



with a 
Nov. 16, 1907.] 
_—_ 
LORE Swan Drs DREAM: 
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New Brunswick Moose. 
New York City, Nov. 1.—Editor Forest 
and Stream: With the knowledge that an over- 
night trip will bring him into the land of the 
moose, the New York man’s interest in the daily 
humdrum of business is severely shaken when 
the hunting season is on. Thus at the end of 
a business day early in October I closed down 
my desk with the settled determination of set- 
ting forth for that paradise for the Eastern 
sportsman—New Brunswick. 
Summoning my friend Herman and my four- 
teen-year-old son Herbert, we quickly equipped 
ourselves with rifles, ammunition and hunting 
togs, and caught the following noon train for 
Boston, where we ate supper and then again en- 
trained for Fredericton. 
On reaching Canadian soil we had to pay $12 
duty on our guns and an additional sum on the 
ammunition, which was refunded on our return 
to the States. Fredericton was reached the next 
day, and there we dined. While there we ar- 
ranged with a taxidermist to look after our 
game as we shipped it in and procured our camp 
kit and necessaries. 
securing the services of Harry 
We were also fortunate in 
Allen, guide, of 
ONE OF THE TROPHIES. 
Penniac, N. B., who proved himself one of the best 
in that section of the country; also two more 
guides, Grant and Moses and a cook George 
were arranged for to join our party at Penniac. 
Thus prepared, we drove to Penniac, where we 
secured a wagon and started for our log cabin 
camp. We had dinner in the open at Bear Brook 
during a brief halt in the woods. Also gave 
the guns a trial and I made the painful dis- 
covery that I had wrong ope for my rifle— 
.45-90 instead of .45-7 The rest of the trip 
to camp, sixteen. miles, was accomplished by 3:30 
P. M., the accommodating guides carrying us 
on their backs through Bear River. The camp 
was quickly put to rights, supper eaten, and the 
party immediately entered on the hunt. We 
paired off, each with a guide, but had no more 
success than to see two deer too late for shots. 
We called moose, but got no reply. 
The next day at 6 A. M. we started out again 
for the burnt land which forest fires had cleared, 
and again called moose without success. Herbert, 
.22 caliber rifle, shot some squirrels. A 
heavy drizzle set in during the day, but noth- 
ing short of a flood dampens the ardor of the 
true sportsman. Moose calls in the afternoon 
by the clever Harry Allen elicited replies, but 
no game appeared in sight. 
The following day proved an eventful one. In 
a driving rainstorm Herman went to the burnt 
.later shipment to Herman’s 
land and landed a fine moose with antlers bear- 
ing eighteen prongs. The head was promptly 
started on its way to the taxidermist at Frederic- 
ton and the hind quarters to cold storage for 
home. The rest of 
the meat was divided between the camp and the 
drivers. We spent the afternoon and the even- 
ing at the deadwater, but the rain was so heavy 
as to drown out the calling, so we repaired to 
camp and indulged in games of solitaire. 
The fourth day in camp the storm showed no 
signs of abating, but I repaired to a river with 
my guide and tried my luck again unsuccessfully, 
returning to the camp in the afternoon thoroughly 
drenched. The storm developed into a small 
sized cyclone and during the night tore down 
trees, one of these coming with a crash ast it 
grazed the guides’ cabin. 
The following day was another 
With guide Allen I started for 
eventful one. 
Sear River and 
saw moose on coming to the burnt land. Twice 
I overshot his horns, struck a horn on _ third 
shot, and the moose then started on a run. After 
three more unsuccessful shots we took up a four- 
hour trail of the animal through the hardest kind 
of timbered country without results. I shot two 
porcupines and we ferried across a deadwater 
on a log, reaching the camp at four in the after- 
noon. The lucky Herman reported seeing a bull 
and a cow moose and a lynx. Herbert saw 
nothing. A night trip to the burnt land proved 
unsuccessful. 
Another day we made a trip across Fork 
River, bagging an owl and saw many partridges. 
In the woods we met an Englishman and _ his 
guide, and on returning to camp learned that 
my son Herbert had killed a beautiful moose. 
This was down the clearwater a bit, so we took 
a canoe down to view the animal which proved 
a beauty. On the trip we got a glimpse of a 
pretty spike-horn, but did not want a shot. I 
called from the canoe, but got no answer,- either 
that night or in the morning, so we took up 
Herbert’s moose and shipped it down to Fred- 
ericton. 
The following two days we had many glimpses 
of spike-horns and cow moose, spending a night 
at Bear camp belonging to Harry Allen, located 
about seven miles from our camp. Partridges 
were plentiful. 
On the tenth day we caught a large bear in 
a trap that we had set, and I at last shot a 
beautiful moose, thus finishing one of the most 
pleasurable and successful hunting trips I have 
had the good fortune to enjoy. During the ten 
days we were there I saw eleven moose in all. 
My summary of this trip was good accommo- 
dations, excellent and untiring attention on the 
part of the guides, and plenty of game, making 
it a hunting expedition well worth taking. 

The Trail to Brownsville. 
Editor Forest and. Stream: ; 
Many years ago three of us lay in a little log 
camp on the shores of Big Lyford Pond, up 
above the “Gulf,” in Piscataquis county, Maine. 
In spite of its name, Big Lyford isn’t a very big 
pond. It is big only in comparison with Little 
Lyford, which is not-far away. Both were 
named for the first famous white hunter and 
trapper of the region. Waldo Billings, my own 
guide and friend for many years, who was one 
of the three men in camp that night, had often 
told me of him. “Old Uncle Lyford” reigned 
long in the valley of Pleasant River. He was a 
mighty hunter of bear and moose, and great 
was the list of his conquests, and as a trapper he 
had no rival in the region. 
He died and his mantle fell upon Henry Clapp, 
and he, too came to be known by the friendly 
title of “Uncle.” He in turn was succeeded 
by Billings. Billings’ Fall in the long gorge, 
known as “The Gulf,” was named for him, and 
great was his skill and prowess—seventy-one 
bears and over 200 moose and a great number 
of caribou. I do not know how many fell to 
his trap and rifle. In his day he had no equal 
in the territory which he called his own, and 
has left no successor. He was especially known 
as a successful caribou hunter. He seemed to 
be master of the queer psychology of that 
strange and capricious animal and to know from 
inspection of a track just where the animal was 
going and with what purpose and could make a 
successful hunt where all others failed. He was 
the “best man in the woods’ I personally ever 
knew. 
So when he and Mr. Isbell, of New York, and 
I fell to talking by the camp-fire, he was the 
preceptor of the other two in all that related to 
affairs of the woods. The clouds had been dark 
all day and toward night it began to rain and a 
thick fog filled the woods and the darkest of 
dark nights came on. 
Glad of our snug shelter, a little hunting lodge 
built by Billings himself and barely large enough 
for us three, we ate our supper of broiled trout 
and partridge and hardtack and tea, and then 
fell to discussing whether it would be possible 
for a man to get to Brownsville from where we 
were by daylight the next morning—and how 
each one would do it if he had to and under 
what inducement each of us would try it. 
I will not be responsible now for exact 
figures, but it was, say, two miles to the head 
of the Gulf, and the old tote road was now so 
grown up with bushes that anywhere outside of 
it in the unbroken woods would be better going. 

A PAIR 
OF PORCUPINES. 
From the head of the Gulf a trail, none too 
obvious in daylight, ran to the foot of the Gulf 
where Pleasant River had to be forded. Then 
there was an open tote road six miles to Katah- 
din Iron Works; then a rough wagon road of 
ten miles or more to Brownsville. 
Mr. Isbell, whose woodcraft was mainly of the 
Wall street variety and whose plan of getting 
out—if he had one—thought it over and 
“allowed” that for $100,000 he might possibly be 
induced to make the attempt. 
My own plan, the only one I could think of as 
possible of success, was to take boldly to the 
brook, the outlet of the Big Lyford, and to try 
to wade down it to Pleasant River and down 
that in the water along its banks to the head of 
the Gulf, and from there—if I lived to get there 
—to try to feel my way down the slight trail, 
and to trust to luck in finding the ford and the 
tote road on the other side. Utterly foolhardy 
and probably quite impossible of accomplish- 
ment I knew it to be, yet with a full stomach 
and the recklessness of youth, I proclaimed my 
willingness to make the attempt for $10,000. 
Then we turned to Billings and, to our amaze- 
ment, he offered to do it for $100, and, more- 
over, was confident he could do it and by day- 
light the next morning. When he disclosed his 
plan we left that with a true woodman’s instinct 
he had instantly thought of the only way to do 

