816 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 19, 1910. 
A Thanksgiving Turkey. 
In November a few years ago I was visiting 
my uncle in Kentucky. There were a few wild 
turkeys to be found, and they were fat and nice, 
though they were very hard to kill because they 
were so wild. As I was to stay about three 
weeks I took with me a fine long range twelve- 
gauge shotgun, expecting to get a few squirrels 
and rabbits. 
Three days before Thanksgiving my uncle told 
me where a gang of wild turkeys used, although 
they were so wild that no one could get with¬ 
in range of them; I resolved to try for a turkey 
for Thanksgiving dinner. Therefore in the 
morning I persuaded him to go squirrel hunting 
and show me the place where they roosted, so 
just at daylight we started. 
About three miles up the hollow we came upon 
a gang of squirrels in a hickory. I got three 
and he got one, as he only had a muzzleloading 
rifle. We found the turkey roost and from ap¬ 
pearances they had roosted there the night be¬ 
fore. I studied the place well, so that I could 
find it again, as I expected to come there be¬ 
fore daylight. 
The next morning just at four, while the stars 
were still shining, I started, traveling fast, yet 
when I got there it was light enough to see that 
the turkeys were gone, although there were signs 
that they had been there the night before. On 
the way back I got three squirrels and then and 
there I resolved to get a turkey for next day’s 
dinner. 
That night I went to bed early, intending to 
make an early start on Thanksgiving day and 
not wait for breakfast, but despite my intentions 
uncle called me before I' awoke. I sprang up, 
dressed hastily and went out to find breakfast 
ready. It was just a quarter to three. No one 
else but uncle was up, and he had made break¬ 
fast. He did not believe I could get within 
range of the turkeys, but he wanted to humor 
me, he said. 
Arrived at the top of the ridge, I traveled as 
fast as I could. In some places I ran, so eager 
was I to get there before the turkeys left. When 
within 200 yards of the roost I began to ad¬ 
vance cautiously, for fear they would become 
frightened and fly away before I got even a shot 
at them. 
The stars were fading. I struck a match and 
looked at my watch; it was just a quarter after 
four. My heart bounded with elation. Maybe 
1 was not too late after all. Nearer and nearer 
I crept until I was within a hundred feet. I 
softly opened the breech of my gun and slipped 
a shell in, then crept forward, finally dropping- 
on hands and knees, fearful that I would make 
some noise. Suddenly I stopped and listened. 
Not ten feet away as it seemed to me there burst 
out a “Keouk, keouk.” I could hardly control 
myself. I crept up behind a log and looked into 
the trees I knew they were in. I could see them 
quite plain, five of them, and they looked big. 
Aiming at what appeared to be the biggest, I 
fired, then threw out the empty shell and put a 
new one in while the smoke cleared. With a 
fluttering of wings a heavy body hit the ground, 
and although I heard the rest of the flock sail 
away, I knew I had got one at least. Part way 
down the hill a great gobbler lay, kicking his 
last, the largest turkey I had ever seen. To 
know that he was mine was worth all the trouble 
taken to secure the grand prize. 
Picking him up I started for home. He was 
no light load, but I arrived just as the family 
were eating breakfast. My gobbler weighed just 
thirty-five pounds and was the last one killed 
around there. Robert C. Reese. 
The Smartweed Club. 
Omaha, Neb., Nov. 12.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Nebraska is to have still another big- 
shooting preserve and game sanctuary. Doc 
Breed, of theatrical fame; Henry Keating, Ed¬ 
ward Peterson and James Freeland, business men 
and capitalists, have leased what are said to be 
ideal grounds for the purpose in Eastern Ne¬ 
braska. They have also purchased 180 acres of 
island land in the Platte River, nine miles south¬ 
west of the legendary old village of Papillion. 
These islands are formed by Buffalo Creek and 
the Platte River. The latter at this point is con¬ 
siderably over one mile wide and dotted with 
numerous sandbars, which have just enough 
cover on them to form the most natural blinds 
for duck and goose shooting. The proprietors 
have been out a number of times this fall and 
have never failed in having most excellent 
shooting. 
The Buffalo, flowing as it does under cover of 
this series of islands, makes a grand place for 
canvasback and redheads on a stormy day. 
There are over three miles of sloughs at this 
point along the lowlands and this fall they, have 
been fairly infested with jacksnipe and yellow- 
legs. The fact is, in twenty years we have not 
had such jack shooting in Nebraska as we have 
had this fall. 
The club, which is called the Smart Weed, has 
erected a commodious log shooting lodge on the 
main island, but only for temporary convenience, 
as', it will be replaced next summer by a hand¬ 
some stone and brick structure. It will be fur¬ 
nished with all modern accessories and will be 
the most complete sportsmen's club house in the 
West. 
The smaller islands in the Smart Weed chain 
are simply a tangle of thick brush, vine and 
pampas grass, and are a great habitat of the 
quail and rabbits. The lower islands, some six 
or eight in number, are to be totally surrendered 
to the birds as a sanctuary. There will be no 
shooting at any time from any of these, and no 
shooting of any description at any time on any 
part of the preserve, Sundays, Mondays and 
Thursdays. 
Engineer Highsmith, on the Union Pacific, re¬ 
ports that a fine large white-tail buck had been 
run over on the morning of Nov. 4 by a Denver 
& Rio Grande engine on Marshall Pass, and the 
carcass was brought into Omaha. The killing 
of this buck is indeed a strange happening. 
Usually the deer keep from any spot traversed 
by the railroad. 
While hunting along the Boyer River, west of 
Honey Creek, last Friday, Howard Wolf flushed 
six swans from a deep water hole and killed one 
of them, a fine male. 
William Kirkley, a Gothenburg sportsman, 
killed nine Canada geese in one evening last 
week on the flats below his ranch, and a week 
ago, in his cornfield, he killed a big sandhill 
crane, weighing sixteen pounds. 
In a bag of birds brought in from the Platte 
by Wade Johnson this morning was a black mal¬ 
lard, or dusky duck, a bird only rarely encount¬ 
ered in this section of the country, although one 
or two duskies are reported every season. 
Speaking of these non-visitants, I remember 
while shooting up on the Lake Creek marshes 
a few years ago with the Hon. Charles Metz 
that a flock of ruddies, never molested out here, 
came into our decoys with a pure white one 
among them. They lit too far out of range and 
finally, when Mr. Metz took a shot at a passing 
mallard, they rose and flew away, only to return 
shortly, however, and settle down still further 
from our blind. We were anxious to secure this 
particular bird, as albinos are rare in the duck 
family, and determined to make the effort. We 
rigged up our boat with tules, like a floating 
battery, and Metz sculled me down upon the 
flock. It was great luck, but I got the white one 
when they rose at long range. 
Again while shooting on a pond in Fillmore 
county with Ray Welch last spring, I saw an 
old squaw in a flock of passing mallards, and 
although we had frequent glimpses of it through 
the day, as the same flock passed up or down 
the lake, we were unable to get a shot at it. 
That was the only old squaw I ever saw west 
of the Allegheny Mountains. 
Sandy Griswold. , 
Treacherous Lake Kenai. 
Louisville, Ky., Nov. 7 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: I have just read in one of your recent 
issues notice of the drowning of two hunters in 
Lake Kenai, Alaska, during October. I am not 
surprised at the tragedy, for it is a most treacher¬ 
ous stretch of water. It is over twenty miles 
from its head at Roosevelt to the outlet into 
Kenai River and not much wider than the upper 
Mississippi River, the greater part being a veri¬ 
table canon. Entered at either end, there is no 
landing for miles on account of precipitous 
rocks. It is the great highway for sportsmen 
hunting the giant moose, Dali wild sheep and 
the big brown bear, and a warning in time may 
save other lives. 
During the fall of 1909 I went down Kenai 
in a dory to Juneau Creek, where I had good 
moose stalking. I was the better part of a week 
accomplishing what would be a day’s journey 
under ordinary conditions. Twice I was driven 
ashore by the whitecaps. There was not a cloud 
in the sky as big as a pinhead, but nevertheless 
the air currents surged through the canon like 
a first class gale, making navigation impossible 
or extremely hazardous. Natives as a rule are 
familiar with the danger either from hearsay, or 
sad experience of friends or companions, and 
are timorous, but incautious visitors are liable 
to run chances that are more dangerous than 
they appear. It is said that the unfathomed 
depths hold the secrets of many tragic deaths. 
The lake is surrounded by rugged mountain, 
carrying much snow and ice in a fine, big game 
country, practically unsettled and intensely cold 
in winter. This gem of the Alaska Alps is like 
the proverbial rose with the danger masked in 
its superlative native beauty. 
Brent Altsheler. 
All the game laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Laws in Brief. See adv. 
