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( 


[Oct. 26, 1907 








| GANIE RAG AND GUN |f 


Turkey Hunting. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
When I was very small—too little to hunt 
alone—I often listened with awe to the stories 
of an esteemed uncle of mine who was con- 
sidered one of the most successful turkey and 
deer hunters in that country. I have always 
thought that he had too much regard for the 
wonderful sagacity with which turkeys are 
credited. It is possible that turkeys may possess 
a remarkable degree of intelligence, but I doubt 
it very much. I believe that any man who has 
had experience to speak of and possesses a cer- 
tain amount of patience can kill turkeys in a 
country where there are any to be found. ; 
One hunt of mine, my first turkey hunt, is 
dearer to my memory than any other. I was 
about nineteen or twenty years old and living 
with my parents in Johnson county, Missouri. 
One day Uncle Will came in to town and said 
he knew where some turkeys used, and if I 
would go home with him we would go after 
them next day. I did not hesitate to say yes to 
his proposition. I soon had my shells loaded 
and was off. <A ride of ten miles and we 
arrived at his home where I always got a hearty 
welcome and where I have spent some pleasant 
days. Riley, a favorite cousin, expected me and 
was at the gate waiting. He and I have taken 
many a long hunt together, and always worked 
as a pair, no matter who or how many were in 
the crowd. 
“Better stop your talking in there and go to 
sleep,” called my uncle as Riley and I lay abed 
discussing our plans; “you know we’ve got to 
get up early in the morning.” 
A knock on our door awakened us, and we 


looked out to see the ground covered with 
snow. Thrice welcome was it! Only 3 
o’clock and yet so light. After disposing of a 
warm breakfast and pocketing a lunch, we 
There were five of us, 
Uncle 
climbed in the wagon. 
George (also an uncle of mine), Abe, 
Will, Riley and myself. 
a five-mile ride to the hunting ground. 
Uncle Will and George started away together; 
Abe said he would “hog it alone,” and Riley 
and I went together. Everything was as we 
wanted it. An early start, a fresh fall of snow 
and no old tracks to fool us. 
We walked two or three hours and not a 
sign of a turkey. Another hour and yet no sign. 
We rounded a deserted field with no success 
further than seeing plenty of rabbits and a few 
squirrels, but we did not want to set the hills 
quaking by shooting such game. 
We were tired. Walking in a foot of snow 
four or five hours steadily and silently as pos- 
sible is not conducive to a hilarious feeling, as 
one grows hungry and cold. We built a fire, 
ate our lunch, rested and warmed ourselves. We 
were almost discouraged but started out with 
some hope of success. We walked two or three 
hundred yards, and found a turkey track, and a 
huge one. We had gone a quarter of a mile 
when the tracks of three other turkeys joined 
those we were tracking. One turkey would not 
satisfy us both, so we were glad to know that 
there were four turkeys in the woods. Just as 
we were ready to start again, we were 
chagrined to see George coming down the hill 
trailing the three that had joined ours, but as 
age deserves consideration, we let him go in 
advance. 
Thus we come to a bottom covered with a 
growth of hazel brush, grape vines and weeds— 
an ideal hiding place for game. A cautious ap- 
proach and George looked over a brush pile and 
saw the turkeys seventy-five or eighty yards 
away. It was impossible to approach nearer, 
and George saluted them with both barrels, but 
got nothing. We marked the direction they took 
It was 


and followed, George alone and Riley and I 
after a huge one I had spotted. We struck a 
lively canter and ran quite a distance, as we 
knew he would run a long way before he tired 
and tried to hide. His tracks indicated that he 
was getting tired, so we slowed up and proceeded 
cautiously. Every fallen treetop was closely 
scanned. The tracks led down hill toward a 
monster tree blown down during the summer 
and which still had its leaves on, forming a 
splendid hiding place. We both recognized this 
immediately and started to go one on each side 
of the treetop. I stooped to go under the body 
which lay three or four feet off the ground, 
when out burst the turkey. I dropped to get a 
view of him and fired one shot as he pitched 
down hill. We ran across the ravine and at the 
top of the next bluff found tracks where a turkey 
lit and departed in hot haste. A run of half a 
mile down the back bone of the hill and we 
found the turkey had flown. 
Sadly we retraced our steps, while I caressed 
a weeping eye through which a hazel brush had 
dragged, and we mused on what might have 
been. 
“What on earth are you fellows doing any 
way?” 
We looked up and there stood Uncle Will, 
giving us a rather tantalizing smile, we thought, 
as we remembered his caution as we left the 
wagon. We were not particularly glad to have 
him see us just then, as we came back panting 
and hatless. The best we could do was to tell 
him the straight of it, and as he was an ex- 
perienced hunter, may be he could help us out. 
At the risk of being guyed we even hinted 
that the turkey had limped as it ran away. 
“Are you sure you hit it?” he asked. 
“T think I did. I know that I tried awful 
hard.” 
“Well, step here and see what this is and tell 
ne how it got here?” pointing to a big gobbler 
lying in a hole which it made in the snow 
when it fell. How quickly I grabbed it up, ad- 
nired its beauty and guessed at its weight. 
“Here,” said Riley, “you’ve got your turkey. 
Mine has just gone over the hill and is on 
the other bluff. Come along and we will get 
1im, too.” 
We separated seventy-five or one hundred 
yards apart in order to cover more ground. 
We followed the tracks ten minutes when we saw 
the turkey rise in open ground 150 yards away. 
We marked the direction and hurried on, found 
the tracks and followed briskly along the top 
of a broad, flat ridge. We had taken only a 
few steps through the tall grass when the 
turkey rose twenty-five yards away, but directly 
between me and the sun. Quicker than thought 
my gun went up, a flame of fire leaped out and 
was answered by the thud of the turkey as it 
fell. 
“Confound you,” said Riley good-naturedly, 
walking over and picking up the turkey, a young 
hen. He took the gobbler and made me take 
the hen weighing only about one-half of his 
load, and we set out for the wagon four or five 
miles away. “I am glad you got them if I didn’t 
get any,” said he; “you got them both, and that 
is just as good.” 
“No it isn’t,’ I answered, “you claim that 
you killed one and I’ll stand by you.” 
“No you won't. You killed them both and 
you've got to have the credit for it.’ And he 
was as good as his word. 
I got due credit, even more than I deserved. 
Riley insisted that both shots at the turkeys 
were above the average. That’s the kind of 
stuff there is in Riley, always willing to do 
more than his share of all work, good-natured 
and generous to a fault. Ah, but if every one 
were like him, camp life would be different from 
what it is. BRINKSTINE. 


A New Brunswick Moose Hunt} 
Editor Forest and Stream: ¢ 
‘Tom and I left St. John, New Brunswif 
“the city of fogs,” on the little steamer Mi 
Queen, en route to Grand Bay, sailing up jf 
picturesque St. John River, then through jl 
narrow Jemseg River, out into Grand Lake! 
body of water reminding one of Lake Chafi 
plain, though somewhat smaller. Reachit' 
Grand Bay on Saturday evening, we remairit 
at the inn over Sunday. , 
1 
Early Monday morning, having secured t 
services of old Jerry Reynolds, a famous guif! 
of the region, and bought a supply of fo), 
for man and beast, blankets, tents and otl F 
things necessary for the trip, we started 14! 
Meadowbrook Lake, about thirty-five mi= 
distant. The day was warm, the roads dus* 
and the wagon without springs. For twer! 
miles we kept to the old country road whi? 
follows Salmon River through the valley, th! 
turning westward took a portage, a road 
narrow that only a Jerry could follow t® 
crooks and turns without getting lost. The! 
portages are for the use of lumbermen in wi! 
ter, and it is rare to find a wagon track. Vi} 
were in the very heart of the great forest, 
solid wall on either side only broken he}! 
and there by hundreds or thousands of tl’ 
charred trunks of old fir and spruce trees. .|! 
we crossed several brooks, our guide point 
out tracks of both moose and deer in the mt'# 
Although assured by Jerry that we should n 
encounter much game while the jingle of t|' 
trace chains and click of the heavy whec' 
could be heard, yet we kept our rifles with! 
easy reach. The noise of the wagon startl 
numbers of partridges, which quickly disa!" 
peared in the thick undergrowth. | 
At about 5 o’clock we reached the Tw 
Springs, where we halted to refresh ourselv 0 
with the clear, sparkling spring water fro 
attractive cups of birch bark. By this tin’! 
we were hungry, but learning that the lal!" 
beside which we were to pitch our tent w” 
only three miles further, we pressed on. * 
was nearly 7 o’clock, and the sun had disa!* 

ii 

peared from view when we reached our de" 
tination. About fifty yards from the lake vi 
set to work to make ourselves comfortab]™ 
Tom preparing the stakes for the tent, Jeri! 
building a fire to “bile the kittle,” while I ut 
loaded the wagon. if 
Meadowbrook Lake is about one mile wic ft 
and four in length. Across the lake is a heat," 
which resembles a moss-covered marsh. It \ 
a most treacherous place, the heavy growth (|; 
moss constantly giving way beneath one’s fe), 
and allowing him to measure the depth ( 
water that underlies it. The hunting seasc|! 
had just opened, and we were the first part), 
to arrive at the lake. yl 

As darkness came o) 
the temperature fell, and we were glad t 
gather close around the blazing fire. The Ne! 
Brunswick nights are always cool, and thoug" 
rolled in our blankets, the fire burning in fro1| 
of our tent was not at all out of season. Afte” 
the noise of the city, the quiet of the wood|* 
broken only by the occasional hoot of an ow 
was almost oppressive, and defied sleep for is 
time. 
The next morning Tom and I were up earl), 
but we found old Jerry already gathering kir| 
dling for the fire. A heavy mist hung over th\, 
lake, which was gradually dissipated by th). 
rays of the sun. After a hearty breakfast c|,, 
cold boiled ham, canned apple sauce, brea "| 
and plenty of good hot tea minus the milk, wi), 
shouldered our rifles and set out on our firs}, 
expedition after large game. Following trail) 
which in some instances were difficult to locat t 
we tramped about three miles to what is calle| 
aS 



