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JuLy 20, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
2.59 

— 
pushed my boat up to the runway and secured 
the dog, glad to let the little family pass un- 
molested into the depths of the forest. After 
my first experience in the Adirondacks I al- 
ways preached, and on every possible occasion 
practiced what I preached, to kill no does, 
and not to kill a deer driven into the lake by 
dogs. 
During my entire sojourning in the Adiron- 
dacks, and camping in various localities, I 
never saw a snake of any kind whatever, and 
have talked with others conversant with dif- 
ferent portions of the wilderness, and been 
assured to the same effect. If I mistake not, 
it is also so stated by Colvin in some report 
made during his survey of the tract. This im- 
munity from annoyance, or being suddenly 
startled from such cause, one who has camped 
in a snake country can fully appreciate. It is 
also a desideratum that such a state of things 
exists in the beautiful Adirondack region, so 
that ladies need have no fear or hesitation 
about camping or touring. The worst pest of 
these woods is the hedgehog, or porcupine, 
and no camp is safe from their depredations, 
as their greed for salt or salted pork will 
tempt them to invade even an occupied camp. 
A funny incident occurred at Smith’s Lake 
during our stay there. A gentleman had oc- 
casion to leave the dormitory during the 
night, and inadvertently sat down on another 
occupant, which scared him out of his wits, 
and he roused the house by his yells. Jim 
Dunbar went to the -rescue, killed the quill- 
pig, and plucked some half dozen or so of its 
feathers from the gentleman’s anatomy. 
On one occasion, when I was on a still-hunt, 
I heard a noise that attracted my attention to 
the top of a hemlock, and discovered what I 
supposed were two bear cubs stretched out on 
a high limb sunning themselves, but after the 
frst shot, and one came tumbling to the 
ground, I found it to be a very large and very 
black hedgehog, and brought down the other, 
I shot a red fox one fall that had evi- 
dently tackled a porcupine, as his mouth was 
filled with quills, and so inflamed that it 
seemed impossible that he could eat. I as- 
sume that the quill-pig was the last meal that 
he had partaken of. 
La Mont was one day returning from a trip 
up the lake when he espied a large black bear 
going from him around a point ahead. Having 
his rifle with him, he hastily pulled his boat 
up in the bay, and, crossing the base of the 
point, came to the opposite shore and planted 
himself on a log with his back to a tree and 
awaited the approach of the bear. In a few 
minutes it came in view, and La Mont, aiming 
for the ear, was fortunate in bringing it down 
at the first shot. He had to obtain help to 
load it into the boat, brought it home, and 
skinned it out with ‘head and feet attached. 
We had bear meat, roasted and fried, for a 
change of diet. La Mont tanned and dressed 
the skin very nicely, and obtained a good price 
for it from someone who wanted it for a rug. 
This was the only bear killed in that vicinity 
for some years, and was a fine specimen. 
On one occasion, as we came up the Beaver 
River from Dunbar’s, at Stillwater, we stopped 
for the night with “Old Man Harris,” the 
quaint and original trapper and hunter hermit 
whose habitat was on the South Branch, and 
who was always delighted when I would bring 
him a package of Forest AND STREAMS, and he 
would read and re-read until he knew most of 
the articles “by heart,’ as he said. In the 
morning, as we were eating breakfast, the 
doorway was darkened by a man, dirty, un- 
shaven, and with clothes torn to tatters by the 
brush, with a wild, haggard and hungry ap- 
pearance, who asked for something to eat. He 
sat down and ate ravenously, until I told 
Harris he had eaten all and more than 
ought. We then tried to question him, but 
his replies were incoherent, and we soon saw 
that he was demented. It was evident that 
he had been wandering for some time in the 
woods. We tried to start him down the trail 
that led to Dunbar’s, but he would not go that 
way, and went up the trail toward Muncie’s. 
Andrew and myself soon followed by boat, 
also. 
he~ 
and on arriving at Muncie’s found the man 
had arrived and partaken of another hearty 
meal, and had just started on up the carry 
toward Albany Lake. As the trail there ter- 
minated, and he was going further into the 
heart of the wilderness, we concluded to make 
another effort to save him; and another 
sportsman, volunteering to go with me, we 
went hurriedly over the trail, and, overtaking 
him, I clasped my arms about him and held 
him while my companion searched for any 
weapons, but the poor fellow had nothing 
whatever. We quieted him, and assured him 
we meant no harm, but that he could not go 
further in that way, and must go back with us 
so that we could send him out of the woods. 
We finally led him back to Muncie’s and 
locked him up in a room. I paid Muncie for 
his keeping until next morning, when my 
sportsman friend was going down the river 
with his guide, and had agreed to get him as 
far as Dunbar’s, and, if possible, out to Fen- 
ton’s. I never learned how far they took him, 
or what became of him. There was nothing 
about him to establish his identity. 
Whenever I have read accounts of wild men 
in the woods I have thought of this poor fel- 
low, and wondered who he was and what be- 
came of him. He had no means of securing 
game or fish, and could only subsist on the 
cranberries, blueberries and raspberries that 
he might pick when chancing where they 
erew. By the way, there was a bulbous spicy 
root that Andrew used to find, and added zest 
to our fare very much. It had a radish flavor. 
He called it “crinkle root.” Do any readers of 
this article recognize it, or know its botanical 
name? If so I would be glad to know. I 
think by cultivation it would prove a valuable 
addition to the kitchen garden. 
On the next to the last day of my stay at 
Smith’s Lake, in November, I wanted to get 
a deer to take home, and the woods being too 
noisy for still-hunting, I was constrained to 
try to see what success I could have with a 
young dog of La Mont’s that had been run- 
ning with an old dog, but never kept the trail 
to a finish. La Mont said he would be very 
glad if I could get a deer before him, but 
doubted whether it could be done. Andrew 
and I took him with us in the boat, and, cross- 
ing the lake, went up the river to Mud Pond, 
at the foot of which was a runway crossing 
the outlet and leading down from the moun- 
tain at the head of the pond, about three- 
fourths of a mile distant. I took my stand 
under a tamarack in the open, about ten rods 
from the runway, and Andrew, with the dog, 
went on up to the mountain, and, as good luck 
awaited, he had not gone but a few rods be- 
fore he jumped a buck, and the dog was in 
full cry. Circling about the mountain, he came 
down the runway, and as he sprang into the 
open to cross the outlet, I got in two shots 
before he had crossed into the woods, and, 
running up, found blood on the snow just as 
the dog came out. As he scented the blood it 
seemed to set him wild. He rushed into the 
woods. and in a moment came upon the deer, 
which had lain down, and as it arose caught 
it by the hip and took out a bit of hide, caus- 
ing the deer to bleat, and turn back toward 
the outlet, where I remained, and as he broke 
from the woods with the dog at his heels, I 
shot him in the neck and he fell dead before 
me. I hastily cut his throat and the dog eag- 
erly lapped the blood. 
In the meantime Andrew returned, and we 
hung up and dressed the deer, and having fed 
the dog on warm liver, we carried it to the 
boat and returned. It was the making of the 
dog, as I afterward learned that he proved a 
good one. The next day we started out, and 
at the foot of Albany Lake, and at several 
places in the river, we had to “bounce the 
boat” to break our way through the half inch 
of ice that had formed, and found it warming 
exercise. 
A word as to matters that concern the 
sportsman. [For footwear, the best and easiest 
that | have found for a rough tramp in the 
woods was a moccasin-bottomed hunting boot 
that laced up above the-knee. It had a low 
heel, and when two pairs of woolen socks 
were worn was easy to walk in, and the foot 
would turn water, so that in going over a wet 
carry one never had wet feet. Keeping them 
well greased, they were also. excellent in the 
snow. In hunting, or in going over a Carry, 
or anywhere with a rifle, I always carried it 
with the muzzle pointing at an angle of about 
forty-five degrees toward the ground. An- 
drew used to say I. was one of the most care- 
ful men with a rifle that he ever went with, 
and that he never had any fear when on the 
trail with me, as he had had occasion to with 
some men. My gun was never cocked unless 
I was about to use it. When in a boat, if I 
was in the bow facing to:the front and on 
watch for game I held it, but when not ex- 
pecting to use it and seated in the stern the 
rifle was unloaded and laid in wooden hooks 
at the gunwale. One cannot be too careful, 
and should bear it in mind at all times. My 
gun was always cleaned with vaseline and 
brush, then thoroughly wiped out, and a light 
coating of vaseline given as a finish, and never 
allowed to go over night without cleaning. It 
was always as bright and smooth as possible. 
Many ducks breed in the Adirondacks. They 
should never be disturbed during spring and 
summer, and it would become a good ducking 
ground in the fall. All through our journeys 
we found many localities frequented by them, 
and it was always interesting to see the broods 
of young ducks as half flying, half paddling, 
thev followed the old one when disturbed. 
There are some people who appear unable 
to restrain their desire to shoot at anything 
living, whether fit to eat or otherwise, whether 
in or out of season, and I have been frequently 
provoked to find such shooting at these young 
broods. May the time soon come when all 
spring ,and summer shooting will be pro- 
hibited, as also all killing of does, and of deer 
driven to water. 
Fond recollections’ of days sweetly passed, 
In memory linger while life shall last; 
And chief among those that teem in my brain, 
Of which my muse would sing gladsome refrain, 
Are wanderings made through lake, stream and wood, 
Of views from mountains, when clouds lift their hood, 
Scenes of more grandeur than pen ‘can describe, 
Nor painter portray the landscape so wide, 
With valleys and hills all covered with trees, 
A beauteous study of color in leaves; 
And charming waters of lakes, ponds and streams, 
That glisten like silver in the sun’s beams; 
Where timid deer are oft seen on the brink, 
When at morn and eve they stray forth for drink, 
Or feed on the lilies fringing a nook 
Near the entrance of some pearly trout brook. 
Tree-covered islets, like emerald gems. 
Set in rock-girt shores that the forest hems, 
Look strangely weird in those beautiful lakes, 
Where nature appears in fantastic shapes; 
But grander yet in those far-reaching views, 
The passing clouds, which as the sun pursues, 
Seem to form in the shades that move below 
The passage of waves lit up by the glow; 
Constantly changing while one gazes 0’er, 
F’en as billows rush to a surf-beat shore. 
Ah, the rare echoes my cornet would wake 
When I played it on some mountain or lake, 
the vast wilds with my faithful guide, 
tract so wide; 
As through 
Long tours were made o’er the 
And in memory’s store are names‘and faces 
Of true sportsmen met at various places, 
Whose kindly greetings and welcoming hand 
Proclaimed them brethren of the genial band 
Who love dog and gun, the rod and the camp, 
And welcome extend to all of that stamp; 
And the hours quickly pass with tale and joke 
As about the camp-fire all lounge and smoke; 
Both the days and the nights seem much too short, 
With ‘all who are fond of such woodland sport. 
For the lover of nature unsurpassed, 
This primeval forest should ever last, 
And provision made ere itis too late 
To preserve it forever by the State. 
That our descendants may have cause to praise 
The wisdom that would such gratitude raise. 
*Tis easily reached and there’s room for all é 
Sportsmen or tourists, with means great or small; 
Or one who: like Nessmuk, so good and so true, 
Camped, carried and “paddled his own canoe.” 

