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How to Mount a Musky Head in 
the Woods 
HERE are few positions that can 
be worse than that of a fisher- 
man seven thousand miles from 
nowhere—with a fine string of nice 
fish, nobody but the guide to enjoy 
them with him, and verily, almost 
enough fish to feed the multitude. 
Such are a few of the torments of the 
Izaakians—and that’s that. 
Sometimes a fellow is lucky enough 
to find a guide with enough ingenu- 
ity and skill to mount any excep- 
tional fish heads that the vacation- 
ist might wish to take back as “the 
evidence in the case.” 
Well, my old friend Johnny Bear 
was just the kind of a fellow to 
get to help carry bacon rinds into 
the far North; the best kind of a 
companion for fightin’ skeeters or 
black flies; unequaled for carrying 
canoes or packs over rocky port- 
ages; and most of all, on mounting 
a bass or musky head with nothing 
more than a handful of salt, some 
clay, a pocket-knife—and lots of 
other things that he could pick up 
in most any part of the woods. 
Johnny Bear was a _ half-breed, 
French and Indian by nationality; 
the probable offspring of some 
squaw and her “courrier-de-bois” 
husband. This combination of for- 
bears only better suited the guide 
to his profession, for he could usu- 
ally find a good substitute in the woods 
for most anything a man could wish 
to buy in his own town back home. 
A stranger in the North just naturally 
likes to tie his canoe to such a star. 
Doc had gone into the lake coun- 
try for fish, and after getting the fish 
and their pictures he wasn’t satisfied. 
He wanted real trophies to take for 
the fellows at the club to gloat over, 
and for his wife to see and hang up 
by the rustic fireplace in his den. He 
did try taking some heads and skins 
back once for a taxidermist to mount, 
but the results—the colors, the form, 
the eyes—and the price were far 
from being natural. He told old Char- 
ley, and Charley helped him out of the 
difficulty. 
534 
Doc had caught the biggest musky 
he had seen in years. It was a rarity 
even for the old guide’s fish-accus- 
tomed eyes. 
“Mon dieu,” old Charley mumbled. 
“Me show how you fix heem for to 
take home.” 
That night beside the roaring camp- 
fire old Charley worked long and hard 
on the Musky’s head. With his knife 
he dug out every bit of fat and sur- 
plus flesh. He removed the eyes, the 

brains, and the muscles lining the gill- 
flaps and jaws. Then he rinsed it 
carefully in the cool, clear water of 
the lake. 
He placed the head a short distance 
from the fire that it might dry par- 
tially, but not fast enough to cause 
it to shrink or burn. Meanwhile, Char- 
ley had left camp, and disappeared in 
a group of trees a short way down 
on the shore of the lake. Pretty soon 
. he came back with a large ball of soft, 
plastic clay. 
The inside of the head was dusted 
with salt, which was thoroughly rub- 
bed in; the mouth was propped open 
with a stick, and bit by bit, the clay 
was pushed into the cavities where 
the flesh had been removed. The en- 
tire back portion of the head was filled 
with the clay, carefully patted and 
padded into place. Then the eyes 



were fitted with wooden plugs, cut 
from dead pine boughs, and to the 
size, form and shape of the natural 
eyes, perfect with the exception of 
the colors; the wood appearing blank 
and ghastly in the firelight. } 
As the clay dried before the fire, 
the shrinkage was taken care of by 
inserting more clay. At last the clay 
was a hard, solid mold fitting the in- 
side of the head, but not marring the 
open mouth by extending too far to 
the front. The head could shrink 
but little, if any. The eyes worried 
Doc, though. He didn’t like those 
lifeless pine plugs. 
The following day the old guide 
put the finishing touches to the 
eyes. He burned the black portion 
with a fork prong heated to a red 
heat in the fire. The colors he ob- 
tained by using the stain of some 
crushed roots and berries. The 
real eyes of the fish had been 
copied religiously, and Doc was well 
pleased. 
But the task was not yet com- 
pleted. At intervals when loafing 
about the camp, old Charley made 
the panel upon which the head was 
to be placed. A couple of flexible, 
well-trimmed branches, thongs of 
bark for lacing, and a sheet of 
birch bark removed from a recently 
fallen birch, completed the material 
requirements. With woodsmen in- 
genuity, the head was pegged and 
tied to its rustic mount. 
Doc had a real trophy at last, al- 
most rivaling the beauty of the living, 
fighting musky. He had the evidence 
—and old Charley had an extra ten- 
spot when they parted at the trail’s 
end. Doc put the finishing touches to 
his trail-made mount by dissolving the 
balsam gum, which old Charley had. 
given him, in ether; the solution be- 
ing painted over the head, bringing 
out the hidden colors in a magic man- 
ner. After two or three weeks, the 
prop was removed from the mouth. 
Now Doc leans back in his comfort- 
able old chair, puffs his black briar, 
and dreams over again the thrills he 
had the day he caught the stubborn, 
leaping, fighting mass of musky—and 
all for the mere looking the old demon 
