the lure of the chase led me on 
to err again. A bird on the bough .is a source 
of universal pleasure; in the bag he is so much 
dead meat and feathers. Shooting seems to 
come natural as climbing to a small boy, but the 
history of clay bird shooting proves that shoot¬ 
ing and killing do not necessarily go hand in hand. 
No less harmful thing can be imagined than 
the little gartersnakes whose severed bodies I 
often find in the roadways during my country 
rambles. As for myself, the very squirming of 
the worm upon the hook detracts from the 
pleasures to be found in early fishing. Ah! 
How often have I wondered how many people 
would go angling if fish and bait could audibly 
express the agony they so plainly endure. 
The growing tameness of the American robin 
shows the result of living in amity with our 
wild creatures, and all parents should instil into 
their children true love of flowers, birds, reptiles, 
insects and animals. Gus. Strothmann. 
