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[Nov. 23, 1907. 

— ——— 






| GAMTE BAG AND GUN 
Nea 
ny 
wn! 



Ten Days on the Miramichi. 
CLEARFIELD, Pa., Nov. 9—Editor Forest and 
Stream: In September, 1904, I had my first hunt 
on the Miramichi, New Brunswick. I was sat- 
isfied then when a splendid bull, moose fell to 
my caliber rifle, and I made but little 
effort to secure either a caribou or a deer. 
In 1905, I went down the Woman’s River from 
Winnibego Siding, in Ontario. I came out 
with a magnificent head, but the dreadful snow 
storm that struck us in that dreary waste, freez- 
ing the river over and causing us untold suffer- 
ing, led me to seek a milder climate for my 
future hunts. September, 1906, again found me 
in New Brunswick. 
That was an ideal hunting trip. The weather 
has much to do with the pleasure and the suc- 
cess of the chase, and then the days were dry, 
cool and crisp. The roads and trails were at 
their best. The moon was just right for moose 
calling, the trout in Clearwater Lake rose 
beautifully to a fly, and without any special 
effort my companion and I each secured our 
limit of moose, caribou and deer, and, in ad- 
dition, the camp was well supplied with par- 
tridges and delicious brook trout. It is rarely, 
even in New Brunswick, the land of big game, 
that one succeeds in killing his limit, and 1 
longed for another trip to Clearwater Lake and 
Bersing’s new caribou camp on the slopes of 
Bald Mountait. 
My companion this year was Mr. Leslie 
Stewart, our county treasurer. Like Mr. Row, 
who accompanied me in 1906, he had never seen 
either a bull moose or a caribou; but I assured 
him that, if he did not get rattled, he would 
be successful. Some months in advance. I se- 
cured my old guide, Bersing, for Oct. 2: Sept. 
15, the opening of the season, having been taken 
by three Harrisburg friends. 
After a study of different routes proposed, we 
20 
Pe 7 

concluded to go via Rochester and Utica to 
Montreal, and thence to New Castle, N. B.. 
where we left the railroad for camp. Unlike 
most of our American railways, the one we 
traveled over Owns and operates its 
sleeping cars, up-to-date in every respect. An 
eighteen-hour ride down the beautiful Saint 
vawrence valley landed us early in the morning 
of the next day at New Castle, ready and strong 
for the long, hard trip that lay before us. 
John Robinson, Jr., the very efficient an 
gentlemanly chief game warden, met us at the 
1otel, furnished us our hunting licenses and 
assisted us in many ways to get an early start. 
t is a pleasure to deal with such an official. 
Mrs. Robinson, the accomplished wife of the 
warden, is an enthusiastic hunter, and in their 
cozy home may be seen two beautiful, caribou 
heads and a bear rug that fell to her rifle. 
On the evening of Sept. 29 we landed at 
Bersing’s New Home Camp, forty miles from 
New Castle and the end of the wagon road. 
From there everything had to be packed on 
our backs ten miles to Clearwater camp and 
ten miles further to Bald Mountain. At Home 
Camp we met Ray, Hershey and Oenslager, of 
Harrisburg, coming out with our guides, They 
had secured two moose heads and reported con- 
ditions generally unfavorable. The weather 
had been very wet and stormy, the roads and 
trails in terrible condition, and the game hidden 
away and hard to find, 
Monday, Sept. 30, we hit the trail for Clear- 
water, where we landed at 3:30 in a rainstorm. 
The next day it rained until noon, and Jack, 
one of our guides, taught Stewart the old log 
camp game of “45,” at which he soon became 
very proficient. In the afternoon the sun came 
out and we concluded to do some hunting. 
Jack and I went to the lake, but we saw no 
game and caught no fish. 
Bersing took Stewart in charge and went to 
dining and 



the ridges west of camp for a still-hunt. When 
they returned they were feeling jubilant, for 
Stewart had killed a splendid bull moose. They 
had hunted for several hours without any suc- 
cess, when Bersing suggested that he call be- 
fore going to camp, as they were in splendid 
territory with plenty of signs all around. To 
their utter surprise, a bull answered. He had 
been lying in an’ alder swamp within a short 
distance of the hunters, and in response to their 
call came straight for them, passed them within 
forty feet, circled to the left and fell within 
sixty yards, riddled with .30-30 bullets from 
Stewart’s gun. Bersing reported that in many 
years of moose hunting he had never called a 
moose under similar circumstances. The next 
morning we went out, photographed the moose, 
and brought to camp the head and the best of 
the meat. I do not know how often Stewart 
hit the bull, but for several days Jerry, the 
cook, said that every time he cut a moosé steak 
to cook, he cut out a bullet. 

ONE OF THE THOPHIES. 



The afternoon and evening we spent at the 
lake, calling for moose and fishing for trout 
We caught no trout, and all the game we saw 
was a fisher or blackcat, feeding on the carcas: 
of a large moose that had beén killed by a beat 
in the edge of the lake. Bersing attempted tc 
paddle me up within range of the fisher, but he 
left before I could get a shot. 
On Oct. 3, Bersing, Stewart and I startec 
early for a still-hunt. We went down the creek 
five miles to Ritchie’s old camp, where we founc 
lots of bear signs. Old Bruin had attemptec 
to undermine the storehouse, in contempt o 
chains and other ircns that were hung round tc 
keep him away. We spent the day in a carefu 
still-hunt, and walked about fifteen miles with- 
out seeing any game, though we saw muct 
sign of bear, moose and deer. Up to this time 
I had seen a fisher and one duck at the lake 
and a beaver at Ray’s Pond. 
The next day was Friday. Bersing took his 
horn and ax, I took my .32 caliber rifle, and we 
started for the ridges west of camp for a still- 
hunt. I think Bersing felt that his reputatior 
as a successful guide was at stake, and I was 
fearful that I might go back home empty 
handed. [I still had confidence in my guide, anc 
my gun, bearing notches calling for moose, cari- 
bou, deer and bear, had never failed me. We 
saw abundant signs of big moose. We were in 
a new territory, and the discarded antlers cer- 
tainly indicated that some giants had recently 
been there. We followed several trails without 
success. Finally we came upon the bed of a 
big bull, so fresh that it almost smoked. We 
followed his tracks up the ridge, through the 
heavy timber, until we could see the brow of 
the ridge; then we saw him get up, turn round 
and face us, looking down'the hill. 1] shot, in-| 
tending to catch him between the eyes, but just| 
as I touched the trigger, he raised his heac| 
and I caught him in the nose, making only a} 
slight wound; in a moment he was going at full] 
speed down the ridge and away from us. If 
he had gone on he would have been safe, as I} 
missed him two shots running, but something 
induced him to stop, turn round and look back;}| 
when a second standing shot caught him in the} 
top of the shoulders, broke his back and he was| 
mine. This bull carried a fine set of antlers || 
and a 14-inch bell. We carried his head to| 
camp, and my moose hunt for 1907 was ended. 
Saturday, we turned our faces toward Bald 
Mountain Camp, ten miles to the northwest 
over a trail that would break your heart. To 
make matters worse, the beavers had built a 
dam that flooded our path for half a nile, re- 
quiring us to cut a trail round it. We reached | 
the upper camp at 3:30, and after a supper of 
cold biscuits and butter, onions and tea, we}: 
turned in for the night. Sunday was a day | 

of rest. We did, however, take a walk up to the 
mountain, but saw no caribou and but few signs. 
We hunted faithfully until 3 o'clock on Mon- 
day, and went to camp with seven partridges, 
which furnished us a pot-pie for supper, after 
which Bersing, Stewart and I took a little | | 
stroll over the ridge above the camp, where we 
killed a splendid bull caribou. All told, we 
saw but three caribou, and but one bull. the one 
we killed. We put in the next day faithfully 
hunting for caribou, but without success. That 
night one of those New Brunswick rainstorms 
came up, and it rained all night. Wednesday 
morning the cook informed us that our grub 
was reduced to cold biscuits, tea and caribou 
meat, and we packed our duffle and returned 
to Clearwater camp. For four hours we 
tramped through one of the worst rainstorms : 
I ever saw, and when we walked into Clearwater 
camp there was not a dry thread on our backs. 
On Thursday we packed our heads and duffle |! 
to the home camp, and on Friday tried in vain 
for grilse or trout on the Miramichi. | 




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