prohibit Sunday fishing, namely Penn- 
sylvania and California and I hope in 
the next two years there will be none. 
In my opinion, the Ministerial Asso- 
ciation is driving the sportsmen away 
from the church rather than getting 
them to come to church. 
I had an experience this summer: I 
was fishing in the Delaware and Chesa- 
peake canal at St. George, Delaware, 
one Sunday and a large yacht tied up 
just above where I was fishing. They 
had a large radio outfit on board, and 
while I was catching fish, I listened to 
a sermon from Philadelphia and I en- 
joyed it. ' 
It might be a good idea to carry a 
radio outfit with you on fishing trips 
just to get on the good side of those 
radicals who object to Sunday fishing! 
If you can suggest anything that 
will help us get Sunday fishing in this 
state would be glad to hear from you. 
GEORGE MUNDELL, 
Reading, Pa. 
Deer-Hunting in Arizona 
DEAR ForEsT & STREAM: 
O-DAY, as’in years gone by, the 
hunting of deer is the sport of 
kings, but with this distinction—the 
men are now kings—instead of being 
kings over men. The difference is that 
where once the ruler could go out upon 
his well-stocked reserve and kill any 
number of the animals with the aid 
of hounds, horses, and huntsmen; the 
real red-blooded man who hunts in the 
wilds of these United States to-day 
must have sinews to endure the hard- 
ships of the high trails on foot and a 
strong heart to stand the gaff. 
You who have killed your deer upon 
one of those high ridges, after a day’s 
hunting up and down the sides of rough 
mountains until your muscles have 
cried out from the way you have forced 
them long after they have been spent, 
you who have shivered in the early 
hours of a cold morning while waiting 
for the first streaks of dawn to show 
you that buck who has been calling out 
there in the pines; you who have shot 
that buck, tied his feet together, then 
packed him seven or eight miles down 
to camp: would you trade places with 
any king who has ever lived? How 
many kings could endure the privations 
of the trail and enjoy the rippling of 
their muscles—before they grow sore— 
and take delight in the toil? Why they 
were pampered children compared to 
the men who hunt the wild places of 
the mountain forests. 
Down in the Southwest, in Arizona, 
there are rough ranges of mountains 
rising abruptly up out of the desert. 
From a distance of thirty miles away 
they appear to be bare of vegetation 
and devoid of all animal life—just piles 
of rocks. The tourist who sees them no 
closer passes on with the firmly fixed 
impression that this dry desert is no 
fit place for a white man to live. But 
go up into the canyons, far up into 
their upper reaches, up to the springs, 
and above them. There ancient pines 
and firs rear their heads to God’s blue 
sky. High on the mountain tops thrown 
up in the midst of “The Great Ameri- 
can Desert,” as this Southwest is 
called, are forests that can be favor- 
ably compared with those of the north. 
The ravines and canyons are deep, 
dark, and quiet. They simply reek with 
the silences of the lonely places. The 
sides seem to be almost straight up and 
down, with barely a foothold. Yet 
there are little deer trails furrowed 
out all up and down these sides, one 
above the other. On the tops are found 
peaceful, open, natural parks. The 
brush is not as thick on the higher alti- 
tudes, although the timber cuts off long 
vistas. 
Here is the home of the white tailed, 
and the black tailed deer. Like ghosts 
they pass among the timber unless 
startled, then they are off with a crack- 
ling of leaves and twigs as startling as 
the flight of the mountain grouse. In 
these virgin forests it is hard to get a 
good shot at a running deer. Just 
when you have a nice bead on him—he 
has disappeared behind the trees, and 
you are cussing your luck. If you can 
find a trail leading to a waterhole, or 
spring, and have the patience to sit 
there for a few hours, it is very likely 
that you will see a deer. They always 
have to drink, so a spring offers an 
admirable spot to wait for “los vena- 
dos,” as the Mexicans call them. An- 
other style is to cruise around on the 
ridges and down on the sides of the 
canyons where a good view of the op- 
posite sides may be obtained. Often 
the noise of the stones under foot will 
send them scurrying up out of the bot- 
toms, presenting a fine, clear shot. 
This is one of the best methods of hunt- 
ing deer, particularly on open hillsides. 
Some hunters prefer to use a telescope 
from a comfortable position on top of a 
hill overlooking the surrounding coun- 
try. 
The pursuance of the most approved 
methods does not always bring success, 
however. The much-touted Lady Luck 
may be either with you, or “agin” you. 
Sometimes a fellow will be out several 
times during the season and hunt just 
as carefully and hard as he knows how, 
and not get even a chance at a buck. 
Usually there are plenty of does in evi- 
dence. They are just teasers. A last 
minute glance has often saved them 
when the finger is about to pull the 
trigger. Many of them are quite tame. 
Sometimes a buck will be lost because 
after a hard climb the hunter is all 
atremble from the exertion, and shakes 
as he pulls the trigger. A wild shot 
results—and “the biggest buck got 
away.” 
Glory to the successful hunter. May 
we all be as lucky. But more power 
to the gritty scout who wears the skin 
from his toes trying to come up with 

A bit of placid stream 
101 
