



NATIONAL 
SPORTSMAN 
is a monthly magazine cram- 
med full of hunting, fishing, 
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ceipt of $1 
NATIONAL SPORTSMAN MAGAZINE 
281 Newbury St. 
NATIO 
SPORTSMAN 










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HOFMANN 
TAXIDERMIST AND FURRIER 
Mounting with real expression 
Reads for rugs, scalps for mounting. 
989 GATES AVE., BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
THE OUTER 
A Hat That Fits 
the Great Outdoors 




the only part of man’s outfit that 
I ast, 
in tes Be We have con- 
has been nondescript was his hat. 
sulted with many outdoormen—the result is the 
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Made in the color (Nutria) that blends with all the 
natural surroundings. 
The Rummel! Hat, tif Johnson St., Newark, N. J. 


Est. 1873. Circle size desired. 
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If you weigh under 160 Ibs. order 4% x 2% 
If you weigh over 160 Ibs. order 4% x 2% 
Enclose money order or bank draft for $7.00 cr 
Hat shipped C, O. D.-if desired. 

satisfied 
Money refunded if not 


























for a whole year on re- 
Boston, Mass. 









open woodlots and gravel barrow pits, 
places to camp away from all the 
others, depending on a water can for 
the night’s supply, and perhaps a 
picked up fence post or telephone pole 
end for firewood. 
The old days when “everybody vio- 
lated the game laws” have gone by. 
The spectacle of law makers, of court 
judges, of clergy, of sportsmen, of the 
butcher, the carpenter and the leading 
citizen setting the pace in the direc- 
tion of game and fish violations has 
faded rapidly into the limbo of things 
well forgotten. Thus a good many 
things that were appropriate thirty 
years ago are no longer of avail nowa- 
days. 
We always did know that the best 
we obtained in the outdoors was a 
memory. The great heads which we 
brought home so proudly, and had 
mounted to hang on the dining room 
walls were trophies, but the trophy 
faded into a mere memory, and it has 
often happened that the most vivid re- 
collection, the most stirring thing of a 
forest experience was not the thing we 
killed but the game we did not kill. 
This I know is the common experience. 
In my own memory, what was for 
years a humiliation, an easy shot 
missed, came after a time to be easier 
on my conscience than some of my most 
prideful successes. What I obtained 
was soon gone; what I lost I found be- 
yond the power of any one to take 
away from me! 






















Heads, animals, pics aug a 
mounted, skins tanned and made ns 
into rugs and Jadies’ furs. “ee USED to pack around a ten or fif. 
heads, fur rugs, ete., for sale. List. 
Taxidermists’ supplies. Open mouth teen pound camera outfit. Now my 



camera is a vest pocket, 2% by 3% 
inches, and another, but slightly larger, 
a 3% by 4%. The smaller one, with 
a good lens, gives me memory trophies 
by the hundred. The camera is always 
in season. One steals what harms no 
one with it. How I envy those sports- 
men whose pictures show their hunting 
skill, taking live moose, live deer, live 
foxes—all kinds of live game! I have 
had no time to go after such specialist 
game, but that field opens wider and 
wider as the No Hunting Allowed signs 
spread over the land. 



One should shoot his camera with ut- 
most recklessness as regards number of 
times. I don’t mean a roll of film or 
two rolls of film on a trip; I mean two, 
three, five or even ten rolls of film a 
day! I take few enough pictures and 
confess with something like regret that 
I took only eight hundred exposures on 
my first continental trip. I estimate 
that an adequate photographic record 
of an automobile tour would require, 
from ocean to ocean, about 10,000 films 
exposed. No one takes that many. But 
no one ever does all that he could or 
should! I just remark that a dozen or 
two dozen pictures a day is about the 
minimum of representative memento or 











In writing 

to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 
It will identify you, 
note pictures on an auto tour. And I 
have found, month after month, that 
for brief, long-hand, or portable type- 
writer notes in journals (loose leaf for 
typewriter) anything less than 500 
words is baffling, and that 2,500 words 
a day will keep the day’s events ade- 
quately recorded, so that ten or twenty 
years later the words bring back the 
conditions and experiences fresh in the 
memory. However, photographs and 
notes both—a score of one, and about 
1,000 words of the other—do better 
than even 2,500 words a day. 
But the notes and picture records are 
in greater measure absolutely essential 
than one would believe without ex- 
perience to preserve the experiences 
fresh in mind. The memory cannot 
bring back the exhilaration of a spring 
day on a good road—however tremen- 
dous the inspiration of the moment. 
Actual adventures, even deadly peril it- 
self, lose their edge after atime. Turn- 
ing back to my three score pounds of 
note books, I come upon pages long 
since forgotten, an open camp in five 
feet of snow with the frost twenty de- 
grees below zero, a day when the ice 
broke under my snowshoes, the faint- 
ing weariness of hunger, cold and ex- 
haustion at the end of an all day tramp 
in loose snow—the memory fails, but 
the written page brings it all back, 
fresh, vivid, in detail, everi to the deep, 
sore drag of the pack basket straps 
over the shoulders and against the col- 
lar bone. 
If one travels for any purpose, it is 
experience; adventure teaches! But if 
one forgets? What avails the most 
thrilling, tremendous and splendid mo- 
ments of life, if, in the myriad of trivial 
and unimportant affairs, the great 
hours are lost to our dreams? ' 
Of all travel—the record, kept from 
day to day becomes, as the years go by, 
the most precious of all mementoes. 
And surely, the hour given to the jour- 
nal is the one for which we make our 
trip. 

“Tramp” 
(Continued from page 594) 
| 






every few seconds to listen for my dog, 
as I could hear nothing from him, and 
I knew he was hunting. Half an hour 
passed, and far away, it seemed half 
a mile, I heard his fretful “hoo-e” as I 
he “struck,” and turning off on a bridle 
path that led toward him I struck into 
a canter. This was his first tryout, 
and I could not leave him in the woods. 
A S I cantered along I could tell by 
the quickening “hoo-e hoo-e, hoo-e 
hoo-e” that the dog was unwinding the 
rambling trail of the fox, and soon the 
cry changed to the full vibrant, “hoo- 
000, hoo-oo” of the running dog, and 
