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WILD LIFE AND
THE CAMERA

A.RADCLYFFE DUGMORE

LABORATORY
OF ORNITHOLOGY
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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

Cornell University Library

DATE DUE

159 Sapsucker Woods Road

Cornell University
Jthaca, New York 14850

WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

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Wild- Mallard rising. The speed with which these birds rise is clearly
shown by the water, which has uot subsided, although the bird is tive
feet or more in the air,

WILD LIFE
AND THE CAMERA

BY

A. RADCLYFFE DUGMORE, F.R.G.S.

ILLUSTRATED

PuirapeLpHi1a: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
Lonpon: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMXII

Printed in England.

XII.
XII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.

XXII.

XXII.

CONTENTS

Part I.—Brirp PHoTroGRAPHY

Part II.—ANimaL PHOTOGRAPHY :

Tue CarrBou MIGRATION IN NEWFOUNDLAND

Tue Story oF 4 PorcuPINE Hunt. -

BIRDS AND THE CAMERA

“ Brugy ”: A TruE STorY OF THE VERY
BEST PET Birp . 5 ‘ F

My CuicaDEE FRIENDS .

Toe WARBLER FAMILY

THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD

Notes ON THE BREEDING HABITS OF THE
AMERICAN Woopcock : :

SHootinc Witp Ducks AND GEESE WITH
THE CAMERA ‘ - : -

THE WHISTLING SwaN OF CURRITUCK
SounD . 3 3 5

Two ’PossUuMS AND SEVERAL MISTAKES

A FisuHine Trip IN THE Hicu Srerras oF
CALIFORNIA FOR GILBERT AND GOLDEN
Trout A 3 : : ‘ é

YELLOW TaiL FISHING OFF CATALINA
IsLAND . . ‘ ‘

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT IN New Hane.
wick RIVERS . ‘ ‘ 3

My First Sarmon: A Fisnine Trip To
NEWFOUNDLAND c ‘ ‘

SALMON FisHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND y

ALONE UP MT. KaTAuHDIN . >

THE Heart oF WINTER . ;

More ABpoutT WINTER AND THE Ttekons OF
THE ANIMALS IN THE SNOW . ; :

THe Lire oF THE TRAPPER, THE MAN FOR
wHoM CoLD WEATHER iS A SOURCE OF
LIVELIHOOD : : P ,

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS < : :

307

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

WiLp MALLARD RISING . P ‘ . Frontispiece

TO FACE PAGE

Stupy oF Younc BIRDS AT THEIR MOST BECOMING
AGE
Woop Teeter ON Nay :
NEWFOUNDLAND CARIBOU IN MIGRATION . :
THIS HERD OF CARIBOU SWAM ACROSS THE RIVER
DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY CAMP ' :
EVENING ON SANDY RIvER. IN THE FOREGROUND
ARE TWO CARIBOU WHICH HAVE JUST CROSSED
ONCE IN A GREAT WHILE THE HERD IS LED BY A
STAG : : r
Stac CARIBOU, PHOTOGRAPHED AT A DISTANCE OF NOT
MORE THAN NINE YARDS .
THE PorcuPINE AND THE ABANDONED Gap IN THE
SNOW. 3 ‘ ‘
THE PORCUPINE, THE Mex AND THE ee Duc-out .
Tue Unruty Broop oF FLYCATCHERS
THE SAME BROOD READY FOR Foop ‘ ;
Tue TAMENESS OF A FAMILY OF CHIPPING Spiiows ;
Younc RED-EYED VIREO ‘ 4 - :
“ BLUEY” . ; : ; : ‘ :
CHICADEE FLYING TO MY HAND, IN WHICH SIT THE
Hunery Broop ‘ 3 . .
ONE OF THE YOUNG Cuidinzes ; : ; 3
Tuer WorM-EATING WARBLER ON HER NEST .
Tue Famity oF WoRM-EATING WARBLERS ;
WorM-EATING WARBLER FEEDING HER YOUNG ON MY
Hanp. 5 ; ‘ ‘ ;
A WHITE-EYED VIREO, WHOSE DESIRE FOR ORNAMEN-
TATION LED HER TO COVER HER BEAUTIFUL SEMI-
PENSILE NEST WITH SMALL PIECES OF WOOD THAT
HAD BEEN CUT BY A WOODPECKER . : ‘:

W.L.C. b

.

10
14
30

84

86

40

42

56
58
64
64
68
70
80

108
110
118
122

124

180

x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

TO FACE PAGE

VIREO’S NEST, IN WHICH A COWBIRD HAS LAID ITS EGG
THE SAME NEST CUT IN HALF TO SHOW RELATIVE
POSITIONS OF COWBIRD’S AND VIREO’S EGGS :
Woopcock SITTING On NEST . é
Witp CANADA GEESE IN FLIGHT
WHISTLING SWANS OFF THE VIRGINIA Coasr
‘“* A LONG NOSE PROTRUDED FROM THE NEST’
’Possums. ‘‘ NEARER AND NEARER HE CAME UNTIL
HIS NOSE WAS VISIBLE OVER THE EDGE OF THE
LARGE KNOB”’. ; : ‘ : ‘ :
Piayvinc ’Possum—“ ’Possum II. DECIDED TO HAVE
A LOOK AND WITHOUT CHANGING HIS POSITION HE
OPENED HIS ROUND DARK EYES”. : A
THE OPEN PARK-LIKE DRY COUNTRY AT THE Foort-
WILLS OF THE SIERRAS OF CALIFORNIA : :
RIDING ALONG THE STEEP SLOPES ON THE WAY TO THE
Kern RIver . ‘ z ‘ : j j
Tur Kern River VALLEY . ; j : :
FIsuInc IN THE KERN RIVER . : ; ‘
VoLcANO CREEK . ‘ ; : : 5
LANDING A LARGE GILBERT TROUT IN THE es
River (CALIFORNIA) : 3 ; ; :
Srs-TrouT Fisuine 1In NEw Brunswick Z :
LEAPING SALMON . ‘ Ps F ; : 3
LEAPING SALMON; THE LINE IS FAINTLY VISIBLE.
MENDING A CANOE WITH CARIBOU HIDES IN NEw-
FOUNDLAND. ‘ ‘ ‘ ; :
IN THE DENSE Woops BELOW KATAHDIN :
‘“THE NORTH-EAST SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN IS AN
ABRUPT PRECIPICE OF SOLID ROCK ABOUT 4,000 FEET
HIGH” . 3 : F : : ‘ .
Tue WINTER Woops . t ‘ ‘ . i
TRACKS IN THE SNowW. THE DEEP FOOTPRINTS ARE
THOSE OF A SQUIRREL WHICH WAS EVIDENTLY
CAUGHT BY AN OWL OR A HAWK, WHOSE WING
TRACKS ARE CLEARLY SHOWN . : . ;
IN THE WINTER, WHEN EVERY TWIG IS COVERED WITH
A GLISTENING COAT OF ICE ; ; 3 -

1382

132
142
152
158
168

170

172

180

182
184
188
190

192
214
240
240

244
260

ho bo
f=)
io)

280

282

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

xl

TO FACE PAGE

TRACKS IN THE SNOW SHOWING WHERE A Musk Rar
HAS COME FROM AND RETURNED TO THE WATER .
TRACKS IN THE SNOW SHOWING WHERE A MINK HAS
cauGcut A Musk Rat AS IT EMERGED FROM A HOLE
IN THE ICE. 3 : F : 5 :
“ Jor,’ THE ONE-ARMED TRAPPER AND HIS CABIN .
“ JOE,” THE ONE-ARMED TRAPPER . : ‘ ,
CAMPING IN WINTER WITH THE THERMOMETER 20°
BELOW ZERO : ; : R , :
WINTER CAMPING. CROSSING A SNOW-COVERED LAKE
WINTER CAMPING IN FLORIDA ‘ ji , :

BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY

CHAPTER I
Part I
Birp PHOTOGRAPHY

Waite book-illustrating has changed continually
since printing was first discovered, perhaps the
greatest improvement has been made in pictures of
birds and animals, and it is largely to the camera
that we owe this great improvement. Until quite
recently only drawings were used for illustrations,
and with subjects such as birds “the personal
equation ” played so prominent a part that one felt
a certain sense of doubt as to the accuracy even of
fairly good drawings.

For my own part I had never been satisfied with
drawings of birds; and therefore, giving up the
pencil, I followed in the footsteps of those who
were experimenting with bird photography. All
my earlier attempts were with mounted specimens,
at first without any accessories. But the photo-
graphs seemed hard and unlifelike. Then I tried
placing the mounted bird in natural surroundings,
either out of doors or beneath a skylight. The
pictures were fairly satisfactory, but still there was
no disguising the fact that the bird was mounted.
The eyes, and usually the legs, told the story.
The pictures were unsympathetic ; it was as though

B 2

4 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

one had photographed the wax model of a friend.
The likeness was there, but the life was lacking.
And there was another objection: although to the
casual observer the specimen may appear well
mounted, how rarely is shown the characteristic
pose so subtle and delicate in its infinite variety.
But few taxidermists are naturalists, and without
endless study of living birds how can anyone expect
to know the attitudes assumed by the different
species? The human eye itself is scarcely quick
enough to take note of these things, and so it is to
the camera that we must turn, and use it as eye,
notebook, and pencil. It was the realisation of this
fact that led me finally to try the fascinating but
difficult task of photographing the living bird.

To begin with, only nestlings were my models,
and I was delighted with the results—no glass eyes
nor dried-up legs to mar the picture, but expressions
as varied as they were beautiful, and positions
entirely different from those seen in mounted
specimens. ‘These successes led me, of course,
to attempt photographing the adult bird, and I
made many experiments with tame birds. It was
necessary to have a place arranged so that there
might be abundant light; and to avoid sameness
in the arrangement of the lighting, the contrivance
must be movable. I made a wooden platform
(supported on two light wooden horses) about six
feet long, and covered it with mosquito netting
stretched on a light framework. The background
was of wood, to which could be attached paper or
cloth of any desired shade. The camera could be
moved backward or forward and secured with a

BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 5

tripod screw. Into this portable cage the bird was
to be put, and as there was only one perch—usually
a stick or small branch of convenient shape and
size—I fondly imagined that the bird would sit
pretty nearly where I wished. But I was doomed
to disappointment. When I put the bird in, any
place and every place suited him better than the
perch so carefully arranged for his special comfort.
When a bird, no matter how tame he may be, is
placed amid new and unusual surroundings, he is
at first greatly frightened, and therefore quite
unmanageable. It usually requires some time to
prove to him that the new cage will not harm him.
So I found my cage not altogether a success, but
by patience I managed to obtain some satisfactory
photographs.

Tue Sport oF PHOTOGRAPHING WILD Birps

It was not long before I was led to attempt the
task of photographing the adult bird in its wild
state and in its natural surroundings. It was then
I began to appreciate the fascination of the work.
Looked at from any one of several standpoints,
the photographing of wild birds will be found
equally satisfactory. As a sport it should take a
high place, for undoubtedly the skill as well as the
perseverance and the instinct of the hunter is a
necessary requirement, and a successful shot with
the camera is far more difficult to obtain than a
correspondingly fortunate (on one side only) shot
from a gun. Then, too, the accomplishment of
one’s desire leaves behind it no disagreeable taste

6 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

to mar the pleasure. What sportsman is there
(and I speak neither of pot hunters nor “ game
hogs”) who, hearing the death-bleat of a deer, does
not at heart wish his shot had miscarried? Then,
as a means of really becoming acquainted with birds,
the camera is without an equal, for to be even a
moderately successful bird photographer, one must
have an intimate knowledge of the subject; and
the camera, in teaching us to know the birds, must
of necessity stimulate our affection for these useful
and defenceless creatures. As a recorder of facts
it is of great scientific value, for it cannot lie, and
it records in an unmistakable form every detail
presented, whether it be the daily growth of a
nestling or the exquisite detail of the bird’s nest.

It is, however, to the keen pleasure that may be
derived from this new sport that I would particu-
larly call attention. Not only is there the delight
in overcoming difficulties (and they will be found
both numerous and varied), but there is the pleasure
of being placed among surroundings that are
inseparable from this pursuit. A rich harvest of
interesting facts relating to the bird’s home life
may be gathered by any observing person who
spends much time along the hedge-rows or in the
woods.

He who would hunt birds with the camera will
find that without doubt the breeding season is the
time best suited to his purpose, for then the
feathered housekeepers are restricted in their
individual range to a comparatively limited area.
Having learned the situation of their house, he
may find them at home when he calls, engaged in

BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 7

attending to their various domestic duties. The
first thing to do after the introduction, 2.e., learning
their name, is to obtain their confidence, and, with
birds as with people, there must be confidence if
we wish friendship. How easily one may gain
this confidence depends quite as much upon the
individuality of the bird as upon the species. The
fear of man is inherent in all birds, but by judicious
management this fear can to some extent be

allayed.

WINNING THE CONFIDENCE OF Wuitp Brirps

A great many instances have come before my
notice of the change in a bird’s behaviour from
extreme fear and distrust to a degree of confidence,
which, to the inexperienced, seems almost incon-
ceivable. The power to tame birds or animals is
thought to belong peculiarly to certain persons.
This may or may not be true, but from my own
observations I am inclined to believe that tameness
is a quality rather of the natural disposition of the
individual, bird, or animal.

With some birds I have spent days in trying to
convince them that I intended no harm, yet they
placed not the slightest confidence in me, and
would not even feed their young if I were in
sight. Others of the same species became accus-
tomed to my presence after less than an hour,
showing their confidence by coming to their young
while I stood in plain sight, within a few feet of
the nest. It is in the difficulty of familiarising
the bird with ourselves and the camera that we

8 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

experience the greatest obstacle to photographing
them.

Of the many delightful birds I have had the
good fortune to know, the worm-eating warbler
family, whose portraits are shown elsewhere, have
afforded me the greatest pleasure, for they became
absolutely fearless of the camera, and they placed
a degree of trust in me that was as unusual as it
was delightful.

To photograph the nest containing eggs is
usually a comparatively easy matter, as a long
exposure may be given. The best results are
obtained when a grey day is chosen, as the light is
softer and more diffused, so that all the details,
both of nest and eggs, are clearly shown. A very
different task is the photographing of the young
in the nest, and the resulting pictures are seldom
what one hopes for. The reasons for this are
obvious. The young are never quiet even when
asleep, owing to their rapid respiration. This
precludes a time exposure, and this in turn pre-
vents the use of anything but a large diaphragm ;
therefore, as the distance from the near edge of the
nest to the bird farthest away is several inches,
only a small part can be in focus, while the rest is
a blurred mass. If the light is sufficiently bright,
the best results may be obtained when the nest-
lings raise their heads for food, as each bird is then
more clearly defined, instead of being a part of a
shapeless, heaving mass. This applies more par-
ticularly to the photographing of small birds, as
the camera, with a lens of ordinary focal length,
has to be placed very near the nest, with the

BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 9

consequent lack of depth of focus that is unfortu-
nately inseparable from such conditions.

To photograph the parent bird sitting is difficult
or easy according to the disposition of the bird,
which varies not only with the different species,
but with individuals of the same species. Usually
the brown thrasher, the wood thrush, or the catbird
will sit close, and allow the camera to be placed
within a few feet of them while they are on the
nest; but I have seen exceptions, which go to
prove that success depends largely upon the
peculiar disposition of the bird itself. People, as a
rule, think that, because a bird builds its nest in
the immediate vicinity of a house, it is necessarily
tamer than one that chooses the quiet seclusion
of the woods. This has not been my experience,
for the tamest birds I have ever known were those
that nested in places comparatively remote from
human habitation.

When the fledglings leave their nest, the bird
photographer should be on hand, for then it is that
he can obtain the best pictures, as the youngsters
may be put on any perch that best suits his fancy,
and a place where there is sufficient light may be
chosen. For the benefit of those who might wish
to try their hand at this fascinating branch of
photography I give the following suggestions :—

Select a branch or briar of suitable shape and
size—and young birds prefer a fairly thick perch.
This should be arranged so that it will not be
swayed by the wind, lest the branch move and the
birds be out of focus. Bright sunlight is necessary,
as the exposure must not exceed one-fiftieth of a

10 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

second. With such a short exposure the shadows
are likely to be lacking in detail, so it is advisable
to place beneath the birds a white cloth, and this
should be tilted to such an angle that the reflected
light shall strike those parts of the birds that are in
shadow.

If the natural background is not strongly sunlit,
it will be an advantage to use a white or light-
grey cloth as an artificial background, but it
should be placed at a reasonable distance from the
birds; from four to eight feet will answer. Now
place the little fellows on the perch and arrange
the camera, remembering --if you wish to photo-
graph the parent bird with her young—to leave
sufficient space between the young birds and the
edge of the plate, so that no matter on which side
the old one comes to feed them the camera will be
in readiness. All that remains to be done is to
attach a long rubber tube to the shutter. Then sit
down in an inconspicuous place and wait patiently
until the old birds have fully convinced themselves
that no harm is intended. Then they will venture
near the camera and feed their hungry young.

Any one who uses the camera as a means of
studying bird life will undoubtedly be surprised to
find how marked is the individuality of birds. Not
by casual observation does one discover this, but in
the intimacy with the birds that one acquires when
one watches for hours at a time the bird upon
whose nest or young one may happen to have the
instrument focused.

A camera, to be rigid and sufficiently durable
to stand several seasons of field work, must be

‘patq-4e,) B PUB sapolmg, 9o1q4- SUTUODAG JSOUL Mat] 4B spig SsunoX Jo Apuyg y

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BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 11

fairly heavy, though not of necessity large. A
sufficient size for most work is five by seven inches,
while some even prefer one as small as four by five.
This latter is of convenient size for those who wish
to have lantern slides made from their negatives,
and is certainly far better adapted to all whose
enthusiasm is limited, and who do not wish to
overburden themselves.

For my own part I use the five by seven almost
exclusively, and frequently I wish it were larger,
particularly when the subject to be photographed
is the parent bird feeding her young after they
have left the nest. Place four or five fledglings on
a branch, leaving sufficient space on either side to
allow the old bird to stand, and reduce all this
interesting material down to a five-inch space, and
you will realise the advantage of even the extra
two inches allowed by the five by seven. How
many times has it happened to me to have the
father or mother bird perch just outside the limits
of my five by seven plate, and assume some attitude
that I was most anxious to catch; and again how
often has the plate through its limited size cut off
part of the adult bird. In such cases I long for my
larger camera which, on account of its weight, has
been left behind.

Of course, bird photographs have to be taken
under widely different conditions. Some birds are
far less shy of man, and incidentally of the camera,
than others.

It always seems surprising that a bird of such a
nervous disposition as the wood thrush undoubtedly
is, should be comparatively easy to photograph.

12 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

Thus far I have seldom found any that, while
on the nest, would not, after a few attempts,
allow the camera to be brought fairly near. For
this reason, combined with the fact that they may
be found so abundantly in the vicinity of dwellings,
and that their nests are usually placed at a con-
venient height, they are most useful to the bird
photographer. The birds themselves are so hand-
some and their markings so conspicuous that they
show to the greatest advantage in a photograph,
while such birds as the Baltimore oriole, the
cardinal and others of equally brilliant plumage
are very disappointing, as they lose greatly
when shown in black and white. Take away
their gorgeous colouring and we scarcely re-
cognise them, while the wood thrush is unmis-
takable, whether depicted in black and white or
in colour.

As an example of how a bird tries to conceal
itself by means of its protective colouring, I will
mention the case of a wood-thrush which I recently
photographed. From the moment when she saw
me coming towards her, armed with the camera,
she never changed her position, but stood im-
movable, as though she were part of the natural
growth, evidently believing herself to be unseen.
At a distance of about seven feet I placed the
camera, and throughout all the movements inci-
dental to the focussing and arranging of things,
she never moved, and I was therefore able to
give the fairly long exposure that was made
necessary by the strong light and shade. During
the many times I visited her, only this once

BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 13

did she assume this peculiar position of imaginary
concealment.

Another photograph was made in order to
satisfy the doubtings of a disbelieving Thomas.
The idea of attaching the camera to the higher
branch of a tree and making the exposure with the
aid of forty feet of rubber tubing was a story too
far-fetched for my friend. To convince him that
it could be done I selected a nest situated in a
crotch of the upper branch of a maple and secured
the camera to an adjoining branch about five feet
from the nest.

The conditions were entirely unfavourable for
photography, as the mass of leaves cut off the light
except in front of the camera. However, a photo-
graph had to be made, and so, after arranging things
as best I might, I set the shutter for a three seconds’
exposure. Then, descending the tree, I waited for
the return of the mother thrush. She had through-
out been watching the operations, with feelings
closely akin to disgust, and when I removed my un-
welcome presence to a little distance, she returned
to the tree and abused the harmless camera as
though it had been some frightful monster.

Finding it did not retaliate in any way and that
it remained absolutely quiet, the excited bird soon
quieted down and turned her attention to the
hungry brood who called loudly for food. Such
calls are imperative, and Mrs. ‘Thrush went off in
search of some desirable morsel. This she found
after a very short time and with it she returned to
the nest. Now was my opportunity and I pressed
the bulb. Then, changing plates, I returned to the

14 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

dark room to develop what I hoped would turn out
to be a good negative, but such was not to be;
during the long exposure the bird had moved and
so the plate was spoiled. Once more I returned to
the tree, and after a short wait succeeded in making
another exposure, this time with better results as
shown in the accompanying illustration. Incident-
ally I may remark that my friend was convinced.
We will now turn our attention to photographing
young birds being fed by their parents. This is, of
course, no easy task, especially when the bird one
wishes to portray is one like the Indigo bird, for
the Indigo is not at all of a trusting nature. Man
to them is an enemy to be avoided at all hazards.
The gift of song together with the beautiful plumage
of these small birds has been to them a living curse.
Man, instead of being content to enjoy the presence
of such ornaments amid their natural surroundings,
must needs keep up a continual warfare against
the harmless creatures, by catching them in traps,
quite regardless of the law, and using them as an
article of commerce. Years of such persecution
have made them suspicious. Only in very excep-
tional instances do we find one that is at all tame.
Many times have I tried, and in vain, to secure a
photograph of the sitting bird on her nest, while
the idea of her feeding her young with the camera in
close proximity seemed nothing more nor less than
a wild dream. One day, however, by good fortune
I met with a family of Indigo birds that would
pose forme. The young, usually extremely wild,
were perfectly well behaved and remained where-
ever I chose to place them, but of the parents

Wood Thrush on Nest.

BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 15

only the dull-coloured mother bird would venture
within shot of the camera, while the father, puffed
up with vanity, for he is most wonderfully clothed
in various shades of intense blue, would sit on the
topmost branches of the trees near by and spend his
time in song. All endeavours to induce him to
come near the camera were futile. His dusky mate
proved somewhat more tractable, and as long as I
kept at a respectful distance from the camera, she
did not seriously object to feeding her young ones.
But the overwhelming combination of man and
camera was more than she could stand, so while I
succeeded in securing a number of photographs, in
nearly every case I had to conceal myself in the
underbrush and make the exposure through the long
tube already mentioned. Towards the end of the
second day she became rather less shy, but still she
showed little of the confidence displayed by some
other of my bird friends.

Spending so much time with birds affords one
splendid opportunities for studying their habits, and
with this interesting, if exclusive, family, the feature
of their domestic arrangements that struck me most
forcibly was, that not once did his lordship deign to
carry food to any of his hungry offspring ; entirely
to the industrious little mother were the youngsters
beholden for their meals, and the number of grass-
hoppers, spiders, and caterpillars that she had to
catch was quite remarkable. ‘The only duties
incumbent on her gaily bedecked lord, that I
could discover, were firstly, that he must warn
her of impending danger by uttering a sharp note
of alarm; secondly, he must try, if the intruder

16 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

happens to be of the human kind, to lead him as far
as possible from the nest, which is carefully hidden
in the tangle of undergrowth ; thirdly, he must
furnish amusement for the family by constant song.
Surely his is the easier task.

Part II
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY

Ir was quite natural that, after having devoted
many years to bird hunting with the camera, I
should become more ambitious and try my luck
with larger and, shall I say, more interesting game ?
No; that would indeed be disloyal to the birds that
first tempted me into what was then a virgin field.
Fach phase of the sport has its own particular virtues
and attractions, its obstacles to overcome and some-
times its triumphs. Perhaps the chief difference
between bird and animal work is that with birds,
especially the smaller kinds, the great charm is in
trying to overcome their natural fear of man in order
to gain if possible their comparative if not complete
confidence. No one who has not attempted this has
any idea how much pleasure and satisfaction may be
derived from the friendship of even the smallest and
most common of wild birds. On the other hand,
with animals there is seldom any question of friend-
ship, except in rare instances and then usually only
with the smaller species. The sportsman must
be content with his joy in outwitting the keenly
developed senses of the ever hunted, such as the
deer, or of those equally alert, the hunters, the car-

ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 17

nivorous, great and small. You must match your
intelligence, handicapped as it is by the somewhat
dulled senses of seeing and hearing and the almost
dead sense of smell, against those which have these
three senses most keenly developed, and whose
acute powers of reasoning should never be despised
by the hunter. It is, as I have stated, difficult to
say which pursuit affords the greater pleasure or
keener excitement. Each is splendid and each will
teach its many lessons to those who will but use
their eyes intelligently and not jump to conclusions
too hastily. Unfortunately this fault of hastiness is
only too common, especially in two kinds of people,
those who are too lazy to make their investigations
without a sufficient degree of thoroughness, and
those who by nature are impulsive and over-
enthusiastic. By such people, if they have but
the suggestion of a theory on which to work,
all incidents and conditions will be made to
fit this pre-established theory; their eyes are
blinded to all else. Mbole-hills are turned into
mountains and conclusions will be reached which
have not the slightest foundation. No one has a
much better opportunity to study wild animals
in their native state than he who hunts with the
camera. Unlike the man who shoots and so destroys
the actual subject of his study, the camera-hunter is
frequently forced to spend many, many hours of
enforced inactivity whilst in the presence of the
animals, waiting, perhaps, for them to come within
range, to reach a place where stalking would be
possible, or where the light will be good—waiting

in fact for any of a dozen possible things to occur.

W.L.C. Cc

18 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

It is during such times that the lessons are learnt,
that the unexpected events take place. The
actual photographing takes very little time, but
the watching is never ended for those who really
wish to observe and learn.

“What sort of camera should I use?” How
often have I been asked this question, and yet it is
always equally difficult to give an adequate and
comprehensive reply. (1) What sort of man or
woman are you? (2) Where are you going to
hunt? (3) What are the conditions? (4) And
finally, what can you afford for the outfit? These
are perhaps the principal questions, and the answers
are determined by further questioning. (1) Are
you lazy or painstaking? If lazy and still insist on
hunting with the camera (though in this case it
would be quite against my advice that you should
engage in a task, or sport, that depends so much on
energy and perseverance) I advise an ordinary hand,
folding camera, using films. The pictures you will
obtain won’t be worth much but they will be all
you deserve. Are you painstaking? Then we shall
have to answer the other questions first. (2) If
you would hunt in the north, a telephoto lens of
moderately high power need not be considered.
If in a thickly-wooded country it is also of little
or no use. Perhaps you are surprised that I
should deal with the lens before speaking of the
camera, but that is reasonable, for the camera must
be of type suited to the lens or lenses you expect
to use. (8) Is weight an important item? If it is,
plates will have to be eliminated or practically so.
Are you going to work from a horse or from a

ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 19

canoe, from a blind or by stalking? On the
consideration of all these points depends the
selection of a proper outfit. Generally speaking,
the reflex type of camera is almost a necessity
when good results are desired. Its size must
depend on what you can use under the existing
conditions. A four by five, or even a quarter plate
size when light weight is called for. The five by
seven, or the half plate, ifit can be managed. These
larger sizes are far more satisfactory, but are, of
course, more expensive, more bulky and much
heavier, and stalking with them is made very much
more difficult. The very rapid lenses, that is, those
working with an aperture of F. 4.5, or thereabouts,
have so little depth of focus that it nearly always
means cutting them down to about F. 6 in order
to obtain even fair depth. So the extra weight is
being carried to very little purpose, such as a quite
occasional exposure under poor light conditions.
F. 6 is quite large enough for most practical pur-
poses. The new types of low and usually single-
powered telephoto lenses promise great things.
They are being changed so frequently that before this
appears in print some new device may be invented
which will completely revolutionise everything.
The chief (and almost only) advantage possessed
by these types is that with a camera having only
a short draw (of bellows) you can use a lens which
has approximately an equivalent focus of twice the
length of bellows. Against this, if they work at
an aperture of F.5 or 6, there is the disadvan-
tage of size, both in diameter and length, which
makes them somewhat cumbersome. If you can
c2

20 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

use a convertible lens of 2 foci, it is advisable, for
though the single combination is slow it often
enables you to obtain satisfactory pictures of
animals entirely out of range for the ordinary
short focus lens. But don’t lose sight of the fact
that the single combination means double the draw
of bellows required for the complete lens. It is
well to employ a lens, especially if it be a cheap
one, made to cover a plate one size larger than you
are using, so that there is no question of the entire
plate being clean cut. The ordinary lenses supplied
with cameras are usually too slow for animal work,
their aperture being as a rule about F. 8. How-
ever, they will do quite well under favourable
conditions, but don’t forget that favourable con-
ditions are the exception rather than the rule, ex-
cept in such countries as Africa, or in the middle
western states of North America. It is nearly
always poor economy to buy cheap outfits. They
too frequently lead to disappointment, and when
you consider how much a trip costs, is it worth
while for the sake of saving a very small amount
to sacrifice the entire results, when by having a
good reliable outfit you may secure pictures which
will pay a part, if not all, of the expenses of your
outing? Should you wish to go in for telephoto
work remember that the positive lens should be of
very great rapidity, not less than F. 4.5, otherwise
the possibility of instantaneous exposure would be
limited to one or two magnifications. Never buy
the two elements separately, but let the manufac-
turer supply you with the complete lenses, positive
and negative elements properly adjusted. It is

ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 21

essential that the camera for telephoto work should
be very rigid, as the slightest vibration is greatly
magnified.

Before touching on the practical use of the camera
there are several details to be dealt with—small
ones, but nevertheless important. Let the camera
be in every way as simple as possible, free from
complicated adjustments and all its parts easily
accessible in case of anything getting out of order.
Let there be as little outside machinery as possible.
Kvery projection offers a chance for trouble; a
slight blow, and perhaps the whole outfit may be
rendered useless. All parts should work easily and
with as little noise as possible. One of the great
objections to the focal plane shutter is the noise it
makes. The ideal camera could be reflex with both
focal plane and lens shutter, the former for very rapid
work such as birds in flight, and the latter for slower
exposures where silence is all important. There is
at present a reflex with a lens shutter, but it unfor-
tunately does not allow much variation of lenses, so
that its usefulness is greatly curtailed. The reflex
camera should be so arranged that the focussing hood
admits of use from above and from the back. The
advantage of this is that it allows the camera to be
held level with the eyes so that the immediate fore-
ground is not shown in the picture. When you are
in a canoe you can operate this camera with greater
freedom and safety as it will not be necessary to
stand up or even to kneel in order to clear the adja-
cent water or the canoe bow which so often obtrudes
itself in such pictures. Good plate holders are of the
utmost importance ; not only must they be abso-

22 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

lutely safe, and allow the plates to be easily put in
and securely held in place, but they should be fitted
with a device which precludes all possibility of
double exposures, that béte noir, so common when
one works under conditions of keen excitement
and haste. In saying that plate holders should be
loaded without difficulty, it must be borne in mind
that when in camp you have no dark room, but
usually a simple dark changing bag, which means
manipulation by sense of touch alone, so it will be
seen that any complications add greatly to one’s
troubles. Many prefer to use films instead of plates.
There is no question at all of the advantage the
former possess in point of weight and simplicity,
but the results are not as satisfactory as when plates
are used, especially so with the larger sizes. A five
by seven or half plate film is very apt not to lie
flat ; in dry climates this is not so noticeable, but
in damp, muggy weather they are more than likely
- to wrinkle, which means that with a very rapid
lens (2.e., one that has little depth of focus) parts of
the picture will be sharp while other parts on the
same plane will be entirely out of focus. Then
again, films are more inclined to have scratches.
They do not keep so well, and, finally, they are not
so easy of manipulation. Let me suggest that a
soft, portable case be carried for the camera, made
of some good strong but light waterproof material,
so that in case of showers the camera will not
suffer. The strong, stiff travelling case may be
made of compressed paper, kept thoroughly
varnished. It is better than leather, being lighter,
stronger and more rigid, besides which it will not

ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 23

become water-soaked. Cases for plate holders
should be made of the same material but covered
with waterproofed leather so as to be less noisy. A
small case of soft leather to hold three plate
holders will be found very useful for carrying a
temporary supply while you are actually stalking.

The foregoing is but a brief outline of the most
important parts of the outfit necessary for animal
photography. Each person who attempts the
sport will, as he advances, develop his own ideas
on what will best suit his methods. What has been
said here is simply a general guide for those who
are unfamiliar with the subject, so that they may
have a basis on which to work when the outfit is to
be bought. It is seldom that the dealer is able to
offer much help in the way of advice regarding any
special class of work. It is, indeed, scarcely to be
expected of him, when we consider how difficult it
is for the man who has spent years at the work to
give advice that will be of much real value. Expe-
rience is the only trustworthy teacher, and she is
so slow and usually so expensive that she is likely
to discourage those whose heart is not thoroughly
in the work they wish to do.

I make no mention of flashlight work because
no device that I have yet seen or made is worthy
of being recommended.

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION
IN NEWFOUNDLAND

CHAPTER II
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION IN NEWFOUNDLAND’

[The result of six seasons’ work, when patience
was at last rewarded and the big herds came
before the stags had shed their antlers.]

OcToBER 24TH, 1911. Once more I find myself
in Newfoundland watching from my blind for the
elusive Caribou, and, judging from indications, I
shall not have long to wait. The day before
yesterday while paddling up the river I saw several
small lots of Caribou, and this morning while
cooking my solitary breakfast, a herd of fifteen
swam across the river and landed on the bank
directly opposite my camp ; so it looks as though
the migration for which I have long waited had
really begun, and that I would at last have some
luck. Yesterday I repaired the blinds which I have
used each year, and built a couple of new ones on
very promising leads, so I feel that I am ready
for my friends when they come. Armed with
camera, plates, and warm clothing I left camp soon
after the sun had risen. After showing itself for a
few minutes it retired behind the deep grey clouds.
I circled around the river to my blind so as to leave
no scent along the Caribou leads, for unless pressed
by bad weather, these animals will not cross a fresh
human trail, and even if the scent be almost cold

1 First published in Country Life.

23 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

their suspicions will be aroused and the chance of
securing pictures greatly reduced. It is only when
they are absolutely off their guard and unsuspicious
that one has any chance with them. To-day the
wind is favourable but bitterly cold. Unfortunately
the light is bad, but then that seems to be the rule
at this time of the year in Newfoundland, bright
days being rather the exception. My blind, or
gaze, as the Newfoundlanders call it, is a simple
affair composed of about a dozen small fir trees
stuck securely into the bog, arranged in a circle
open at the southern end; on the north side, facing
the leads, the branches are cut away, leaving an
opening through which the camera protrudes. The
selection of a desirable site for the blind is of the
greatest importance; it should control as many
leads as possible, the prevailing direction of the
wind must be considered, the sun must be from the
back, the background should compose well, and
there should be no obstructions in the foreground.
Inside the blind everything should be arranged so
that no dry twigs will rub against one’s clothing,
for the slightest noise may cause the loss of a
picture. A number of well-worn leads or paths
pass on each side of the blind I have made, some
only a few feet away, others two or three hundred
feet. All the conditions are such that if the Caribou
come I shall be almost certain to get pictures.

The day wears on, but not a Caribou appears. I
have been doing some sketching, but the cold wind
makes the work very trying. The afternoon is
particularly dark and unpleasant, and as it is nearly
four o'clock I shall head for camp without having

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 29

used a single plate. On my way down the river
two small herds crossed far ahead of me.

Another day. Since eight o’clock this morning I
have been in the same blind but without accomplish-
ing anything. In the distance I have heard the
splashing of animals crossing the river ; why it is none
come along these fine leads it is difficult to under-
stand. Before returning to my camp I shall examine
the banks and find out what leads are being used.
The result of yesterday’s search showed that the
Caribou are using the leads below my camp, quite a
number having crossed the river during the past few
days, so this morning finds me in a new blind on the
south side of the river. Unfortunately the wind is
blowing so hard that it is impossible to hear any
animals entering the water. Therefore it is all
the more necessary to keep my eyes open. For
two hours I have been waiting, and my hands and
feet are becoming numb, so I must get up and start
the blood circulating ; but wait, there is a Caribou.
It proves to be only a doe and her fawn, a beautiful
pair almost entirely clothed in their winter coat of
silvery white. They came along at a quick walk,
heading directly toward me, closer and closer, until
within forty feet or so. Owing to the lack of light
it was impossible to make a picture of them walking,
so that as soon as everything was ready, I gave a
sudden shout. They stopped immediately, and as
they looked about with a surprised expression,
the shutter clicked with a noise that revealed my
position, and off the pair went at full gallop. This
little excitement warmed me upa trifle, but the cold
is getting more and more intense and the sky

30 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

becomes still more heavily obscured with cold lead-
coloured clouds. Bad weather is coming without
doubt. If only it would snow there would be
no lack of Caribou. Even while I am writing,
occasional snowflakes fly past, stinging my face.
Further writing is impossible to-day. At intervals
during the night flurries of hard snow blew against
my tent, yet altogether there was scarcely enough to
whiten the ground. The day broke dull and grey,
but before nine o’clock the sun came out. Now if
the Caribou would only come, the light is good and
there is so little wind that any animals crossing the
river can be easily heard. A Canada jay is sitting
upon a twig above my head. He seems to be
watching the pencil with wondering eyes. Down
he comes ; now he is not more than a foot or so from
my head. Who’sthere? Well, that certainly beats
anything I have ever known for impertinence.
Evidently it was my glasses that fascinated the bird,
for he suddenly darted at them and had them in his
bill before I realised his intentions. Throwing up
my hands, I frightened the rascal, and he dropped the
glasses Before I could replace them the stillness
of the morning was broken by repeated sounds of
splashing in the river. Caribou had crossed and
landed close to where my canoe was hidden.
Fortunately they kept clear of my trail. It was
only a small herd, but they came within range and
I made two exposures. Scarcely had I reloaded
the camera than another and larger herd came into
view. What a superb sight they presented as they
walked with quick steps along the lead which
would give me the best chance with the camera!

‘SUOTIIPUOD oTqeqIns Toy Surzrea
quaiyed yo saved xis—gad 04 savef xIs ueye} svy ommgjord sty, ‘pley ay} spor dop w sasi

‘SOLINFI99 TOF pos Udeq savy yey} syed do spol wtoOM-TJaaM oy Suope org [suis ut yeavry ATTensn Loy
“WONRASTUL UT Noga puvppanozAare yy oul

‘dojjes v som 4¥ Io 4or1} Bursutas Io ‘ypuA yomb v ye Suton

r

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 31

So quiet was the morning that the curious clicking
of their feet sounded unusually clearly. Here was
the chance for which I had been waiting six long
years. The combination that I knew was bound to
come some time; good light, and a large enough
herd of absolutely unsuspicious Caribou. It was
really worth waiting for, and my heart beat so hard
with excitement that it seemed as though the
approaching animals must hear it. With almost
feverish haste each part of the camera was carefully
examined to see that the shutter was set correctly,
the proper diaphragm in place, the slide drawn, and
so forth. All of this occupied but a second or two.
However, the animals were almost in range by the
time I had made sure that everything was in readi-
ness. If only a stag had been leading! But that
seldom happens. In fact, only three times have I
seen it! First came a doe and her fawn, then three
young stags and another doe followed by a fair
stag, but the largest one was, of course, the last of the
line ; that is the rule and that is why it is so difficult
to photograph them. On they came, and I watched
them closely as they grew larger and larger on the
ground glass of the camera, but at the moment
when they almost covered the entire plate, I
pressed the shutter release, the picture was made and
the herd had gone before another plate could be put
into position. Now once more I settle down to
watch and think with pleasure of the good luck
that has come my way. It has been a satisfactory
day’s work, even if I get nothing more, but
apparently there is more to come, for at this
moment I hear splashes. What is to be? There

32 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

comes a head through the fringe of alders which
line the river bank, another, and yet another. This
is surely my lucky day. Among that small herd
was a stag, a real stag of the kind one reads about,
but seldom sees. How many points? youask. Well!
I don’t know. I didn’t have time to count them,
but it looked like forty-five or fifty, and the photo-
graph shows a full forty-five. He followed close
behind the small band of does and came within
fifty feet of me before I made the exposure.
Startled by the sound of the shutter, the big
fellow jumped directly towards me, stopping about
twenty-five feet away. Excited to a painful
degree, I tried to put in another plate and reset
the shutter so that I might make a picture of the
stag alone. But just as I was drawing the slide, he
galloped off. I had secured one picture of the
magnificent specimen, so I had no right to com-
plain. Yet I did regret not having succeeded in
getting the picture of him alone, when he would
have shown to much better advantage.

It is afternoon and the sky is dull. So far nothing
has happened since the big stag came. Several
Caribou are feeding on the marsh a few hundred
yards away. One small herd is working in this
direction. ‘They are feeding slowly along. Now
they are not more than one hundred and fifty yards
away. They have stopped feeding, and one after
the other they are lying down. The stag, a fine big
one, stands sentry for some time, but he too wants
to rest, so he too liesdown. For over an hour they
sleep quietly. One old doe looks up occasionally,
but they are unaware of the fact that their arch-

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 33

enemy, man, is so near. Suddenly, however, three
does came along so quietly that I neither saw nor
heard them until they were within about twenty
feet, and without having seen them, I moved. Of
course they bolted, giving, as they went, the alarm-
call which aroused the sleeping herd and caused
them to take to their heels.

This is a morning of mornings. The whole
country is a fairy land, glistening and sparkling
with a wonderful covering of iridescent hoar-frost.
The dark, oily water of the river seems doubly dark
as it glides along the white avenue. The edges are
coated with frost-covered ice, and small clusters of
frozen froth float slowly and silently down the river.
The overpowering silence is broken now and then
by the harsh croak of a raven or the whistling of a
passing duck. It is on a morning like this that one
appreciates to the fullest the joy of being entirely
alone, and yet people so often ask me if I am not
lonely on these solitary trips. On such a day as
this, loneliness is impossible. The barrens surround-
ing my blinds are particularly and wonderfully
beautiful this morning. In one part the yellow
grass gives a curious golden hue to the frosty
covering. In another the colour is pinkish-purple,
as richly coloured leaves shine through the frost.
Look which way you will the effect is different, yet
equally beautiful. But it is too good to last. A
cold wind is getting up, dark clouds are gathering
on the horizon, bad weather is threatening. It is
about noon, and even now large drops of rain are
spattering the paper, so I must stop writing.
Yesterday brought no luck. The weather became

W.L.C. D

34 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

unbearable, and at 3 o'clock I gave up and returned
to camp. By 5 o’clock it was snowing hard, and
all night the soft flakes pattered gently on the
tent, each one adding to my hopes. When I got
up this morning at 5.30 the moon was setting in a
clear sky. The country looked as beautiful as
it always must when the evergreens are snow-
covered. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees,
and everything was so exquisitely quiet that it
seemed an act of sacrilege to break the stillness
with the sound of the axe. This snow was bound
to bring the Caribou, and I hurried through
breakfast, scarcely waiting even to share my
porridge with my favourite Canada jay. With
disgust I saw the sky becoming overcast, and before
I left the camp a film of grey had hidden the blue.

Now I am once more in the whitened blind, wish~
ing the sun would come out to make the snow sparkle
and help me with my photographic work. There!
I hear a splash in the river not four hundred yards
away. Another and another, in quick succession.
It is Caribou, and they are evidently going to land
at the leads which I am watching. Everything is
ready but the light, which is pitifully bad. They
arecoming. Whata herd that was! Fully seventy-
five, with many good stags, but they came so fast, as
though impelled with the fear of bad weather, that
a quick exposure was impossible. Nothing could
stop the maddened herd and they rushed past me
within a few feet, the band separating as they
reached the blind, going so close that I could put
out my hand and touch them as they pass. Excit-
ing! It certainly was. It was exhilarating, and

Lins (ya Jt ye Sut ota SOT} ofA apeur sea yey 2 U5}
dU] pate < 1PLe : AU JO JUOAP UL ATPaItp ABALT vyp s try Jo pa

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 35

even though I got only one very poor picture, the
experience was one long to be remembered. What
would I not have given for a gleam of sunshine.
Then I could have shown people what a herd
of frenzied Caribou look like. Wait! There is
another splash. It was only a single stag, a rather
small one with poor antlers, but he came very close,
and as he was travelling slowly, I managed to
secure a fair picture. ‘The wind is rising and blow-
ing away the snow from the more exposed situations.
This is bad, as it makes it still more difficult to use
the camera for quick work. Once more I hear a
terrific splashing in the river, but it sounds a little
below my leads. Minutes are going by. Still I
see no sign of the animals. They have evidently
gone along another lead further to the westward.
Yes, I can see them crossing the big marsh. A
superb herd of one hundred and twenty or more.
What a pity they are too far away to photograph !
It is such a beautiful sight, that long, quickly
moving line of white and grey, its colour being
in perfect harmony with the snow-mottled marsh
where the colours range from the deepest crimsons
and yellows to cold blue and lemon greys of the
Caribou moss. There again is the promising sound
of splashing in the water, repeated at short intervals
as animal after animal takes to the river. The wind
makes so much noise that it is impossible to get any
idea of the number in the herd, but I shall probably
see them, as they appear to be coming this way.
Yes, there they are. The herd was a big one, but it
divided and only thirty or forty passed me, and not
a stag in the lot. For some unknown reason the
D2

36 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

big part of that herd with several fine stags turned
off from the main lead soon after leaving the river
bank, so the picture of the does was all I could get.
It is surely hard luck to see so many Caribou and
not be able to make satisfactory pictures. But,
after all, that is the peculiarity of animal photo-
graphy. There is always some obstacle in the way
of making good pictures. It is these difficulties
and disappointments which make the sport so
fascinating. How much more difficult it is than
shooting! Here this morning I could have shot
several fine stags, but not a single good picture of
one could I secure. Several hours have gone by
and many Caribou have passed, large and small
herds. But most have gone so quickly that with
the poor light I could not photograph them. A
few came more quietly, and with these I had fair
luck. Now it is too dark to do anything more.
In point of numbers this has been the best day I
have ever known, over five hundred having passed
within sight, but the results pictorially have been
very unsatisfactory. Before leaving camp this
morning three herds of Caribou crossed the river, one
lot crossing by my camp, but though the light was
weak, I managed to make a long enough exposure
to secure a rather satisfactory picture. No sooner
had I reached my blind than a large herd came by,
going too fast to be photographed. Later on several
herds crossed further below, but they did not come
within range of the camera. The day is very dull
so I have small hopes of doing much, especially
as most of the herds are working further to the
westward. One small company led by a fairly good

AL] AAV PUMOIBaLo] of} UPL AOAQT Spoty uo Surtiaagy

Od ysull BALTL OTUs oq

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 37

stag came within reach, but the weak light made it
impossible to make a satisfactory picture. Towards
noon the day warmed up, and the Caribou, after
crossing the river, entered the big marsh and
stopped there to feed and rest. Atone time I could
count eight separate herds all within three-quarters
of a mile. About three hundred yards away there
were three large stags, and I attempted to stalk
them. Unfortunately I had not seen a doe that
evidently belonged to the party, and just before I
got within range, she warned the stags and off they
went. About three o’clock I went back to the
river to try my luck there, and soon found one of
the much used crossings. A few minutes after I
had hidden myself among some tall grass, a single
doe swam the river and landed immediately in
front of me; with the bright golden light stream-
ing through the clouds it was very beautiful, but
exasperating, as it was not in good position for the
camera. JI made an exposure and the animal
passed me within twenty feet without even sus-
pecting my presence. A few minutes later a doe
and a fawn landed at the same place, and I could
not resist the temptation to use another plate.
To-day I tried working along the river in the
hopes of getting photographs of the Caribou
entering and leaving the water. Hiding among
the tall grass as I had done yesterday, I did not
have long to wait before a large herd appeared on
the opposite bank. After hesitating for a moment
or two, they broke through the thin sheet of ice
and entered the river, following closely one behind
the other till there were forty in the water, but

38 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

they headed down stream, far below where I was
until suddenly, without any apparent reason, they
turned and came straight toward me. ‘he sun
was still so low that the fir trees cast a shadow far
across the river, but as that could not be helped, I
had to make the best of it. The herd landed about
forty feet from me and I made two exposures
before they realised what was happening. Then
what a scattering there was! Mud flew in all
directions and many rushed past, only a few
feet away. After this I crossed the river to the
sun-lit side; putting the canoe behind a partly sub-
merged log, I waited, and pretty soon a doe and
fawn came down the bank and, entering the river,
swam across without seeing me. Soon another
pair posed for me. Then a little later there was
a great commotion as a large herd came crashing
down the bank through the thick fringe of trees.
Now the question was when to take the picture.
Of course, I wanted a big stag as the centre of the
picture. Does and small stags came in abundance,
and finally I thought the last had come, and even
though it was only a doe I pressed the button as
she rushed down the bank. No sooner had I done
this than an immense stag came immediately
behind her, hesitated a moment in a _ perfect
position, looking directly at me, but before I could
re-set the shut, he had scrambled up the bank
and disappeared. For the rest of the day I had no
further luck. Many Caribou crossed the river, but
all went below or above where I happened to be.
Nevertheless, the day has been one of great interest.
It is seldom that one has a chance to see so many

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 39

wild animals, and while watching them the wonder
of this great migration was constantly before my
mind. Every autumn, following the first heavy
snow that comes after October 20th, the northern
Caribou commenced the southerly journey; con-
verging from their various summer haunts, they
pass between Sandy River and Gaff-topsails,
scattering again soon after they cross the railroad
line to grass. The winters are spent toward the
centre of the island. Then, as spring approaches,
the great herd return to their summer homes. In
watching the southerly migration one is surprised
at the great number of does, perhaps as many as
fifteen or twenty to each stag. In fact there are
often large herds with no stags at all. This in-
equality is not as great as it seems, for toward the
end of the migration there are many great herds
which contain only stags, but then they are mostly
without antlers. As early as November 3rd some
of the stags drop their horns, very few carrying
them into December. At what age the Caribou
carry their best heads is not known, but probably
the largest horns are found on the stags ranging
from seven to ten years of age. Unlike most deer
the does of the Newfoundland Caribou usually
have horns. They are for the most part small and
without beauty, though occasionally a very fair
head is seen; in form it is more like the antlers
of the Virginia deer, and lacks the characteristic
brow paddle, which the stags almost always have.
The Caribou’s colour varies with the individual and
with the season. In general they are white in the
winter and a soft brown or grey mouse colour

40 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

during the summer. The cause of the migration
is presumably the search for food, but there is so
little data on the subject that one is scarcely justi-
fied in making any definite statements. We know
that by no means all the northern Caribou come
south, many remaining in the extreme north of
the peninsula; while quite as many stay in the
southern part of the island during the summer.
There is no apparent reason why those animals
which spend the winter in the middle of the island
on the high plains and rolling hills should not stay
there during the summer. Evidently there is some
condition of which we know nothing, something
which causes the vast herds to endure the hard-
ships of the long trips of the autumn and spring,
when they often have to fight their way through
the thick ice of the frozen rivers and lakes. They
travel easily and rapidly under almost all conditions,
gliding over the soft, quaking bogs as readily as
over the hard, rocky hills. Through the dense fir
forests they break their way almost without noise.
They take to the water like ducks, their heavy
coats of air-containing hair making them so buoyant
that they swim with several inches of the entire
length of their body showing; but though they
swim with ease and rapidity, they do not relish enter-
ing the very cold water. I have often watched them
hesitate for quite a long time before plunging in.
The leads or roads which they follow have been in
use year after year, perhaps for hundreds or thou-
sands of years, for in many places deep furrows are
worn in the rocks by the hoofs of countless thou-
sands of Caribou. Travelling, at least in the autumn,

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THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 41

is done almost entirely by daylight, chiefly before
10 in the morning and after 3 in the afternoon ;
only during very bad weather, when the snow is
becoming dangerously deep, or when extreme cold
threatens to freeze and so close the rivers, do they
move much at night. One of the sights which
I live in hopes of seeing is that of the south-bound
animals crashing through the frozen rivers in a
driving snowstorm, for then they have no fear of
man and would be easy targets for the camera.
Their one idea at such times is to reach their
southern destination where they can, by constant
work, procure sufficient nourishment from the
snow-bound country. This winter they will soon
be there, for the greater part of the migration has
already passed, perhaps the largest migration that
has occurred for many years. Fully two thousand
have passed within my sight during the two weeks
that I have been on Sandy River. They have
treated me well, and if the weather had only been
brighter, I should have had excellent pictures to
show. This is the sixth consecutive year that I
have spent at least part of the southerly migration
season along Sandy River in the hopes of opportu-
nity to photograph these beautiful creatures. But
hitherto luck has always been against me. ‘Two
years ago, I spent six long weeks watching and
hoping day by day that the migration would begin,
but something had gone wrong with it, and it was
not until well into December that the great herds
of south-bound animals came along, and by that
time, of course, the stags had shed their horns.
Other times 1 have spent two to four weeks watching

42 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the leads but without success. Why, you may ask,
am I so anxious to picture the Caribou, that I
should devote myself year after year to the effort ?
Surely there are many other animals to portray with
camera, brush and pen, animals, too, that are easier
to find perhaps? That is, of course, true, but they
are for the most part animals far better known, of
which more or less truthful pictures have been
made, but the Caribou of Newfoundland have
scarcely been fairly pictured. Paintings of them
are usually grotesque caricatures of the graceful
creatures. Look at almost all the pictures that
have been made, and what do you see? A lean,
sad, miserable creature with ungainly legs, exagge-
rated knee-joints and a hang-dog expression that in
no waysresemble the wild Caribou. How it comes
that these animals are not more faithfully pictured
is probably because the usual zoo specimens from
which the studies are made are not in normal con-
dition. They almost always suffer from a disease
which changes their entire appearance; the poor
creature survives but a short time in captivity,
succumbing before it reaches maturity to an illness
which apparently is unpreventable. Thus it is that
we see so few Caribou in captivity. The change of
food, probably more than the change of living, is
the cause of this. But whatever it may be, we
never see a captive Caribou which resembles the
animal in its natural haunts. To my mind there
is no more graceful, beautiful animal than the
Newfoundland Caribou, beautiful in form and
wonderful in colour; yet the question of indivi-
duality among these creatures must be considered.

Stay Caribou, photographed at a distance of not more than nine varts.

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 43

You will find magnificent stags which resemble the
majestic elk; then again there are many large stags
whose ugliness and ungainliness are such that they
are almost comical. So also with the does and
fawns. People, asa rule, fail to realise this marked
individuality in wild creatures, both as to appear-
ance and character. Yet I believe it to be as
great as, if not greater than, with the human being.
The pictures which accompany this article, though
they do not do justice to the originals, at least give
some slight suggestion of their beauty, and I hope
they will help to correct the common idea that the
animals are always ungainly and unlovely. If so, I
shall feel even more fully repaid than I have already
been by the joy of doing the work itself. As to
the pleasure of doing this work, I have no words at
my command which will give any idea of it. There
is in it a peculiar fascination, almost impossible to
describe. A fascination and pleasure which obli-
terates all traces of the hardships, yes, and even
sufferings with which the work is often attended.
To give some sort of a reality to this work, I feel that
the writing should be done on the spot, for it has
been said by the wise ones that a man should be in
the environment of which he is writing. Surely
I am in the proper environment, even though the ©
conditions scarcely favour writing, for while I see
the pencil moving in a somewhat erratic manner
over the paper, my hands are so benumbed by
cold that I can feel nothing. How different from
writing in an attic, where bare walls stare insolently
and each step on the rickety stairs suggests the
postman coming with manuscripts “ returned with

44 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

thanks!” Different, too, from a cozy studio or warm,
snug library with all its comforts. Among no such
limiting surroundings am I writing, but out on
the bare and bleak yet beautiful barrens, where a
carpet of richly-coloured mosses fights with the
sombre greys for supremacy. No painted ceiling
presses on my head, the great limitless, blue vault
is above me, or the sun is at any rate shining with
seductive warmth above the leaden-grey clouds
which so persistently hide its beauty. Often the
snowflakes, driven by an ill-tempered and keen-
cutting wind, chase each other across the paper and
play hide-and-seek with the pencil point. My eyes,
besides being on my work, are also constantly scan-
ning the country, for one can never tell at what
minute a mighty stag or a silver-hued line of
Caribou may come in sight. They seem to spring
from nowhere, and almost before the camera can be
pointed at them they have come and gone, leaving,
perhaps, nothing more substantial than a mental
picture. To have any chance of success, one must
be keenly and constantly alert. Hours and even
days may pass without the sign of a Caribou, but
it seems as soon as one relaxes for a moment, the
animals come. For this year, I must bid good-
bye to these Caribou of Newfoundland. Perhaps
next season we may meet again, when I may be
better able to prove the beauty of the reindeer of
the western world. With keen regret I roll up the
tent. My only companion, the fluffy jay, sits by my
side and we share our farewell meal. He knows
Iam going and murmurs softly as he watches me
pack the canoe and start down the river. No

THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 45

tangled mass of orange-coloured antlers breaks the
graceful line of the canoe; my trophies, as yet
invisible and of unknown quality, are packed in a
tiny waterproof case, awaiting the magic touch of
the chemicals which will discover whether or not
my aim has been true. If true, I shall have
pictures to show. If not, the many memories
of the trip must suffice, and they will live and
improve as the years go by.

THE STORY OF A PORCUPINE
HUNT

CHAPTER III

THE STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT *

How a series of photographs were made directly from the wild animal
for the purpose of illustrating a story. Probably the first time that wild
animals were ever made to pose in this way before the camera.

In the month of April, 1901, a telegram from
a New York publisher came to me as I was about
to start off for a day’s bird work: “Come in
immediately, have splendid story to illustrate.”
The story proved to be about the Canadian porcu-
pine—an animal I had not yet seen in its wild state.
Would I undertake to make the pictures entirely
with the camera, so as to give a touch of realism
more convincing than if the work were done by
hand ? Somewhat reluctantly I promised not only
to make the set, but undertook to have it completed
by June 10th. Having made this rather rash
promise, the next step was to find out where to
look for the porcupines—without having to go too
far for them. Inquiries among my naturalist
friends resulted in information which was not very
hopeful. The opinion was that the shortness of
time would make it practically impossible.

Being blessed with a decidedly optimistic dis
position, I hoped for the best, packed up an
outfit of cameras and warm clothes, and started for
the Adirondacks. Inquiries among the residents

* Not previously published.
W.L.c. E

50 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

of a very small village where the train dropped
me one cold, rainy morning led me to hire a
“rig” and drive many miles over roads which
were roads in little more than name. For the long
winter frost, coming out of the ground, had con-
verted the road into a regular mire in which the
wheels sank nearly to the hubs and frequently
stuck in a most alarming way. Twice the decrepit
harness gave way under the unusual strain. The
prospects of ever reaching the little mountain farm
were at times anything but promising, but by dint
of much coaxing, picturesquely intermixed with a
fair amount of “cussing” and a great deal of good
luck, we finally drew up at a small log house of
neat appearance. Now came the seemingly impos-
sible task of making a backwoodsman understand
that I wanted his help in connection with hunt-
ing for porcupines, and photographing the queer
beasts so as to fit the story. This meant bringing
in two characters, a man and a boy. The man
proved most intelligent, and even though he
regarded me for some time as a mild lunatic who
might without risk be humoured in his strange
whims and fancies, he promised all the help I
needed. One of his sons was about the age of the
boy in the story, so it only remained for us to find
the most important member—the porcupine.

Now the finding of these animals is easy enough
in the regions where they abound, but finding them
and handling them are by no means the same.
The porky has been said to have more good points
than any other animal, a sad but very true joke,

which can only be thoroughly appreciated by those

STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 51

who have attempted to control the creatures. It
unfortunately happens that they are almost entirely
nocturnal in their habits, coming out towards dusk
and returning to their sleeping quarters about
dawn. As the photographic work could not be
done at night it was necessary for us to secure our
would-be, or perhaps I should say our would-not-be
models during their nightly wanderings and keep
them till morning, all of which sounds easy, but was
none the less the cause of many tribulations and dis-
appointments ; for, be it remembered, a porcupine
can climb almost anything and if enclosed in a box
will eat his way out within a few hours. We
decided a sack would be the thing, so when on the
first night we caught a fine animal which was
prowling about seeking what he might devour in
the way of spade handles or other wooden articles
used by men, we put him in a sack, tied it up, and
put it in a barrel. When morning came we carried
our victim to a place where the setting coincided
with that of the story. The camera was carefully
arranged, and the bag opened, and out rolled an
animal which possessed not a single point, good or
otherwise. All the quills had been transferred to
the sack, and we beheld a rough, hairy and very
sad-looking model utterly unsuited to our purposes.
This was most unfortunate, because the picture de-
manded snow. And this small patch, hidden in a
sheltered nook, a last remnant of the winter, was
the only snow in the region. The day was warm
and springlike, so that in a few hours this too
would be melted and our chance gone for the
year. There was nothing to be done for this day,
E 2

52 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

so after releasing our moulted friend we returned
to the farmhouse sadder and wiser men.

During the afternoon we made an enclosure
which would safely contain our next victim, and
when night came we went out to hunt. Before
long the dogs began a furious barking; they had
discovered two porkies behind the chicken house,
fortunately not far from the new enclosure. With
the aid of the dogs and by much pushing we managed
to get the prickly creatures inside and left them
there till morning. Soon after breakfast we started
for the dwindling snow patch—a curious procession.
One of the porcupines was slung from a pole,
secured by all four legs; in this way the man and
the boy carried him, while I followed armed witha
camera, tripod, and other paraphernalia. All went
well till we came to the river, which had to be
crossed in a very small, frail, low-sided punt. The
river was a raging torrent owing to the recently
melted snow, and the prospects ofreaching the
opposite bank were not at all cheerful. Two of us
got into the punt with the porky, who was very
well behaved until we were nearly half way over,
when a lot of water rushed over the side, soaking
the poor beast, who immediately began to squirm so
vigorously that he got his feet out of the slip knots,
and, finding himself free, made straight for the end
of the boat where the man was devoting all his
attention to paddling and steering. As a very
close companion a porcupine is scarcely to be
recommended, especially in a small and very frail
boat in very rough water. The man had on heavy
boots, and with these he pushed and pushed the

STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 53

determined animal. But the more he pushed the
more determined did the animal become. Finally
he took the paddle and with it managed to shove
the creature back; but with very nearly disastrous
results, for the punt swung broadside to the yellow
curling ripples, and only by good luck and prompt
action were we able to avert a capsize. Finally we
landed, a sadly bedraggled trio. The man’s feet
looked much like pincushions, so full were they of
the porky’s quills. It took us about an hour to
drive that animal to the snow patch and another
hour to persuade the obstinate bunch of quills to
pose as required by the story. Finally, however,
the picture was made, and as the animal had lost
so many of his quills we released him as being of
no further use. On returning to the farm we
found that the second one, which we had imagined
so securely imprisoned, had taken French leave,
and we were left without a model for to-morrow.
That night and several more we hunted in vain for
another suitable porky ; we found several, but all
were of most disreputable appearance.

At length the man suggested that we go to some
woods five or six miles away. There not only should
we find an abundance of the animals we sought, but
the conditions would be thoroughly satisfactory for
the setting. All this sounded so hopeful that we
packed up, and with blankets, cameras, and food
supplies for five or six days we made an early start,
each of us carrying pur loads of about sixty-five
pounds. It was a delightful walk through those
mixed forests; at times we made our way among
the dark spruces and hemlocks, walking on the soft,

54 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

spongy moss and climbing over the frequent
windfalls. Then there would be hardwood ridges
where the gleaming silver-and-white of the beeches
and birches reflected all the tender tints of the
delicate spring leaves and bursting buds. Many of
the early arriving warblers darted among the lace-
like foliage searching for unwary insects. It was
all beautiful, but the hills were many and steep and
the loads heavy, and, worst of all, the mosquitoes
and black flies, those terrors of the otherwise perfect
north-woods, were wakened to unwonted activity
by the warmth of the spring sun. The edge of the
lake was reached at last; here we made camp in
simple fashion. No tent from the city outfitters.
Itwas not needed in the land of birch-bark. In less
than an hour we had peeled off great slabs of glisten-
ing bark, enough to cover our lean-to and render
it proof against the most severe rains. Before the
sun set we visited the lake and caught a few trout
for supper. Strange it is how much one enjoys
a meal cooked out of doors, where the smell of
burning wood permeates everything. The simplest
food, badly cooked though it may be, and usually
is, tastes better far than the best of indoor cooking.
A few rashers of bacon curled and smoked over
the glowing embers, eaten with hot soda biscuits
(often called scones) baked in the tin oven, is
good enough for any man out in the woods, yet
the same man would scorn such a dinner served
on delicate china in a well-appointed dining-room.
Why is it? Just as for the fisherman it is not
the fish but the conditions. under which they are
caught that gives the pleasure; so it is with the

STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 55

food. It is not the food itself, but the sur-
roundings, the environment, which give it such
a zest.

Werolled ourselves in our blankets on our springy
beds of spruce boughs and watched the crackling
fire, fascinated as one always is by the ruddy smoke
as it swept upward toward the twinkling stars,
faintly illuminating the dark branches of the sur-
rounding trees. As we watched we listened—
listened for the sound of a wandering porcupine
which, attracted by the smell of bacon, might be
tempted to approach our camp. While watching
we often dozed, for we were tired with the healthy
tiredness of outdoor life. It was, perhaps, ten o’clock,
the fire had died down to a few smouldering logs
which sent up fitful flames of tiny sparks and blue
wreaths of smoky plumes, when we were awakened
by the faint, shrill call of porcupines, several of which
were evidently nearby. We listened for some time
until we thought we knew where the nearest one
was. Then, slipping on our boots and taking
torches of birch-bark, we quietly made our way
towards the sound. On we went, further and
further, making our way with great difficulty over
the fallen trees, among the upturned roots and the
tangle of underbrush. Suddenly the flaring torch
showed us a porky not twenty-five feet away. The
light striking the polished ends of the quills gave
him a most peculiar appearance. For a moment he
watched us, surprised at the strange sight, then,
deciding that we would look better from a greater
distance, he started away with all of us after him.
Never have I taken part in a stranger chase. We

56 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

floundered in mudholes, tumbled over tree trunks,
caught our feet in the hidden moss-covered roots as
we tried to dodge this way and that after the elusive
creature who seemed not to know which way to go.
First this way, then that way, sometimes with a
sudden change of mind back he would head, dodg-
ing right between us, just as we were mixed up in
various obstructions in the strange light cast by
the three torches, our dancing shadows chasing
each other like dark phantoms. On and on we went,
paying no attention to our direction, till at last we
cornered the bewildered beast between the root
knees of a large cedar. With considerable difficulty
we fastened a stout line around one hind leg of the
indignant creature, and with still greater difficulty
drove him to where we thought the camp should
be. Apparently we had been going in circles while
stumbling through the woods, and though not more
than a few hundred yards from the starting-point,
we were so bewildered that none of us could say
where the camp was. Finally, after many false
directions and signs had been followed, we were
surprised by a thin column of smoke and sparks
rising only a few yards away from where we were
holding a consultation. Had it not been for that
smoke we might have wandered till daylight.

On arriving at the camp we were much surprised
and amused to see a fine big porcupine hurrying
away. Therascal had been stealing our bacon and
we came in time to save only a small part of it.
Hastily securing our captive to a tree stump, we
proceeded to catch the retreating thief. Soon we
had him tied by the hind legs to a convenient tree,

The Porcupine aud the Abandoned Camp in the Snow,

STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 57

and we returned to the camp to secure more
thoroughly the first-caught porky. To our utter
disappointment we discovered nothing but the end
of the cord, which he had evidently bitten through.
It is scarcely necessary to say that we were utterly
disgusted at our bad luck, or carelessness, whichever
you like to call it. We had learned our lesson
however, and immediately took precautions against
the escape of our last victim. Then we all crawled
into the lean-to for a few hours’ sleep. The night
was warm, so we had allowed the fire to die down,
and we arranged our blankets in the dark. A
shout of surprise and pain from the man caused me
to quickly strike a match and by its flickering light
I saw a most amusing sight. ‘The escaped porcu-
pine had retreated to the inner part of the lean-to,
and finding the blankets very much to his liking,
had decided to make his bed there and then. The
man in moving the blankets had come into contact
with the animated pincushion and had received a
full dose of quills into his hands, with the result
that he entirely failed to see the funny side of the
situation. Of course he was powerless to do any-
thing with his fingers in that condition, so after
lighting a torch I extracted all the quills, a painful
and very tedious task. The boy in the meantime
kept his eye on the porky. Eventually all the quills
were removed, and then the porky was fastened to
a tree to await the morning’s work.

After a few hours of refreshing sleep we were
up, and by the time the sun was high enough we
began the photographic work. One of the pictures
called for a lake shore setting; this required my

58 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

going into the ice-cold water with the camera, and
a more miserable half-hour I have seldom spent,
for apart from the cold, and the water was well
above my knees, the air was filled with thousands
of detestable black flies and “ no-see-ems,” whose
poisonous stinging bite nearly drives a man crazy.
It was no fun, but really hard work, and I could
not help thinking that sitting in a comfortable
studio making drawings was far easier than making
photographic illustrations of wild animals.

One of the subjects was a porcupine sitting
among the topmost branches of a hemlock tree.
How I blessed the author of the story for choosing
such a tree with its bending branches. We cut
down a vigorous-looking tree, took off the top and
stuck it firmly in the ground. The next question
was, how could we induce the porky to climb it ?
Apparently there was no question about it so far
as the animal was concerned, he simply refused
point blank, and nothing that we could do had the
slightest effect on his determination. With any
other small creature it would have been an easy
matter to place him exactly where we wished, but
unfortunately one cannot handle these prickly
customers. Finally we tied the perverse beast
to a stout pole, hoisted him up, and when he
grasped the branch we cut the cord, whereupon he
promptly fell to the ground, and we had to repeat
this operation several times before he at last decided
to hold on and the picture was quickly made.

Another illustration required a dug-out canoe.
The man said he knew where there used to be an
old one, which we might be able to find in a certain

The Porcupine, the Man, and the Half Dug-out.

STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 59

tangled swamp. On our way to the place we
found a fine porky sitting asleep on the branch of
a tall spruce. Surely an excellent opportunity for
securing a model with very little trouble. Simply
cut down the tree and we would have him, so
thought we. Porky thought differently, As we
cut, up he went till he reached the topmost
branches. The tree swung slowly as the last strokes
of the axe cut through, then with gradually
increasing speed it heeled over, grazing another
tree as it fell. The porky took advantage of the
situation to scramble off the fallen tree on to
the standing one, and there he’ stayed, smiling, I
imagine, at our discomfiture. To cut down the
second tree was the work of only a few minutes,
and we began, but before half a dozen white chips
had flown from the keen edge of the axe the clever
creature decided that it was moving time, and he
left the vibrating tree and climbed into the branches
of another one. The pursuit was hopeless, so we
gave up and continued our search for the dug-out,
which we eventually discovered in a long aban-
doned beaver canal leading from the swamp to the
lake. When I say we found the dug-out, I should
more properly say we found half of it, for that was
all that remained of the rough-hewn craft. Of
course itwould not float ; we therefore placed it in
very shallow water so that it rested on the bottom,
with the broken end on a tussock, and when we
brought the necessary porcupine the following
morning we were able, with very slight trouble, to
make the picture just as it was described in the
story. The camera was placed so that the broken

60 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

part of the canoe came against the edge of the
plate. We had many other interesting and some-
times tiring experiences before the series of pictures
was completed, and it was with great pleasure that
I sent in the result two days ahead of the appointed
time.

This was probably the first animal story ever
illustrated entirely with the camera in which a
really wild or, I should say, many wild animals were
used and every detail of the described scenes
rendered as accurately as though done with the
brush. Whether the results justify the labour is
a question. Apart from the fact that they give a
touch of realism and so make the story appear
more true, I should be inclined to answer it in the
negative. Such pictures are not easy to procure,
but there is in the making of them an element of
sport which is a reward for all of the hardships,
and further than that it takes one into the woods
where there is unlimited opportunity to learn
something of the great out of doors, where Nature
has always something new to tell us if we will but
use our ears and our eyes. And when at the end of
each day’s work in the woods we roll ourselves up
in our blankets, we sleep—sleep that delicious
refreshing sleep of the kind unknown to the
man who works only in the studio.

BIRDS AND THE CAMERA

CHAPTER IV
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA

Nowapays, when the camera forms a necessary
part of the nature-interviewer’s and pleasure-seeker’s
outfit, no creature, human or otherwise, is safe from
the press-the-button brigade. Nearly every person
who can afford one, and many who cannot, possess
or hope to possess a camera, and with these every
imaginable object, animate or inanimate, is por-
trayed. Comparatively few, however, of the great
army ever direct their energies to the photographing
of birds. It is difficult to account for this lack of
interest in such a fascinating branch of camera
work ; perhaps it is because so few people know or
care for the feathered tribes, while even those who
really do interest themselves in these useful mem-
bers of creation fear the many difficulties to be
met with in bird photography. Not many people
are possessed of a sufficient amount of patience
to watch quietly through the long hot hours of a
summer’s day in the hopes of perhaps securing a
single photograph of a live bird. Without this
patience no one need hope to succeed. True, an
occasional “snapshot” when conditions happen to
be favourable may, and sometimes does, result in
the obtaining of a good picture, but he who would
interview a bird with the camera must be prepared
for endless disappointments; and, should weeks

64 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

pass by and no good photographs be secured, he
must not be discouraged. Birds are somewhat
uncertain in their moods, and years of persecu-
tion by man have had the effect of instilling in
them a very natural feeling of fear and distrust,
which can only be changed by kindness and
patience.

My chapter on the worm-eating warbler and her
family offers a good example of what patience and
fair treatment can accomplish with birds. It must
not be imagined that this comparatively rare bird
would come so near the camera when first we met ;
that would have been expecting too much. Only
after she—for I presume it was a female—had
learned to know me, and realised that I intended no
harm, did she place such confidence in one whom
she had probably considered her natural enemy.
Let one of these warblers be seen by a collector,
and what is its fate? Death, with Science as the
threadbare and usually valueless excuse. Would
that more of the so-called collectors (I do not refer
to those who are really working upon a scientific
basis and with a knowledge of their subject that
enables them to do the good expected of them)
might more often exchange the gun for the camera !
If that could be, photographers as well as the birds
would be the gainers, so that from a selfish stand-
point, if for no other reason, I would recommend
the harmless camera. ‘Take for example the accom-
panying pictures of a family of young crested fly-
catchers. Surely theyare more likely to give pleasure
in this form than if they were a set of the most
perfectly made “skins,” arranged with infinite care

The same Brood ready for Pood.

BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 65

ina fancy cabinet. These fly-catchers I had watched
ever since their arrival into the world. Their
nursery, so carefully made, was placed inside the
dead branch of an old apple tree. With full
consideration for the comfort of the prospective
family of six, the parents had gathered a quantity
of pine needles, and of these entirely was the
actual nest made; a few feathers were added as a
lining that would keep the nestlings warm in their
earliest babyhood.

During the first few days of their lives the
youngsters were by no means objects of beauty ;
rather were they grotesque, with their large heads
and small pinkish bodies, loosely covered with
wrinkled skin, and entirely innocent of feathers or
any other covering whatever. Watching their
extremely rapid growth, I decided that by July 4th
some, if not all of them, would be nearly ready to
be launched out into the great world of many
enemies ; so it was on that day the family posed
for me.

It usually happens that in a brood of birds there
is a weakling, so I was not surprised to find upon
close examination that one of these fly-catchers was
smaller than he really should have been; and not
only was small, but much undeveloped. While the
others were almost able to fly, he could not even
keep his balance, so for that reason I was unable to
place him on the apple branch that formed the perch
for his brothers and sisters. They were strong and
well developed, but of unmanageable dispositions.
Though perfectly able to sit on the branch, it was
a long while before I could induce them to do so.

W.L.C. F

66 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

One in particular aggravated me beyond words.
Instead of using his feet for what nature intended
them, he insisted on clutching tightly hold of his
wings, as though that were of the slightest use. If I
disengaged the unruly members and placed his toes
as they should be—around the branch—he would
roll off, either backward or forward, exactly as a
mounted bird would do if the leg wires were not
secured. For fully fifteen minutes this perform-
ance was kept up, varied only in its tiresome
monotony by the other four nestlings. Every little
while they would simultaneously follow the bad
example of the little seamp—who, by the way, was
about the largest and strongest of the brood—and
with one accord, as though they had been released
from their support by the pressing of an electric
button, they would all drop off.

It is quite probable that most people who were
so unfortunate as to have been anywhere in
the vicinity of New York will remember with
unpleasant distinctness the heat of the national
holiday—July 4th, 1900. In the apple orchard
where the fly-catchers had their nest, and which was
in a hollow entirely surrounded by hills, the heat
was intense, for the breezes did not venture near.
On the higher ground the trees might be seen
lazily waving their topmost branches, as though
wishing to inform the world of the fact that up
there, at least, the soft summer winds deigned to
live; and I devoutly wished my friends the fly-
catchers had not chosen for their nestling place
this orchard, which seemed as though it had been
transplanted from the tropics.

BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 67

With the perspiration dripping from every pore,
and the horse-flies trying persistently to make their
dinner off my neck, is it to be wondered at that my
stock of patience was soon nearly exhausted? Yet
there was something decidedly amusing in the beha-
viour of my little models, their peculiar objection to
the business of posing and the aggravating manner
in which they expressed their disapproval of the
whole proceeding. Many times I would succeed in
putting three or even four on. And then, just as I
was picking up the last of the unruly crew, the first
and then the second would fall limply to the ground.
When these were restored to their perch the others
would drop off one by one. It really was quite
enough to try the patience of a saint. Suddenly, and
with no apparent reason, the young rascals became
possessed of a better spirit, and sat as quiet as models
should. I was greatly relieved at this welcome
change, but how was it to be accounted for?
Apparently the conditions had not altered, so I was
forced to believe that a note, which one of the parents
had just uttered, was a command to the young ;
perhaps he had discovered that I meant no harm,
and therefore wished his children to behave them-
selves. Whatever was the cause I was thankful
for it, and immediately arranged the camera, so that
in a few minutes all the Masters and Misses Fly-
catcher were secured by the dry plate ready to be
handed down to, we hope, an admiring posterity.

No sooner had I made the exposure, than Mrs.
Fly-catcher arrived ; till then she had not shown
very much anxiety for her youngsters, but now she
appeared with some kind of insect in her capacious

F 2

68 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

beak, and with a peculiar note she conveyed to the
little ones the news that there was food near by.

It is quite in accordance with the rules and
regulations of bird life that when food is brought
to the nest, each member of the hungry (and to be
a young bird is to be hungry) family shall open his
or her beak to its greatest extent. When there are
six such mouths open, and each head, held on high,
trembles violently in pleasurable anticipation of the
hoped-for morsel, we cannot help wondering how
by any possibility the parent bird can decide which
shall have the food. She appears, however, to waste
no time in considering the difficult problem, but
instantly drops the insect, or whatever it may be,
into one of the many mouths. Then, after remaining
for a few seconds to see that the nursery is as clean
as it should be, she hurries away in quest of a further
supply of food.

Now the five young birds before me understood
full well the significance of their mother’s call, and
one after another they opened their mouths, but in
a half-hearted way that was most ridiculous.
Evidently they realised the fact that things were
not quite as they should have been, and that
perhaps, after all, they were not going to befed. At
any rate it was better to be fully prepared, and so
it was that, as each one sat with a silly expression on
his face and his beak partly open, I made the
picture of which the accompanying is a reproduc-
tion. After taking another photograph, showing
the entire brood on the stump that contained their
cozy home, I left them in possession of the orchard,
and sought for myself a place where the breezes

“GAO 5 2 Bake
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= 1eT

BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 69

blew, there to rest from the arduous, though
interesting, labour of photographing recalcitrant
fly-catchers under the direct rays of the hot July sun.

On such a trying day the open fields and scrub
lands offered but slight inducement for bird hunting,
and so I chose by preference the woods and thickets
that bordered the stream.

It was a likely place for birds, but the heat was
great, and I wandered in that aimless way which
seldom leads to finding anything. Here and there
beneath the kindly shadow of a heavily foliaged tree
I noticed birds, but they showed little animation,
and sat quietly with beaks open as though gasping
for breath. Birds suffer greatly from heat, so that
on days when the temperature is high they move
about but little, excepting during the earlier and
later hours of the day, preferrmg rather some
secluded and shady place where they may rest
undisturbed during the hours of the greatest heat.

Not finding anything new, I remembered the
beautiful basket-like nest of the Red-eyed Vireo, in
which, but twelve days ago, I had seen two eggs
and two tiny naked bodies that had so recently left
the cramped quarters of their imprisoning shell.
Probably by now they would have abandoned their
nest and be hiding in the dense tangle of vines
that grew beneath the hanging cradle. It would
be difficult to find them, but fortune is often kind,
and I would try her once more.

The nest as I drew near bore the semblance of a
deserted house, and indeed it proved to be empty,
but even in its emptiness it was an object of
interest. I noticed for the first time that it was

70 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

largely composed of strips of the paper hornet’s
nest. These were held in place by numerous
threads of caterpillar silk and decorated with tufts
of white material, probably cocoons’ or spiders’
nests. The entire structure was wonderfully
fashioned and was a good example of the extra-
ordinary skill of the little architects. While I was
examining all these exquisite details, my attention
was attracted by a bird-like sound in the thicket
near by. Was it the note of a young bird? I waited
anxiously for a repetition of the sound. For a few
minutes all was quiet, only a wood-thrush sang its
rich, sad song, and in the distance a woodpecker
tapped the trunk of a dead tree. Then another
sound came from the undergrowth, only the faint
peep-peep of a young bird, but it delighted me, for
on a careful approach, among the leaves I discovered,
sitting there on the lower branch of the silky
corel, one of the most beautiful young birds I
have ever met, fit indeed to have been cradled in
the marvellous nest I had been admiring, for it was
a young Red-eyed Vireo—twelve days old—the age
when its beauty is more conspicuous than at any
other period of its life.

There was no gaudy colouring to this little ball
of fluff that it did not need. Nothing could
enhance the beauty of this softly coloured bird ;
almost might it be called a living symphony in
grey, for the breast was very pale grey, pearly in
its extreme delicacy; the head was of various
shades of soft grey, while the back was of a
delicate grey or olive-green that harmonised most
perfectly with the other subtle shades.

Young Red-eyed Vireo.

BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 71

As a rule, when young birds are discovered
shortly after they have left the nest, they first of
all sit absolutely still with beak pointed upwards,
and think themselves unseen. As soon, however,
as they know they have been detected, they drop
down among the leaves and undergrowth and are
instantly lost to view. My little friend followed
no such line of action. The moment I placed my
finger near him, he hopped on to it in a most
confiding manner. He seemed quite tame and
rather tired, and I imagined he had been having
his first lesson in flying and was therefore exhausted.
Whatever may have been the cause I know not,
but it was not very long before he nestled himself
down, and gradually closing his eyes, went fast
asleep, quite regardless of his strange perch. In
this way he remained until a call from one of his
parents awakened him; he carefully stretched his
small self and then looked about him, with an
expression of “ Where am I?”

Fearing lest he should become too lively, I
replaced him on his natural perch and made ready
the camera. His wakefulness was, however, only
temporary, and before I had made a third exposure
he was fast asleep again. SoI left the sleeping atom
to be watched over by those who, for but a few
short weeks, would be his instructors and guardians,
and went to pay a visit to an ovenbird whose beauti-
ful dome-shaped nest was hidden among the dead
leaves in the woods near by. She was at home
when I called, so I decided to photograph her.
Unfortunately the roof of the arched nest cut off
the light so that under existing circumstances a

72 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

good picture could scarcely be hoped for. A small
looking-glass, however, served to alter things, by
throwing the sunlight into the nest, so that only a
very short exposure was necessary.

My mind was fully made up to make the further
acquaintance of this little thrush-like warbler after
the arrival of her brood, for it is only then that one
can really get to know a bird. The day arrived, and
the four little trembling pink bodies had taken the
place of the speckled eggs. They were too small to
photograph then, so I left them for two days and
then made one photograph, thinking that later on, as
they grew stronger, I should be able to photograph
them at different stages of their growth. But this
was not to be. As I approached the domed
nursery I was greeted by the pitiful complaining
note of the pair of ovenbirds. This was not the
way in which they usually greeted me. I feared
the worst, and my fears were realised. In place of
the nest there was only a tangled and shattered
heap of weed stems and dry leaves—the materials
that but a few hours before had constituted a
beautiful example of bird architecture. In the
soft earth, within thirty inches of the ruins, was the
print of a cat’s foot. Sick at heart, I left the
scene of misery and desolation, vowing an awful
vengeance against cats in general.

“ BLUEY ”

CHAPTER V

‘“ BLUEY ”: * A TRUE STORY OF THE VERY BEST
PET BIRD

THE scene was laid in an abandoned apple
orchard, situated in a snug little valley, surrounded
on all but the southern side by heavily timbered
hills; these kept constant guard, ever ready to
check the advance of the cold north wind, that
enemy of the spring vegetation. Here it was that
the sun’s rays were held captive during the many
hours of the steadily lengthening days, so that birds
flocked in great numbers, in quest of the many
insects that were brought to life by the generous
warmth ; here also the first buds were to be found.
They peeped out as though frightened, and the
birds took advantage of these delicacies and ate
liberally of the supply so easily procured.

With one exception all the birds were spending
the long, bright days (many celebrating their return
from Southern quarters) in flying about, singing,
and enjoying the Heaven-sent sunshine of spring—
the power that was coaxing the leaves from their
protecting sheaths, to clothe the woods once more
in a rich green covering, the covering that must
protect the more delicate flowers from the scorching
heat of the midsummer sun.

All nature seemed to be rejoicing in the death of

* Never published before.

76 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

winter with its hard, relentless fury, that had smitten
the woods and hedgerows as though with a poison
breath, and bared all trees save the sturdy ever-
greens, alone able to withstand its furious onslaught
without striking their colours.

It was the middle of April. Here and there in
the woods, where the sun’s rays had not yet
penetrated, might be found small patches of snow,
the gravestones of the departed winter ; near these
the bloodroot, white as though born of the melting
snow, lifted its leaf-encircled stem, and the Dutch-
man’s breeches, with its lace-like leaf and rows of
queer little nodding flowers, sprang from the rich,
leafy mould. These, with the many tinted hepatica,
whose hardy leaves withstand the coldest winter,
were the harbingers of spring, sharing together the
honour of announcing to other plants that ‘twas
time to rise and make ready, for the season was
advancing, and the country must be decorated for
the coming gala months so near at hand.

Among the birds who came to the old apple
orchard so sheltered from the wintry fierceness of
the north winds that insects hatched out earliest
here and the buds first opened and offered delicious
morsels to the Bluebirds, were the many visitors who
would tarry but a few short days before once more
resuming the journey to their northern breeding
grounds. From these they would return in a few
months, accompanied by one or more broods of fully
grown youngsters all joining in the great procession
that would later on be journeying southward—when
the nights began to be cold, and the trees (by
changing their dress from green to colours that

“ BLUEY ” 77

in their brilliancy and variety would outrival the
tints of the setting sun) began to give warning
that autumn had come, and cold weather might
soon be expected.

While many of the birds, as we have already
noticed, were only visitors, by far the greater
number were old friends that had come once more
to build their nests, rear their young, and fill the
woodlands with song. What would the woods be
without the soft melody of the feathered choristers ?
The early morning and the evening, too, would be
robbed of their greatest charm.

Notwithstanding all the attractions offered by
nature in such profusion, at this, her happiest
season, Mrs. Bluebird, who had taken up her
quarters in a soft nest of grass snugly arranged in
a dark warm cavity in the dead branch of an apple
tree, now sat there true to her trust day after day,
imparting her life-impelling warmth to her five pale
green treasures, smooth and round and more precious
than the richest jewels. For nearly two long weeks
sat this expectant mother, a model of patience and
constancy, never for a moment leaving her charge
except when it became necessary to satisfy her
hunger. No less constant was her mate, who kept
his watch near by and sang soft love songs to his
patient little wife. He too was awaiting the time
when the longed-for young would emerge from
their shells. The great day came at last, the day
of days. The soft winds of spring murmured as
they carried the sweet perfume of the early flowers
through the orchard. Mrs. Bluebird felt a delicate
trembling sensation beneath her feathered breast,

78 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

an egg moved, a tiny atom had outgrown its con-
fining shell, its bill already protruded when the
mother glanced among the feathers to see that all
was progressing favourably. Who shall say what
were her sensations when she saw that first sign of
life, the reward of her long vigil to which she had
been so untiringly faithful? Can we ask whether
she realised what was happening, this great mystery
of life which was being enacted in that branch of
the apple tree ? Did she take it all as a matter of
course, just an episode in the day’s work? Perhaps
so, but it was none the less important to the new
mother. Should you doubt this statement, call to
mind, if you can, seeing a bird interrupted at this
crisis, what anguish is displayed, actually heart-
rending in its pitiful intensity, and doubt if you will
whether or not there is an appreciation of the over-
whelming importance of this family event. Even
after the young are partly grown the parents have
their welfare so deeply at heart that they will risk,
yes, and even court disaster to themselves rather
than allow any harm to befall the precious young-
sters. What is more pathetic than the bird that
pretends to be disabled in order to coax the
intruder to follow her, that her young may have
time and opportunity to hide themselves. With
seemingly broken wings or broken legs dragging
painfully behind her she flutters along a few yards
ahead of the pursuer, until in some unknown way
she is assured that her young are in safety. Then
what a change! Off she flies and is soon lost
to view. All of this demonstrates how seriously
birds regard the responsibilities of parentage. Let

“ BLUEY ” 19

us peep into the Bluebirds’ nest as one by one the
eggs open.

For many days these tiny creatures will have
but two ideas, eating and sleeping. These to them
represent life, and they respond with wonderful
rapidity to their inspiration. Now that the hatch-
ing has come at last, great indeed is the excitement
while the industrious parents keep up a steady
search for insects with which to feed their ever
hungry brood. With the first light of day they are
out, searching diligently for the early insects in the
dew-laden grass, and not until long after the sun
has disappeared behind the western hill do the
hungry youngsters stop crying for food.

At first the fledglings were anything but beauti-
ful—small, fat, shapeless, naked bodies with long
slender necks, and heads so much too large, and
with closed eyes that but added to their grotesque
appearance. At the slightest sound all their heads
would be instantly elevated, and with sundry
squeaks their mouths would open so wide that it
looked as if they could swallow themselves. If no
food was forthcoming, the heads, after swaying
unsteadily for a few moments, would one by one
drop, and once more form part of that hot, heaving,
shapeless mass. Rapidly these youngsters grew,
assuming shape and gathering strength; feathers,
too, began to appear, and by the time they were a
few days old their eyes were open, and the naked
bodies were partly clothed. It does not take long
for young birds to attain their full size; each day
makes a difference in their appearance that must be
seen to be realised. What pleasure must the change

Laboratory of Oriitholouy
(159 Sapsucker Woods Road
Cornell University

Ithaca, New York 14850

80 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

have given to Mrs. Bluebird! How proud of her
family must she have been! That is, if we can judge
the bird’s point of view from what our own would
be under similar conditions. Perhaps to do so is
entirely wrong. And yet, after close study of birds
and animals one is forced to realise that the differ-
ence between theirs and human characteristics is
not so great as many would suppose. For, jealousy,
individual likes and dislikes, selfishness, generosity,
the sense of common responsibility—all of these
are to be found in even the smallest of birds.

It was on the fourteenth day that two of the brood,
being somewhat stronger and larger than their
companions, climbed to the entrance of the nest
and took a general survey of the surroundings.
What thoughts were theirs as they saw for the first
time the beauty of the great world! They balanced
themselves with considerable uncertainty, standing
with much of their weight on the tarsus (heel), for
their feet were still very weak, but owing to the
extreme sharpness of their toe-nails, they were able
to hold securely to the rough bark.

It was at this time that we came into the story.
While strolling through the orchard in search of
material for bird photographs and study, we saw
the two young birds at the entrance of their nest.
Here was the chance I had been looking for—a
young Bluebird that could be pictured periodically
to show its growth and development. The fact
was very evident that if we wanted one of this
brood for a pet, and an object for study, there was
no time to lose, for within a few hours they would
all be leaving the nest ; accordingly we selected one

“ BLUEY ” 81

that seemed tame and tractable, and carried him
home that very day. The parents did not appear
to notice the theft, for the kidnapped bird uttered
no sound as we carried him off.

From the very beginning he bore promise of
having a somewhat unusual disposition; tame,
confiding, affectionate and full of little tricks that
were an endless source of pleasure to us all.
Knowing what his colour would be in the near
future, though at present he was spotted with tints
of bluish gray, we by common consent bestowed
the name of “ Bluey ” on our pet, and it was not
long before he feathered himself to suit his name.

Of course all young birds require feeding by
hand until after they reach their full size, and
Bluey was no exception to the rule, but, unlike
other fledglings, he was by no means content to
sit on his perch and be fed in the regular way.
He demanded far more attention and, if you
please, must needs have a person’s finger upon
which to stand, while he received mouthful after
mouthful of mashed potato and egg. The quantity
he ate was out of all proportion to his diminutive
size ; in less than two days he would consume an
amount of food about equal to his own bulk. As
he grew older less food would satisfy him, but still
his appetite remained most excellent.

Looked at from the standpoint of an orthodox
cage bird, Bluey, during the first few months,
could not be considered a success; in fact, he
objected thoroughly to being confined to a cage,
and fought continually; this, however, was our
own fault, as we allowed him so much freedom

W.L.C. G

82 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

that he was a regular spoiled child. His cage,
with several others, was hung in a large wire
enclosure, and of this domain Bluey considered
himself absolute monarch; he would go into his
cage only for food and water, or to drive out some
intruder, for he was cock-of-the-walk, and the other
birds gave way to him, even those that were larger
and stronger; Fluff and She, the pair of rose-
breasted Grosbeaks, were frightened into a state
of abject terror when Bluey threatened them, and
this he did quite frequently, seeming to enjoy their
complete discomfiture. Any attention which we
might pay to other birds called forth an angry
remonstrance from this little autocrat. He even
objected to any bird sitting on one’s shoulder—
a perch he considered his own right and privilege,
and one that he fully intended no other bird should
share.

At times it became necessary to shut him in
his cage, and he would then content himself for a
few moments by giving vent to his displeasure in
repeated calls—sharp, impatient notes that always
showed his lordship was angry. If no one paid
attention to him, cage fighting would begin, and
he would bang his head against the wires. It was
not long before he had torn out all the forehead
feathers, and with his little bald head he was not
an object of beauty. After taking a bath, which
he did once or twice each day, his appearance was
positively ludicrous. His mind, however, was far
above such things as personal looks, and he became
more and more affectionate and companionable,
always happy if only allowed to nestle snugly in

“ BLUEY ” 83

a person’s partly closed hand. Then he would go
to sleep as peacefully as a child in its mother’s arms,
uttering a peculiar little chirp as he cozied himself
into a comfortable position. He was very particular
never to sit in a hand except with his head towards
the fingers; occasionally by mistake he got in
facing the wrist, but he would immediately hop out,
and, turning round, assume his regular position.
When in a particularly affectionate mood he liked
to rub his beak repeatedly on one’s fingers, before
going to sleep. This seemed to be a mark of
endearment, somewhat after the manner in which
a dog rubs his nose against his master’s hand. It
must be an unusual habit, for in all my experience
with small birds I have known of no similar case.
At times, but by no means often, Bluey per-
formed a little trick that was as remarkable as it
was beautiful. Ifone of us held up a hand (and
no stranger need apply) and called .him by name,
he would immediately fly down, and after hovering
for some seconds, singing the while, alight and rub
his bill several times, usually on the first finger.
It was noticeable that he always perched so as to
face the fingers, and never, even by accident,
departed from this rule. Why this should be was
a constant source of speculation, and one that I
fear must for ever remain among the many
mysteries of bird-life. We try, generally in vain,
to discover the reasons for the actions of birds, but
it is difficult, as we have but our own experiences
to go by, and, while birds do most undoubtedly
think, they probably do so in a totally different
manner from ourselves. When Bluey saw his bath
G 2

84 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

being made ready he knew perfectly well what it
meant, for he would sit on my sleeve as soon as the
large glass tray was taken, and there wait while it
was washed and filled with water. The moment it
was full of clean water, and even before it was
placed on the ground, he would jump in and
immediately splash the water in all directions—for
he bathed most vigorously, so much so, indeed, that
at frequent intervals he had to pause to regain his
breath. Our other birds seemed more or less
suspicious of the bath, hopping round about it in an
undecided manner and getting in and out in a way
most aggravating to us who had taken the trouble
to give them the pleasure. One bird will never
take his bath in the presence of an onlooker, while
another always requires to be sprinkled before he
ventures in. But then Bluey had more sense than
any bird 1 have ever known; he seemed almost
human as he looked into one’s eyes, as though he
could read one’s very thoughts. When called by
name he always answered with a chirp, and when a
certain note was whistled he knew full well that it
was to him we called, and he would reply with a
short song of four or five notes, accompanied by a
quick flapping of one wing.

That Bluey had within him a soul for music
there can be no doubt. The piano in particular
appealed to him, for whenever it was played he
would sit either on the top of the instrument, on
the keys, or sometimes on the arm of the player.
No amount of banging disconcerted him. There
he sat, with feet widespread and head tilted
slightly to one side, as though in thorough

“BLUEY ” 85

enjoyment of the music. We were never able to
discover whether he had a preference for any
particular class of music— Wagner or Mendelssohn
or ragtime seemed to suit him equally well.

All birds are more or less observant, and Bluey,
being highly developed, noticed most things. Any
unusual change in the dress of those he knew was
instantly observed and carefully scrutinised ; even
a necktie of unusual colour required investigation,
while the wearing of a thimble, or a glove, might
and usually did arouse suspicion, and he would not
venture near the hand thus adorned. Many birds
object seriously to any shades of red, but Bluey, so
far as we know, had no such prejudices.

During the summer, when kept in the large
wire enclosure, it often happened, through the door
being inadvertently left open, that Bluey would
get out; but so tame was he, that after a short fly
about the grounds—where the wild birds chased
him, according to their usual habit when a cage
bird escapes—he would return to any one he knew.

As summer drew to a close (the end of August)
Bluey moulted ; his spots, which were the signs of
his youth, disappeared, and in their place came a
fine coat of feathers coloured and patterned like the
mature Bluebird. The blue on the head and back
was at first bright in colour, but as the year waned
there appeared rusty edgings to the feathers,
and these somewhat marred the beauty of the blue.
His throat, breast, and sides were coloured like
terra-cotta, which bordered on the white of the
under parts.

Towards the end of autumn we had a severe

86 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

fright on our pet’s account, and that day will be
ever memorable to us, for we thought the end
had come. Bluey’s death would have been a real
blow, for he had so endeared himself to every
member of the family that the loss would have
been well nigh irreparable. What had happened
no one at the time knew, but Bluey was found on
the ground, limp and dazed, apparently in a dying
condition. At first we thought he had struck
himself against something, and that he was
stunned. A little diluted whisky was adminis-
tered, and he gradually recovered, but for some
hours he remained very quiet, sleeping peacefully
in the hand of his mistress. When night came,
and it was time for him to go to roost, it was with
great difficulty he was induced to leave her hand,
for he clung to it, as though disliking the idea of
being alone.

The following day Bluey seemed to have quite
recovered, and he was, as usual, allowed the freedom
of the house. It was not long before he repeated
the performance of the previous day: while in the
act of flying, he dropped down in a fit, and again
we thought him dying, for he lay on his back with
feet upturned and beak wide open, gasping for
breath, his eyes shut. Lifting him gently, we
tried to do something; but we soon gave up all
hope of his recovery. After a little while, how-
ever, his little heart began beating with greater
strength ; he opened his eyes, and to our great
relief and astonishment he yawned, shook his
feathers, nestled in my hand, and went fast asleep.

The next day passed and he seemed perfectly

“BLUEY ” 87

well, and we congratulated ourselves upon what
seemed to be his complete recovery. But our hearts
sank when during the following morning the poor
little chap had two further attacks. In despair we
consulted a bird fancier, who told us that it was no
uncommon occurrence with soft-billed birds. This
was some small consolation, but the remedy recom-
mended did not at allappeal to us. Rush of blood
to the head was, he said, the cause, and the cure
was to let out some blood by cutting the toe.

Needless to say this was an operation the per-
formance of which we dreaded, but then Bluey
must be cured at any cost, and if this was necessary,
as the bird man declared, it must be done—and
done it was the very next day. The patient did
not seem to object at all at the time, although the
next day his foot was slightly inflamed. To us the
most painful part was that he was not cured, for
on both the following days he had fits, proving
absolutely that the operation had been in vain. In
giving these unpleasant details, it is with the hope
that if any one reads these pages, and chances to
have a pet bird that is subject to fits, he, or she, will
not adopt the above method in trying to effect a cure.

We next tried giving Bluey a complete change
of diet ; hitherto he had had moist “ mockingbird
food,” which is very rich; now we tried the dry
preparation freely mixed with grated carrot, and
from that day he was perfectly well and happy, to
the infinite relief of all his friends, for he was
looked upon quite as a member of the family.

For some months all went well. Bluey was
himself again, a healthy, affectionate, and lovable

88 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

hird, but another mishap was in store, and it was
one that very nearly proved fatal. He had been
allowed the free run of the house, and spent his
time in flying about from room to room, investi-
gating everything, devouring any stray flies,
crawling in each nook and cranny and nestling
for a few moments in places that were to his fancy,
—and no one could tell what places he might
choose. Those that had been most carefully arranged
with special reference to his supposed wants were so
entirely ignored that we came to the conclusion that
we understood not his whims and fancies. But this
capriciousness had nothing to do with the accident
that occurred when he was flying through the hall
one morning, with the evident intention of joining
us at the breakfast table. Someone banged the door
just as Bluey was about to enter ; he was struck in
mid-air and uttered such a piercing cry that we all
thought he had been killed. By sheer good luck,
however, the door had only bruised the side of his
head, thereby changing its shape completely and
distorting his beak, so that his whole appearance was
altered. For many days he kept very quiet, neither
singing nor caring to be petted ; but gradually the
swelling went down as weeks passed by, and his head
resumed its natural size and shape. The result of
the accident was shown by his no longer being able
to snap his bill (the points not coming quite together)
as he used to do when eating. He took his food
quietly ; even a fly would be caught without the loud
snap so characteristic of the bluebird when feeding.

Bluebirds being almost entirely insectivorous, we
had to keep Bluey well supplied with various kinds

“«“BLUEY” 89

of insects. Flies, grasshoppers, beetles, and small
moths seemed to be most in demand. Flies he
would catch with wonderful dexterity. They were
swallowed instantly, often before being killed.
Grasshoppers we caught and let loose in the
enclosure, and it was extremely interesting to
watch the systematic way in which he went about
the work of eating them. If several were let loose
at once, he would instantly pounce down on them,
and deliberately kill one after another by ham-
mering them with his beak. When quite satisfied
that they were all hors de combat, he would shake
off the legs of each one in turn and swallow the
bodies, each at a gulp. Finally he would gather
up and eat all the legs; not one would escape his
keen eye. The number of grasshoppers he could
devour at a meal was out of all proportion to
his size. I have known no less than eight to
disappear down that beautiful throat within a few
minutes.

His method of disposing of a large number of
hopping insects shows a great amount of reasoning
power (though birds are not supposed to reason).
He knew full well that were they not all killed in
the shortest possible time some would surely escape.
Curiously enough this was not the result of long
experience, for when he was but a few weeks old we
gave him several grasshoppers, and when he saw their
powers of jumping, he then and there made up his
mind they would get away ifnot immediately killed ;
and he promptly proceeded to kill.

Two years after Bluey’s arrival we moved to
a house that we had built near a delightful

909 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

little village fifty miles from New York. It was in
April, when the bluebirds had just arrived from
their southern winter trip. As usual Bluey was
allowed his freedom, and greatly did he enjoy flying
about the apple orchard, searching with his keen
eyes for insects which were to his taste. One day
while on an outing he met a little Miss Bluebird.
Need more be said? When we called him he simply
laughed at us, laughed and scolded as he sat with his
bride on the roof of an old barn. There was nothing
for us to do but submit to the inevitable. Love had
conquered, as it always will, and so we lost our pet—
the dearest of little companions whose song had so
often cheered us and whose delightful ways had
been a constant source of pleasure during the two
years he had been with us.

P.S.—Nearly a year has gone by since the fore-
going was written. A strange thing has happened.
In a bird box fastened outside my studio a pair of
bluebirds have taken up their quarters. While
watching them as they sat on the branch of a dog-
wood tree that grew near by I called as I used to
call Bluey. To my surprise there came the
familiar reply and the fluttering of the wing.
Was it our old pet? I believe so, for surely no
other bird would have answered as he did. For
two summers he stayed with us, and whenever I
called he would nearly always answer, but we were
less to him than his mate. He had tasted freedom,
and he liked it better than the restriction we had
imposed on his wilful spirit. He was living the
life for which he was made, and we could not find
it in our hearts to quarrel with his choice,

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS

CHAPTER VI

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS *

A true account of an experience with a chicadee family.

CHICADEE, chicadee, chicadee-dee-dee came from
among the branches of the swaying silver birch.
The same note was echoed from another tree near
by. This was in the woods where the ground was
dark and damp from the rains of early spring, there
was as yet but scanty vegetation, which might be
seen trying to force its way through the thickly
matted leaves of the year that had gone for ever.
The ground was so entirely covered with these
reminders of the departed year that one wondered
whether this budding spring would have the
power to hide the numerous dying skeletons. The
trees were in all the tender glory of their new green
covering, each one vying with its neighbour in its
effort to shade the ground, and to keep the ever-
increasing heat of the sun from burning the delicate
plants that were coming into life in the soil formed
by endless years of dying leaves. In all things was
the inevitable sign of life. The birds’ songs filled
the air to the accompaniment of the soft rustling of
the leaves.

Again came the sweet call of the chicadee, with
the tenderest of answers—“ Dee-dee’’—and through
the interlacing branches flew a small ball of black,

* First published in Hverybody’s Magazine.

94 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

white, and grey, that perched here and there on
the twigs until he came to his mate. They were
as alike as two peas in a pod, yet from their actions
one could tell, without question, which was which.
The one demanded instant waiting on and
attention ; that was Mrs. Chicadee. The other
attended to her every want, and this was Mr.
Chicadee. They had evidently been mated for but a
short time, for as yet no nest had been built, but
then the year was young and there was ample time,
so why hurry? Already other birds had young,
some were even building their second nest, but were
they any better off for all that hurry? Some had
had their nests destroyed by the frequent rains, and
the chicadees, perhaps, wondered why these birds
persisted in building their nests on the ground when
the woods were full of trees in which holes of almost
any size might be found; and was not a hole in a
tree a much safer and more comfortable place for a
home than a nest on the ground, no matter how
well it might be built? So thought the chicadees
as they busied themselves hunting among the
many partly decayed birch trees, searching for a
suitable hole. At last one was found that appeared
to answer all the requirements of our house-
hunting couple. Perhaps it had not “ all modern
improvements,” but what care birds for such things ?
Enough that the entrance was of the proper size
(about two and a half inches in diameter) and inside,
with a very little excavating, there would be room
for the expected family of seven. The hole was
rather deep, running down from the entrance
nearly eighteen inches, but by the time the nest

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 95

was built it would be about right. Also the stump
was a trifle low, being not more than four and a
half feet high, but it is better not to be too
particular: he who would search until he finds
perfection dies while he is yet searching.

As arule no bird likes to build its nest while a
human being looks on, for well do they know by
past experience, that is but too sad, what danger
lurks in the human form. How many tales of
desolation and misery could they tell if speech was
in their power ; tales of hopes blasted at the moment
when all seemed most promising, of wholesale death,
of entire families wiped out by the thoughtless act of
some human creature. Surely is it safer to have little
trust and faith in both man and beast. The man
will destroy without object or reason, while the beast
at least has the excuse that he does so for food! It
was, therefore, a surprise to me when Chicadee and
his mate began their building operations. After
hopping about on the thinly-leaved bushes, and
occasionally coming within a few feet of my head,
always replying to the call note that I whistled
by way of an introduction, they set to work.

“ Dee-dee” I had called, and “ chicadee-dee-dee ”
was the answer.

So we were introduced, and they might now get
to work, for there was much to be done and only four
short days before the first egg would be laid, and a
fitting nest must at all costs be made ready. The
sky was clouding over and there was the possibility
of rain, which would delay the nest-building, as by
making the materials wet it would unfit them for a
Chicadee’s nest, that should above all things be

96 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

dry. So the pair began work, and to watch them
was a pleasure that cannot be expressed in words.
Such devotion, such patience, such untiring energy,
and withal such intelligence, would have com-
manded the respect and attention of even the most
cold-hearted and indifferent person who claims
to care for nothing in nature besides man and
his works. Many birds have I had the good
fortune to watch during their nest building, some-
times surreptitiously and sometimes openly, but
never was I impressed as I was by the Chicadees.
Evidently moss was considered a most excellent
material with which to lay the foundation of the
nest. So Dee-dee, as I call Mrs. Chicadee (for it
was in that way she so often replied to her mate),
flew to the foot of a partly dead maple tree, whose
exposed roots were well covered with a thick coat
of short, curly and nearly dry moss. Then with
her entire energy and strength she commenced
gathering pieces of the moss in her tiny beak.
When she had as much as she could carry, she flew
to the nest hole, and, without hesitation, dis-
appeared through the entrance, to reappear after a
few moments, when she flew directly to the moss-
covered roots and once more began gathering
material. Just then Chicadee (her mate), who had
been absent for some minutes, arrived, carrying in his
beak a small greenish caterpillar. Seeing his mate he
called, ‘“‘ Chicadee, chicadee-dee-dee.” ‘ Dee-dee,”
in the softest of tones, came from the bird at the
foot of the partly dead maple, and he flew down
to tell her that he had brought food. She already
had several tufts of moss in her beak, and could not

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 97

therefore accept the proffered morsel, rather must
she continue her work, for the clouds were gathering
in dark masses that promised at least a heavy
shower when her moss-gathering must cease. In
vain did Chicadee coax ; it was all to no purpose !
she must work. Her beak full, she flew to the nest,
remained there as before a few minutes and then
reappeared. This was Chicadee’s opportunity, and
he hurried to her before she had a chance to gather
any more of the much desired moss. With the
most delicate manner imaginable he once more
offered the dainty morsel, and she accepted it with
a graceful flutter, just as a young girl might on
accepting a gift from her lover.

So many writers and others criticise in a severe
manner the growing tendency towards seeing, or
making believe to see, habits in birds that bear re-
semblance to our own. In other words, they object
to what they call the Awman side of birds. They
consider the claim for it absurd, without foundation,
and existing only in minds inclined towards senti-
mentality. That the tendency may, like all tenden-
cies, be carried too far, beyond the bounds of reason,
is quite true, but, Mr. Critic, have you ever observed
birds, whether at large or in captivity? If so, you
must surely have little powers of observation, or
perhaps you see through the spectacles of prejudice,
for otherwise you could scarcely fail to find in birds
counterparts of both our faults and our better
qualities. Jealousy is nearly as strong in birds as
it is with us, and we find it shown in exactly the
same ways. Anger, good-nature, suspicion, confi-
dence, constancy, inconstancy, hatred, love, selfish-

W.L.C. H

98 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

ness, generosity, all these we see in the most
humble of birds. There are, in fact, but few traits
in man’s character that have not their counterpart
in birds, and yet you object to what you term with
derision “the human side of birds.”

Watch birds during the spring season, and see
how the male bird tries by every way in his power to
make himself attractive to the object of his affec-
tions. If occasion demands—and frequently he
will search diligently for an occasion—he deems it
his duty to fight, and thus show off his superior
power and strength, just as in the days gone by,
men, dressed in all the finery of knighthood, threw
down the glove and fought for the maid, whose
hand they hoped to win. Watch the male bird’s
gentleness and gallantry as he offers his partner
any chance tit-bit that he may find, and notice well
that seldom, if ever, does the one of the gentler
sex make any advance. Perhaps you may call
attention to the fact that, with birds as with
animals, it is the male that has the greater beauty.
It is he who makes the show and display. Quite
true, but it is not so very long ago that with the
human race it was the man who used to adorn his
person and endeavour to make himself an object of
beauty, and the woman that lacked the adornments.
You will still find it so among some of the bar-
barous tribes. There must be reason for the male
bird having the fine colours; were the female as
conspicuous as the male she would be in greater
danger from her enemies, especially during the
period of incubation. This alone would be suffi-
cient reason for her more quiet dress. But to

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 99

return to our Chicadees. No sooner had Dee-dee
swallowed the morsel of food and wiped her beak
on a twig, than she began again to gather moss,
while her attentive mate, after watching her in an
admiring way for a few seconds, flew off in search
of further dainties for her who worked so hard.
Throughout the two hours or more before the rain
came he would continually bring caterpillars and
other delicacies and, when he found her busy,
would with admirable patience wait near by until
she was at liberty to accept them. Never once did
he eat the food, even though at times she kept him
waiting as much as five minutes while she gathered
moss and arranged it to her satisfaction in the dark
hollow of the stump.

At the end of these two hours, large drops of rain
fell, gently at first, then gradually faster and faster,
until from each green leaf the drops hung like clear
round crystals, that were shaken off whenever the
cooling breezes passed by and moved the gem-laden
branches. It was no time for nest building, and
Chicadee and his mate flew off among the trees and
were immediately lost to view. The next day was
bright and clear after the rain, and the Chicadees
had resumed their interrupted labour long before I
arrived. More moss had been gathered and placed
in the hollow of the decayed birch stump, and on
the top of the moss was placed a thick layer of a
strange material, nothing less than the silver grey
hair of the possum,* stolen, no doubt, from some

* All the chicadees’ nests that I found in this locality (South
Orange, N.J.) contained quantities of opossum hair. It is curious,
because "possums are by no means common in the vicinity.

H 2

100 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

mother ’possum’s nest in the hollow of a tree or
among the rocks. Wherever obtained, it seemed
to be exactly what Mrs. Chicadee wanted, judging
from the number of loads she had brought.

In all it took four days to build the Chicadee’s
nest, and when completed it was the softest and
coziest of homes. Some sheep’s wool and some
soft, silky plant-down had been used with which to
finish it. It was a suitable receptacle for the tiny,
speckled, pinky eggs that were placed in it, seven of
them being hidden in the soft bed of wool and
down. Onthese the old birds sat by day and by
night, seldom absenting themselves from the self-
imposed task that must at best have been tedious.
Whenever I visited Dee-dee as she sat in the dark
obscurity of the hollow stump, she would look up
in an inquiring way, her whole appearance seeming
to beg that I should not disturb or injure her. Was
she not, in the performance of her duty, carrying out
the great law of the propagation of species? _Know-
ing full well how helpless she was, penned up in
the partly decayed stump, she placed herself and
her precious eggs entirely at my mercy. Needless
to say she was not disturbed in any way. On
holidays, when thoughtless boys roamed the wood,
bent only on having what they considered “ a good
time,” sparing nothing that came their way, I
would stay within sight of the Chicadee’s nest to
see that no harm should come to it. No boys
would have been likely to discover the nest, simply
because they would think it improbable that any
bird would build in such a decayed, fungus-covered
stump, but in passing they might have pushed

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 101

against it, and that would have been the end of one
brood of these cheerful little acrobats of the
summer and winter woods, and by just so much
would the world have been the poorer.

Days passed. Days of sunshine and days of
showers, all helping in the fulfilment of the
promises of spring. The trees became more thickly
covered with leaves, and on the ground the dead
leaves were almost hidden by the new growth that
was daily becoming more abundant. The earliest
flowers had come and gone, and in their place were
the drying seeds, on which the flowers must depend
for their continuance. Another year must we wait
before the many-hued hepatica, the snow-white
blood root and the nodding yellow bells of the
adder-tongue would again grace the woods. The
violets were now flowering in all the glory of their
royal colours, and here and there might yet be
found clusters of pink azalea scenting the woods
with their delicious perfume. In the damp, woody
swamps the fragrant clammy azalea was just about
to burst into bloom, to give the summer foliage
the appearance of having received a slight fall of
snow, so white were its flowers. Birds were busy
carrying food to their different broods, pausing
between whiles to sing each one its own particular
song of exultation, from the soul-stirring chant of
the wood-thrush to the jerky notes of the red-eyed
vireo ; each doing what lay in his power to ring up
the echoes of the summer woods.

Among all the songs the small but exquisite note
of the Chicadees sounded as they searched dili-
gently among the leaves for food. A newly-arrived

102 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

brood had at last rewarded their long patience.
Backwards and forwards flew these devoted parents,
giving no heed to anything save feeding and watch-
ing over their young. What else was there to think
of? For nearly a month they would do nothing else.
All would be devoted to the rearing of their off-
spring ; everything sacrificed, and apparently with
pleasure, too, to their welfare.

The young Chicadees grew apace as is the habit
of young birds. From tiny grey atoms, large-
headed, blind and naked, having in them but the one
instinct—that of raising their heads at the slightest
sound and opening their mouths for the frequent
meals, they gradually turned into small, open-eyed,
down-covered balls of fat. Then pin feathers began
to cover their growing bodies in lines that ran
lengthways, leaving bare places between. Then
the pin feathers opened, and from them emerged
the soft young feathers. Hour by hour showed the
covering up of the bare places by the spreading of
the feathers ; and the small bodies were clothed.

The young birds were growing very large for the
snug nest and without doubt must soon be thinking
of seeking the wide world, where there was room
and to spare. Day by day I had watched them as
they grew, and my watching was very nearly the
cause of a most unfortunate accident. In my
endeavours to see inside the nest I, quite uninten-
tionally, broke off a large piece of the decayed bark,
thereby exposing the nest and its valuable contents,
very much to my own and the Chicadees’ disgust.
Loudly did they express their feelings as they flew
about my head. Evidently they expected to see

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 103

me devour their entire brood. To mend the nest
was the next step. It was easily accomplished,
for all the necessary materials were close at hand.
A large piece of birch bark was peeled from a
tree that had been blown down during a recent gale.
This I put on the stump, sleeve-fashion, lacing it,
on the side furthest from the opening, with a piece
of wild smilax vine. After cutting a hole in the
birch bark patch and inserting a few broken twigs
here and there, and generally making the new
patch look as much as possible like the bark on the
decayed stump, I retreated to a little distance that
I might watch the effect. There was, however,
but little to watch. Both Mr. and Mrs. Chicadee,
first one and then the other, entered the repaired
nest after only a casual glance. Evidently they
_had no objection to the change, and so once more
things went on as usual, though it was only for a
few more days; the time was drawing near when I
was to prove whether or not I had gained the
confidence of my Chicadee friends.

The day came at last, a fine, bright, sunny day,
though intensely hot, and the young birds were to
make their bow to the great world. I had brought
with me all the necessary photographic paraphernalia
with the hope and expectation of obtaining portraits
of the Chicadee family. Hitherto I had only secured
photographs of the parent birds going in and out of
their nest, and these, though interesting, were as
nothing compared with what I imagined I should
get. It is well to be sanguine, to hope for things
that never will be, for otherwise even our greatest
enthusiasm would be short-lived and our successes

104 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

would be even fewer than they are now—so my hopes
were placed on the topmost rung of the ladder.

Chicadee and his mate were both present when I
unfastened the birch bark sleeve that I might see if
the youngsters were, as I fully believed, ready to
leave their warm nest. Not for long was I left in
doubt. As I placed my finger gently beneath one
of the small living balls of fluff there was a quick
movement, a fluttering of small untried wings, and
seven tiny Chicadees were instantly scattered
among the surrounding bushes. Such an excite-
ment as there was! “ Chicadee ! Chicadee ! Chica-
dee-dee-dee!” called the parent birds as they flew
backward and forward, up and down, from bush to
bush, from twig to twig, up in the trees, then down
on the ground, urging the young birds to greater
efforts, helping the weaker with emphatic bird-
words of advice. All was confusion. All the birds
in the neighbourhood arrived, each one willing but
powerless to offer any assistance. The yellow-
breasted chat, whose nest was in the huckleberry
bush near by, let her young go hungry for a time,
while she came carrying their meal in her beak,
adding her cries to the many that filled the air.
From all sides could be heard the distressed calls of
the birds ; vireos, cat-birds, tanagers, warblers of
many kinds, blue-jays, wood-thrushes and many
others, each one excited and trying to outdo his
neighbour in vocal remonstrance. Suddenly, and
with no apparent reason, the Chicadees quieted
down, when immediately all the other birds became
silent, and one by one returned to their homes and
their duties.

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 105

Now it was that my work began. In vain had
I attempted to follow the various courses of the
fledgelings, but nature had allowed me only two
eyes, a number quite insufficient to keep up with
the vagaries of seven Chicadees, young and inex-
perienced though they were. ‘There was nothing
to do but to institute a long and careful search, a
test of patience against instinct, the former gaining
the day, for in about an hour I found all of the seven
youngsters. It is curious that, once found, these
Chicadees no longer seem to entertain that keen
desire to get away which characterises most young
birds under similar conditions. On the contrary,
they behaved most admirably, being quite content
to sit on my hand or on any branch I might select,
provided only they were shaded from the fierce
glare of the sun; and just here lay my greatest
difficulty, for instantaneous photographs are not
made in the shade, and the movement of birds is
so rapid that one twenty-fifth of a second is about
as much exposure as one may safely indulge in.
This means that the subject must be well lighted,
a condition which my little Chicadees thoroughly
objected to. IfI placed them, one or all, on my
knee, and my knee happened to be in the sunlight,
without a moment’s hesitation they would scramble
to the nearest shade, even should it be but a fold in
my clothes.

Both Dee-dee and Chicadee seemed somewhat
astonished to see their young ones sitting so com-
placently on my knee, and doubtless they wondered
what next would happen. So far they had seen no
reason to fear me, for I had done them no harm,

106 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

but now that I had their young so clearly in my
power it might be different ; at any rate, they were
determined to watch me, and for this purpose they
stayed very near, calling occasionally “ Chicadee,
chicadee-dee-dee,” to which the youngsters in quaint
imitation would reply, but “ Chica-chica-dee ”—or
about as near as they could get to it—seemed
to please the old birds. It required some time to
prepare for the photographic work, but at last,
everything being ready, I had only to wait for the
parent Chicadees (who by this time had become quite
used to the very novel situation) to come on to my
knee, for that was the sort of picture I wished. It
is needless to say that I was surprised to find how
little coaxing was required. Only one call from
the young, and Dee-dee replied in person by
coming on to my knee, where her children were
bunched together, just as though it was the most
natural thing in the world for her to do. She
brought no food with her, however, so the seven
youngsters fluttered, chirped, and opened their
yellow-lined mouths in vain. Evidently Dee-dee
came with the single idea of satisfying herself of
their complete safety ; this being assured, she flew
away to receive from her mate a caterpillar of that
kind commonly known as the inch worm. This she
prepared by eating both the ends, which are armed
with feet. Scarcely a minute being required for this,
she came directly to theimpatient brood still wonder-
ing in expressive tones at the unusual delay of their
meal-time. Perching on my knee, she singled out
one of the seven, apparently without any particular
reason, while the remaining six looked on with

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 107

quaintly dismal and dejected expressions. ‘To
silence and satisfy the entire brood seemed now
the one thing necessary, a fact which appeared
to be thoroughly appreciated by both the old
birds, for they worked as though their lives de-
pended on it. Over and under each branch they
climbed, examining both sides of every leaf, and
woe to the caterpillar or spider that tried to hide
from their bead-like eyes, for instantly he was
seized and brought to appease the young hungries,
until, one at a time, they were all filled and asleep,
for with young birds sleep follows food just as
surely as summer follows spring.

I had secured several photographs of the family
on my knee, and now I wanted some that would

show them on my hand, so after allowing my
“young charges ten minutes’ sleep I began by
placing one of them on my hand, at the same
time holding the bulb (that released the shutter of
the lens) in the same hand, but before I could pick
up a second fledgeling, Mrs. Chicadee came, with-
out food, and perched on the nozzle of the bulb, so,
not wishing to lose the opportunity, I pressed the
bulb and secured a photograph of the unique
situation.

So far neither of the parent birds had actually
perched on my hand, but judging from their former
behaviour I felt not the slightest doubt that they
would do so. Dee-dee, seeing that the little one
sitting on my finger was in that chronic state of
hunger so peculiar to young birds, left with the
evident intention of finding something with which
to satisfy him. Chicadee had, however, anticipated

108 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

her, and brought an insect suited to the needs of a
fledgeling. Dee-dee approached him, fluttering
her partly closed wings just as the fledgelings did
when they wanted food.* She was evidently
begging the food from him, and he, being of an
unselfish turn of mind, gave it to her with a flutter
and a soft note which seemed to say, “It is yours,
do what you wish with it,” and he followed her
almost to my hand, as she came flying in response
to the calls of the handful of fledgelings. Seeing
her approach, each one struggled to be nearest to
the promised morsel. Just before she perched on
my hand, I pressed the bulb with the result shown
in illustration. Having delivered herself of the food
to the great satisfaction of only one of the young-
sters, she stood still a moment and looked up at
me with a quizzical expression, and then flew off.
Scarcely had I changed the plate in the camera
when she came back again and remained on my
hand for some time. After having once come to
me, and finding nothing to fear, she came often, and
so did Chicadee. Sometimes they sat together on
my shoulder or my hat, and whether I moved about
or remained quiet made no difference to them.
Sitting there in the clearing that adjoimed the
woods in which was the nest of this interesting
family of Chicadees ; surrounded by sweet-scented
myrtle and the huckleberries, whose tiny green
fruit was hanging in small clusters; at my feet the
exquisite waxlike balls of the stagger bush, than
which there are few more dainty or beautiful flowers,

* This is a rather peculiar habitiof the adult chicadee, which
may be noticed during the spring and summer months.—A. R. D.

Chicadee flyine to my hand, in which sit the Hungry Brood.

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 109

I thought that for once at least I must be fairly
close to nature in one of its happiest moods, and
in all the splendour of the fullness of summer. For
there were birds, both young and old, trusting me
with confidence, the old ones flying about as though
thoroughly agreeing to this strange friendship; now
on my hand, now on my shoulder, sitting so close
to my face that I could with my cheek stroke both
Chicadee and his confiding mate. Their soft feathers
against my skin, and their small warm feet on my
fingers gave a thrill that went through my system,
leaving a glow of pleasure such as one seldom has
the good fortune to experience.

What was it that gave this pleasure? Only the
immediate presence of some very small birds, birds
that so many people know not even by name.
What was there in this to give that strange thrill ?
Each time a bird comes to me of its own accord I
feel it, and am repaid a hundredfold for any hard-
ships I may have encountered in trymg to make
them realise my friendly intentions. At first, as
a bird comes near, inquiry showing in its every
move, one’s heart throbs with the great pleasure
of anticipation, that pleasure which is so often the
end of our dearest hopes. Nearer and nearer comes
our would-be friend, and harder and harder does
the heart beat, until we dread that its throbbing
may frighten away the bird, and we hold the
breath and wish the heart would make less noise.
There is a choking sensation in the throat, such as
one feels when listening to beautiful music, as the
bird finally comes on one’s hand, and the realisation
of a thing accomplished seems to release the heart,

110 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

and breath comes freely. The bird has touched
one’s hand and—well, what more is needed ?

‘The day had been a fortunate one, and one that I
would always remember with the greatest pleasure,
for it had seen the culmination of the most delight-
ful friendship I have ever had with any birds, and
besides that I had secured some interesting photo-
graphs that would prove to my sceptical friends
how tame the birds had become.

Before leaving the Chicadees I had replaced the
youngsters in their nest, in the hopes of finding
them there on the following day. How long they
remained in their comfortable quarters I never
knew, for early next morning when I visited the
nest it was empty. Was it possible that any
accident had happened to them? If so, perhaps
I was to blame. While thinking this over and
regretting having fallen into the temptation of
making friends with these birds a small clear voice
from a tree near by called “ Chicadee-chicadee-
dee-dee,” and there was one of the old birds, and
with her on the same branch sat two of the young
ones; that the others were not far off I felt sure,
and a little searching soon discovered them. They
were all safe and very busy, for they had much to
learn, and I watched them during many hours as
they climbed among the branches, learning from
their parents all the acrobatic feats of their kind,
but eating nothing except what was given them.
It would be a couple of weeks or more before they
fed themselves, and long before that time they
would be full grown and exact counterparts of their
parents. Judging from the fact that Chicadees are

4

One of the Young Chicadees.

MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 111

so often found in small flocks of seven or eight, it
seems more than likely that each family remains
united until the approach of spring and the nesting
season.

The last I saw of my Chicadee friends was
towards the end of summer, when the glory of the
year was passing. The leaves on the trees had lost
their fresh green colour, and most of the plants had
finished growing. Insects were searching for places
where they might safely hide their eggs until the
following spring should come, and the Chicadees, as
they hunted for these insects and their eggs, were

doing their part in the great order of the things of
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THE WARBLER FAMILY

W.L.C.

CHAPTER VII

THE WARBLER FAMILY

A hitherto only partly published account of my first intimate friendship
with a wild bird; the photographs being probably the first ever made
showing the extreme tameness of these shy birds (1900).

To form a friendship with any bird, no matter
how common a bird it happens to be, is a privilege
that unfortunately but few of us human beings
enjoy. But when the object of one’s friendship is a
bird that may be considered rare, that is unknown
except to the comparatively few who are directly
interested in bird life, the privilege is greater and
therefore much more to be appreciated. So it was
with my little friends the pair of worm-eating
warblers (can we pardon science for having bestowed
such a name on this graceful bird ?), who, with their
family of four, lived not more than a few hundred
yards from our home. It was entirely by chance,
as is usual, they say, with important discoveries,
that I had the good fortune to meet these birds.
They have no song with which to fill the wood-
lands and attract the attention of the casual passer-
by, only a chirp that is no louder than that of the
grasshopper ; in fact, it might easily be mistaken
for that insect’s peculiar note. Neither are they
arrayed in “crimson and gold.” Their dress is
quiet and inconspicuous, yet delicate and beautiful
in the extreme: olive-green back, buff-coloured
breast, while the head is light buff with very dark
stripes. Is it to be wondered, then, that a bird of

12

116 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA.

such subdued colouring and quiet habits should be
practically unknown? ‘The way I chanced to find
them was this :

While walking slowly through the woods I heard
the note of a downy woodpecker. ‘The note was
repeated with such frequency that I half suspected
a brood of young were starting out on their life of
tree-climbing. On the chance of seeing so interest-
ing a sight I made my way quietly through the
underbrush with which the hillside was covered.
As I came near to where the woodpeckers kept up
their steady calling, my attention was arrested by
a lisping note repeated at regular intervals; that
it was the alarm note of a warbler I had no doubt,
and I determined to discover which one of that
large and varied family it might be.

The heavy foliage of the trees served well to hide
' so small a bird from view, and it was some time
before I finally detected a worm - eating warbler
perched on a branch within a few feet of my head.
From his manner, which showed great excitement,
I judged that either there was a nest near by or
that some youngsters were hiding in the underbrush
at no great distance. So, removing my evidently
unwelcome presence to a point of vantage, I quietly
observed the behaviour of these uncommon birds.
After watching for a short time, another bird
appeared, evidently the mate of the one I had
seen. The two consulted together, and after a few
more chirps one began descending, hopping from
branch to branch, each time getting nearer to the
ground, then suddenly she dropped among the
weeds and was hidden from view.

THE WARBLER FAMILY 117

Carefully marking the place, I hastened towards
it, but scarcely had I taken half a dozen steps when
up she flew, and once more gave voice to the note
of alarm. Thinking that of course I should ex-
perience not the slightest difficulty in finding the
nest, for that there was one I felt convinced, I
went straight to the place from which she had
flown, but no nest was there—at least I could find
none—so once more [ retired from the scene, this
time taking greater care to conceal my presence.
Evidently the warblers thought I had taken my
departure, for after a lapse of about ten minutes
one of them flew down and, alighting on a weed
stalk, carefully surveyed the surroundings; things
seeming to her entire satisfaction, she made straight
for her nest, but it was not within several yards of
where she had tried to mislead me into believing
it was. This time, however, I waited to make
perfectly sure, and as she did not appear again I felt
there could be no doubt about it, so I approached
quietly, and much to my delight discovered my
cunning little friend (that was to be) sitting on her
carefully concealed nest.

Not moving a muscle, she allowed me to examine
her minutely, and I wondered at her cleverness in
taking such advantage of the surroundings. The
nest was placed in a slight depression—whether
made by the bird or nature could not be known—
beneath the partly-exposed roots of a shrub. No
rain could possibly enter the nest, as the earth
formed a mound above and shed the water as it
trickled down the steep incline. A more perfect pro-
tection could not have been devised. Not wishing

118 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

to disturb the confiding and patient little creature,
I retired in ignorance of what she was guarding so
carefully.

The fact of not having seen either of the birds
carrying food led me to suppose she had eggs. If
so, it was to be expected that the following morning
by 8 or 9 o'clock the sun’s rays would creep
through openings between the tree tops, and, keep-
ing the eggs warm, would allow the small bird a
short rest from that self-imposed but surely tedious
task of incubating, and then I could get a glimpse
at her treasure, whatever it might be. And so it
happened, for when I returned in the morning
the sun had taken the mother bird’s task in keep-
ing warm the four pinky-white bespeckled eggs.
Taking one out of its casket I examined it with
transmitted light. Through the thin shell I could
clearly see that it would be but a matter of hours,
or at most one day, before the young would arrive.

The parents both seriously objected, I fear, to
this act of what I trust was pardonable curiosity,
so I quickly returned the frail egg to its proper
place, and stepping back a few paces watched the
excited birds; nor had I long to wait, for they,
knowing full well that their home was discovered,
made no attempt at concealment.

One of them—we must suppose it was the female,
but as they do not show any difference in colouring
or marking I could only surmise—made straight for
the nest and, after looking carefully at each egg
to see that no ill had befallen it, arranged herself
comfortably with feathers fluffed out, so that she
appeared nearly double her proper size. ‘Then she

as Qi 7 Aa

The Worm-eating Warbler on her Nest.

THE WARBLER FAMILY 119

sat watching my every move in an interested, but
somewhat suspicious way.

Of course I must have a photograph of her as
she sat guarding her home and eggs. ‘The greatest
care had to be observed in manipulating the
camera so as to avoid making any sudden move-
ment, for that will usually frighten a sitting bird,
even when she is not of a naturally timid nature.
Certain weeds and leaves had to be removed in
order that the bird might be clearly shown.

Evidently she was beginning to place confidence
in me, for she allowed a twig to be broken off that
was within a few inches of the nest. The camera
was finally arranged in proper position, and who
will say what she thought of the strange, three-
legged monster that stared at her with its large
single eye? She watched it mtently, and I was
able to make an exposure of three seconds, for I
was using the single combination of the lens, as the
sunlight had crept slowly away from the nest,
leaving it in the shadow of the tall trees.

After making still another exposure I took the
camera away, and returning, took a seat quite close
to the nest. This I did that the bird might be
accustomed to me, as I had in mind the time
when I should want to photograph her youngsters.
So long as I remained she never left the nest, but
going to sleep, showed plainly that she no longer
had fear of me. All this time her mate stayed
near by, hunting incessantly among the leaves for
his insect food. Sometimes, as though to vary his
fare, he would devote his attention to the bark of
the trees, creeping up and down somewhat after

120 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the manner of a woodpecker, searching each
crevice in the hope of finding concealed some
insect that was especially to his taste, and so I
watched for an hour or so, never tiring of perform-
ances so interesting. Then, bidding them a tem-
porary farewell, I went off to call on other of my
bird friends.

Owing to an unfortunate combination of circum-
stances, many days passed before I was again able
to visit my friend of the hillside. It was a disap-
pointment, as I should like to have seen the young
when they first arrived. As it was, I found them
pretty well grown, for nestlings, and I knew that
in a day or two they would be strong enough to
brave the great world under the able guardianship
of their parents. They seemed to be a fine healthy
brood, each bird being of about equal size. I
mention this fact because it very frequently hap-
pens that there is a weakling among the family,
one that for some cause or other does not grow
as fast as his brothers; whether it is that he
does not get his proper share of food, or that he
was hatched a day or so later than the others of
the brood, I have never been able to ascertain.
But here was a case where all had happened as it
should in a well-regulated family, and I was glad
that it was so.

The parent birds were not much disturbed when
they saw me examining their family, but when I
took one out, that I might the better note his bud-
ding feathers, the anxious mother instantly flew to
my feet, and with spreading wings and tail she tried
to lure me from the nest by pretending some mishap

THE WARBLER FAMILY 121

had befallen her. It did not take her long to
discover that she had failed in her ruse—that ruse,
time-honoured, yet always new in its pathetic
simplicity—and she tried new tactics; but these
also failed owing to the youngster not being
sufficiently developed. She tried calling him
away from my hand, as though she were going to
feed him, but the little fellow was not yet strong
enough to balance himself on my finger, let alone
fly to her. To ease her mind, I placed him back
in his nest, that the family had already almost out-
grown, and as I did so, I wondered whether by
chance the egg I had held in my hand was the one
from which this bird had come.

He seemed well satisfied to be with his brothers
and sisters, and soon nestled himself amongst them,
forming his part of the heaving mass of down and
feathers.

The next time I visited the nest the warblers made
no objection, and I imagined they recognised me and
realised that I meant no harm either to themselves
or to their young, for these had hatched out since my
first visit. Day by day I came to watch the little
fellows, and they grew rapidly, as all young birds
do. Finally, they were ready to make their first
venture into the great world that, should no
accident befall them, was to be their feeding-
ground for many years to come.

As I looked into the nest the family of fledgelings
scrambled out as though they had been scattered
by some invisible hand, so nearly simultaneous was
their action, and in less time than it takes to tell
it each little mite of down and rust-coloured feathers

122 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

was hidden among the dead, crackling leaves with
which the ground was strewn. Though I had tried
my best to watch where each bird concealed itself,
it was some time before I collected them all
preparatory to photographing them. Of course
the parents were greatly excited—birds always are
when their young first leave the nest—and when
they saw the entire brood captured by one whom
they had considered a friend, they seemed to
regret having placed so much confidence in me.
But only for a very short time did their doubts
continue. As soon as I placed the youngsters
on a suitable perch they both ceased to utter that
lisping note of anxious protestation, and to show
that they no longer feared me they hopped about
on the camera while I was arranging it.

When young birds (before they can fly) are
placed on a perch they invariably fall off almost as fast
as they are put on, and there is usually a bad one in
the lot who positively refuses to sit anywhere he
may be placed. Not only does he fall off, but if
possible he grabs one or two of his small com-
panions, and down they go together. These young
warblers were no exception, and off they went, one
after another. The bad one proved to be very bad
indeed, and he is shown in only two of the many
photographs I made of the family.

While the pictures were being taken one of the
parent birds stayed near by to watch over her
youngsters, while the other went off in search of
food, for which they called continually, and though
I was not more than three or four feet distant,
she fed them without troubling herself at all about

SHOTGI SUTPLE-ULLIO AL JO ATR OTL,

THE WARBLER FAMILY 123

my presence. Once she even perched on my hat
and used the camera as a half-way house, resting
on it each time she went back and forth to supply
the fledgelings with food. Unfortunately the light
was not very good for instantaneous photography,
but such an opportunity for securing pictures of
this comparatively rare bird was not to be missed,
so I made many exposures on her and her young,
with fair results.

From a photographic standpoint they were
faulty, but the subject was sufficiently interesting
to warrant one’s overlooking the shortcomings.
The light had grown so weak by the time I had
made about fifteen exposures that I was forced to
abandon any further attempts with the camera for
that day. Sitting down on the ground, I placed
the young warblers on my lap to examine them
carefully. Imagine my surprise when both the
parent birds came on my knee, first without and
then with food for the youngsters. It was quite
a novel sensation, and one that was more than
enjoyable. It was positively thrilling.

Knowing from past experience how sceptical
people are when told of anything that they them-
selves have not seen, I made up my mind then and
there to pay my warbler friends another visit early
the following day, and photograph the old one on
my hand. ‘The day was fine, and I was fortunate
enough to find one of the young ones, who could
now fly a little, perched on the low branch of a
small bush. One of the old birds was hunting
busily for insects. Seeing me pick up her baby,
she flew toward me, but did not object in the least

124 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

to my taking temporary possession of it. So I felt
sure that she recognised her friend of the previous
day. A few moments sufficed to arrange the
camera in a place where the light was bright,
and when all was ready to my satisfaction, I took
the little fellow, who had been quietly sleeping in
the warm sunlight, and set him on my finger.

Soon he called lustily for food, and it was
strange to see how quickly his parent heard and
understood. In a minute or two she came hurry-
ing along, carrying in her beak a daddy-long-legs,
and, after pausing on the camera to see that all was
right, she flew on my hand, and calmly fed her
hungry little one. With my disengaged hand, I
pressed the bulb, and a picture was secured.

The daddy-long-legs served only to whet the
appetite of my small friend, who cried out eagerly
for more. Again the industrious provider went oft
in search of other and larger insects. She was
away for some time, but what she brought back
fully compensated for the long wait—of perhaps
four minutes. It was nothing more nor less than a
huge brown grasshopper, nearly as long as the small
bird himself. Again was the camera used as a
halting-place, and again did she fly on my hand.
Hungry though the little fellow may have been,
he was unable to swallow so large a mouthful, and
he dropped the grasshopper into my partly closed
hand. Unfortunately I had just pressed the bulb
and was therefore unable to take a photograph of
the interesting proceeding that followed.

Quite naturally the mother bird was anxious
that so bountiful a supply of food should not

‘puvy ATE UO SUNO | lay SUIpady TaTqav Ay SUIZrA-TLLO Ay

THE WARBLER FAMILY 125

be wasted, and she stood on my thumb and,
bending down, so that her head was inside my
hand, extricated the prize. Then she proceeded to
break it into pieces of suitable size, and with these
she fed her quivering and impatient little offspring.
During the morning I secured a few more photo-
graphs of these interesting birds, and then return-
ing the youngster to the bush whence I had taken
him, I left the pair in possession of their hillside
estate and returned to my home with abundant
proof of the tameness of my warbler friends.

THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD

CHAPTER VIII
THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD

Tue following account of a first-hand observation
with a red-eyed vireo, though not by any means
extraordinary, is nevertheless interesting, as demon-
strating the birds’ powers of reasoning in dealing
with what is not in any way a regular occurrence in
the daily life. To argue that the birds’ actions
were entirely according to natural instinct would
seem scarcely fair to the little feathered creatures
who acted with such far-sighted intelligence. In
mentally attempting to deprive them of their
reasoning power we might question the wisdom
of their action. From an economic point of
view, would it not have been better to have built
a new nest rather than change the first one?
But would the result have been any different? It
probably required no more time to make the change
than to have constructed an entirely new nest.

When birds build their nests they appear to have
certain well-defined objects in view. The nest
must be well concealed or out of reach of many
enemies, and due care must be observed that its
contents shall be protected from the elements. It
must be sheltered from the rain, and, if the young
are to remain in it for any length of time, shaded
from the sun. In taking these precautions the bird
may be said to be simply following out the habits

W.L.C. K

130 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

of its nature, so that it does come under the
heading of that much-abused word “instinct.” But
at times birds are forced to resort to remarkable
expedien ts thattheir eggs and young may be pro-
tected. Then it is that we see a display of what
can only be termed intelligence: a careful weighing
of existing conditions and formulating of plans to
outwit enemies. One of the most common and
at the same time the most interesting example of
this is afforded by the way in which birds seek
to rid themselves of the burden of fostering the
cowbird’s young. Much has been written on this
subject, and yet people in general do not realise
how clever the birds are. ‘The accompanying set
of photographs made directly from nature may help
the reader to appreciate the truth of the following
account of how a red-eyed vireo rid herself of a
cowbird’s spurious egg. The cowbird, like the
European cuckoo, is parasitic in her habits, that is
to say, she relies on other birds to incubate her
eggs and watch over and feed her young. And it
is quite customary to condemn the poor cowbird
for such behaviour, no thought being given to the
reason why. Everything in nature has a reason, if
we would but stop to inquire into it, and anything
so far from the natural order of things as a highly
developed creature refusing to care for its own
young must, without doubt, have a very strong
and sufficient reason. Presumably the cowbird
cannot lay her eggs on consecutive days, four or
five days being, I believe, the interval between lay-
ings. Now it stands to reason that if she built her
own nest and laid, let us say, three or four eggs, the

A White-eyed Vireo, whose desire for ornamentation led her to cover her
heautiful semi-pensile Nest with sinall pieces of Wood that had been
cut by a Wood-pecker.

THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD 131

first egg might spoil before the last one was laid.
So the families would be very small, and the
inevitable result would be a speedy extermination
of this useful bird. To avoid this, the bird lays
her eggs in the nests of other birds, usually choosing
the homes of birds rather smaller than herself, so
that her young shall be under no disadvantage in
point of size. Sometimes she deposits her egg in
the nest before the rightful owner has commenced
laying. In such cases they are seldom allowed to
hatch, but more often the cowbird watches her
opportunity and places her eggs in a nest that
already contains one or more. ‘Then it is hatched
with the others, and the young cowbird, being
nearly always larger than his companion nestlings,
manages to secure the greater share of the food
and thrives accordingly, while the rightful owners
sometimes die (so I am told) in the nest, or are
forced out of itto die on the ground. All this is
done by the cowbird in self-defence, and we should
hesitate before condemning the bird for its seem-
ingly strange behaviour.

A few years ago I had an opportunity of watch-
ing a pair of red-eyed vireos who had selected a
tree near our house for their nesting site. The nest
I had watched from its very beginning—a few
beakfuls of dry grass and fine bark woven about
the fork of a horizontal branch. Day by day the
nest grew until after five days the beautiful
semi-pensile structure was complete. It was a
simple basket-like nest, supported by its upper
edges being led to the forked branch. There was

no attempt at decoration of any kind such as we
K 2

132 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

often find in similar nests, pieces of lichen, webs,
cocoons, small pieces of broken wood, and such like
substances, being fastened to the outside by means
of webbing. On the day when the final touch was
given, and the nest was in readiness to receive the
first eggs, a cowbird came when the vireos were
absent and deposited her grey speckled egg in the
newly-finished nest ; having done this she departed
as silently as she came.

What were her thoughts as she thus silently
deposited her precious burden in this strange cradle ?
How was she fulfilling this greatest of nature’s laws,
the perpetuation of her kind? Did she realise that
there was some peculiar, and to our limited know-
ledge of things, apparently unnatural reason for not
being able to take care of her own offspring? Why
was she, of so many thousand species, selected to be
denied the cares and joys of motherhood ? Who
can answer ? Did she think at all on the subject as
she searched the woods and fields for a suitable
home for the young she would never see ? Had she
surreptitiously watched these vireos building their
nest, knowing that when it was completed she
would make use of it? Who shall say? Perhaps
even it was all a matter of chance, though that
is not according to nature’s method. Had she
suddenly realised that the moment was come when
the egg must be deposited, and so chosen the first
available nest from which the rightful owners were
absent? None of these simple questions can we
answer. Our surmises may be right or they may
be wrong. We cannot know. Nature hides well
her secrets, and so what are apparently the simplest

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THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD 1383

problems must often prove on investigation to be the
most difficult of solution. How often do we settle
questions off hand and to our entire satisfaction, only
to discover later on that our theories are utterly
groundless and ridiculous? We have only our
own experience on which to work, and so we
endeavour to reason only from one point of view,
forgetting too frequently that other creatures
living under totally different conditions must base
their actions on equally different premises.

When the vireos returned I was attracted by
the noise they made, and, visiting the nest, dis-
covered the cause of the disturbance. Such excite-
ment there was, chattering and commotion. Now
and then plaintive notes could be heard, as though
they were bewailing their misfortune. Many other
birds joined with them in their lamentations. The
wood-thrush, whose nest was in the near-by maple,
repeatedly uttered her loud single note of distress,
as though in sympathy with the poor little vireos.
But wherefore all this uproar? Why not cast out
the spurious egg, destroy it, for, after all, had it any
right to be there? Once more, who shall say? To
us it would certainly seem far easier to throw it
out. But, strange to say, that is seldom, if ever,
done. Anything but that. Even let it hatch and
allow the sturdy parasite to devour by far the
greater share of the food brought by the industrious
owners of the nest, so that the rightful occupants
shall go hungry—yes, and even starve—for that
often happens. But these vireos had no intention
of letting the big, dull-coloured egg hatch. Soon
the excitement died away and they fell to work

134 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

with a will, and in a few hours the unwelcome egg
had almost vanished from sight.

It had been forced into the bottom of the nest,
and a new floor was being laid over it. Nearly
two days passed before the results were to the
satisfaction of the imposed-upon birds, and then
the mother bird laid one egg—a white egg with
shell so thin that the yolk tinged it with a delicate
pinkish hue; about its larger end were eight or
nine tiny dark specks, which served to accentuate
the purity of the white. The following morning
the bird commenced incubating this solitary egg,
and after the regular time had elapsed a small,
helpless, pink bird took the place of the egg. Not
having any others with whom to share its food it
received more than usually falls to the lot of a
young bird, and therefore grew with wonderful
rapidity. In six days rows of pin feathers covered
its fat little body ; in two more days these feathers
had broken from their envelopes and partly covered
the bare places. ‘The youngster was evidently
thinking of leaving his comfortable home, for I
found him on the ninth day sitting on the edge
of the nest taking in the general appearance of
things. The next day he felt sufficient confidence
in his strength to make his bow to the great world
of trees, and sunshine, and caterpillars, and all other
things that must be of interest toa fledgeling. By
instinct he knew of enemies and would remain
motionless in the presence of danger, trusting in
his delicate pearly white and soft greenish-brown
colours not to betray him to the enemy, human or
otherwise. Instinct, too, told him how to fly, but

THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD 135

for the two or three weeks after leaving the nest
he relied entirely on his parents for his food. They
taught him what insects to eat and when and how
to find them, how to look on the underside of a
leaf for the small green caterpillars, how to dart
quickly at any insect which had wings, and so
many other things about which we know absolutely
nothing. For there is much that a bird must know
if he would win his way through life. Let him be
slow to learn and his life will be a short one. For
nature’s law is, and always will be, “the survival otf
the fittest.”

NOTES ON THE BREEDING HABITS
OF THE AMERICAN WOODCOCK

CHAPTER IX

NOTES ON THE BREEDING HABITS OF THE
AMERICAN WOODCOCK

Wuen the low damp swale has thawed and
there is but little chance of another snowfall, the
woodcock return from their winter quarters in the
north to their breeding grounds of the previous year.
As soon as the male bird has won a mate with his
extraordinary system of courtship, which consists
chiefly of spiral gyrations in mid-air, he, together
with his chosen partner, at once examines the
country for a favourable nesting site. This is an
important matter, and the selection shows how the
birds weigh the advantages of different likely places.
There are several points to be considered: first of
all, the actual site of the nest must be dry and in
the immediate vicinity of a good feeding ground,
but above all things must be considered the safety
of the nest from the many enemies that threaten
it. To insure this the clever birds depend not so
much upon the dense tangle of underbrush, which
one would naturally suppose to be the safest method
of protection, as upon the colouring of the material
with which the ground is strewn, for herein they
show their reliance on their own protective colour-
ing and marking which matches so nearly the dead
leaves, weeds, and sticks. The reason that the nest
is so seldom placed in the midst of a dense tangle

140 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

is presumably the desire for warmth from the sun.
Every nest found by the writer has been situated so
that during the greater part of the day it had the
benefit of the sun’s rays ; but whether the warmth is
desired by the bird itself or for her eggs, or in order
that the ground immediately surrounding the nest
should be kept dry, it would be difficult to say. As
has been said, the colour of the bird is pre-eminently
protective, so much so that even when we know
within a few feet where she is sitting, it requires
keen and observant eyes to discover her. Were it
not for this fact the number of woodcock in the
country would rapidly decrease, for their enemies
are many. Boys would take the eggs, and the
hawks, apparently numerous in the early spring,
keep up such an incessant search that they would
have little difficulty in detecting the sitting bird
during this bleak season of the year. Few birds
are more devoted to the cares of incubation, both
the male and female taking part in that painfully
patient duty, and it is seldom indeed that the eggs
are left exposed to view. The coldness of the season
may possibly have something to do with this, for
the eggs would quickly spoil were they not kept
constantly warm. When, however, it happens that
the old bird is flushed, we notice how nature has pro-
vided for the safety of the eggs by tinting them with
a drab colour freely blotched with dull brownish
marks; thus is the egg rendered inconspicuous, as
its colours blend to perfection with the immediate
surroundings. ‘The nest itself does not betray its
precious burden, for in the strict sense of the word
there is no nest, that is to say, none is built. ‘The

HABITS OF AMERICAN WOODCOCK 141

dead leaves are pressed down so that the eggs will
have no tendency to roll away—perhaps some down
or a few feathers are added and the nest is complete;
simplicity itself, yet most admirably adapted to its
purpose. In the vicinity of New York the eggs
are laid about the first week in April, and as the
period of incubation occupies eighteen days or
thereabouts, it will be seen that the young arrive
while the ground, which till so recently was covered
with snow, is still naked, for the spring plants have
not yet ventured from their mouldy cradles, so that
protection must be found among the crackling dead
leaves, and it is interesting to observe how very
closely their colouring coincides with that of the
dry leaves. Owing to the fact that the youngsters
leave the nest almost immediately after they are
hatched, we see how very important it is that they
should be protectively coloured. Young woodcock
obey the great law that governs fledgelings after
they leave the nest, which says that when an enemy
approaches no movement must be made. Sitting
absolutely still, these little balls of russet fluff are
safe from discovery, and even after the threatening
danger has passed they remain motionless until a
call from the parent bird informs them that there
is no longer need of concealment.

How well the adult woodcock is protected by
its markings and coloration is well indicated in
the accompanying illustration, which is a faithful
reproduction of a photograph taken directly from
life. To insure accuracy as to colour values
(which is, of course, a most important item, and
one beyond the capacity of the ordinary plate to

142 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

deal with) isochromatic plates were used, together
with a ray filter. So itis reasonable to suppose that
the relative value of the birds’ colouring and that
of the leaves is faithfully shown. ‘This and other
photographs were taken on three consecutive days,
and it is curious to note that in every case the
bird had its bill beneath the twigs. This renders
her even less conspicuous than she would otherwise
have been. Her brilliant dark eye is almost the
only thing that betrays her presence, even in the
photograph, where she is sharply in focus, while the
surroundings are more or less blurred. It has been
said that if once a woodcock has been frightened
from its nest by a person, it will not again allow of
a human being’s near approach, but will glide
off silently while the intruder is yet many feet
away. The bird here portrayed, though frightened
(accidentally, of course) from her nest when first
discovered, grew more and more tame and con-
fiding with each successive visit, and finally allowed
the camera to be placed within less than three feet
of her. In order to show the position of the eye
(which allows the bird to keep a sharp look-out
even when its bill is deep in the damp earth,
searching for worms) and the peculiar form of the
head, the camera was placed about seven inches off
the ground on two stones, brought there while the
bird was sitting. Further than that, she allowed
the writer’s hand to come within three inches of
her head and remove a twig which would have
interfered with the picture. That the reader may
fully realise how motionless the bird remained, it
is only necessary to say that owing to the fact that

‘Tal Jo Joop ooatpy
HYP PASO |PE ays JUG, sua os Stunde atyy [sex uo suTyts

TOO AL

HABITS OF AMERICAN WOODCOCK 143

the photograph was made on a dark day during
a shower, the ray filter (which trebles the length of
exposure), and the smallest diaphragm were used,
and that an exposure of ninety seconds was given.
Yet there is no sign of movement. The question
has been frequently asked, “ Did she know that she
was discovered?” It is probable that she did, for
even with her knowledge of her protective colora-
tion it is doubtful whether she carried her belief in
it for quite such a length; but why did she sit so
absolutely still ?

SHOOTING WILD DUCKS AND
GEESE WITH THE CAMERA

W.L.C. L

CHAPTER X

SHOOTING WILD DUCKS AND GEESE WITH
THE CAMERA

Tue clock in the big club-room had just struck
eight, the hour when all the members and guests of
the . . . Shooting Club were wont to foregather and
draw for blinds and men to pole their canoes. On
the selection of a good blind must usually depend
the day’s sport, and a satisfactory man adds not a
little to one’s comfort and pleasure. As a guest
I was to draw in my turn, when one of the
members remarked that “any blind would be good
enough for me, as I was only going to photograph,
while the others intended to shoot.”

This was the point of view of probably most of
the veteran sportsmen present. They failed to see
how it mattered whether I had opportunities to
photograph the ducks or not, while it was of the
utmost importance that those who used the gun
should have the surest chance of killmg the limit.
I do not mention this as a criticism, but simply to
show how little idea these men had of the sporting
possibilities which the camera offers to the hunter.
For to hunt with a camera requires infinitely more
skill than shooting with a gun, and the number of
successful photographic shots must inevitably be
very much smaller. A keenness and alertness
undreamed of by those who shoot is absolutely

L2

148 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

necessary, and even then only under the most
favourable conditions can one hope to secure
satisfactory results.

Generally speaking, ducks decoy well only on
overcast days, and in the early morning and late
evening, when, of course, photographing is out of
the question. The brightest light is none too
good for making exposures of from one to two
thousandths of a second, and anything slower than
that will not catch the rapid action of a duck in
flight. So it will be seen that in my form of
hunting I at least wanted as good a chance as the
other sportsmen, and after I had explained my
point of view I was allowed to draw a blind.

The following morning, just as the sun was creep-
ing over the mist-hidden tops of the cypress trees,
we started. Mymanseemed amused at my photo-
graphic battery, and evidently looked on me as a
mild lunatic. Why I carried no gun was beyond
his power of comprehension, and he poled the flat-
bottomed canoe through the sluggish Arkansas
stream in a listless way which revealed more
eloquently than words his utter contempt of my
dea of sport. The other canoes passed us, and the
men in them jokingly taunted my unhappy negro.
Long years of experience with unenthusiastic guides
had hardened my feelings, and I was no longer sen-
sitive to anyone’s ideas regarding camera hunting.

Eventually we arrived at our blind and put out
the decoys, both live and wooden ones, and then I
made ready for work by clearing a small opening
in the brush through which I could operate the
camera. This is a very important thing to do

WILD DUCKS AND GEESE 149

properly. Many a good opportunity may be lost
through the intervening of a small twig between
the lens and the birds.

Our blind was between two cypress trees at the
edge of a swamp facing a large lake. For several
hours we remained quiet, the only interruption
being the snores of the guide, who lay fast asleep
in the bottom of the boat. Several times ducks
passed us, but always out of range, anything over
a hundred feet being practically too far for the
camera, even with a long-focus lens.

At last a slight splashing among the cypresses
attracted my attention. There, swimming along
not sixty yards away, was a solitary goose. Un-
fortunately I had not counted on anything in that
direction, and therefore had not prepared a peep-
hole; so I stood up, hoping to be able to get the
camera above the brush. Quiet as I was, the bird
heard me and immediately swam away, much to
my disgust.

About half-an-hour later, while watching a pair
of pintails that seemed inclined to come our way,
with the corner of my eye I caught sight of some-
thing moving quite close to the blind. My surprise
may be imagined when I say that this something
proved to be the goose, not ten feet away. Here
was the chance of a lifetime, and with trembling
fingers I drew the slide from the plate-holder so as
to be ready when the bird should pass the place
where I had made the opening in the blind. At
that moment the wretched guide moved his foot
and made just enough noise to alarm the goose,
and off it flew, without giving me a chance to

150 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

photograph it, owing to the intervening brush.
No words can express my disappointment, for prob-
ably never again shall I have another opportunity
to photograph a goose at such a close range.

I was mentally cursing my luck when Dame
Fortune smiled on me, and I forgave her the trick
she had just played. <A pair of mallard drakes flew
past, stooping to the decoys, then rising again,
and after whirling around three times they finally
dropped just beyond the decoys, perhaps fifty feet
away. They were suspicious, and after sitting
still for a few moments began swimming away. I
quickly whispered to the guide, who had awakened,
telling him to make a sudden noise, while I trained
the camera on them. Up they flew, and I pressed
the button just in time to secure the photograph
shown in the frontispiece—by far the most satis-
factory duck photograph I had ever made.

All that day and for nearly a week I worked
hard at sitting still in a blind, but for some reason
the ducks were not flying, except in the late even-
ing, so I had no luck at all. Occasionally, to vary
the monotony, we would take a trip across the lake,
in the middle of which the geese were gathered in
large flocks. By bearing down on them with a
fresh breeze we sometimes were able to approach
within about 150 yards, and as the birds had to
rise against the wind they were compelled to come
toward us. In this way I secured some fairly satis-
factory shots at reasonable distances.

Not having enough material in the way of illus-
trations to complete this article, I next decided to
try a trip to Montauk Point, Long Island, where

WILD DUCKS AND GEESE 151

I had heard geese were very plentiful. Plentiful
they were, but extremely wild. I tried many ways
of getting within range of them, and eventually
came to the conclusion that geese knew more than
most people. They can see better than any hawk,
can hear better than the most timid deer, have
patience compared with which Job’s was nothing,
and, finally, have a system of communication more
wonderful than wireless telegraphy. Altogether,
I can take off my hat to the Canada goose and
frankly acknowledge that nine times out of ten he
can make a fool of me. For, truth to tell, my pride
was so humbled after a second trip to Montauk
that I felt positively flattered if my friends called
me a goose.

Some of my most satisfactory attempts at secur-
ing photographs were obtained by driving in a
carriage to within camera-shot of the geese. Like
many birds that are afraid of man, the goose has
less fear of him when he is in a carriage than in
any other place. I have driven fairly close to the
great bustard in Russia when stalking them on foot
was practically impossible ; in the same way hawks
may be approached in a carriage better than in any
other way. The great objection to this method, so
far as geese were concerned, lay in the fact that
frequently the carriage could not go near the places
where the geese were.

Sometimes I tried having them driven over me,
and this gave me several good chances. But only
in one or two places could this be done with any
degree of certainty.

Stalking in most cases proved impossible. Try

152 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

as I might to conceal myself, there was nearly
always a bird in some unexpected place that would
get his eye on me and immediately inform every
goose in the lake that a fool man was crawling
on his stomach among the sand dunes with the
apparent intention of doing harm. Meanwhile I,
completely ignorant of the fact that a spy had
given away my plans, would continue crawling
laboriously through the sand and briars and scrubby
brush, not daring so much as to raise my head
above the cover until the place was reached where
I had seen the geese. With hope in my heart—
and hope is really the chief asset of the camera
hunter—I would open my camera, and with every-
thing ready for instant action quickly rise, only
to find before me a beautiful view of blue water
and sand dunes, while far away in the middle of
the lake my geese sat quietly chuckling to each
other as they saw how I had been outwitted. An
hour’s hard work had gone for nothing, and as I
emptied the sand from my shoes and pockets, I
thought very unprintable things about geese in
general and about those geese in particular.

My efforts at baiting with corn proved only
fairly satisfactory, except to the crows, which
ate most of it. For three days I sat crouched in
a clump of low bushes while my bones ached, and I
watched geese. Once they came within a hundred
yards and then turned away because a crow flew
over my head, and, seeing me, called out to the
geese that a man was there. In this way he drove
them away and had the corn to himself—truly a
case of disinterested friendship! Another day I

heht.

Wild Canada Geese in

WILD DUCKS AND GEESE 153

watched about forty geese for several hours as they
fed and played scarcely two hundred yards away.
All this time the sun was shining brightly. At
noon it clouded over, and an hour later the rain
fell in torrents. Then, of course, those exasperating
birds came to the bait and fed not forty yards
away. It was too dark, however, to make a satis-
factory photograph as they flew away. I would
have made a picture of them feeding, but no one
would have believed that they were wild geese.
For photographing such quick birds as ducks
and geese it is, needless to say, absolutely necessary
to use a very rapid shutter and a long-focus lens.
The telephoto is not very satisfactory, owing to its
lack of speed, so it is better to be content with a
smaller image and enlarge the negative, as I have
done with all the accompanying illustrations, some
of which have been enlarged over eight diameters.

THE WHISTLING SWAN OF
CURRITUCK SOUND

CHAPTER XI
THE WHISTLING SWAN OF CURRITUCK SOUND

THE mention of the name swan brings to our
mind pictures of well-kept lakes or ponds sur-
rounded by ornamental shrubs and stately build-
ings. “Among our ancestors, too simple or too
wise to fill their gardens with the frigid beauties
of art instead of the lively beauties of nature, the
swans formed the ornament of every piece of water.”
In literature, painting, sculpture, mythology, and
history these graceful birds have been used more,
perhaps, than any other feathered creature. They
have been made to typify grace, beauty, love,
passion, domesticity, peacefulness, and courage.
That swans actually exist in a wild state seems,
curiously enough, to be almost incredible to most
people, yet not only do they exist but they are,
comparatively speaking, abundant ; and strange to
say, unlike so many birds, they appear to be even
gaining in numbers, or at least holding their own.

Unfortunately, they are not widely distributed,
and any one who would enjoy the remarkable sight
of hundreds of them must go to their habitual
winter resorts. Along the Atlantic coast a few
are seen on the eastern end of Long Island, while
great flocks congregate in the brackish waters of
Currituck Sound, North Carolina.

When the cold winds from the north warn us

158 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

of the coming of winter—that is to say, about the
middle of November—the swans begin to arrive
from their breeding grounds in the Arctic region.
Flock follows flock, until the dancing waters of
the Sound sparkle with their snow-white plumage,
and the air is filled with their soft musical notes.
It is hard indeed to imagine a more beautiful
picture than a large flock of these graceful creatures
lined up close together, looking in the distance
almost like snow-covered drift ice, and then to see
them rise. At last we can appreciate their size as
their great wings unfold and noisily strike the air
with powerful strokes in the effort to carry the
immense twenty-pound bodies clear of the water.
On a calm day they rise with difficulty, using the
feet to gain momentum, and often covering a dis-
tance of seventy-five feet or more before leaving
the water. With a fairly good breeze, however,
they lift themselves with astonishing rapidity by
heading directly into the wind. In watching them
start it does not strike the observer that they move
quickly, and in attempting to photograph them I
could scarcely bring myself to make the exposure
short enough to ensure a really sharp picture. The
fact that they did move rapidly was very evident
when I saw the birds on the focussing glass, for it
seemed almost impossible to keep them there, and
the camera had to be swung as though it were a
shotgun trained on a flight of wind-driven ducks.
Once the swans are fairly under way their speed
is amazing—nearly a hundred miles an hour, and
that, too, with no apparent effort, for the slow wing
motion is very deceiving. Their endurance is as

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SWAN OF CURRITUCK SOUND 159

surprising as their speed, for they are said to travel
a thousand miles without alighting.

When making these long journeys they fly high,
so high indeed that they are often invisible to the
naked eye. Yet on a still night you can distinctly
hear the rhythmical singing noise of the long wings
striking the air with force sufficient to drive the
huge birds at a speed greater than that of the
fastest express train.

The flocks are usually led by an old and ex-
perienced swan, and it is said that as one becomes
tired of leading, or it might be called aerial trail-
breaking, his place is taken by another whose
strength is equal to the task, and so they continue
until they reach their destination, the southern
feeding grounds of the winter or the northern
breeding places of the summer. Occasionally they
stop to rest in the region of the Great Lakes.
Not many years ago, while on their way north, a
large number stopped above Niagara Falls, and
more than a hundred were, by some extraordinary
mischance, carried over the falls and killed in the
surging waters.

Whether the swans prepare in any special way
for their southward journey is not known, but
before starting north they indulge in the curious
habit known as “ ballasting””»—that is to say, they
eat great quantities of sand, for what purpose no
one knows.

In the far away Arctic Ocean is their breeding
place, and it is believed that they mate for life.
Their nests, which are placed on the ground, are
of immense size, fully six feet long and two feet

160 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

high, and made of sticks, weeds, and rubbish.
As with so many of the water birds, the swans
protect their eggs with a covering of down
scratched from their own breasts, so that, when
the birds leave the nest, the two to six large,
yellowish eggs are hidden from the eyes of possible
thieves, and protected against any sudden changes
of temperature.

It is many years before the swans are clothed in
the feathers of immaculate whiteness which make
them such conspicuous objects of beauty. Not
indeed until the fifth year does all trace of grey
disappear. Their first feathers are entirely grey;
gradually they lighten, becoming mottled with
white, the neck and head remaining grey until
after the body is completely white. The bill,
so conspicuously black in the mature bird, goes
through many changes, being almost white the
second year, the black appearing a year later. In
the common American or “ whistling” swan there
is a small oblong spot of bright yellow on the
naked skin just forward of and below the eye,
whereas the “trumpeter” or Western species is
entirely black from the eye to the tip of the bill.

Neither of these varieties is the swan of the
poets or garden ponds. These are a European
species which are even more graceful than our
wild ones. Perhaps the most conspicuous differ-
ence in the appearance of the two birds is in the
form of the neck, which the American swan holds
straight instead of in the graceful curve so notice-
able in the tame bird.

It is impossible for one who has seen only the

SWAN OF CURRITUCK SOUND 161

common mute swans floating about in the artificial
lakes of our city parks to imagine the grandeur of
a flock of the great whistlers in their wild state.
As the huge birds rise into the air it seems as if
an aerial regatta were being sailed overhead, the
swans, each with a wing spread of six or seven
feet, moving like yachts under full sail. The sight
is one of the most impressive in nature.

During the winter months swans may usually be
seen in company with immense numbers of Canada
geese, and often with ducks of several species.

Like many of their smaller relatives, swans
usually fly in wedge-shaped flocks, especially when
migrating. The habits of geese and swans are
more or less similar, grass and roots being their
chief food, but one rarely sees a swan tipping after
the manner of the river ducks, and never diving.
On windy days the flocks separate, the geese going
under the shelter of the land, while for some reason
the swans prefer a lee shore.

Fortunately sportsmen have never seriously
regarded the swan as a game bird to any great
extent, though it is true that they shoot them when
opportunity occurs. Their wildness, however,
almost prohibits stalking them, though if it were
allowed (and fortunately at present it is not) they
might occasionally be shot from fast launches.
Perhaps the greatest safeguard is in the fact that
rifle shooting is prohibited, at least nominally. As
an article of food the swan does not appeal to most
people—in fact only the younger birds, known as
“blue swans,” are fit to eat. So on this account
they do not suffer from that greatest of all enemies

W.L.C. M

162 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

to birds—the “market hunter,” the man whose
wholesale slaughter of our wild creatures is a
disgrace to the country. Legitimate shooting by
honest sportsmen will never do much harm; we
might even say that the sportsman is the best
friend the bird has, for to him is due the passing of
sensible laws which really protect birds. Then, too,
the sportsman sometimes replenishes the stock of
birds, or at least takes pains to protect them during
the breeding time, while the market hunter simply
destroys.

Down in Currituck nothing is thought of a
single boat bringing in over a hundred ducks of
one species as a result of a day’s injurious work—
work made still more injurious and deadly since
the introduction of the unsportsmanlike slaughter
machine, the “pump” gun. If this ghastly
business is to be allowed it will be but a very short
time before our game birds will exist only as a
memory. ‘The one way to protect with any degree
of success is to prohibit absolutely all sale of native
wild creatures, birds as well as animals.

Unfortunately, there is not space here to go into
this subject, scarcely even to touch upon it, but we
cannot help wondering what would become of the
noble swan should public taste ever demand it as
an article of food. How long before it would be
driven from our coast to join the ranks of the
departed buffalo? If only the people would throw
off the cloak of apathy and force their representa-
tives to pay heed to the warnings of the few (too
few, alas !) men and women who have given thought
to the subject of bird preservation, so that decent

SWAN OF CURRITUCK SOUND 163

laws might be passed and the birds given the
protection they so greatly need! This is a subject
which should interest everyone, whether sportsman
or not, for without the birds how much we should
lose in our enjoyment of life in the country !

TWO ’POSSUMS AND SEVERAL
MISTAKES

CHAPTER XII

TWO ’POSSUMS AND SEVERAL MISTAKES

Two ’possums each made mistakes, with the
result that they both got themselves into many
kinds of trouble, with almost tragic consequences.

As we know, ’possums, like owls, usually travel
only by the light of the moon, the stars, or by no
light at all. When all the world is hushed in sleep,
hen roosts are much easier to rob, for except the
cackling of a hen—and even that should not happen
if the job is neatly done—there need be no noise or
fuss of any kind. Even the watch-dog, keen-eared
as he is, may sleep on oblivious of all that the
*possums are doing within his precinct. But, as
already stated, the two ’possums with which we are
dealing made mistakes, and the first of these
mistakes was neither more nor less than that they
came out by daylight. ‘The day was dull and
grey, it is true, but none the less it was day, and
therefore not the time for ’possums to be out.

"Possum One (as we will call him), who had
selected a temporary home in a drain-pipe only the
night before, had been disturbed, because some
thoughtless man had turned a flood of water into
his pipe home and had given him a most unwelcome
bath. So he determined, force of circumstances
urging the determination, to make for a certain
large gum tree, whose branches overhung the

168 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

muddy waters of the Passaic River. In this tree
was his regular nest. A comfortable one it was,
too—quantities of dead dry leaves placed in a hole
in the trunk about ten feet from the ground. The
hole faced towards the south, so that when the sun
shone he had the benefit of its warmth. Curled up
in this hole, covered with leaves, some muskrat fur
and chicken feathers (whence came those feathers,
Mr. ’Possum?), he had spent all last winter.
When all around him was wrapped in winter's
white winding-sheet, the snow had piled up over
the entrance of his home, but the warmth of his
body had melted it away and left his doorway
clear.

Now it was autumn, late November, and all was
cold and dreary. The leaves, with which the
ground was so thickly strewn, rustled loudly as he
shuffled along towards his gum tree. Arriving
there he stopped, for a suspicious odour greeted him,
the unmistakable proof that but recently another
*possum had been there. The invisible trail led up
the tree. Worse and worse! Bad enough to have
anyone come to his tree, but to climb up looked
suspiciously as though the stranger had pre-empted
his own home. Now came the question: What
could he do if this stranger happened to ‘be larger
than he was? Would he have to give up his home,
and that, too, without a struggle? Or should he
try to coax him out? Better first investigate. So
up the tree he went, after the slow, clumsy method
of his kind, until he reached his doorstep, and then
—well, he slid down again, just a few feet, and all
because a long-pointed nose protruded from the

”

«A long nose protruded from the nest.

TWO ’POSSUMS 169

nest of leaves and feathers, and the nose was
followed in turn by an open, well-toothed mouth
and a quite unnecessary amount of snarling, of that
quiet guttural kind that ’possums delight in.
‘Possum One cared not to risk an encounter with
one so much larger than himself, and so ill-tempered
too. It was better to wait a short time, Just to let
his amiable tenant see that he was not afraid. Oh
dear, no! Never even thought of such a thing!
Then, to show how entirely friendly was his visit,
he wished to know if Possum Two would care to
join him in a walk to the hen-house. It was only
a short distance away, and as it was late in the
afternoon he felt sure the chickens would be home,
and even if they were not, they could hide and wait
until they did return. All this was said in the
same sort of language that a dog uses when he
comes into a room where another dog is lying, and
asks him what he thinks of going off for a hunt;
and off they go, one at a time, so as not to attract
attention until clear of the house. So went our
possums. In the lead was "Possum One, with
"Possum Two following a few yards behind. Up
the lane they went, keeping careful lookout. When
halfway along they saw a man coming their way,
so they quickly (and ’possums can do things
quickly) crept in between the stones of the wall
that edged the lane. ‘Their enemy having passed,
they came out cautiously and once more resumed
their way to the farmyard. On arriving there
’Possum One went ahead, on past the corn-stack
and the stables, past the corn-crib and towards the
small hen-house. Everything seemed quiet and

170 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

therefore safe, and soon he saw ’Possum Two, who
had crept along the fence, standing on the top of
the hen-house. Then the two would-be thieves
entered, one by the window and the other by the
door, but the hen-house was empty of hens, so out
came the two prowlers, disappointment showing in
their dejected appearance. The shutting of a door
in the farmhouse near by disturbed their peace of
mind. ’*Possum One, on coming out of the door,
scrambled quickly on to the roof of the hen-house,
while “Possum Two remained in the window.
Danger signals sounded loudly on the ground as a
man came walking down the pathway. At this
moment the ‘possums made another mistake, for
the man would probably have passed them unnoticed
had they not both snarled, and thereby attracted
his attention.

Now it happened that the man was not an
American, and in that accidental fact lay the
possums’ one chance of escape. An American
farmer would have picked up a fence rail and
with it promptly ended the lives of the “darned
little varmints,” who, even though they were
thieves, stole only that they might live. But the
man was an Irishman, fresh from St. Patrick’s Isle.
He had never seen a ’possum, nor did he know
anything of their peculiar ways. Only the ‘week
before, he had been engaged as a farm hand, and
had been left on the place while the farmer and his
sons had gone to the polls to vote, for the day was
election day, hence the quietness of the farm
which had inveigled our two marsupials from their
retreats.

*Possums. ‘Nearer and nearer he came until his nose was visible over
the edge of the large knob.”

TWO ’POSSUMS rhe

Now when Dennis O’Connor saw the two
strange beasts his surprise was very great, and
after uttering a few remarks that are best left out
of print—for, after all, they have nothing to do
with the story—he turned, brave man though he
was, and made straight for the house. He remem-
bered having noticed a gun standing against the
wall near the chimney-corner. With such a weapon
he feared no animal under the size of a dog, and
he hurried out to do battle against the small silver-
haired animals. These same animals had been
making the most of their time. No sooner was
Dennis out of sight than they scurried along as
fast as their short legs would carry them to the
apple orchard. Once there, each one proceeded to
climb an apple tree. ‘Possum One in his hurry
selected a tree so small that it afforded him no
hiding-place, so he must perforce come down again,
and that he did in the quickest possible time, cling-
ing to the tree with his naked prehensile tail as he
partly slid and partly climbed down. Once on the
ground, he made directly for the nearest tree, which
chanced to be the same tree that "Possum Two had
chosen. Here was still another to add to the grow-
ing list of mistakes, and like the proverbial drop
that overflowed the equally proverbial bucket, it
proved the undoing of their otherwise successful
retreat.

One ’Possum might hide in an apple tree and
remain undiscovered because of his colour, which
matches the rough silver-grey bark of the tree very
closely, but two ’possums could scarcely hope to
find places of concealment in the same tree. So

172 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

thought Possum Two as he sat on a large knob
that protruded from the side of the tree. He heard
the scratching sounds of "Possum One as he climbed
the tree. Nearer and nearer he came, until his
nose was visible over the edge of the large knob.
What might have happened is not known. *Possum
Two's vigorous protesting at his friend’s arrival was
cut short by a loud report and a scattering of small
pieces of bark where the shot had struck the tree
just above the possums’ heads. Scarcely had the
echoes of the report died away when Dennis saw
two ’possums fall to the ground at the foot of the
apple tree, and he congratulated himself on “the
foine shot” he had made, and forthwith marched up
to the seemingly dead animals. “Shure, but they’re
did as nails,” he exclaimed, as he picked up one in
a most gingerly way, quickly dropping it again.
Yet there was no blood visible, but in his excite-
ment he had not noticed a detail so altogether
trivial. Enough for him that the two animals
were dead, and he himself was responsible for their
slaughter, and he turned to lay down the gun that
he might light his pipe, preparatory to carrying the
animals back to the house. As he stood still trying
to light his short clay pipe, his back was toward the
possums. Everything was so quiet that Possum
Two decided to have a look and, without changing
his position, he opened his small, dark eyes, closing
them instantly when he discovered the broad back
of his enemy between him and the sky.

It was a close shave, for at that very moment
Dennis, his pipe lighted, picked up the gun, and,
catching hold of the two ’possums by their rat-like

‘soto Yup
oot Corpsod sup SUIBUNTO JNOGIIM puvz syoop ue aru op poploop “pp umMssog, tun UAL]

TWO ’POSSUMS 173

tails, took his way to the house. Once there he
threw the two “dead” animals on the steps, and
leaving them he turned and walked toward the
gate, for he heard sounds of the farmer returning.
Round a bend in the lane came a two-seated buck-
board, mud-bespattered and rickety, and in it sat
the farmer and his boys. Dennis O’Connor, all
excitement and pride, rushed up to them and told
the family all about “the two queer bastes Oi hev
kilt,” adding quickly that he had killed “thim both
wid the one shot from the fowlin’ pace.” On being
asked what he had done with his game, he pointed
exultingly to the clean, bare steps, but——

It was many months before Dennis could be
persuaded to give up his belief that someone had
stolen his ’possums. He never saw them again,
and the story of “playing possum” is, and always
will be, a sore point with Dennis O’Connor.

A FISHING TRIP IN THE HIGH
SIERRAS OF CALIFORNIA FOR
GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT

CHAPTER XIII

A FISHING TRIP IN THE HIGH SIERRAS OF CALIFORNIA
FOR GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT

A TRIP across the continent to the Kern River
and Volcano Creek, the home of the gilbert and
the golden trout, was the genial task which fell
to my lot this month of July, 1905. An alluring
task to one who had never before been west and to
whom fishing was the most fascinating of all sports.
Much I had heard and read of the wonders of the
High Sierras of California, the beauty of the scenery,
the extraordinary climate and the never-failing
abundance of fish. But though I had made up my
mind as to the beauty of the country, I confess the
preconceived idea fell far, very far short of the
reality. To give any idea of the actual conditions
is impossible, for who can describe this country
and feel that he has done even the scantiest justice
to his subject? Yet I feel that to ignore it
were worse even than a most inadequate attempt
at a description ; to him who has not had the good
fortune to visit this paradise, a few words offered
with humble apologies may not prove amiss. Be
he fisherman or merely a traveller in search of a
wonderful outdoor trip, he must be equally im-
pressed by what he sees in nature, especially in
such a region as the Kern River. In fact, I often

wonder whether fishing is much more than a happy

W.L.C. N

178 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

excuse for being out in the open, out among the
mountains, the streams and the innumerable de-
lights which nature offers us with such a bountiful
hand. If it were the fish alone we wanted, why
leave the sea with its endless varieties of fish, big
and small, gamey and sluggish? No stream offers
such “catches,” but so few get much real pleasure
from simply hooking and pulling up fish.

The pleasure is largely in the surroundings. All
our senses are thrilled and the blood dances in our
veins; we listen to the sound of the bubbling water,
a fitting accompaniment to the delicious music of
the birds as they sing their love songs, or watch the
busy little feathered housekeepers, some gathering
material for their nests, others with hungry young
at home, eagerly darting after the incautious insects
that frequent the waterways. Along the banks are
flowers nodding their heads to the passing breeze
as they nestle among the rich green moss. Every-
thing interests, for to the healthy man everything
out of doors is beautiful, nowhere more so than
along dancing rock-strewn streams, where life in so
many forms is concentrated. ‘The fish you may
catch are an incident only, a delightful incident,
which adds immeasurably to your satisfaction and
pleasure and makes the day a complete success.
It is well enough for the man who does not fish to
say that he gets just as much fun out of a day’s
outing, that he can enjoy the birds and the flowers
even more because his mind is not distracted. I
doubt it. Complete pleasure is seldom obtained
by one thing alone, it is more usually the blending
of many, often totally different, sensations which

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 179

constitutes a sensation of perfect pleasure. The
fisherman frequently, without realising it, blends
many subtle sensations ; he caters to many senses,
and the result is bliss, often absolute bliss and satis-
faction which make him the most patient, per-
severing man on earth, even while at times they
unfortunately render him utterly selfish.

But I am wandering from my subject and had
better abandon the attempt to analyse the philo-
sophy of angling, and return with equal futility
to attempt describing the beauty of the High
Sierras. Let the reader come with me and we
will enter the country together. Quickly we will
pass over the long, dusty drive from Visalia, during
which the heat parches the skin and renders the
tongue dry and leathery, along the road of no
shade, where a man who would rest must find the
slim shadow of a slender telegraph pole to shelter
his spine from the scorching rays of the sun. A
few hours and it is past. We reach the foot-hills,
where there is vegetation and shade. In the last
golden light of the setting sun we reach our
destination, a small inn, where we put up for the
night and where we find our pack mules and saddle-
horses awaiting us according to instructions. Every-
thing is made ready for an early morning start, for
we shall have to travel some forty miles or more if
we would halve the distance to the Kern River.
Long before dawn we are up, and after a hasty
breakfast the balky mules are safely loaded with
our simple outfit: food, fishing tackle, cameras and
warm blankets, and that is all. While the valley
below is still slumbering in the purple haze of early

N2

180 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

morn we start along the upward trail. Soon the
sun rises and the heat makes us long for the higher
altitudes. Our way is through fairly open country,
dry as powder, and clothed with wild oats and
yellowish grasses, scattered dry oaks and other
greyish green trees, giving the country the appear-
ance of a dried park, for nowhere except near water
is there any green. Down ina partly dry river bed,
which gleams intensely white in the glare of the
sun, we see a huge log stranded among the smooth
boulders. This log, about sixteen feet in diameter,
we are told, is part of a redwood tree. It has
lain in this river-bed no man can say how many
years. Then we realise that above there is much
to be seen, and we may yet ride through the world-
famous forests of the sequoia or big tree.

Gradually the country changes, vegetation
becomes more abundant and varied, and as we
go higher the colour is greener and more pleasing
and restful to the eyes. On we go ever upward,
along narrow, steep trails overhung with shrubbery,
through dense thickets of syringa and white lilac,
whose fragrance is almost overpowering. Later
on the sun drops to the westward ; we reach the
conifer forests; immense spruces and firs, with
here and there a small cluster of diminutive red-
woods, small of their kind but nearly 200 feet
high, lifting their thinly-leafed tops high above
all surrounding trees. Flowers become abun-
dant—the exquisite mariposa lily, lupins of many
colours; but we are not yet in the land of
flowers. Evening overtakes us as we reach the
expected camp ground, and the selection of a camp

MIETONPE) JO SVLTOTS OY} JO STPTG-Jooy oy} ye AxytMod Aap oytt-yred todo ond,

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 181

site is dependent entirely on the natural pastures
which are widely scattered. We are nearly
8,000 feet above the burning hot valley of St.
Joachim. As the sun leaves us we shiver with
cold and look with commiseration towards that
valley where people are seething in a temperature
of 110 degrees or more. Camp is quickly made.
The process is simplicity itself; horses and mules,
unsaddled and hobbled, are turned out to feed on
the succulent grass of a neighbouring wild meadow.
A fire is built and a simple meal is cooked. We
have no tent, for none is needed during this dry
season ; we are content to find a piece of smooth
ground, roll ourselves in the warm blankets, and sleep
till dawn. Fortunately, the blankets are heavy, for
the night is bitterly cold, and as we rise we see the
blue-white frost on the grass. Breakfast eaten, we
go for the animals. We remarked that the tinkling
of the mule bells no longer sounded, and we are
told that it tis quite customary for the animals,
when their hunger is appeased, to go into the
dry woods where it is warmer, so we commence a
careful search for the missing creatures and finally
discover them more than half a mile from the
camp. After finding them, the cussedness of the
mule, so world-famed, asserts itself, and notwith-
standing all our efforts, over an hour passes before
we finally have them in hand. The effect of the
elevation is very noticeable, and any attempt at
running results in the most distressing symptom of
suffocation. Finally we are off again. The trail,
scarcely visible, winds up and down steep gorges—
in places so steep as to appear impossible for beast

182 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

or man—through dark forests of magnificent
timber, along glades where the ground is a
veritable carpet of many-coloured flowers. Flowers
of all seasons, blooming together, make the most
of the all too short summer; the earliest and the
latest, utterly disregarding the season. Columbines,
gentians, rich masses of scarlet painted-cup, are
here, lupins in patches of purple, blue, and white,
glorious yellow sunflowers, and many, many others,
small and large, brilliant and delicate, whose names
I do not know, but whose beauty make a picture
delightful and wonderful beyond all power of
description. No garden laid out with tenderest
care and most consummate skill could compare
with this garden of the Sierras, nestling in this
valley, watered by melting snow, kissed into life
by clear and unclouded sunlight, and guarded by
the encircling mountains whose summits, rugged,
bare and treeless, cut the deep blue sky with
startling clearness.

All sense of distance is lost in such a climate.
Huge snow-polished faces of solid rock hundreds,
even thousands of feet in height, appeared mere
boulders of insignificant size. On we go through
all this dazzling beauty, making our way toward a
pass 5,000 feet above the garden valley: it is ten
miles away, yet it seems that we must reach it
within a few minutes. Higher and higher we
climb up the face of the mountain, zig-zageing
along the perilously narrow trail which is scarcely
visible in the coarse gravel. As we go, this loose
gravel, started by the animals’ feet, rattles down
the steep slopes into the valley 1,000 feet or more

the steep Slopes on the way to the Kern River.

Riding along

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 183

directly below us. A mis-step, and we too should
slide down, down to certain death among the far-
away flowers; but the horses know well their
work; sure-footed as goats they cling to every
available irregularity ; rising up the steep slides,
they bound up a few steps at a time, then rest a
moment to regain their wind. Wonderful little
wiry animals are these mountain ponies. No horse
reared in the plains could do such work; the stiff
climbing, coupled with the high altitude, would
soon kill them.

Long before we reach the pass 10,000 feet high,
we notice a great change in the trees. The tall
straight firs give way to shorter junipers whose
gnarled branches bear silent testimony to the awful
tempests which rage through the Sierras in winter
time, snow-laden hurricanes which prune the
weaklings, and often tear up huge trees whose
roots have lost their hold. How wonderful a sight
must these storms present if one could but witness
them from a place of security ; but these regions
are locked securely by the key of winter against all
intruders during nature’s wildest revels. Why
should trees select such sites, when every inch of
growth is gained against such terrific odds? Why
not choose the sheltered valleys where they could
live and thrive in peace? Who shall say? This
constant conflict between nature’s different forces,
this striving after that which is most difficult of
attainment, seems to be one of the mysteries of
life. It is apparently this struggle which makes
life so well worth living, not for man alone, but for
many of the so-called lower forms of creation.

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 185

places that as we lean back the horses’ heads are
almost lost to view. It is slow work, and the sun
sets while we are still two hours from the camping
ground. <A chilly, gruesome ride that last hour is
now in the darkness of the forest. No trail could
we see, and so on the judgment of the horses must
we entirely depend, while we devote our attention
to avoiding stray overhanging branches which
frequently whip our faces smartly as we pass.
Sore and tired after the long day’s journey of
nearly fifty miles, we reached the wild pasture near
which was to be our camping ground. Scant time
was spent in preparing a meal. Some cold water
and dry food were good enough, after which we
rolled ourselves in our blankets and, though the
ground was hard, were soon sleeping peacefully,
beneath the murmuring of the tall forest trees,
dreaming of the sport which the morning promised.

If we accept the theory that the pleasure of
fishing lies more in the surroundings than in the
actual catching of the fish, then I would proclaim,
without fear of contradiction, that no form of
angling can compare with fishing for the rainbow
trout of the roaring mountain streams of California
and Oregon. In the wildest imaginings of the
most fertile brain it would be impossible to make
even a mental picture of the wonders of this
western scenery; and surely no setting could be
more inspiring to the lover of the gentle art of
angling. Snow-born streamlets, trickling down
from the lofty peaks, join one another as they work
their way downwards. A dancing, merry gang
they are, yet daring, too, for no obstacle may stay

186 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

their path ; like children they are, bubblingly light-
hearted, but they grow old with bewildering
rapidity, and in the dignified impetuosity of their
maturity they become rivers, powerful enough
to carve great paths through the rock-clad
mountains, and through the deep cafons thus
formed they march unceasingly toward the great
Pacific Ocean. It is to these cafons, so deep that
the sun can scarce find its way to the water, that
he who would coax the rainbow trout from the
dark green pools must betake himself. There,
under the shading branch of the giant cedars and
pines, a man may thank God that he is living and
that fortune has brought him to this favoured
spot. ‘The fishing—well, after all, that is only an
excuse for being there, a delightful excuse I
thought on that memorable morning, when the
dancing waters of the Kern River awakened me,
and called out a bewitching invitation to come and
try my luck with the fish. No second bid was
necessary ; the rod, slightly over five ounces in
weight, was quickly assembled, and before the
sun had bestowed his morning kiss on the river
I cast my flies for the first time on a western
mountain stream.

Many fascinating stories have been told me of
the rainbow trout, and of the glorious country
in which they live. The country was visible,
and certainly the descriptions had done it but
scant justice. Would the fishing prove equally
satisfying ?

Filled with delightful expectancy, I cast the flies
on the ripples and pools, but for half an hour there

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 187

was no response. Then like a flash the river was
illuminated as suddenly as though an electric light
had been turned on. The sun, rising in the clear
blue sky, had gained the mountain top, then, as
though pleased with the effort, the brilliant beam
of light came with almost frantic speed down the
steep slopes, over sombre forests and massive rocks,
till it reached the river, where it lightened the
deepest shadows, and transformed the gloomy
waters into a mass of sparkling iridescent colours.
It all happened so quickly that for the moment I
was more interested in watching the kaleidoscopic
transformation than in my fishing, and I carelessly
allowed the flies to drift into the eddy behind a
large boulder, where they sank several inches below
the surface. A splash brought me to my fishing
senses, and instinctively I raised the rod—too late,
however, for I could not get in the slack before
the fish had escaped. As quickly as_ possible
another cast dropped the flies in the same place,
and a big swirl showed that the fish was still eager.
With my heart beating, as I trust it always will
when I am casting for a fish that is in a rising
mood, I once more dropped the flies above the
stone and let them sink a little as they were
carried into the eddying pool. A splash, a bending
rod, a tightening line, and the reel sang merrily
as the fish bolted for the shelter of a large over-
hanging rock. Cautiously I checked the out-
running line. The fish objected to this curbing
and showed his resentment by leaping frantically
from the water, filling the air with glistening drops
and breaking the smooth surface of the deep green

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 189

The best time for this fishing seemed as a rule
to be the morning, for an hour or so after the sun
was on the water, then again later in the afternoon,
when the smaller and middle-size fish would come
to the open and rather shallow runs to feed. In
the roughest waters the sport was always more
exciting, of course, and many a hard tussle did I
enjoy with large fish, when the water hurled past
with a thundering roar which echoed back and
forth among the rocks of the overhanging caiion.
It is in such places that we realise and appreciate
the difference between really wild fishing and
the pale imitation which one finds in the near
town club. As I said before, it is not only the
fish but the conditions which make it so well worth
while.

While camped on the Kern River we spent some
time in search of the curious golden trout, one of
the excuses which had brought us here. The very
name of golden trout seems to possess some magic
power, if one may judge from the number of
people who have heard of it. Considering the fact
that this fish is found in but one stream in the world,
and that that stream is in the heart of the great
Sierras of California, it is remarkable that it should
be so well known even by name. Comparatively
few persons have seen either the fish itself or
pictures of it, though its beauty is so frequently
mentioned; therefore it must be that the name
has led to its becoming thus widely known. In
point of beauty the golden trout should be given
first place among the freshwater fish of North
America, and this, compared with its extraordinary

1909 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

history, and the grandeur of the country surround-
ing its mountain home, are excuses enough for any
one who wishes an excuse for undertaking an
interesting trip into these grand mountains of the
far West. For those accustomed to camping in
our Eastern States, the trip in itself through the
Sierras, as we have already seen, is one great
succession of surprises and delights, and the con-
tinuous clear weather of the summer months reduces
camping to absolute simplicity.

Volcano Creek, the home of the golden trout, is
one of the many streams that flow from Mount
Whitney, the highest mountain in the United States.
We followed the course of the Kern River along its
gravelly stretches, where the water sparkled in the
clear light, working our way around the rougher
places where the river, turbulent and grand, fought
its way among stubborn boulders, swung round
the sharp bends, and through the deep, dark
gorges, beautiful always, but particularly beautiful
to the fisherman who, as though fascinated, would
regard each likely place where he knew a fish
must be hiding. In the near distance we hear a
deafening roar, and soon we come upon the famous
Voleano Creek dashing down the mountain side
over the bed of lava and rock as though anxious
to join the Kern River. With difficulty we
climbed the face of the cliff, and then we found
the creek in an entirely different mood. No longer
boisterous and grand, but a small stream flowing
peacefully through a meadow-like valley. The
dense fringe of overhanging bushes made the
prospect of casting by no means alluring ; short

Volcano Creek.

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 191

casts were compulsory. Selecting a fairly promising
part of the stream, I cast two No. 12 flies gently
on the clear water. For some minutes there was
no reply, then a sudden quick rise, a slight bending
of the tip and the fish is hooked. The fight is
short and fairly vigorous, and I land my first
golden trout, well under a half-pound in weight,
but beautiful beyond any freshwater fish I have
ever seen, the most exquisite, dainty, and wonder-
fully coloured. Words will not describe it, for the
colours of fish are nameless, and the iridescence
changes each colour like the fire of the opal. This
beautiful fish sparkles as though sheathed with
tiny scales of the precious metal burnished to the
highest degree of brilliancy. The under parts are
of the deep orange hues of the mountain sunsets,
while a faint, broad band of rose colour tinges the
side from head to tail ; and as though to accentuate
the brightness of the colours, a few velvety black
spots are scattered above the median line. Perhaps
it was well that so beautiful a creature should
not rank high as a game fish. The flesh is
delicious. But it is its beauty, coupled with the
strangeness of its peculiar history of isolation and
the grandeur of the scenery surrounding its
mountain home, that gives it such a peculiar place
in the list of anglers’ trophies. Beyond that it
has little merit, for though gamey for its size the
fight lasts but a very short time, and in size it
seldom goes over half a pound. Unfortunately
immense numbers are killed annually by campers,
frequently for no other purpose than to satisfy a
disgusting desire for killing. An instance is on

192 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

record where a game warden found a heap of
these tiny beauties on which was placed a card
bearing the following: “ We killed 1,000 of these
fish in this place,” and they were left to dry up,
serving no purpose whatever. Strange it is that
men can have so little sense of the eternal fitness
of things. Why should such men take the trouble
to camp when apparently nothing appeals to their
sense of beauty or fair play, or I may add, of
common sense ?—for one would suppose that even
they must realise that such slaughter means at
last the destruction of the very objects which they
declare give them sport. Perhaps they don’t think.
That at least is the most charitable view one can
take.

Our stay in the Kern River valley was limited
by the amount of food we had brought. Only too
short a time did it last, and long before I had had
enough of the fine fishing and delightful scenery
we were compelled to start homeward. Wishing
to see as much of the country as possible I chose
to return by another trail, which led us eventually
through the famous forest of giant redwoods,
where the trees are large beyond all understanding,
so large that carriages can drive through the
divided bases of the still standing trees. The
crownless tops detract somewhat from the actual
beauty of these ancients of the forest, but in
their grandeur and majesty they stand alone
among all the trees of the world. Their destruc-
tion for commercial purposes would have been a
national, or I should say a world-wide calamity,
and we should be grateful to those who, like

Landing a large Gilbert Trout in the Kern River (California).

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 193

Theodore Roosevelt, were instrumental in saving
these living relics of the past for generations of
mankind yet to come.

In writing of the rainbow trout it may be advis-
able to go cautiously, for the ground is dangerous
with an uncertainty, due to the many and confus-
ing varieties of the species, as well as to the conditions
under which they are found. In the strictly tech-
nical sense, the typical rainbow trout, Salmo zvidens,
is a distinct species which is found only in the
small brooks of the coast ranges in California, from
the Klamath River to the San Louis Bay in San
Diego County. Throughout much of the rest of
the western country many of the various species of
trout are close relations of the true rainbow. In
fact, many of them show differences so slight that
they puzzle the experts, with the result that a
wonderful state of confusion exists. Even the
icthyologists are undecided about several of the
rainbow trout and question whether the differences
in coloration, habits, etc., are due solely to the
geographical cenditions, or whether they constitute
separate species. As the points of variation merge
one into the other, it seems impossible to give
very definite descriptions of these fish. Indeed, so
greatly are they affected by natural conditions that
different parts of a river will produce fish which
show distinction of colour, size and habits ; and two
streams scarcely more than a few hundred yards
apart will each have what is apparently an entirely
distinct species of rainbow trout.

The gameness of the rainbows shows as much
variation as do their colour and markings. In some

W.L.C, Q

194 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

places they are decidedly sluggish ; in others they
fight well, but do not break water, while in many
rivers they behave almost like the Atlantic salmon
in their method of fighting when hooked, leaping
frantically from the water half a dozen times or
more in the endeavour to free themselves. On an
average, however, they seem to be rather less
gamey than the Eastern brook trout. Notwith-
standing this slight disadvantage, it is more than
probable that the time will soon come when the
rainbow, together with the European brown trout,
will take the place of the much-prized and too
ardently sought after brook trout, as they are
hardier and will more readily adapt themselves to
the increasing warmth of the Eastern streams.
This warmth is due to the ruthless cutting of
timber, and the unfortunate necessity of clearing
land, so that the streams are deprived of the much-
needed shade, consequently the water is warmed by
the direct sunlight, and evaporation is so rapid that
by the middle or end of summer there is a lack of
water in streams which formerly contained plenty
for the needs of the trout. The brook trout
requires cold water, but the rambow and European
will thrive in water that reaches a temperature of
eighty degrees. Colder water will, however, produce
a more healthy and gamey fish.

Of the various forms of the rainbow trout,
that found in the Kern River, California, and
known as the Kern River or Gilbert trout (S.
eridens gilberti), is perhaps the most gamey. It
does not run as large as some of the other varieties,
seldom in fact weighing over four or five pounds,

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 195

and never, so far as I can learn, more than eight
pounds.

The Kern River is an ideal place for fishing, even
though rather difficult of access. It rises in the
high Sierras, and flows through the Kern River
canon. During the greater part of the year the
water is extremely cold in the part inhabited by
the trout, and only during July and August does it
become at all warm. The river is very swift and
has numerous deep, dark pools, to which the fish
retire during the heat of theday. ‘These conditions
account for their extreme gameness, and make
fishing in the stream a source of immeasurable
delight to the angler. The superb scenery and the
exquisite purity of the atmosphere add greatly to
the pleasure of a fishing trip through this region.

The fishing season commences in June, as soon
as the snow melts sufficiently to allow of travelling
through the mountain passes, and continues as long
as the weather permits. As a rule the trout rise
readily to the fly, though like all members of the
finny tribe, they have their off days. ‘These off days
seem to depend, not so much on the weather,
which during the summer varies little from day to
day, as upon the hatching of certain larve. This
theory is not believed by some people, but it seems
more than probable to me. On a certain day, I,
as well as others, who were fishing, found that
scarcely a fish could be induced to rise, and the few
that did were all small ones. In vain we tried
different sizes and patterns of flies; grasshoppers
were used, but without success. At last I took a
very small bare hook and baited it with a clump of

02

196 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the stick-like larve of the caddis fly, which were
just about ready to hatch. This proved most
alluring, and within an hour I had landed a number
of trout, some of which were fine big fellows.
Some days later I tried the same experiment with
equal success when flies were disdained. I do not
wish it to be understood that I regard this as a very
sportsmanlike way of fishing, but as an experiment
it was interesting.

For these Kern River or Gilbert trout, and others
of the rainbow type, the most killing flies are usually
the hackles, particularly the brown hackle with
yellow body. The coachman, Montreal and grizzly
king also prove good. The number eight hook
seems about the best size ; sometimes a larger one
is better; while on one day I had no luck until
I tried some on number sixteen hooks. These
brought me no end of sport, and I landed some
very fair-sized fish with them during the morning,
while the men who were using larger flies had no
luck.

There are no rules as to where the trout will
most likely be found, but in general their habits
are much like those of the Eastern brook trout.
The smaller fish do not appear to be very shy, but
if you would catch the large ones, your chances of
success will be greatly increased if you keep out of
sight as much as possible. This is especially true
when fishing in the pools. In the fairly shallow
rapids, where the trout go when feeding, they are
not so easily frightened, though even then a long
line will usually get more rises than a short one.

Different stretches of the Kern River seem to

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 197

have a certain limit as to the size of the fish, and it
will be noticed that only small ones are found
towards the upper end, even where the river has
deep pools and other conditions which are apparently
suitable to the habits and needs of the larger fish.
Usually large trout do not like either very cold
water, or the somewhat sudden changes of tempera-
ture which take place towards the source of the
river, where the water is very cold at night and in
the early morning, but warms up after the sun
strikes it. The largest fish are most often found
in the quiet water, such as in places where the river
broadens out, owing to some obstruction blocking
its free passage, and forms small lakes. In order
to fish these places successfully, it will be found
necessary to construct a raft, unless you happen to
have a small folding boat that can be carried on
the mules, in which case bear in mind the fact that
if anything can be broken, a mule will surely find
a way to do it. So if you carry a canoe, pack it
with the greatest care.

It may be well to remark that when fishing in
California or Colorado, or in any climate where the
air is extremely dry, and the sun very powerful, be
sure to keep your traces (leaders) and fly snells
thoroughly moist; otherwise you will require an
inexhaustible supply of traces and patience, as the
gut becomes so brittle that it breaks with little or
no provocation, and consequently many fish will
get away. The extreme dryness also plays havoc
with rods, as it dries out the wood and renders it
very brittle. ‘The only remedy is to have well-
made rods, and keep them carefully varnished,

198 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

otherwise they will be sure to dry out, especially at
the ferrules. When not in use the rods should
never be left in the sun. Reels require more
attention than in the East, both on account of the
dust which finds its way into everything, and the
heat which dries out the oil; therefore clean and
oil frequently.

In general, the tackle required for the rainbow
trout and its allies is very similar to that used for
the Eastern brook trout, though a slightly heavier
rod may be preferred. A five andahalf ounce rod
should prove heavy enough for any one. The eight
ounce rod recommended by a certain writer is out
of all proportion to the size of the fish. Split
bamboo of good quality is preferable to lancewood
or greenheart, as it will not be so likely to dry out.
But on no account use a cheap department store
split bamboo, as it will not stand the climate. In
any event do not fail to carry an extra rod or two
in your outfit, and don’t pack them all on the same
mule, unless they are protected with more than
ordinary care,

Without wishing to show any partiality, I would
advise securing your outfit in the East, where the
prices are lower and you know your dealer and
maker of the rod. In the West, fly-fishing is of
comparatively recent date, and has not yet reached
the high degree of popularity and perfection that
has been developed in the East. Hence the dealers
are not so well stocked with rods, flies and other
articles necessary to the angler.

Don’t carry a small creel, as you should be pre-
pared to carry fish that may be twenty or thirty

GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 199

inches long, and few things are more delightfully
aggravating than catching a fish too large for your
basket.

Waders will not be needed in the dry regions,
where the sun is so powerful that it burns the feet
when rubber clad, and anyhow your clothes dry so
rapidly that little discomfort is experienced after
coming from the water. North of California waders
may be found necessary, as the air is not so dry, the
water is colder, and the weather not so persistently
fine.

Besides the true rainbow and the Kern River
trout, the other more or less distinct species embrace
the following: the golden S. agua-bonita; the
Nissuee, S. ividens stoneit, the McCloud River,
S. shasta, and the Western Oregon brook trout,
iS. masont. All of the rainbow series are more or
less profusely spotted with black, and have the broad,
lateral band of purplish pink, from which they
derive their name of rainbow. This band varies
greatly with individuals; in some it is very con-
spicuous, while in others it is scarcely discernible.

The McCloud River species, which is the rainbow,
most frequently used by fish culturists, is native to
the waters of the Sierra Nevadas, from Mount
Shasta southward, where in different streams it
reaches a maximum weight of from three to eight
pounds. It has been transplanted to many parts
of the United States, and varies both in size and
habits according to the existing conditions. In
some of the very cold streams of Colorado it does
not grow beyond half a pound, while in the warmer
waters of the same State I am told that it may be

200 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

found weighing as much as thirteen pounds. In
Missouri it does not grow quite so large, while in
the Au Sable River, Michigan, seven pounds is
about its greatest weight. In the Eastern states it
seldom grows so large.

In the “lower Columbia and coastwise streams
of Oregon and Washington,” the Western Oregon
brook trout is found. It varies little from the
typical rainbow, and never grows large enough to
be a very important game fish, seldom exceeding a
weight of one pound.

YELLOW TAIL FISHING OFF
CATALINA ISLAND

CHAPTER XIV
YELLOW TAIL FISHING OFF CATALINA ISLAND

For those who enjoy a strenuous kind of fishing
there is probably no place of easy access that will
afford better opportunities than the vicinity of
Catalina Island off the coast of California. ‘There
it is that the yellow tail stays during the greater
part of the year and offers sport as abundant and as
exciting as any man could wish. It is a sport that
must appeal most strongly to those who, while
enjoying the vigorous fight with the fish, do not
appreciate bodily hardships and the consequent
fatigue. Most of the fishing is done from an open
boat or motor launch, for the day’s use of which you
pay about ten dollars with complete outfit. It is a
dreamy, lazy form of enjoyment while waiting for
the fish, followed by the keenest of excitement after
the strike. Seated in a comfortable armchair facing
the stern of the boat, with a rod on either side
trailing some fifty yards or more of line, you travel
slowly along, past rocky shores and islands of floating
kelp, gently rolling over the long, undulating swell
of the great Pacific. The soft air, the occasional
low mist through which the powerful sun shines in
iridescent splendour, the bright blue sky above and
the exquisite ever-changing colour of the water, all
combine to make this form of fishing a delight to
the senses, and one is almost tempted to be satisfied

204 WILD LIFE AND 'THE CAMERA

with drifting along regardless of whether fish are
caught or not. In this way it resembles fishing for
brook trout, where the pleasure of wading through
the rippling water beneath the arch of tender green
leaves is perhaps the chief attraction of the sport.
The catching of the fish is really only an incident,
even though a much needed one. When after
yellow tail your boatman takes you over the best
fishing grounds, going at a rate of about three
miles an hour. Outside of the chug-chug of the
gasoline engine and the occasional screech of the
gulls all is dreamily quiet, when suddenly, whirr!
and you grab the rod as the line flies out from the
large, strongly-built reel. At the same moment
the boatman stops the engine and the fun begins.
You cannot stop the mad rush of the fish, especially
if it is a big fellow ; the best you can do is to press
the leather firmly on the reel, and woe betide you if
your thumb slips off and touches the line. Gradually
the speed of the fish decreases, perhaps he starts
towards you, and hastily you reel in the slack, taking
care to release instantly in case he should start off
again, and keep your fingers clear of the handle if
you value those same fingers. Should the fish
burrow into the deep water, as they usually do, you
will find ordinary reeling is out of the question,
pumping is the only way to raise him, and that is done
by quickly dropping the top of the rod and reeling
in the few feet of slack almost simultaneously ;
then hold the reel firmly and slowly raise the top
of the rod as high as you can and repeat the trick.
In this way you gain about four or five feet each
time and gradually the fish is brought near the

YELLOW TAIL FISHING 205

surface. Look out then for frantic rushes which,
though usually short, require careful handling if
you would retain your connection with the fish.
The yellow tail will not give up until he is absolutely
done. Up to the very end he fights, and fights hard,
keeping you busy for sometimes as much as half an
hour or even longer, if it is a very large fish. It is
hard to overestimate the beauty of these yellow
tail as they plunge near the surface, displaying their
wonderful iridescent colouring. ‘Their sides literally
gleam in the sunlight like polished brass as they
dart back and forth. Then comes the acknowledge-
ment of defeat. The fish turns belly up and the
struggle ceases. If you wish to keep the fish the
gaff is used. It is quick work, for the men are
experts and death is practically instantaneous. If
you have no use for it, the boatman simply leans
over and gently releases the hook, and immediately
the fish seems imbued with new life, and with a
quick move of the tail vanishes with wonderful
speed into the rich blue depths of its ocean home,
and chug, chug, chug, the launch starts up and off
again in search of more sport. It is not always that
trolling answers in yellow tail fishing ; why, no man
can say, but the fact remains that sometimes you
may troll all day long and never have astrike ; then
it is necessary either to cast or stillfish. Casting is
splendid enough sport, but stillfishing in deep water
is rather slow, drowsy work. One of the most
interesting sights in connection with yellow tail
fishing is to see the schools of fish feeding. ‘The
surface of the shimmering water will be oil-like one
moment and the next will see a broken surface of

206 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

an acre or more in extent, the water churned up as
though a volcano were in eruption beneath. Gulls,
attracted by the turmoil and the chance of picking
up scraps of small fish torn by the voracious yellow
tail, arrive in numbers and add to the general con-
fusion. Then suddenly it all ends, peace is restored,
thousands of small fry have been devoured, and
once more the limpid surface reflects the gorgeous
blue of the sky. Near floating masses of kelp is
usually a sure place for yellow tail fishing, but a
great deal of sport is to be found in the bays quite
close to the rocks. In fact some people prefer to
fish directly from the shore, and when the water is
fairly shallow this gives splendid sport, as then the
fish is unable to ground and sulk.

The outfit necessary and advisable for yellow tail
comprises a fairly stiff rod, not over eight feet long
and weighing from 24 to 30 ounces (anything over
26 ounces is really only good for beginners) ; a
good, stout and long line is necessary, about
300 feet of 15-strand cuttybunk is usually recom-
mended; needless to say, a reliable reel is an
important part of the outfit, for if the reel goes
wrong it means loss of fish, line and all. The hook
most highly recommended by Mr. Charles P. Holder
is the O'Shaughnessy attached to a stiff copper
wire, which in turn is fastened by means of a swivel
to the line. For bait sardine or herring are usually
used, sometimes in connection with a large spoon.
When stillfishing is resorted to it is often neces-
sary to coax the fish and start them feeding by
throwing in bait. Once they begin to eat, your
fun begins, but there are times when apparently

YELLOW TAIL FISHING 207

no power on earth will persuade them that food is
necessary for their existence. The yellow tail of
the Pacific are not the same as those found in the
Florida waters. They are very much larger. Those
caught on lines average over 20 pounds; they
are seldom caught smaller than 10 pounds and
usually run from that size up to about 30 or
35 pounds, though in exceptional instances they
are very much larger. The season for fishing
begins about the early part of April and lasts from
then on until the end of December, and during
this period there are few days, when the weather is
fine, that a man cannot be sure of some good
sport.

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT IN NEW
BRUNSWICK RIVERS

CHAPTER XV
FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT IN NEW BRUNSWICK RIVERS

For many weeks the fishing fever had been dis-
turbing our minds and making our bodies restless.
Ever since the first bluebird had come north and
we had listened with delight to the ethereally
delicate song, we had talked and thought and
dreamed of fishing. (It was myself and wife that
were planning this dissipation.) While we were
debating the important question of where to go, a
friend suggested “a perfectly splendid place” in
New Brunswick, where trout of immense size and
unquestioned gameness could be found in virgin
pools of streams unknown to sportsmen. This
certainly sounded alluring.

At last the day came and we started with glad
hearts, for all seemed to be going well, notwith-
standing certain small details which might have
annoyed some people who were not suffering from
a bad attack of fishing fever.

In due course we arrived at Fredericton, and the
day following we headed north, going by very slow
train to C , on the banks of the M—— River,
arriving at midnight. arly next morning our
guide came to the hotel and said that, though the
season was a trifle early, he thought he could take
us to where we should catch some good trout.

We took quite a fancy to this guide, who was a

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212 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

true son of Ireland, good-tempered, and of wit full
to overflowing ; and, what was still more to the
point, he knew a good deal about trout fishing.
Very large flies, he declared, were necessary for the
early fishing—No. 1 salmon, no less. I had with me
a book of salmon flies, but having practically never
used anything larger than No. 6, I had very few of
the large sizes and, frankly, I did not have much
faith in them for trout. It had nearly always been
my experience that small flies proved better than
large ones. However, to avoid the possibility of
having the guide blame our tackle if we failed to
catch the fish, I searched the town and procured
some very badly-faded silver doctors and Wilkin-
sons of the desired size. With our outfit in a light
wagon and ourselves in a carriage we started on
a twelve-mile drive to a river near which John,
the guide, told us that his married daughter lived,
and there we could put up for a couple of days
while we tried the fishing.

We found everything thoroughly to our satis-
faction—a nice clean house on a very tidy farm,
and a promising river within a stone’s throw. After
a bite of lunch we assembled the rods and were
poled up the river to a likely-looking pool, where
we disembarked. Scarcely had I made half a dozen
casts with the No. 1 Wilkinson, at the head of the
pool, than a huge surge where the fly had just
touched the water set my heart throbbing. Almost
before I realised what had happened the line
tightened with that magnetic thrill which makes
the blood of a fisherman dance in his veins. There
was scarcely need to strike, but I did so, and was

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 213

rejoiced to find the hook had gone home. Just at
first that fish played a gentle game, going slowly
down stream to deep water, and I could not
estimate his size; but suddenly he resented my
restraining movements, and started to make things
lively, first thrashing the water as he came to the
surface, then making frantic runs here and there,
trying all the while to get near a mass of drift
brush which was caught against the bank at the
farther side of the stream. Had he once attained
his object it would have been good-bye to him, so
I gave him the butt as firmly as possible, gradually
steering the big fellow away from the danger, until
I had him in clearer and quieter water. Every
nerve in my body .was tense with excitement, and
if that fish had escaped I believe I would have
cried—or sworn—but we kept together, though
between us there was sometimes seventy feet of
line, taut as a fiddlestring, now quiet, now ripping
through the water like a keen-edged knife. But
the end was near. Slowly the big fish was coming.
I had given him no rest and he was tired.
Choosing a quiet piece of shallow water, I reeled
him in toward the small landing net; but the net
looked too small, and I feared it would not hold
him. Very gradually I worked the big fellow
toward it and at the critical moment scooped him
up; but my surmise was correct—the net was too
small, and the fish gave a mighty jump and cleared
it, but fortunately the hook still held. To beach
him was now the only way, and I backed up to the
sandy bar and got my prize safely ashore. What
a beauty he was—three pounds, five ounces—not

214 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

very large, it’s true, but such a fighter; so silvery
and so clean-cut ; not two weeks from the ocean!
Yes, he was a prize, and I could only regret that he
had not fallen to my wife’s rod (that sounds
well !).

Now my wife had with her a creel, as she called
it, and this creel was of the smallest size that is
made—about nine inches long. It was a cause of
much amusement to ourselves and to anyone who
saw it; but the wife maintained that she had never
caught, and never expected to catch, a trout long
enough to dend in that creel. All the trout she
caught had to be shaken backward and forward in
order that head and tail might be said to touch
both ends of the basket. In vain had I tried to
persuade her not to bring such a ridiculously use-
less article with us, but being a woman—vwell, the
basket came anyhow.

John declared it was just about big enough to
carry a cast of flies, “if they weren't too large”;
but still the wife insisted that she never expected
to catch a trout that could not be put in that
basket, and that, too, without its having to be
bent. When John pointed to my fish and asked
her whether that would go in her creel, she
ventured to remind him that she had not caught it,
and with that she began to whip the pool with a
No. 1 silver doctor. In two or three minutes I
heard a shriek of delight and saw her, with bowed
rod, playing a fish, her first decent-sized trout
(though she had at various times caught a large
number of bass, one of which weighed ten pounds).
Her excitement was delightful to watch, and the

“POTAASTMA] MON UL WNOL]-vay AOZ FarysyyT

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 215

way in which she hurried that fish to the net was
almost laughable. At last she had him, and he
weighed a pound and three-quarters. But John
never mentioned the tiny creel. He winked at
me, and I guessed he was waiting for a larger fish.
Pretty soon she got another one which, though a
splendid fighter, was half a pound smaller than the
first. With the exception of afew small fish we
had no more luck that day, but we had thoroughly
enjoyed ourselves, and the wife acknowledged that,
after all, there were large trout in the world,
though she had previously doubted it.

The river was an ideal one in most ways—fairly
swift, clear, and icy cold, with deep pools here
and there in which lay the big fish. On the second
day of our stay here I had no luck at all, but the
wife caught a fine three-pounder. Unfortunately
I was not with her when she landed it, but there
were great stories of her excitement. By bad luck
she had left the tiny creel at the house.

On the third day we went down stream in the
boat, fishing as we went along. We were going
very slowly, the wife sitting in the bow casting
carefully over every likely place. Suddenly there
was a splendid rise at the fly; she struck too
quickly, and missed. Almost instantly she had
that fly back on the spot, but nothing came. Again
and again the large fly was dropped on the quiet
water behind a submerged stone, and with a discon-‘
solate sigh she was just saying what a shame it was
to have lost such a monster (all fish that rise to her
fly and miss it are “ monsters”), when there was
a mighty splash and a beautiful fish leaped clear

216 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

out of the water as he seized the fly. A more
perfect rise I have never seen. Away he went,
down to the quicker water. Nothing could stop
him at first, and the chances seemed entirely in
his favour. Gradually the wife got control of the
reel, and it was a caution the way in which she
made that line come in. The rod bent till the
tip touched the water, but nothing would do but
that that fish must continue coming. Without
realising how close the fish was, she reeled in
past the nine-foot leader. At that moment she
weakened, and the fish took advantage of the
relaxing in the strain and dashed off. Down went
the tip till the rod pointed straight at the fish ; the
knot caught in the top ferrule, and the sudden
jerk pulled out the tip and down the line it slid
until it actually hit the fish. Things were certainly
looking black.

* Look out! The big divil is eatin’ the rod,”
called John, as the fish smashed the tip into tiny
pieces ; but the wife held on, and jumping out of
the boat, soon had her three-pound fish safely
beached. We laughed until there were tears in
our eyes as we got out another tip, warning the
wife not, on any account, to let the fish eat it.

«Now, let’s put him in the creel,” said John,
with a twinkle in his blue eyes. ‘ Please ma’am,
an’ here’s the creel, will ye put him 1, yersilf?”
The comparative size of the tiny creel and the
large trout was too much for John. “ Let’s cut off
his head, ma’am, and put that in, for it’s all itll
howld,” and since that day the tiny creel has never
been in evidence. During the afternoon we caught

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 217

several fair-sized fishes, and all of them great
fighters.

The following day we left the farm and drove
to another and wilder river fourteen miles away.
John had a boat on the T——, and in this we started
down the river eight miles to his camp. Unfor-
tunately the water was low; more and more
thinly it spread over the widening, stony bed of
the river ; finally it became apparent that the boat
could only be taken down if empty, and so we
walked to the camp.

It was a comfortable log cabin, beautifully
situated, overlooking the river. Near it was a
large and likely-looking pool, so we wasted no
time before trying our luck. I lost two good fish
and the wife took the greatest care in explaining how
and why I had lost them. There were so many
reasons for their having gotten off that I was
really surprised that they should have stayed on at
all. To lose a fish of decent size is bad enough,
but how it happened should never be told except
by the unfortunate fellow who lost it.

However, I kept my temper (more or less), said
nothing (or very little), and kept on casting and
watching for retribution, which was thoroughly
mean and cruel. It was not long in coming, and
to my great delight I saw a nice fish take the fly
that my wife so skilfully offered. Splash! splash !
whirr! the running line made the reel shriek and
the rod bent in a graceful bow. Only for an
instant, and then it sprang back, the line hung
limp—the tension was gone, and so was the fish.
Had the wife been a man, we know exactly what

218 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

she would have said, but the running water made
so much noise that I could not hear her remarks.
Then, smiling,—and that was contemptible—I asked
her which of the many aforesaid reasons was the
one which accounted for the loss of the immense
(I put emphasis on that word) fish. Soon she had
another and lost it, so we called quits and had
a good laugh over our bad fishing. No luck fell
to our lot that afternoon. We caught nothing
heavier than three-quarters of a pound. Evidently
very few large fish had come so far up the river.
So we decided to work down stream until we
should meet them.

John thought it would be wiser to use a large,
flat-bottomed boat for the trip, as we could then
fish from it with comfort, whereas the smaller one
was so cranky that fishing from it, when loaded,
would have been rather too exciting, and in
places, even dangerous. The flat-bottom boat was
evidently quite safe unless she took it into her head
to sink, and from the way the water poured
through the seams when we launched her, this
was by no means a remote possibility. The next
morning when we went to load her she was safely
ensconced on the bottom. Fortunately the water
was not very deep, and after some difficulty we got
her afloat and loaded, but for the rest of the trip
bailing was an important part of the day’s pro-
gramme. At nearly every pool on the way down
we caught fish. Many of them were large ones,
and gave us no end of fun, and as, unless they were
injured, we always returned them to the stream,
we felt there was no necessity for limiting our catch.

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 219

In one of the pools a big chap rose several times
to our flies without actually touching. “Now,”
said John, “this is the time to produce my big
bird,” and out of his pocket came an immense bass
fly—the largest I have ever seen. It was put on
the wife’s leader and was sent whizzing through
the air toward where the fish lay. With a mighty
splash the fly struck the water. This was too
much for any self-respecting trout. Up he came,
and with a gulp took the offending disturber of
his meditations. What a time he made of it!
Up and down the pool; here, there, everywhere,
and finally, just as it seemed about time to bring
him to the net he got loose, and that was, of course,
- the last we saw of him. But it goes to show what
I have always maintained —that occasionally a very
large fly will excite or provoke a trout or salmon,
and prove very effective when all else fails.

For several days we continued our way down
the river, camping, usually, fairly early in the day.
One afternoon, as we were about to pitch camp,
the rain came down in torrents. Some women
would have been discouraged at getting their hair
out of curl, but the wife thought it great fun.
Dressed in a waterproof, with the case of the
waterproof for a hat (that’s an idea worth remem-
bering), she cooked us a delicious dinner.

I have been camping with people who, when it
rained, regarded it as a personal insult for which
one of the party (I was usually the one) was
entirely to blame. “ Why hadn’t I told them it
was like this, and of course they wouldn’t have
thought of coming.” ‘How could anyone be

220 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

expected to sleep on wet boughs—in fact, how
could the boughs be cut when they were wet, and
even the ground was wet?” and so on; growl,
growl, growl, simply because of some nice, refresh-
ing rain. Why, I have had it refresh me for
sixteen consecutive days, but growling did not
do any good—in fact, so far as I know, growling
has never yet stopped rain or any other trouble ;
rather the reverse, for it seems as though the
growlers always have the most troubles.

Our last camp was at tide-water, some 16 miles
from the actual mouth of the river. The tent
overlooked a very large, deep pool, fully 200 yards
long. On the opposite side a small sparkling brook
added its share to the larger river. One day the
fishing was not good in the big pool owing to the
very high tide, so we amused ourselves along the
bank of the smaller stream, and we made acquaint-
ance—a sort of bowing acquaintance—with a very
clever and very aggravating trout. He lived in a
small pool under an old, dead birch stump which
bent over the water. I cast toward his home,
thinking it a likely place, and it was, for instantly
there was a splash and a glint of silver as the fish,
which we subsequently named McGinty, came
to the fly and missed it. Again I cast and saw
him leave the shade of the big stump; but he
changed his mind and returned. For some time I
continued casting, without results, so I tried
another fly and McGinty made a dart at it, but
without success—at least, so far as I was con-
cerned. After a while I actually hooked him, but
only for an instant, and off he went. Then we

FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 221

gave him a rest, after which the wife tried him and
had two fine rises and two equally fine misses.

So we left McGinty and went farther up the
stream, getting some very good fishing, but nothing
over one pound. On returning to McGinty’s pool
an hour or so later, we again tried to coax the wily
fellow, but beyond coming out to take a look at
our flies he would have nothing to do with us.
Next day we tried him again, with just about the
same luck ; made him rise several times and hooked
him once, but McGinty didn’t like us well enough
to desire a closer acquaintance, for, though we spent
hours trying to lure him out of his hidmg place,
we had to acknowledge ourselves beaten.

While fishing we saw several moose along the
riverside, and one time got to within about twenty-
five feet of a young bull, and watched him feeding
for a long time. At night, as we lay on our bed
of balsam boughs, we could hear the big creatures
splashing through the water as they fed along the
river’s edge, eating the young maple leaves and other
dainty tit-bits. It added greatly to our interest
having these animals about us, but perhaps nothing
gave us more pleasure than the rabbits, or varying
hares, as they should be called. On one occasion
we were camped on a grassy place where the ground
was thickly studded with the fluffy, silky balls ot
the seeding dandelion. Along came a rabbit, pay-
ing not the slightest attention to us as he daintily
nipped off the dandelions, eating the stalks and
discarding the seed head. Closer and closer he
came until he was within two feet of me. Never
have I seenanything more beautiful, and I could

222 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

not but regret that owing to the lack of light, for
it was after sunset, it was not possible to secure a
photograph of such an unusual sight. Another
rabbit came into our camp, eating bunchberry leaves
and hopping about in a most unconcerned way
alongside of the fire and all about us, not even
being frightened when I walked away to our tent
for the camera; and, though the light was not very
good, I got three fairly satisfactory pictures.

After all, the catching of fish is by no means
the only pleasure one derives from a fishing trip.
There are so many things of interest that one can-
not see any but the most conspicuous, and the time
goes so quickly that even these are not half seen
or enjoyed. Most people altogether miss what is,
perhaps, the greatest enchantment of the early
summer woods—the half hour preceding the dawn
of day, when the birds fill the air with their morn-
ing song.

Neither of us had ever seen the twelve or fifteen
pounders that people tell of, and until we do we
will come back and try again for the three or four
pounders of the T River, and perhaps we may,
even yet, catch our elusive friend McGinty.

MY FIRST SALMON: A FISHING TRIP
TO NEWFOUNDLAND

CHAPTER XVI

MY VIRST SALMON: A FISHING TRIP TO
NEWFOUNDLAND*

Ir the reader is no fisherman he had better turn
the pages over until he find something more to his
fancy, for my extravagant phrases—the result of
fresh enthusiasm—will seem to him like the ravings
ofa madman. I am writing while my first salmon
line is scarcely dry, and in spite of unfavourable
conditions this taste of the sport has fairly whetted
my appetite. A resolve, witnessed by the rushing
river, has been registered by both myself and my
companion to revisit the same dark pools next year.
Never again, however, can we have the unforget-
able experience of catching our first salmon. 'The
thought of the very best day’s shooting falls flat
when compared with the memory of that moment
of terrific excitement, when the line was tightened
after a rise, and of the subsequent view of the great
fish making its first leap from the water in its
endeavour to break away from the silken cord which
held it captive.

My friend and I had often heard of the wonders
of Newfoundland as a fisherman’s paradise, so we
determined to take the trip. A guide was imme-
diately engaged, also two packers, one of whom
was to act as cook. Our outfit was bought and

* First published in Country Life in America.

W.L.C. Q

226 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

packed. In less than ten days from the time we
had settled on the trip we started by train to North
Sydney. From there, after a night’s journey by
boat to Port-aux-Basques, a few hours by train
brought us to the place where the guide was to
meet us. We found our men waiting for us.
They quickly emptied our trunks, putting all our
possessions into waterproof canvas bags, with which
they loaded their dories, and we started, skirting
the coast and reaching our destination—the mouth
of the river—the following noon.

Our enthusiasm was somewhat damped by the
accounts we received of the fishing. Owing to the
protracted drought the rivers were unusually low,
and the water absolutely clear. Consequently but
few fish had gone up, and those that had were not
in a mood for rising. ‘There had been no large
catches in any of the rivers, and very few big fish
had been taken. Nor were there any indications
of approaching rain.

For nearly a week we wasted our time, as I now
think, about the mouth of the river, near which
there were three fairly good pools. Everyone told
us no fish were coming in, but from later observa-
tion I believe a few salmon entered the river every
night. On account of the lateness of the season
they did not loiter at the lower pools, but moved
up stream as best they could to the upper pools.
Most of the fish, however, were waiting in the salt
water for the rise of the river, as was proved by
the numbers that were caught in the nets which
lined the coast near its mouth. These nets
play havoc with the fishing, especially during

MY FIRST SALMON 227

the dry season, when the salmon remain for some
time near the coast while waiting for high water.
As a rule, little netting is done after July Ist, but
this year when I left the island (July 15th) the nets
were still doing their deadly work.

At the end of six days of industrious fishing,
during which we got no rise nor saw any sign of
salmon, we determined to move our camp further
up stream to a point where we could fish ten pools
within a distance of three or four miles.

Never shall I forget the first day we fished the
upper waters. We had drawn lots for the pool,
and my friend won. The day was bright though
chilly, and for a wonder there were no flies; so
sitting in comfort on a convenient boulder with
camera ready, but with only faint hope in my heart,
I watched my companion. For my object in
coming was not only to fish but to secure photo-
graphs of the jumping salmon. Thus was my sport
and interest doubled, so also I may add were my
difficulties, for the successful photographing of the
fish is by no means as easy as it sounds.

A silver doctor was the fly used, and carefully
was it dropped near the edge of the ripples. The
third cast rose a fish; imagine our excitement.
And at the end of eight days we had found a pool
that contained what we had travelled over a
thousand miles to find. Acting according to in-
structions given to us by a master of the art, my
friend let a few minutes lapse before casting again—
what long minutes those were! After that several
casts were made, but without result, and we were
both becoming frightened lest the fish was gone,

Q2

228 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

when suddenly with a huge splash the fly was
taken. Out ran the line with its musical whirr, a
gleam of silver flashed in the sunlight as a grilse
leaped from the water. Again and again it jumped
and ran. For ten minutes it fought as no other
fish ever fights; then it was brought to gaff. We
felt no sense of disappointment at its size—only
four and a half pounds—for it was a salmon,
though a young one, but together we admired
the brilliant silver colour of this fish—(after the
salmon has been in the river for a week or two it
loses the silver colours, grows almost golden, and
then very dark brown)—as we shall probably never
admire another.

The next pool, a small one, fell to me, and though
I cast industriously for half an hour, I got no rise.
In the next two pools we were equally unsuccessful.
Then we reached one of the prettiest bits of water
on the river—a round, dark pool, overshadowed by
a huge rock. For the first ten minutes my friend
cast in vain, then suddenly, without any warning,
a fair-sized fish (to us it seemed enormous) leaped
half its length from the water as it seized the fly.
What happened after that I scarcely knew. There
was a great amount of jumping, which I tried to
photograph, a good deal of reel music, and then,
after about twenty minutes, a cessation of hostilities,
as the fish retired to the deep water and sulked.
We were using light grilse rods, so the time required
for landing our fish was somewhat drawn out, and
with all the strain that could safely be applied, it
required forty minutes to bring that salmon to gaff.
It weighed just ten pounds—not a large fish, it’s

MY FIRST SALMON 229

true, but still quite good enough for us, and I do
not know who was the happier, I or my friend.
He had secured his fish, and I had obtained some
interesting photographs.

Later in the afternoon I got my first rise, and
honestly speaking, I felt a good deal like the man
who, the first time he went salmon fishing, had such
a huge rise that he thanked his lucky stars the
monster had missed, and immediately went home,
for fear the next time the fish might be successful
in taking the fly. My fish was not a monster,
probably not more than fifteen pounds, but he took
the fly on a very long cast, and as he made the first
frantic jumps, the rushing water against the belly-
ing line proved too much of a strain and the leader
parted. Not more than five seconds of intense
excitement had I experienced, but the thrill was
beyond all things I have ever known, and the sense
of loss when the strain so suddenly left the rod was
awful. There is nothing more disheartening than
the moment when the rod springs back straight,
and you realise that you and your fish have parted
for ever.

The following morning we arranged to move
camp still further up stream so as to be near the
best water. I decided I would try my luck in the
pool directly in front of our camp before starting,
and before breakfast (about five o’clock) I cast a
Jock Scott on the running water at the head of the
pool. No sooner had the fly sunk an inch or so
than a fish rose rather lazily and without touching
the fly, Instead of waiting I immediately cast over
the same place, and got another unsuccessful rise.

230 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

My heart was throbbing vigorously as I cast again
and again with no effect. I was just about to
change the Jock Scott for a silver doctor, when the
water broke about the fly, which was well below
the surface. A glimpse of a dorsal fin, then I felt
the line tighten, and instantly the reel began to
hum as the fish ran down stream before making its
first jump. The early morning sun, which had
just touched the pool, was shining with wonderful
brilliancy on the cliff of snow-white gypsum rock
which formed the background to the scene, and the
light, reflected from the water, gleamed on the
silver scales of that fish as it flung itself in the air
several times in quick succession. Over the pool
we went, the fish tugging and jumping and in
every way opposing my efforts to bring him to
still water. ‘There was no sulking ; whenever not
running, he jugged with such force that I doubted
whether we could ever see each other at close
quarters. But though a fierce fight, it was not a
longone. The end came after not twenty minutes
of the keenest excitement I have ever felt, and on
landing the fish, which weighed but eight pounds,
I must own to a sense of happiness that no other
sporting experience has ever given me. Hitherto
I had thought trout fishing about perfection, while
my friend had always considered the catching of
small-mouth bass as good enough for him, but—
well, we don’t talk about going trout or bass fishing
next year. ‘The Newfoundland salmon will suit us
perfectly.

As a matter of education, the beginner who
aspires to salmon fishing should, before buying his

MY FIRST SALMON 231

outfit, read some books on the subject, bearing in
mind that the habits of fish vary greatly in different
waters, so that the methods of fishing are, of course,
also variable.

Patience is one of the main requisites for success.
I used to have a theory that salmon and trout fish-
ing were very much alike beyond the fact that one
was on a larger scale than the other ; but in reality
they are very different. If there is a trout in a
pool and he intends rising, he usually does so before
many casts have been made. Not so with the
salmon. One grilse of medium size required an
hour of incessant casting over and about the place
where I knew him to be before he would take the
fly, though several times he acknowledged its
presence by a gentle swirl. Such experiences are
by no means rare.

Occasionally it is desirable to change the fly
for one of a different size or pattern, but as a
rule if a fish does not rise to a good standard fly,
he will not be tempted by a change. ‘There seems
to be no possible way of proving whether fish are
sensible to colours, or whether once they are in a
rising mood they will not rise to anything moving
that has more or less the shape of a fly. Trout
may frequently be seen rising to pieces of leaves or
flowers as they float down stream, while at other
times flies of different kinds may struggle on the
surface of the same water unnoticed. It is probable
that the man who goes out with, we will say, three
good flies, such as the silver doctor, the Jock Scott
and dusty miller, will, in the long run, do just as
well as the one who has his book filled with

232 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

innumerable varieties. Small flies are, according
to some authorities, best for bright days, and large
ones for dull days, and for early morning and late
evening.

The season for salmon fishing in the rivers on the |
western side of Newfoundland is June, July, and
August. The best known rivers, such as the
Codroy, Robinson’s, Grand and Harry’s, are
usually pretty well occupied (frequently there is
a camp at nearly every pool), and it is well to find
out definitely from the guide just how many pools
will be at your disposal before selecting your river.
There are, however, many rivers in Newfoundland
as good or superior, but not as accessible from the
line of railway. Among those I would recommend
as good rivers are the Gander, Placentia, Salinonier,
and many rivers along the various coast lines acces-
sible by the steamboat service around Newfoundland.
One good pool will often afford enough sport.
Catching one fish does not seem to frighten the
other occupants of a pool—several times we caught
three or more fish from one pool in quick succession,
but it is unpleasant to be so restricted, especially in
a wild country where all fishing is free.

As a rule the salmon in the Newfoundland waters
do not run very large. Anything over twenty-five
pounds is very unusual, though some are taken
which weigh even thirty or more. In different
rivers the size of the fish varies greatly. Whether
or not this is due to the amount of netting that is
done on the coast, or to natural causes, is difficult
to say. It is certain that the nets hold the larger
fish, while the size of the mesh permits the escape

MY FIRST SALMON 233

of the small ones. Could netting be stopped, there
is no possible doubt that the fishing would at once
improve. In years gone by netting was allowed in
the rivers themselves ; and even to-day, though it is
contrary to the game laws, and though efforts are
made to patrol the accessible rivers, it is done to
some slight extent, the railway section hands being
probably the chief offenders. We, ourselves, found
signs of nets near several pools.

But taking all the conditions into consideration,
it is only fair to say that the rivers are very fairly
well protected for the angler, and we should be
thankful to the country which holds its waters in
trust for all who care to avail themselves of the
splendid fishing equally free to all—to the rich and
to the poor. Would that other countries regarded
their fishing rights in the same broad-minded way.

SALMON FISHING IN NEW-
FOUNDLAND

CHAPTER XVII

SALMON FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND *

For nearly two weeks fishermen’s luck—bad
luck—had been ours. Clear days and cloudy, hot
days and cold had proved equally ineffective in
making the salmon rise to our flies. In vain had
we used every pattern in the books and whipped
the waters from the time when the sun struggled
with the morning mists till the glories of the
northern sunsets had been lost in the gathering
darkness. Four or five fish only had we taken and
those small ones, and we felt that the time to
become discouraged was about due. Still, each day
we started out with renewed hopes and confidence,
for it is hard to thoroughly discourage the ardent
angler, and so we changed flies and changed flies
till our leaden hopes were nigh worn out. Had we
not seen fish, perhaps all this perseverance would
have died early, but the river was literally alive with
fish of all size, from the sprightly grilse that leaped
high in the air and scattered the glistening drops
like rotary wheels to big heavy salmon that would
come to the water’s surface with the slow delibera-
tion of miniature whales coming up to blow. As we
stood in the pools they would play around us, even
jumping over our lines, but take a fly, oh no!
Once in a while, just by way of aggravation, they

* First published in Country Life in America.

238 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

would come up slowly and gently toward the fly.
It was certainly enough to try the patience of a
double-haloed saint. But luck, whether it be good
or bad, always changes if only you wait long
enough, and so one fine day the spell broke, for
within five minutes after we started fishing, my
companion became connected with a fourteen-
pounder which put up a good fight and came to
the gaff after about fifteen minutes. For an hour or
so nothing else happened, so we moved to another
pool, and almost immediately I hooked and took a
medium-sized fish. For several hours we worked
hard trying various flies. Two had at last risen to
a small and much-worn “yellow sally.” On the
second or third cast it was taken by a nineteen-
pound fish. It was quite evident that only by using
the greatest care could it be landed, for, as I have
said, the fly was badly worn and the snell (it was a
trout fly), was in no condition to stand much strain.
Those were ticklish moments. ach time the fish
broke water we expected to see him get off, but
good luck was with us this day, and just as the gaff
struck home the snell broke. One more jump and
surely we would never have seen that fish at close
quarters. Needless to say my friend was in a most
cheerful frame of mind, for, up to this, the largest
salmon he had taken was thirteen pounds, so here
he had broken his record twice within a few hours.

The rest of the day we devoted to the pool in
which the first fish had been taken. It was a very
large one and contained plenty of good fish. There
was here one in particular that I had set my heart
on eatching. He was a large fish, and though he had

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 239

risen at least once every day, he never touched the
fly, but, as this was apparently our lucky day, it
seemed only wise to devote my energies to his
lordship, and so I cast over him all the afternoon,
trying every fly I owned. Once he acknowledged
the “ yellow sally,” but fortunately did not take it.
I say fortunately, because shortly afterward a small
fish took it and forgot to return it to me; evidently
it had been worn out by its previous use on bass, of
which it had landed over thirty. Supper-time
came and, as soon as the inner man had been
satisfied, I returned again to the object of my
attentions. Once more I began with the orthodox
flies, but without result. Then, in desperation, a
very large bass fly was tried, and no sooner had it
touched the water than my big friend made a
frantic but unsuccessful rush for it. For an hour
or more I tried the coaxing qualities of all sorts of
bass flies, and at last picked out a large royal coach-
man which had been in my book for over four
years and was pretty well dried out, and certainly
in poor condition to withstand the strain of a large
fish, but it was about the only fly that had not
been used, so on it went. The sun had already
set and the gorgeous crimson glow illuminated the
trees. As the line touched the water it disturbed
the placid surface of the big, dark and smooth
running pool and the thin ripples looked like
quivering threads of glistening gold. Slowly the
royal coachman floated along, for it was still dry
and its large white wings stood out in strong
contrast to the darkening background, when, with-
out the slightest warning, there was an upheaval in

240 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the water, and the fly vanished ; surely this could
not be my big friend, he would never be so gentle,
for the line was leading slowly toward where I
stood, and I reeled in carefully, when, ye gods and
little fishes, how suddenly the scene changed! 'The
line fairly flew through the water. Check it! Why
I had not the slightest power to do so, and in an
instant, at the end of a hundred and fifty feet of
line, out leaped my big friend and thud, how the
water splashed when the big heavy body struck it
as he fell full length. Would that fly hold? Had
I line enough? Would the light greenheart grilse-
rod that I was using stand the strain? Would the
fish leave the pool and go down the falls? These
and a hundred other questions raced through my
mind as I played the fish. Sometimes for many
minutes he would sulk at the bottom of the pool,
and it seemed surely as though I was fast toa
rock. Then again he would rush with frantic
speed down toward the falls and I had, at all cost,
to turn him by straining the rod to its limit. The
twilight was rapidly giving way to the approaching
night and the question of gaffing was becoming
more and more difficult. Nine times I brought
that fish close to the guide, but with the uncertain
light he was unable to see well enough to use the
gaff with accuracy ; each time he moved the fish
would start out with renewed vigour, and each
time I thought he would surely get away, but still
the hook held, and at last when I brought him close
to the guide, I raised him slowly and steadily until
the dorsal fin was visible, and instantly the gaff was
struck and the guide, raising the big fish clear of

5 ae
lied IG

Leaping Salmon; the line is faintly visible.

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 241

the water, stumbled over on the slippery rocks and
tugged the prize on to the grass; and I wiped five
hundred mosquitoes from my neck, and let my
heart resume its normal and proper position. By
the light of a match we examined the fly. One of
the two snells had parted and the other one was
Just about ready to go. It was a close shave.
The scales ran up to 244 pounds, and I feel now
that a 243-pound salmon with a light rod, a decrepit
fly, and no daylight makes a combination calculated
to give as much excitement as could be had with a
forty-pounder under ordinary conditions and with
a heavy two-handed rod, especially if it is your first
large fish.

We remained on this river for nearly two weeks,
when we decided to try our luck in one still further
north. So, choosing acalm morning, we embarked
in our dories and by night had reached the mouth
of the river we sought. From all accounts the
walking was so bad that to take up our outfit,
photographic and other, to the head waters, where
we hoped to find the fish, would be a task of very
considerable difficulty. We concluded it would be
better to put everything in the canoe and pull or
pole the light craft up stream, provided there was
sufficient water. So far no boat had ever been up
to the falls, distant about twenty-five miles, for the
water was very shallow in most parts, while in
others the stretches of rough rocks and dangerous
rapids might make the trip impossible. Of course
it rained hard the morning we started. It nearly
always does in Newfoundland I find. When one
is used to such conditions it is quite astonishing

W.L.C. R

242 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

how little they interfere with one’s happiness. We
wereprepared for almost anything, so we did not
care. The first part was fairly easy going; my
companion and I walked along the bank, on the
rocks or in the water according to the conditions,
while the men pushed, pulled, poled and swore at
the canoe; and so we proceeded, casting a fly
occasionally on the likely-looking pools, but with-
out results, except a few small trout, which no man
likes when he is out for salmon. How strange it
is that a man’s attitude toward fish should change
so completely under different conditions. Let him
go out along his favourite stream near home and
come back at the end of a very hard day’s work
with five or six trout, the largest perhaps not more
than twelve or fourteen inches long, and he feels
supremely happy; but let the same man, when
fishing for salmon, hook a two or three pound trout,
he indignantly flips it off in disgust. Yet what
would he not give to catch such a fish in the home
streams ?

The severe rain made travelling rather hard, so
camp was made early near a good-looking pool,
from which we took a couple of small salmon just
before dusk. Next morning while breakfast was
cooking we got two more. The day was bright
and clear, so that we thoroughly enjoyed working
our way up stream. ‘Toward noon we stopped at
a small and not very interesting-looking pool, and
while the inevitable pot of tea was being boiled
(that is the way they make it in the woods) my
friend tried the pool. The result was a perfect
surprise, for within two hours we caught fifteen

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 243

fish, ranging from seven to eleven pounds, and all
were extremely gamey. During the first part of
those two hours I was kept busy with the camera,
but all my plates were soon used. And I had
made about eighteen exposures, many of which
proved quite successful. It is scarcely necessary
to say that of the fifteen fish only enough for our
immediate needs were kept, the rest were released
without being handled. Later in the afternoon
the sky became clouded and the air sultry, an ideal
day for mosquitoes and black flies. To say that
they came out in thousands expresses it mildly—
they were in millions. Never have I seen them so
numerous. Before we could make camp it was
necessary to build big smudges all around the
proposed site. So great was the torture inflicted
by these tiny pests that one of the guides, a man
born and bred in the country, broke down completely
and cried like a child. Next morning saw us
nearing our goal, but the canoe had suffered badly.
The paint was almost all scraped from the bottom,
and in places the canvas was so severely worn that
the wooden sheathing was plainly visible. ‘Two or
three miles over falls and shallows, and we entered
the dead water, or lagoon, which was the main head
of the river and into which fell one of the finest
waterfalls I have ever seen. How high it was I
would scarcely venture to say; it was, however,
not alone the height, but the beauty of the
surroundings which made such an impressive sight.
Now the question was, would we find salmon in
this quietwater or in the seething pool at the foot of
the falls? Thousands of fish must have come up
R2

244 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the river during the past six or seven weeks of
the run. Except in three or four of the pools
below, there were none but the stragglers, and as
they could not, of course, go up those perpendicular
falls it was evident that they must be somewhere
near by. Perhaps they were, but though we fished
persistently for several days we only caught a
couple of small ones, and saw or heard the jumps
of half a dozen or so. Neither could we discover
their whereabouts by paddling or drifting over the
lagoon when the water was shallow enough to
allow the bottom to be clearly seen. It is, of course,
quite possible that the fish were in the very deep
pools below the falls, waiting for conditions to be
entirely satisfactory for spawning.

I was very anxious to see something of the
caribou and their life during the summer ; hitherto
all my experience of them was confined to the
autumn migration. Some days were therefore
spent among the magnificent hills above where we
had camped. ‘This upper region reminded me very
much of the English lake district, the marvellous
lakes and streams, and the great rugged rock-
strewn hills losing their summits in the shifting
mists. ‘The few caribou we saw proved to be very
shy, and at no time was I able to approach them
near enough for the limitations of the camera.
Meat was needed as fish was so scarce, and also we
wanted some material that would render the canoe
watertight and strong enough to withstand the
rough usage she was bound to sustain during the
return trip. The conditions were daily getting
worse ; no rain having fallen for several days, the

‘puelpunoPpara N UL SOplty noqlr,) pt aoe, ) v SUTPUaTY

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 245

river would soon be too shallow to float the canoe,
and she would have to be dragged over many
miles of gravel and rock. 'o protect her we shot
a couple of caribou and laced the hides tightly
across the bottom of the canoe, thereby giving her
a new lease of life. With this added weight it
became necessary to reduce the load as much as
possible, so each of us had to carry a pack and
make our way as best we could back to the mouth
of the river. It was a hard day’s march across
country, over soft spongy bogs where the wild
geese greeted us with their musical honking,
through beaver swamps where the tangled alders
tripped us and the insect pests devoured us,
through dense forests of diminutive firs and
spruces, and so on down to the bay in which the
river we had fished with such pleasure lost itself in
the vastness of the sea.

No one who has once tasted of the joys of
salmon fishing will question the statement that of
all game fish the salmon easily takes first place.
And yet, if the majority of enthusiastic fishermen
were asked why they did not indulge in this
thrilling sport, they would say that it is too expen-
sive, or that open rivers are not to be found except,
possibly, in regions too remote for their time and
purse, and so, labouring under this delusion, they
continue to amuse themselves with bass, muska-
lunge, and other interesting but nevertheless
inferior forms of fishing. So far as salmon water
in the eastern part of Canada is concerned, there is
very little that has not been leased by clubs or by
those fortunate individuals who have the means with

246 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

which they can gratify their desires. But for the
man of moderate income, who counts on spending
from thirty to sixty pounds (one hundred and fifty to
perhaps three hundred dollars) for his well-earned
vacation of two or three weeks, there is practically
unlimited open salmon water in the island of New-
foundland. So far as I know, this is the only
country in which laws absolutely prevent the
leasing of rivers, either by individuals or clubs.
The Government claims the rivers and a certain
amount of the adjoining land which is open to any
man who would fish. This policy, regarded even
from a purely business point of view, has every-
thing to recommend it. Every sportsman coming
to the country leaves anywhere from seventy-five
dollars to several hundred dollars, and the guides
get pretty steady employment. Whena club takes
ariver the fishing rights are restricted to a very few
men, most of whom will seldom visit the club.
And when an individual leases water he is usually
very enthusiastic for the first season or so, then
other places claim his attention and the river will
be idle often for many years in succession, no man
getting the benefit of it, either as guides or as
fishermen.* It is true that the fish do not run so
large as those found in the Restigouche or some of
the other well-known rivers, but then we cannot all
fish those rivers, and the fishing in Newfoundland
is quite good enough to satisfy anyone not
absolutely spoiled by unusually large fish. Under
ordinary conditions a man should be able to

* Since this was written the game and fishing laws have been
somewhat changed, and now a rod licence is compulsory.

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 247

average three or four fish each day. Slack days will
come, of course, but they are usually offset by days
of exceptionally good sport when one may, perhaps,
land as many as twenty to one’s own rod. The size
of the fish is not by any means the only gauge of
the sport, for the comparative weight of tackle and
fish have to be taken into account. A large salmon
on a heavy two-handed rod will not give as much
sport as a much smaller fish on a light grilse rod.
And then again there comes the question of the
water : rough, rapid water increases the excitement
enormously, while working from a canoe or boat
on a large quiet pool greatly reduces the fun, in
that it makes the landing of the fish a matter of
far greater certainty. The whole sport consists in
balancing the chances between fish and fisherman
so that the element of uncertainty is developed as
far as possible. Though the average salmon in
Newfoundland waters will not run over ten or
twelve pounds, there are plenty that will weigh over
twenty, and there is always the chance of getting
a thirty or thirty-five pounder. The different
rivers seem each to have their own sized fish.
One river will seldom or ever give anything over
ten or twelve pounds, while another has a probable
limit of fifteen, and so on, apparently without any
particular reason. So also is it with the time when
the best fishing may be had. One river isbest in
June while another, but a few miles away, is not
good until August. The man who wants three
months or more of continued fishing can readily
find it by following the run of fish as they come to
the various rivers. If your time is limited and you

248 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

are restricted to a certain two or three weeks, don’t
plan to go to any one river until you have ascer-
tained from reliable sources that that is the time
when the fishing is good. Don’t waste valuable
time on a river waiting for the fish to come, but go
where they are. If when you get there you find
the pools full of fish that will not rise to the fly, do
not be disappointed, for such experiences are by
no means uncommon, and you will often strike an
“oft” day. No fish is more aggravatingly capricious
than the salmon, both as to the time when it suits
his lordship to rise and to the kind and size of fly
he will deign to notice. Generally speaking, four
or five of the standard flies will answer all purposes,
especially if you have them in several sizes. Of
these the Jock Scott, silver doctor, Durham
ranger, fiery brown, and the fairy may be said to be
the standard flies for Newfoundland. No. 8 is the
size which will probably be found most useful.
Nos. 4, 6, and 10 are also good at times, and occa-
sionally a very large size will prove a fascinating
lure. Norule can possibly be laid down, for rules as
to flies for salmonfishing are like those of the English
language “mostly composed of exceptions.” One
day you flatter yourself that you have at last found
the combination, only to be sure the next day that
you haven't. After keeping track of the number of
rises we had to each pattern of fly last summer we
were absolutely unable to say which was the best
under any particular condition. In one river the
famous Jock Scott seemed by far the best, in
another it would be the silver doctor; while,
perhaps, had we visited these same rivers a week or

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 249

two earlier or later our experience would have been
entirely different. On one river where we had most
excellent sport the yellow sally was the fly, while
the royal coachman (on No. 4 hook) came next. We
had but three yellow sallies with us, and these were
completely worn out by hard use. For late evening
fishing, if all else fails, I would advise using a very
large, light-coloured fly with a floating body. This
will occasionally coax a large fish from his hiding-
place when he would not notice a sunken fly, regard-
less of size. This advice, while not strictly ortho-
dox, is nevertheless founded on actual experience.
When fish are rising well there is no need to
worry much about the kind of fly to use, but there
are times when, though they are jumping all around
you, and even playing skipping-rope with your line,
it requires something quite out of the ordinary
to coax them. Then it is that the reserve list
of out-of-the-way patterns comes in handy and
perhaps saves the day for you. Some fishermen
contend that it is useless to change the fly very
frequently, nevertheless it will be very often
observed that the first few casts with a newly-
changed fly will rise a fish which has been entirely
oblivious to the charms of the former fly. Each
man has ideas on how fish can best be coaxed, and
the delightful part of it is that each man knows he
is right. One will say that when the fly is cast it
should remain quietly on the water and be allowed
to float quietly down stream, while another insists
that the tip of the rod should be kept constantly
moving, in order that the fly shall be given a life-
like action of swimming. Personally I do not

250 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

think it makes very much difference, though I
believe that when the fly is kept moving you are
more apt to have the line under better control and
with less ofa belly to it. And after all that is one
of the most important things to keep in mind; a
slack line loses many fish, so do not cast a line that
is longer than you can control. One fly only
should be used, as there is danger, when you hook
a fish, that the free fly may catch on a rock or
snag. Whether to use the double or single hook
fly is purely a matter of opinion. I have seen just
as many fish lost with one as the other. On general
principles, the single fly is the most sportsmanlike,
but when very small flies are used it is quite pardon-
able to use the double hook, even though it is
doubtful whether it is more effective. Good
leaders are a very important part of the outfit,
but the quality is scarcely more important than
that they shall be thoroughly soaked before use.
The heavier the leader the more necessary is it that
it shall not be used dry. A heavy line is desirable,
as it reduces the difficulty of casting, especially
when there is a strong head wind. When there is
danger of the salmon running down stream
through rapid water, a very long line will be
needed, not less than 100 yards. Under ordinary
conditions 50 or 60 yards is long enough. It is
not a bad plan, if you do wish to use a very large
reel, to splice a length of 30 or 40 yards of fine
linen line to the inner end; this will occupy very
little space and be a good reserve. The reel or
winch should be of the single-action pattern. The
less complicated the better, but with adjustable

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 251

tension to prevent over-running. Do not forget to
keep it well oiled, or the bearings will soon wear
out. Fora gaff it is far better to use the plain
tang hook, which is lashed to a suitable stick, than
any of the screw-in kind, which are apt to turn at
the critical moment. The automatic gaff is, like
the automatic reel, undesirable.

In Newfoundland salmon fishing there is no best
time of day. Almost any hour may be good ;
perhaps from 10 to 11 in the morning, and from
3 to 4 in the afternoon are, if anything, the best
hours. The kind of day for the best fishing is
another uncertainty. On one absolutely clear,
quiet, hot day we got twelve fish from one pool in
two hours (from 10 to 12 o'clock) with one rod.
Then again we had good luck on dark, cold days,
but as a rule you cannot count on much luck
during rain. After all is said and done, the only
absolutely sound advice that can safely be given to
the salmon fisherman is: “To be on hand when the
fish are rising, and give them the fly they want.”
How to do these two things no man can say with
anything approaching exactness, and therein is one
of the fascinations of the sport. If we could find a
formula by which we knew we could catch a
salmon, the whole pleasure would be lost, but,
fortunately, no modern science seems to be able to
fathom the ways of the game fish, and so we may
continue in our uncertain way to catch fish 7f, when,
and where we can.

Now the popular idea that Newfoundland is a
very far distant and un-get-at-able place is much
exaggerated. Let us first take it from the American

252 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

end: One can leave Boston in the morning, and in
fifty-two hours be actually fishing, that is, if one
goes to the nearest and most convenient rivers. It
might take from one to two or even three days
longer if you would go to those that are more out-
of-the-way, where in most cases camping would, of
course, be necessary. Asarule the accommodation
to be found on the island is not suited to those of
fastidious tastes. And though, of course, there are
exceptions to this rule, it is, on the whole, far better
to camp, for not only do you thus enjoy greater
comfort, but you can pitch your tent alongside of the
pool where you expect to fish, thereby saving what is
frequently a long, tedious walk both before and after
your day’s fishing. Ifyou can camp within a reason-
able distance of a settlement, so much the better, for
you can then procure fresh milk, butter, eggs and
bread, all of which add materially to one’s comfort.
The comparative cost of the two methods is
difficult to calculate. On the whole, camping is
the cheaper, even counting the wear and tear of
the outfit. From the point of view of the man in
England, Newfoundland is neither so very far
away nor so difficult to reach. The steamer will
take you directly to St. John in a few days, and
from St. John it is but a day to the salmon waters.
But the question of camping versus staying in a
house should be very carefully considered. The
American, when he goes fishing, expects to camp.
Not so with the Englishman. He camps when
after big game but not when he fishes. To my
mind the camping is in every way preferable. Not
only is it healthier, but if you are fond of the open

FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 253

and not too much wedded to what you consider
are your comforts (frequently purely imaginary)
you will find that the camping adds immeasurably
to the pleasures of fishing. Remember, however,
that Newfoundland methods of camping are very
primitive; carrying heavy outfits is not only
undesirable but often impossible. So give up
portable beds, tables, chairs, heavy kit-bags and
similar impediments, and follow the custom of the
country by going light, really light, weighing the
ounces as well as the pounds. The outfit for New-
foundland is much the same as would be required
for Maine, except that more blankets and heavier
clothing are frequently necessary. Owing to the
prevalence of rain and fog, everything should be
carried in strong waterproof canvas bags, and it is
well to be provided with a light canvas square,
large enough to place over your dinner-table and
protect you during meals. Eating in your sleeping
tent is not altogether satisfactory unless perhaps
your tent is of unusual and therefore inconvenient
size. The open air dining-room is far more
desirable. In some parts of the country tents are
not altogether essential as there is plenty of bark
with which a lean-to can be quickly made; it is
safer, however, to have a tent. If you have long
portages to make, then, and only then, is it advis-
able to trust altogether to the spruce or birch bark.

The question of waders is important. That is to
say, if you use them they must be strong enough
to stand the hardest possible wear. In some of the
rivers the rocks are all placed on edge, and the
stoutest hobnailed boots will last but a short time.

254 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

It is quite a question whether waders are worth all
the bother they cause, for your feet get wet in
any event, even though it is from the condensation
caused by the warmth of the feet against the cold
water. Many people prefer to use an ordinary
heavy hobnail boot large enough to allow of several
pairs of coarse, thick, warm stockings, these, with
two or three pairs of woollen drawers make a very
comfortable arrangement and are far less expen-
sive than regular waders. I suggest several pairs
of fairly thin drawers, as they are more readily dried
than one very thick pair.

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN

CHAPTER XVIII
ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN

A CLEAR frosty morning when all vegetation
was covered with a silvery sparkling jacket. The
chicadees hunted busily among the frosted leaves
for their early breakfast, and the tapping of the
woodpeckers sounded loudly in the bright crisp
air; few other birds there were, and all nature
seemed hushed. In the far distance Mt. Katahdin
stood out sharp and well defined against the early
morning sky, keeping her constant guard over the
lower lands and the hills, so much smaller and less
majestic than herself.

Morcross was astir betimes this Sunday morning,
for a gang of lumbermen were about to leave
by the little steamer, that would take them to
the head of Lake Pummadumcook ; thence they
would start for their winter quarters in the more
remote forests, there to continue the work of
felling the majestic forest trees. The woodman’s
axe spares no timber that can be turned to money,
and all trees that are of sufficient size must fall.
Go where you will, the huge stumps, those silent
monuments of man’s devastating hand, stand up,
decayed and fungus-covered, to show where once
the tree had reared its head of murmuring pine
needles or wind-blown leaves.

It was nearly six o'clock ; the steamer, towing its

W.L.C. s

258 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

scows laden with winter provender, had left. I
found a suitable canoe, in which I placed my
belongings, and bidding a short farewell to trains
and their like, I started off alone for my goal—
Mt. Katahdin—translated from the Indian to mean
the Highest Land.

No breath of wind stirred the surface of Lake
Pummadumcook, and it was difficult to distinguish
the reflections from the real objects. ‘The shores
are rocky and covered in most parts by fallen timber,
whose bleached bones shine silvery white against the
dark background of evergreens. How deathly quiet
it was! Occasionally a loon would utter its piteous
cry, but that only made the stillness the more
intense, and the constant rhythmical dip of the
paddle could scarce be heard as it sent the graceful
canoe gliding over the polished surface of the
water.

It was nearly eleven when, after some difficulty
in finding the way, I reached Lake Ambajeejus, or,
as it is also written, Ambejijis. From there Katah-
din presented a magnificent picture. Its full height
was seen to advantage as the low-lying foreground
gave an uninterrupted view, which was reproduced
in all its detail on the lake’s surface. About a
mile and a half of paddling brought me to
Ambajeejus Falls, where there was a carry of nearly
half a mile, as the water was very low. For a
moderate sum, a guide, who keeps a horse for the
purpose, hauled my things across the carry, and by
little after noon I was on the dead waters of the
west branch of the Penobscot river. Excepting at
the falls it resembles a lake more than a river, and

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN — 259

I believe it was formerly known as Passamagamet
Lake.

This lake is rather less than two miles in length
and is studded with thickly-wooded islands. On
one of these I landed, and, selecting a suitable place,
decided to camp for the night. A crackling fire
drove away to some extent the spirit of loneliness.
But it was a great change from the surroundings
of but twenty-four hours before—the Fall River
steamer with its gorgeous display of electric lights,
its music and its restless crowd. Here there was
no noise save the gentle moaning of the pines
and the distant murmuring of the rapids. Even to
use an axe seemed an unnecessary act of violence,
so the fire was fed with driftwood picked up along
the shores.

As I lay on my bed of fir balsam and smoked
my pipe after a hearty dinner, I almost wished
that some companion were there to share the
solitude. It was lonely, and before long I decided
to seek my “pillow,” though it was but seven
oclock. A night of refreshing sleep, sleep such as
is known only to those who sleep in the open air,
put me in a good state of mind and body, and after
a dip in the cooling waters of the river and a good
if not remarkably well cooked breakfast, I packed
up and made another start. On my way up the
river I noticed a likely-looking place for deer, and,
realising that a nice fat yearling would give me a
good supply of meat, I turned the canoe into a
creek that wound its way through a large tract
of meadow-like country. After walking a short
distance through the grassy swamp I espied a deer

S 2

260 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

feeding, about two hundred yards away. The wind
being in my favour, I stalked my game, and a shot
from my Winchester gave me an ample supply of
meat.

The weather by this time had grown threatening ;
Katahdin was entirely hidden from view by the
heavy rain-foreboding clouds, so I decided to camp
and make ready for a wet night—one of the most
unpleasant of things when one has but a small
sleeping tent only three feet in height. No sooner
had 1 landed my effects than the rain began. The
tent was pitched, a bed of balsam hastily made,
and by this time the rain was coming down in
torrents. A fire had to be started, which under
these conditions was not an easy task, but thanks
to that ever useful article, birch bark, which burns
readily, no matter how wet it may be, I was able
to make a cheerful fire and cook some chops from
that yearling deer.

The next few days were spent in exploring the
surrounding country and in making photographs
of the various kinds of woodland. One part struck
me as being extremely fine and unusual. The
ground was a mass of huge boulders piled up one
against the other; these were entirely covered with
a thick coating of moss, which in some places was
rich green, and in others almost white, as though
with age. Beneath this velvety carpet the water
could be heard, many feet below the surface,
seeking a path between the rocks. In one place I
managed to obtain some to drink, but though icy-
cold it was strongly impregnated with the taste of
the cedar, and therefore not palatable. The cedars

In the dense Woods below Katahdin.

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN 261

and some other trees grow on these boulders, send-
ing their roots among the moss, from which they
probably draw the necessary nourishment. Here
and there a tree falls and its roots strip the moss
entirely from the rock, leaving the smooth granite
bare and like a dazzling white jewel with its setting
of rich dark green. The numerous tracks prove
that this is a favourite resort for deer, but the
difficulty of walking makes it anything but a
desirable place for still-hunting.

Throughout this region ponds and small lakes
may be found nestling snugly among the low-
lying hills. These ponds are usually bordered by
a strip of boggy moss, and here we find the pitcher
plant, whose dark red vases hold their supply of
water. What stories a fanciful child might weave
of fairies drinking from these dainty vessels provided
by nature! On the surface of the ponds lily-pads
float idly, while the ducks dive and play among the
long slimy stalks. Such a place affords the best
shooting, both deer and moose frequenting the
vicinity of ponds, especially those that contain pond
lilies.

Throughout the woodland there is a_ perfect
labyrinth of more or less defined logging roads ;
some of these lead to old deserted camps, others to
the slides where the timber is launched, and many
lead, apparently, nowhere but to some old decayed
stump, the relic of a fine tree sacrificed to the cold
steel of the woodman’s axe. ‘These roads, which
are little more than rough timber-strewn paths, are
most confusing, and where one tramps alone through
the woods, the greatest care is necessary to observe

262 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

in what direction they lead. Along these paths,
where the scarlet partridge berry adds its mite of
brilliant colour to the rich though sombre shades
of the forest growth, the snowbird hops along,
uttering his tiny twit-twit, as he searches for food.
They are the haunts, too, of the red squirrel—that
ever busy, chattering, inquisitive little rascal who
thinks the woods belong to him and him alone.
He resents all intrusion and must needs examine
carefully all intruders and loudly tell his neigh-
bours just what he thinks of them. Here also
may be found the ruffed grouse or patridge as he
is named here, a tame bird which offers no sport,
but is shot because in the way of food he is the
greatest luxury supplied by the Maine woods.

On returning froin one of my photographing
trips I had unfortunately left my camera in the
canoe while I went to prepare some lunch ; imagine
my feelings, when, as I lay on the ground watching
those impertinent thieves, the Canada jays—known
here as moosebirds or whisky Jacks—stealing the
scraps of meat from my deer, I was surprised by a
strange visitor. She came crashing through the
underbrush, halting only when she saw the column
of pale blue smoke that rose from my fire. Her
curiosity was aroused, and not seeing me, as I lay
motionless, she came nearer, within thirty or forty
feet. It was the first time I had ever been so close
to a cow moose. What a size she looked as she
stood there snorting and trying in vain, for there
was no wind, to scent the arch enemy to her kind.
After a few moments she trotted off down the
bank and past my canoe and camera. I ran and,

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN _ 268

snatching the camera, tried to draw the dark slide
from the plate-holder, but by that time my visitor
had forded the narrow neck of water and dis-
appeared among the trees on the opposite bank.
My opportunity had vanished, and as I stood there
I wondered why I had not taken the camera with
me. It was the first time I had neglected to do so,
and it was also the last, but no other moose ever
visited my camp.

The next day I moved camp to Passamagamet
carry, where I determined to learn the rudiments
of poling a canoe through the rapids. I had been
informed that there would be many rapids to pass
before Katahdin brook could be reached, so landing
all my effects, including my watch, and ballasting
the canoe with stones, I started, after having care-
fully watched a guide who kindly gave me sugges-
tions and went through a part of the rapids in order
to show me how it was done.

Never shall I forget those first few moments of
torture ; the rocks loomed up larger and larger and
ever increasing in numbers, while the water boiled
and raced by as though eager to leave such
unpleasant neighbours. “Gnashing rocks, with
cruel foam upon their lips, sprang out of the
obscure, eager to tear us. Great jaws of ugly
blackness snapped about us as if we were intro-
duced into a coterie of crocodiles,” wrote Winthrop
on his first experience of rapids. He was with
guides, and I doubt not had he been alone his
description might even have been stronger. As
an eddying current caught the bow of the canoe,
it would spin round, in danger of being dashed to
pieces if the pole were not quickly dropped between

264 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the frail craft and destruction. After many futile
efforts the bow would be brought to point towards
the turbulent channel, guarded on either side by
monstrous stones, which, like watching devils, lay
there ready to grind to atoms the boat that for an
instant left the narrow path and came within their
reach. A vigorous push, and the light craft shot
over the ‘racing waters, passed the rocks and for a
moment wavered as though she would drop back
again and face the stony demons ; another push and
we were out of reach of the eddy, and there was
time to breathe and rest before attempting the next
falls. These were passed after what seemed an
interminable time, and then came the return.
Running down stream requires almost more nerve,
though less exertion, than going against the current.
When fairly in the race you sweep past rocks at an
awful speed. I had visions of an unwished-for
bath and a canoe to be paid for, as the water carried
me along utterly regardless of my feelings in the
matter. A quick shove here and there against a
passing stone would turn the canoe to where a
suitable opening appeared. Occasionally we grazed
a partly submerged rock whose _paint-marked
surface told of some canoe that had come in
contact with it. Such beacons mark the channel
through most of the rapids and shallow places.
We were nearing the last falls, and I was “ holding
back” with all my strength when my pole caught
between the rocks; my heart sank within me, as 1
realised that unless I recovered the pole I must
inevitably be dashed to pieces; so, leaning over, even
at the risk of upsetting the canoe, I jerked the pole

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN — 265

frantically, and to my relief I felt it break loose
from the stony clasp of the sunken rocks. I passed
the falls without mishap, and gliding into the
placid dead-waters of Passamagamet I rested from
my labours, utterly exhausted by my first attempt
at the rapids.

The next day at 9 o’clock I left Passamagamet,
carrying my canoe and things across the quarter-
mile carry ; the road was rough and rocky, and this,
my first experience of canoe-carrying, strongly
prejudiced me against such arduous labour. The
wind was ahead, so that paddling to the next rapids,
which bear the name of Katepskonegan (commonly
pronounced Debsconeag), meaning in Indian
language “carry place,” was slow work, and it
was afternoon when I commenced taking my load
over the carry of about three-quarters of a mile.
Another three miles by water and I reached the
much dreaded Pockwockomus carry, which is a
mile and a half long, and the roughest of rough
roads, covered with rocks and fallen timber. My
canoe, photographic material, tent, food, &c., made
three good loads of about ninety pounds each, so
that this carry meant a nine-miles’ walking. By
the time I had made two trips I was so utterly
exhausted that no power on earth could have made
me carry that dreaded canoe. As it was growing
late I concluded that I had better make ready my
camp for the night.

When morning came my courage came with it,
and I carried that canoe over that mile and a half.
Again the wind was ahead, as also was the current,
which ran swiftly. There were rapids to run and

266 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

another carry known as Abols—probably the short
for Aboljacknagesic—and at last I found myself at
the mouth of Katahdin brook, my point of departure
for the great mountain that looked down frowning
on me with its summit enveloped in clouds. I had
reached the end of my river journey, and as it was
but noon I decided to start that afternoon on my
uphill march to the foot of the mountain. Leaving
the canoe on the beach and placing most of my
belongings inside the tent, I started off with a
pack containing what things were necessary, such
as food, sleeping bag, clothes and photographic
outfit, perhaps sixty-five pounds in all.

The trail, which was newly blazed, showing that
someone had recently been there, led for a time
along Katahdin brook, then, branching off, it went
up and down the thickly-wooded hills and swamps.
In most parts the trail was quite distinct and
therefore easy to follow, but the walking was
difficult, and before the first two miles had been
accomplished I discovered that my pack must be
lightened if I wished to reach the end of my
eight-mile walk that night; so, taking the heavy
waterproof canvas cover from my sleeping bag, I
put in it most of my ammunition and what clothes
I could spare ; these I cached beneath a large and
prominent rock and recommenced my journey
with the somewhat lightened pack. After walking
another mile or so I came to an old, deserted
lumber camp composed of four large log houses
in various states of dilapidation. Two grouse were
sunning themselves in the road, and a red squirrel
sat on a tree-stump and harshly asked why I

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN _ 267

should come here, to this out-of-the-way place to
disturb him as he was gathering material for his
winter nest. After some difficulty I found the
continuation of the blazed trail, which led through
the leaf-strewn roads; on the way two deer, both
does, bounded away and were soon lost to view—
how easily they make their way among the fallen
timber, going so slowly, yet disappearing in an
incredibly short time !

At four o’clock I crossed one of the beautiful
mountain streams, and here my troubles began.
Following, as before, the new blazings, which were
few and far between, I had, without knowing it,
left the Katahdin trail. It was getting dark, and
I realised that I had lost my way ; neither old nor
new blazings could I find, and the woods were wet
and spongy. Darkness had come upon me, and I
must camp for the night. The prospect was not
bright, and to make matters worse there was every
indication of rain. Most of the wood was rotten
and wet, so I had difficulty in making the fire, by
whose light I built a rude shelter of birch bark,
covering the soggy ground with the same material.
While eating my supper a deer came walking
quietly along, stopping for a moment when but a
few feet from where I sat; its eyes shone like
glowing coals, and as I moved forward to try and
make out whether it was a buck or a doe, it got
wind of me and scampercd off into the darkness.

The night was cold, and by ten o'clock I was
awakened by the pattering of the rain on the birch
bark. Drops of water soon found their way
through the roughly-made roof, and morning found

268 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

me cold, wet, and thoroughly uncomfortable.
After an hour’s search I came across the blazings,
and, following these for several miles, found they
led to a new camp belonging to one Joe Francis,
an Indian guide. ‘There was no one there, and,
seeing a slide on the face of the mountain, I
thought it must be the one I was searching for, so
I continued towards it though there was no trail.
The woods were almost impassable, with fallen
timber and a tangle of undergrowth, so, in despair,
I turned back, determined to wait at the camp
until someone returned. With difficulty I found
the camp, and at three o’clock Joe Francis arrived
with another guide who was carrying a load of
moose meat. Joe informed me that I was about
three miles out of the way, and that if 1 went due
west I should find the object of my search. I
followed his directions and arrived at the slide
shortly before sunset, where I found a birch bark
shack, of which I took possession. Leaving my
things there, I went out to try to find some game,
while there was yet daylight. Before walking
more than a couple of hundred yards I got two
grouse ; these were quickly cooked, one for supper
and the other for next day’s lunch.

With a blazing, crackling fire in front of the
shack to temper the cold, keen air, I went to sleep,
happy in the thought that to-morrow would be fine,
judging from the present indications, and I should
climb the great pile of granite whose summit
seemed to lose itself in the starry vault of the
heavens.

The morning broke cold and clear, but the

+The north-east side of the mountain is an abrupt precipice of solid rock
about 4,000 feet high.”

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN — 269

wind was blowing half a gale from the north-west.
The prospects were not hopeful for photography.
At half-past six I started up what proved to be the
most tiring climb I have ever experienced.

The slide, which is the best way up, on the south
side of the mountain, is abroad strip of rocks and
gravel. Most of the rocks are loosely piled up,
with channels of gravel between, and here and
there a scrubby bush, whose branches are extremely
tough, strives for existence in such unpromising
surroundings. The walking is most difficult, and it
was only with the aid ofa stout staff that I was
able to force my way upwards. In parts the
rocks were of great size, and the utmost care was
necessary to avoid slipping between them. Ata
quarter past eight I crawled through an opening
between two gigantic rocks and found myself on
the table-land on the summit of Mt. Katahdin.
This was not the highest point, that was about
two miles further to the east. There it is 5,385 feet
above sea level.

The wind was blowing with such force that I
did not attempt to cross the narrow strip that leads
to the highest peak, but contented myself with
admiring the superb view. As far as the eye could
reach there were rivers and lakes, large and small,
shining like silver flakes through the thin purple
mist; much to my disappointment the distance
was entirely hidden from view, so that I was
unable to get any photographs but those of the
nearer objects. The north-east side of the
mountain is an abrupt precipice of solid rock
about 4,000 feet high. Over the lower lands the

270 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

clouds drifted lazily, for there it was evidently
nearly calm. By the time I had taken a few
photographs the clouds began to gather, hiding
the topmost peak and warning me to make for
the slide before that, too, was hidden; so, placing
my camera into the pack basket, I made for the
two stone columns or monuments that mark the
top of the slide. The wind, which was increasing
in force, was bitterly cold, and I was glad to reach
the shelter of the rocks on the slide. Three-
quarters of an hour of jumping, slipping, tumbling
and running brought me to the birch-bark shack,
where I had left my things; these I soon packed
up, and after a lunch of cold grouse, washed down
with the most delicious ice-cold water from a
mountain stream, I started back to the mouth of
the Katahdin brook, well satisfied at having
reached a goal so magnificent, one well worth all
the labour it had cost.

As I entered the woods near the bottom of the
slide, the squirrels and birds became more plentiful.
I had noticed chicadees and robins not far below
the timber line, and on the table-land there were
two sparrows. They were, however, so wild that
I was unable to get near enough to identify them.
I could not help wondering why they should
choose a spot so bleak and unprotected. Footsore
and weary, I arrived at my camp on the river side
by four o’clock. Looking back at the mountain
on which I had stood but a few hours since, I saw
that it was heavily draped with clouds, and I was
glad that they had kept away while I was there.

The next day it was raining hard, so I rested

ALONE UP MT. KATAHDIN 271

and started off on my down-stream journey early
the following morning, after taking a photograph
of the mountain as it unveiled itself to greet the
rising sun. The wind blew strongly in my favour,
and in twenty-six hours I arrived at Morcross, the
head of Pummadumcook Lake, and there bade
farewell to the land of the balsam fir.

THE HEART OF WINTER

W.L.C.

CHAPTER XIX
THE HEART OF WINTER *

THE sky is darkening over while the morning is
still young, no wind stirs the leafless twigs of the
trees, an awful silence prevails, no break is there in
the cloud which has completely overshadowed the
sky. It is all a cold, dull, uniform grey. A few
large fluff-like flakes of snow float dreamily
downward and settle gently on the frozen earth, or
catch on the bared branches. As silent members
of the advance guard of winter they tell the world,
in the language of signs, that Autumn has gone,
and for three moons the land will be held in the
cold grasp of snow and ice. Some say this is a
period of death, but pardon them, for they do not
know the winter moods. They think, because no
flowers bloom and the birds are unusually silent,
that there is no life. Why not say that the world
of plant life is sleeping, wrapped in its spotless
white sheet, sleeping and gathering renewed
strength for the great battle of life that comes with
the warmth of April sun? Away from the cities,
where the snow is contaminated and disfigured by
man’s appliances, the winter has glories greater even
than those of the summer, whether they are revealed
in the blizzard which keeps men in their homes
and spreads desolation among all that are not well

* First published in The Churchman.

276 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

housed, or in the quiet of the blue-skied day when
the snow sparkles in the sunshine. The beauty is
equally wonderful, and the extraordinary contrast
forms perhaps its greatest fascination. To those
who fear not the cold and the wind there is nothing
more exhilarating than a walk through the woods
and fields when the wind howls, and the snow
travels with reckless speed, flying past trees and
fences as though impelled with a mad desire to
outdistance the pursuing gale. Snow imps dance
a wild uncanny dance, hesitating a moment in
some sheltered spot, then racing furiously across
the open fields, whirling round and round in their
wild endeavour to gather more snow. At each lull
in the wind they lie down, invisible to the eye,
leaving no track or trail, and we know not where
they are until with the fresh blast of wind they
rise up once more and continue their furious scamper.
In the woods all seems dead; except in some
sheltered nook no birds are seen. The grey
squirrel has commenced his long winter sleep in
the hollow of a tree. Chipmunks, too, are dead to
the world in their underground homes, even the
busy red squirrel has taken a day off and is snoozing
comfortably in his nest. The wind whistles
uneasily through the swaying branches, and the
brown curled-up leaves of the oak rustle loudly.
Now and then one of the leaves lets go its hold,
and dances along on the smooth white ground with
no companions but the wind and the falling snow.
On such a day we see no tracks, for even did the
wood folks move about, their tracks would be
wiped out almost as soon as they were made. The

oods.

The Winter W

THE HEART OF WINTER 277

cottontail is hiding in some thick snow-covered
scrub, or perhaps in a hole beneath an uprooted
tree. Even the blood-thirsty mink cares not to
venture forth unless sorely pressed by hunger.
The ruffed grouse seeks the protection of a friendly
hemlock tree, or sits snug under a thick patch of
laurel. In the swamp thicket the quails, huddled
close together for mutual protection, are trying to
brave the storm, hoping no crust will form to keep
them prisoners and let them starve slowly and
miserably. With evening, the wind, tired out by
its long day’s work, quiets down and the snow no
longer falls. Gradually the clouds disappear, and in
their place we see the clear dark blue of the evening
sky, dotted over with cold white stars. ‘Then comes
the quiet of the winter night, broken only, so far
as we know, by the occasional hooting or crying
of an owl, or the distant barking of a fox. But,
though quiet, the woods are no longer dead, for it
is during these still nights, unseen by man, that
the tragedies of the woods occur. The morning
dawns clear, cold and wonderfully still, a glorious
morning for a tramp. If the ground is covered to
a sufficient depth we tie on our snow-shoes, and
enjoy the crunching sound, as we tread down the
soft, dry snow. All the land is smiling, as though
rejoicing that the storm has passed. The jewel-
like snow-crystals sparkle and dance in the cold
white sunlight as the ,sun rises higher in tha
heavens, the colour of the sky increases until it
becomes of a deep and rich blue, and no cloud
breaks the great expanse. In the distance the
mountains loom up with wonderful clearness, The

278 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

trees on its slopes are sharply defined against the
dazzling white of the snow, and like a fringe of
infinite fineness the topmost trees edge the skyline.
Here and there a hemlock or pine stands out
clearly from its leafless brothers, as though in
defiance of the autumn laws which denude the
forests of their covering. Through the valley a
river crawls along silently toward its destination.
Against the white banks it seems almost black
where the ice has not yet hidden its surface from
our view. On either side alders and willows grow
with roots submerged, and each twig, trembling as
the water passes, is coated with ice, and spray-made
icicles of crystalline purity shimmer in the sunlight.
How different is this river from the one we had
fished in during the warm summer days! Where
are all the leaves and flowers which clothed its
banks? Some of the flowers have sown their
seeds for the next year’s crop and the snow is
protecting them from the severe frosts. Others,
less eager, are holding their precious burden in
tightly-closed pods, waiting for the days of snow
to pass, that they may open their doors and bid the
tiny seeds go forth and take root in the warming
earth. The leaves, too, are fulfilling their part
in the marvellous order of nature. Strewn
about the roots of bush and tree they are
giving back to the earth that which was required
for their sustenance during the few months of their
life. Of the endless variety of grasses and seeds
scarcely any are visible ; unable to hold the burden
of snow they have lain down to take their long
winter sleep. A few sturdy cat-tails hold their

THE HEART OF WINTER 279

seed-bearing heads far above the snow, birds
driven by hunger have loosened the silky seed, and
it waits but for the wind to carry it off to other
marshes, where it will spring up next year, to
the delight of those who fortunately are never too
old to enjoy gathering the rich brown velvet cat-
kins. In the woods all is cold and silent. The
snow, driven by the gale, has left the trees bare
and desolate. It is the very picture of winter
in all its bleakness. Were it not for the dormant
buds of the azalea and some few trees that
show a promise of life, we might easily believe
winter to be a season of death. The only relief to
the sombre greys of the tree trunks is the green of
the laurel, the large drooping leaves of the rhodo-
dendron, and the welcome coniferous trees. Such
is winter as we usually see it.

We are anxious to know what happened during
the night, and so we make our way to the woods
to see the stories of life and death which have been
recorded on the spotless ground. The first thing
we see is the lace-like track of a mouse; whether
it is a meadow or a white-footed mouse we do not
know. The tracks show where the little animal
has run along on the surface for a short distance,
then burrowed into it. By carefully cutting away
the snow his burrow can easily be followed. It
runs from root to root, and shows distinctly that
the owner was in search of food. During the
winter months the mice are well protected. They
travel beneath the surface of the snow, secure from
the eyes of their many enemies; occasionally one,
more foolish than his companions, stays too long on

280 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

the surface and pays for his indiscretion with his
life, for owls, hawks, foxes and others are always
on the watch for them. Further on, when crossing
a small clearing, we see the footprints of a red
squirrel which has travelled rapidly from tree to
tree. Unlike the mink and the mice, who drag
their tails on the snow, the squirrel holds his well
elevated, and leaves no middle track, as he runs
with feet well separated. But the poor squirrel
never reached his destination. His comfortable
nest in the hollow branch will never know him
again. The sign “to let” will in imagination be
hung out to the first house-hunter passing that
way. How do we know all this? See the tracks
abruptly end at this point, see many curious, long
tracks, as though someone had laid a queer-shaped
fan on the snow. It is the track of the owl’s wing,
of the relentless hunter, keen-eyed and silent, who
watches all the winter woods and fields. Without
a moment’s warning he has pounced on the unsus-
pecting squirrel and carried it off for his midnight
feast. Soon we come upon the curiously large
footprints of the cottontail ; he too must burrow
beneath the snow, both for safety and for food.
He takes no straight path, but winds his way in
and out among the trees, scratching a hole here
and there where his keen nose tells him he may
find some root, twig, or leaf that is good to eat.
Sometimes he stops as though listening, and the
round blurred impression in the snow shows where
his furry body had pressed it down. The listen-
ing had been in vain for poor cottontail, as we see
later on. Not five feet from the rabbit’s tracks are

Tracks in the snow. The deep footprints are those of a squirrel which
was evidently caught by an owl or a hawk, whose wing tracks are
clearly shown.

THE HEART OF WINTER 281

the peculiar footprints of a mink. He walks as it
were with his entire body, taking no steps such as
other animals do, but bounding so that his hind
feet land so near the fore feet that it appears
almost like a single footfall. The tracks of the
two animals converge until they meet, and show
that the owners moved along the same road.
The hunter and the hunted, the one suspicious but
ignorant, the other keenly alert and dangerously
silent. On they go. So long as the rabbit was
feeding he was alert, and the cautious mink kept
out of sight, knowing full well that to frighten his
quarry now would be to lose a meal, for the rabbit
would soon finish feeding and then make for some
sheltered spot, where he would sleep the wakeful,
restless sleep of the ever-hunted. Presently the
tracks tell plainly that the rabbit has finished his
dinner. As they lead in a roundabout way to the
tangle of a fallen hemlock, the mink, with horrible
cunning, knows what to expect, for he leaves the
bunny tracks and goes by a different way to the
hemlock. We follow first in the footprints of the
hunted ; they lead over a prostrate snow-covered
log, then, after much stopping and turning, as
though hesitating, to the densest part of the hem-
lock. We turn back to see what has become of
the mink; his tracks lead past trunk and shrub,
and show a certainty of purpose which bodes ill for
the rabbit. Gradually they approach the fallen
hemlock, and we see that they, too, make for the
dense cover. We fear the worst. A walk around
the tree reveals only the small footprints of the
mink. Poor bunny will never again leave tracks

282, WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

for us to follow; his last track is but a tiny red
stain on the glistening white snow beneath the
hemlock twigs, and we pass on in silence, wonder-
ing at the ways of those who live in the woods.

In the winter we learn a little—a very little of the
doings of the animals. In the summer, when the
ground tells no tales, their lives are a mystery to
us. For most of them our day is their night, and
they only venture out when a kindly darkness
hides them from inquisitive eyes. Throughout
the winter there are stories told to us by the snow.
At times it is soft and tells us all that has
happened, even the movements of the winter
birds. It points out where the ruffed grouse has
eaten the scarlet berries of the bitter-sweet ; where
the goldfinch has hung on the dry sprigs of
the golden rod and eaten of its seeds; where the
less agile junco has searched for seeds in the
thicket; even where the chicadee, that cheerful
little acrobat of the forest, has torn the bark from a
dead birch tree and destroyed the nest of some
hibernating insect, and so perhaps saved for us
some favourite plant or shrub which this insect and
its young would have destroyed. All this and so
much more that cannot be put into mere words
are we told by the snow when it lies soft and
white on the frozen ground. But there are days
when the snow book is closed to us, and the secrets
of the woods are not betrayed. These are days
when a winter rain has frozen on each twig and
bending blade of grass. Then we congratulate
ourselves that we are living. The whole country
is a fairy-land of glistening jewels that dazzle our

In the winter, when every twig is covered with a glistening coat of ice.

THE HEART OF WINTER 283

eyes as they sparkle in the glad sunshine. All
else is as nothing compared with these crystals.
Even the scarlet berry of the black alder, which
was beyond all things brilliant when the first snow
covered the land, fails now to arouse our interest.
Its colour is dulled by this new though perishable
beauty. As we walk through the woods the frozen
branches, shining wonderfully, creak and groan with
their icy burden. A pair of blue jays alight on an
oak tree, hoping to secure a meal of acorns. As
they pull and tear at the frozen branches, the ice
drops off with a noisy clatter that may be heard for
quite a distance. When a breeze, however faint,
passes through the woods, the sparkle increases a
hundredfold, and the whole place resounds with
the noise of the creaking ice. The snow-covered
ground is strewn with long scooped-out crystals
which shine like glass. It is wonderful: it is all
beautiful, but it is all the great silent death spectre,
and it tells him who knows the woods and fields
that it is a deadly beauty, which ends the lives of
birds in countless numbers, while it tickles our
senses, for we are big and strong and well housed.
Yet another phase of winter that has beauties of
its own, greater and even more fleeting than the
ice storm, is when the snow falls in large, wet
flakes and settles on all things. Then each shrub
becomes a snow bush and its branches are lost to
view. Every stump and stone is a tall, white
monument; even on the tree trunks the snow
clings, as though anxious for all the world to be
white. Then is it worth our while to leave our
homes and at all cost to visit a forest of pines

284 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

or hemlocks, for they with their well-clad branches
are wonderfully transformed; each branch is a
study in itself, and the effect of the whole forest
thus covered with snow is more beautiful than
anything offered by all the glories of summer or
autumn foliage. Strangely enough we do not
feel the need of the stronger colouring, but are
satisfied with the delicate blues, which are
intensified by the almost gold colour of the thinly-
scattered rays of sunlight that with difficulty find
their way between the snow-clad branches. And
yet, in all this beauty there is a certain bareness,
a lacking of something indefinable, and almost
against our will we long for the hopefulness of
spring, when everything is pregnant with life.

MORE ABOUT WINTER AND
THE TRACKS OF THE
ANIMALS IN THE SNOW

CHAPTER XX

MORE ABOUT WINTER AND THE TRACKS OF
THE ANIMALS IN THE SNOW *

“The ground is all memoranda and signatures, and every object
covered over with hints which speak to the intelligent.” EMERSON.

To him who would study the movements of
wild animals, especially those of nocturnal habits,
the northern winter must be a season of constant
pleasure and interest. For at no time in the
animal’s life are his movements so clearly revealed
as when the tell-tale snow covers the land. Unless
there is a hard. smooth surface-crust no creature
may venture forth without leaving tracks so
clearly defined that even man, with his dulness of
perception in matters connected with wood lore,
can give a fairly satisfactory account of the
animals’ doings. The snow-covered ground is, in
fact, an open book, on the pages of which are set
forth facts which are absolute secrets during the
greater part of the year. And yet how few persons
ever avail themselves of these conditions. Do we
not often hear people who profess to be nature
lovers lament the, to them, insurmountable diffi-
culties that interfere with their studying the lives
of the animals? They declare that, with all their
walking through woodland and swamp, they
seldom, if ever, have the good fortune to see any

* First published in Country Life in America.

288 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

animal except red squirrels, chipmunks, and such
common varieties. The instinctive dread of man,
resulting from his constant persecution, has of
course led animals, especially the fur-bearers, to
keep their tracks so well hidden that it is only in
the most remote parts of the country we can hope
to see mink, otter, and others possessed of valuable
fur. Even in places where the only human habita-
tion is the isolated trapper’s shanty, the sight of a
mink is rare, though the little creatures themselves
may be fairly abundant, while in the vicinity of
large cities one may scarcely expect to see any-
thing more rare than squirrels, rabbits, woodchucks,
and occasionally musk-rats. Yet, strange as it may
appear, a considerable number of mink and others,
as well as coons and opossums, are caught every
winter within less than twenty-five miles of New
York. I know of farmers who, living almost within
sight of the city, add considerably to their annual
income by trapping. These facts are given simply
to show that even those who are compelled to live
in, or near, a big town can, if they wish, find oppor-
tunities to study the ways of wild animals without
having to go to the uninhabited districts.

The very best time to study the ways of all the
terrestrial animals is when a light fall of wet snow
has covered the frozen ground; then each footmark
is clearly defined. If the snow is too soft the
tracks are blurred, and consequently difficult of
identification; if there is much wind the snow
covers the tracks, or at least partly obliterates
them, so it is advisable, if you would minimise
your difficulties, to start as soon as possible after

Tracks in the snow showing where a Musk Rat has come from and
returned to the water.

TRACKS IN THE SNOW 289

the snow has fallen. The first tracks to learn
are those which are most common. Do not scorn
familiarity with the tracks of the house cat, and of
the different kinds of dogs; a perfect knowledge of
them may save you much mortification. A friend
of mine spent hours in following the trail of what
he thought was a fox; he was much disgusted
to find it led to his neighbour’s back door.
Where a fox’s and a dog’s feet are about the same
size they are not by any means easily distinguished.
Some writers say that the fox’s track is not nearly
so clumsy as that of a dog, but that seems to be a
purely imaginary difference ; the only difference I
have ever been able to discover is that the fox’s
footprints are, if anything, more nearly in alignment.
As a rule a fox’s gait is a stealthy walk when
hunting, or a trot when pursued. The length of
the step when walking is about one foot. But
it must be borne in mind that all animals vary in
their methods of walking and running according
to the condition of the snow: deep, soft snow
causing a Jumping gait, even among animals which
habitually walk or trot. If you have ever hunted
a fox, and, as is usually the case, lost him, even
with good dogs, let me advise you to take the first
opportunity of following the tracks (in the snow)
of a fox and the pursuing dogs. Your admiration
for the fox will certainly increase, such clever
manceuvring as the wily animal exhibits will
astonish you, and no longer will you feel ashamed
of your dogs and of yourself at being outwitted.
During the winter months foxes live principally
on rabbits and mice, and if you follow a trail
W.L.C. U

290 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

far enough you will usually see that where mice
have been dug out of the snow, a ruffed grouse or a
poor bunny has been stalked and killed by his most
dreaded enemy.

The most numerous tracks in woods and fields
in the region of civilisation are those of mice,
shrews, rabbits, and white, red, and grey squirrels.
Go where you will through woods, fields or swamps
you will always find the tiny footprints of mice.
They begin and end at a hole in the snow, show-
ing where the little creature has left the kindly
protection and risked its life in the open; usually
his journeyings on the surface are very short, while
sometimes one, more courageous than wise, travels
as much as thirty or forty yards without burrowing.
Under the snow they live in comparative safety,
and when the snow begins to melt, their runs,
forming a perfect network, are clearly visible. The
mouse in its method of progression over the snow
somewhat resembles a squirrel ; its tracks therefore
are much the same in form except that a fine line
usually shows where the tail has dragged. Much
smaller and more delicate than the mouse-tracks
are the lace-like trails of the shrews, the smallest
of our quadrupeds. One can seldom see their
tracks very clearly, as it is only when the snow
is in perfect condition that the fine footmarks are
at all sharply defined.

The track of the “cotton tail,” the common
hare, or rabbit, as it is usually called, is unmistak-
able. Owing to the well-furred foot the track in
the snow is never sharp, but even so, the large
prints of the hind feet, which are placed in front of

TRACKS IN THE SNOW 291

the forefeet, make the tracks practically certain of
identification. Most people know that a rabbit’s
hind foot is larger than its fore foot, yet it is not
at allan uncommon thing to see a man tracking
bunny backwards, in other words, thinking that
the smaller fore foot tracks were in front of, instead
of behind, the hind feet. When the snow is deep
the hare burrows beneath the surface in search of
food; these tunnels are often of considerable
length.

A belief common to many people is that squirrels
hibernate, but anyone walking through the woods
can disprove it, for, even though he sees no squirrels,
he will see the tracks in abundance. Chipmunks
do hibernate in their underground homes, where
they have great stores of food, but both grey and
red squirrels lead a more or less active life through-
out winter. This is made clear by the fact that much
of their food is stored in the ground beneath leaves
and rubbish. A certain very well known writer
makes the statement that the red squirrel lays up
no stores like the provident chipmunk, but scours
about for food in all weathers; but this is by no
means true. I have frequently seen a hoard of
hemlock seeds which had been dug and eaten by
a red squirrel in a part of the country where there
are no greys. ‘The tracks of a squirrel resemble
to some extent those of a mink. When first I
began looking at tracks in the snow I could only
be sure which were which by following them up ;
if they began and ended at a tree I called them
squirrels’, if at a stream or swamp they were put
down as minks’. This was a tedious way of doing

U 2

292 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

things and somewhat uncertain. The real differ-
ence between them is that the squirrel, like the
hare, places his hind feet slightly in advance of his
fore feet. But, unlike the hare, the footprints are
scarcely separated. The mink when running does
not arch the back very much and goes in bounds,
landing the hind feet almost directly in the prints
made by the fore feet. When the snow is deep they
are often undistinguishable. If the mink has to go
under any obstacle, such as a bent tree or a fence
rail, instead of bounding, it walks, its body leaving
a deep furrow in the snow, for its legs are very
short. To follow a mink’s track is usually to see
the mute story ofa tragedy. Just some trampled
snow and a red stain. The whole method of
hunting is told by the snow. We see how they
follow a rabbit, taking every precaution not to
betray their presence while the wretched creature
feeds, for then it is alert; how they follow it, as
described in the previous part of this chapter, to
where it sleeps beneath a log, an upturned roof or
the snow-covered top of a fallen tree, and then
stealthily creep on their unsuspecting prey; how
sometimes the rustling of a dead leaf warns the
rabbit, who leaps forward, perhaps just in time to
avoid the furious onslaught of the unlovable mink,
though more often too late, in which case the red
stain tells us that the rabbit has been eaten where
it expected to sleep. All these things and so much
more we are told by the snow. If only we will use
our eyes we can learn more of the ways of animals in
a week of good snow than many months or even
years of summer. Should snow fall when the

Tracks in the Snow, showing where a Mink has caught a Musk-rat us it
@nerged from a hole inthe ice. The dark patch in the centre of the
picture is blood.

TRACKS IN THE SNOW 293

animals have their young, what havoc would be
wrought among the weaker species by such creatures
as the mink, the weasel or the fox. The home of the
young would be revealed to man and beast. But,
fortunately, few animals, with the exception of the
mice and the porcupine, give birth to their young
until after the treacherous snow has gone.

To give an accurate description in words of the
forms of the various animals’ tracks in the snow
would be almost if not quite impossible, so subtle are
the differences, and it seems best to advise anyone
interested in the subject to visit a zoo on a snowy
day, and then make mental and pencil notes while
the tracks are fresh and there is absolutely no
question as to by what animal they are made. Of
course, where you have the good fortune to see
a wild animal in its wild state and the snow is in
good condition, take advantage of the circumstance
by making a careful examination of the tracks,
following to see whether they change much under
different conditions. It is scarcely necessary to
say that a knowledge of the form of the animal’s
foot is desirable. Such knowledge may be partially
obtained from skins and mounted specimens in the
museums, but, owing to the drying of the pads, no
accurate idea can be gained of what the footprint
is like except from the living or freshly-killed
animal. A muddy day in a zoo will teach you
more about the exact form of an animal’s footprint
than all the museums in the world.

THE LIFE OF THE TRAPPER

CHAPTER XXI

THE LIFE OF THE TRAPPER,
THE MAN FOR WHOM COLD WEATHER IS A
SOURCE OF LIVELIHOOD

Or all the means by which man makes his
livelihood there is probably none that appeals
more strongly to the imagination, especially of the
growing boy, than the life of the trapper. Most
boys at some time or other in their lives decide to
throw off the yoke of civilisation and devote them-
selves to the life of trapping. They usually know
absolutely nothing about it, nothing of the hard-
ships, of the disappointments, of the years of
training necessary, and of the inborn skill of wood-
craft, without which success is not to be found. All
they know is that the trapper is one who lives in a
wide world of freedom, and whose life is surrounded
by a veil of picturesque uncertainty. To be
enveloped in this veil is the keenest desire of the
boy gifted with that most precious of gifts—a
healthy imagination. But the trapper’s life is not
all beer and skittles, not one long round of pleasure
and success. Every pelt sold or exchanged is
procured only after a vast expenditure of work,
work that would make the ordinary labourer
shudder. How little does the fashionable lady
realise when she selects some fur that suits her
fastidious fancy what that fur cost the man whose

298 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

hermit-like life is spent in gathering pelts for the
great fur markets of the world. And yet the
trapper 1s a man to be envied, especially so if his
country is one rich in fur-bearing animals, for then
he can make a good living, and, greatest of luxuries,
be his own master. The lives of trappers are all
very much alike, varying chiefly with the climatic
conditions in which they live. In Florida the life
is seen in its easiest form, free from most of the
hardships incidental to the cold country of the vast
north, but then the profits are small, for the
southern skins, being thinner, bring lower prices.

Let us follow a Canadian trapper during one
year of his life, and we shall have some slight idea
of the method by which he gains his living. When
the nights begin to be cold and the maples in the
forests show the scarlet danger-sign that warns the
land of the approach of the awful cold of winter,
and when the shivering poplars and silver birches
throw off their leafy covering that they may the
better be able to bear up against the heavy, clinging
snows; when the beavers strengthen their houses,
gather their winter supplies of food, and the
squirrels collect quantities of nuts and seeds and
cache them beneath the trees, then nature clothes
all her animals with heavy coats of fur that they
may be protected against the coming winter, and
the trapper knows that the time has come when he
must repair his log or birch-bark shanties, and take
in his food supplies, just as the beaver is doing.
Each man has his territory wherein he may set his
traps, and if his claim be good it is undisputed.
He may hold it for life provided he never leaves it

THE LIFE OF THE TRAPPER 299

untrapped for three consecutive years. Should
any other man place a trap on this land, he who
has the trapping rights springs the trap and hangs
it on a bush as a warning to the intruder. A line
of traps extends over a distance varying from five
to fifty miles. This line is not a line in the sense
that some people imagine, for the traps are placed
sometimes a mile or so apart, only the likely-
looking situations being chosen, and these are
usually in the immediate neighbourhood of lakes
and swamps. ‘The trail leading to the traps is
usually blazed, for when the heavy snow falls the
appearance of the country is completely changed
and the trap would be lost if there were no sign to
show its whereabouts. For each kind of animal
a special trap is constructed. For mink a rough
pen is made, usually at the foot of a tree ; old wood
is used for uprights and they are placed fairly near
together; inside, a meat bait of any kind is
suspended, and just inside the entrance to the pen
the steel trap is set; small twigs are placed on
either side sloping towards the pen, and often a
piece of hemlock or spruce is laid on the outer side
of the trap, so that the animal will have to jump,
and the chances are he will land on the pan of the
trap. Over the pen a roof is made of balsam branches,
to protect the trap from the snow. For lynx the
same sort of pen is used, except that it is larger
and a noose of heavy fish line or wire is often used
instead of the steel trap. Marten are caught both
with the steel trap and the dead fall. For musk-rat
it is necessary to place the trap beneath a rough
shelter of branches on the ice where a hole has

300 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

been made. The trap is attached to the middle of
a stick, so that when the animal is caught and
makes for the water, the hole in the ice not being
large enough to allow the stick to pass, he soon
drowns. For otter the trap must be set beneath
water at a place where the current is swift enough
to prevent the forming of ice. ‘The water must be
shallow, so that the otter will have to walk, and
twigs are placed on either side of the trap, with the
idea of leading the animal directly over it. Asa
good otter skin is worth to the trapper about
eighteen dollars, it will be understood that no
trouble is spared in arranging the traps, the
result being that the otter is becoming very scarce
in most localities.

Before the time for the first snow the trapper
has all his traps set and has his cabin ready for
winter. As a rule the cabin is made of hemlock
or spruce logs, the crevices being well clinked with
moss or other suitable substance. As heat is the
all-important thing to be desired the cabins are
made very small. The one shown in these illustra-
tions belonged to a one-armed trapper who through-
out the winter lives in the woods with his two dogs,
large, smooth-coated St. Bernards, as his sole com-
panions. The diminutive cabin, when I saw it, was
so covered with snow that it was scarcely visible.
Its tiny door, scarcely large enough to admit a man,
even though he enter on all fours ; the window not
more than nine inches square, the old stove made
out of a large tin canister, the single, small three-
legged stool made from a single piece of hemlock
whose branches happened to grow in the desired

“Joe,” the one-armed Trapper, and his (

THE LIFE OF THE TRAPPER 301

way, the scanty cooking utensils and the bed of
sapling covered over with balsam boughs, all be-
spoke poverty, yet the man, each winter, made from
four hundred to five hundred and fifty dollars by
trapping, and supported in comparative comfort
his sister and old invalid father who lived in a
cottage near the settlement. Joe had but one arm,
yet he could use that one as well as most men can
use two. Only when it came to washing his hand
did he experience any great difficulty. His line of
two hundred traps extended over forty miles of
country, and every two weeks these had to be
visited. At intervals along the line small cabins
were built where, if necessary, he could spend the
night, for the winter days in the north are very
short and travelling on snow-shoes over soft snow
is slow work. These outlying huts are, if possible,
even more primitive than the one just described.
Yet they answer all purposes. We can imagine Joe
starting out on his round, too experienced a trapper
to build castles in the air such as the novice delights
in, for well does Joe know that unprecedented
numbers of pelts are only taken from traps that
are set in the lands of happy imagination. Should
the day be fine and the snow in good condition, the
task will be comparatively easy and he will be able
to visit trap after trap in quick succession. Perhaps
ten, twenty, thirty or forty may be visited and no
animals found. In one, perhaps, the snow has
drifted in and clogged the trap, and the footprints
show that a mink has entered, eaten the bait, and
left, satisfied with a full meal, asking no questions
as tohowit came there Then the trapper knows

302 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

he has lost about four dollars. In many of the
traps the bait has been eaten by the mice or weasels,
but by far the greatest number show no sign of
having been visited by animals. The virgin snow,
that recorder of deeds, writes no word, and the
trapper, after a single glance, passes on. Perhaps
the result of the day’s work may be but three or
four musk-rats, whose skins are worth about eighteen
cents apiece.* Then, as darkness sets in, he goes to
one of the shanties, and, after a lonely and frugal
meal of pan-bread and pork, lies on the floor close
to the fire, and, before his pipe is out, has fallen
asleep. ‘The morning sees him up long before the
sun. Making his toilet is a simple operation, con-
sisting only of rubbing his eyes, perhaps putting on
a dry pair of socks, and then lighting his pipe, and
after afew mouthfuls of food he is off again. The
day may not be fine as the day before had been.
Maybe it has snowed all night and is still snowing,
with a light wind blowing and a temperature of
twenty-five degrees below zero. If so, the work
will be more difficult, but he must tramp on. The
sound of the snow-shoes as they touch each other
at every step and the moaning of the wind in the
tops of the evergreens alone break the frightful
stillness of the snowbound country. The day may
prove a more lucky one. Once Joe found two
otters in a single trip over his line, but that was
unusual and therefore a day to be remembered.
Possibly he might find a cross fox (between black
and silver, I believe), and that is good luck, but a
silver fox is the best of all, for it brings the trapper

* This was in 1902.

rapper.

ah

” the one-armeL

,

** Joe

THE LIFE OF THE TRAPPER 303

anywhere from fifty dollars to two hundred dollars
(and sells at the fur sales as high as two thousand two
hundred), but then, few of them are caught. An
average trip along the line of traps would bring
in from thirty to forty dollars, and most of these
would be in mink skins. No trap would be used
except during the trapping season, which lasts from
September or October till March or April, when
Joe returns to the settlement to dispose of his supply
of pelts and buy provisions. The pelts are either
sold or exchanged at the general store, or they are
sold to the travelling fur-buyers, who visit all parts
of the country, even in the most remote settle-
ments, where they can pick up odd skins at low
prices. ‘The season ended, he goes to his farm if
he has one, or perhaps he remains in the woods act-
ing as guide to the stray sportsmen who happen to
visit the district. A good trapper is usually a
good guide, for he is thoroughly at home in the
woods and knows much about the habits of animals.

Owing to the increased demand for furs and the
absurd demands of fashion which require that fur
garments be of different shape and style each year,
the fur-bearing animals in their wild state are yearly
becoming scarcer. So it is safe to conjecture
that fur farms will in the future supply the markets
and the trapper will be a man of the past, and
those who come after us will then read of his life,
and it will read likea fairy tale. As the large birch-
bark canoe, laden to the gunwale with furs, is pass-
ing down the quick-flowing river of time and
civilisation, so, too, will the picturesque trapper
slowly glide out of existence.

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS

W.L.C. x

CHAPTER XXII
CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS

CAMPING IN THE COLD

He who camps during the warm summer months
finds comforts in abundance and drawbacks scarcely
noticeable ; he who chooses the bright cool days of
the waning year finds many things to enjoy, and
only when the cold rains come does he meet with
any of the disagreeable features of the fascinating
simple life in the woods; but of all seasons for
camping perhaps none offers the peculiar fascina-
tions that are to be found when the land is clothed
in its unspotted winter garb. Then the air is clean
and clear, the woods are even more silent than when
they are dressed in green, and the trees and shrubs
are transformed by their wonderful white overcoats.
On a bright day all things glisten, and the sparkling
crystals seem to dance and laugh in the crisp cold
sunlight, which illumines, but does not warm. The
tree-top bends with its load of snow, and should the
cold be very intense the strange, sharp sound of a
frost-burst tree rings up the forest echoes. Then
all is again silent, absolutely silent. To give up
the warmth and other comforts of a home and take
oneself off to the cold northern woods does not
sound alluring to those who have not tried it. The
inducements appear few indeed to the uninitiated,

and he asks derisively where the pleasure comes in.
x 2

308 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

It is difficult to answer the question with mere
words. To describe the delights of tramping
through the snow-bound woods, equipped with well
fitting snow-shoes, is not easy. Almost ghostly is
the scarcely audible swish-swish of the snow-shoes
as they pass over the firm dry snow. ‘The keen air
is bracing, so that your strength seems equal to any
task. Where is the awful cold you have heard
about? Surely the temperature is scarcely below
freezing ; and you remove your heavy woollen jacket.
Then your woollen gloves feel over warm, and they
too must come off. Wait just a minute and see
what the thermometer has to show: 20° below
zero. Why, surely it must be wrong? But no, your
fingers have frozen to the metal case, the perspira-
tion changes to ice as it falls on your arm. Perhaps,
after all, the mercury is right, for now that you
have stopped exercising you really do feel that the
cold is intense. When the air is so dry it is very
deceptive, and not until your fingers freeze do you
appreciate the cold.

The first thing necessary for comfort when on
a camp trip in the snow is proper clothing for day
and night. Men accustomed to the cold will sleep
before a large open fire and have no blanket over
them. It is not advisable for the man accustomed to
steam-heated rooms to attempt this. A good sleep-
ing bag made of four thicknesses of light-weight pure
wool blanket with an inner bag of natural wool
bating covered with thin flannel is all that is needed,
but on no account use any bag that daces at the
lower end. ‘These laced bags are good enough for
temperate weather, and they have the advantage of

Cwmping in winter with the thermometer 20° below Zero.

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 309

being easily aired, but they allow too much cold to
enter, so for cold weather they are not to be recom-
mended. A light-weight waterproof outer cover-
ing, though not absolutely necessary, is by no means
to be despised. Heavy, loose-fitting, or, better still,
many suits of large thin woollen underclothes,
loose woollen stockings, and a toque cap complete
the necessary sleeping outfit, to which a loose-
fitting sweater may be added in case of very cold
weather. In the way of clothing there are many
differences of opinion as to what is best. Some
people contend that a suit of linen mesh underwear
should be worn next to the skin, covered by one
thickness of very heavy wool, a thick woollen shirt
and homespun outer clothes, to which the inevit-
able sweater should be added; while others think
it best to wear three suits of light-weight loose
woollen underwear, instead of the one heavier
weight and the linen mesh. Whatever underwear
you take, be sure it, as well as your other garments,
is of ample size; tight clothing is cold clothing,
and, besides being cold, it interferes with the freedom
of one’s limbs. Two pairs of heavy woollen stock-
ings should be worn, and of course with snow-shoes
moccasins are the only thing. These may be of
“beef,” buckskin, or green moose hide with the
hair on; the “beef,” oil-tanned, are excellent, being
waterproof and strong. The buckskin is soft and
strong but porous, so that if the snow happens to
be at all wet you will be sure of damp, and conse-
quently cold feet. Cloth-lined rubber shoes such
as the lumber men wear are handy for use around
camp, but they should not be worn with snow-

310 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

shoes, as they cut the webbing. For head-gear a
broad-brim felt hat or the toque may be used.
The former is useful in going through the woods
when the branches are snow-laden, as it keeps the
snow from sifting coolly down one’s back. In very
bad weather a woollen cap, which covers the head,
neck, ears, and cheeks, is a great comfort, as it keeps
the driving snow from stinging one’s face, and will
usually protect the ears from freezing. Such a
hood is also comfortable for a nightcap. Do not on
any account carry anything that is not absolutely
necessary. Snow-shoeing trips are not like
canoe trips. In a canoe a few pounds more or less
make but little difference, but on the snow, whether
you have a dog-sled, or draw the pack yourself,
you will find that extra weight counts in an alarm-
ing way. <A well-filled pack-basket, which could
be easily carried under ordinary conditions, would
prove discouraging when the snow is in good con-
dition, and impossible if the snow should happen to
be deep and soft, so I repeat, throw out all un-
necessary things and be liberal in determining what
things are unnecessary. In the way of shelter, a
light-weight tent is useful, though not absolutely
essential. It should be in the form of a lean-to
with no front, something like a reflecting oven.
The lower parts must be well embedded in the
snow to keep out draughts. A large fire directly
in front will throw enough heat into the tent to |
keep a person warm even in the coldest weather.
If the party is large, put the tents end to end, and
have one long or two smaller fires in front of them.
But do not on any account place two of these tents

‘ayer padoaoo-moug vb Surssoyy SH ueedury,) Laput yy

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 311

one on either side of the fire, for by doing so a
funnel is formed and nearly all the heat goes up-
ward and is lost. I once saw a camp formed in
this way and spent the night in it. So great was
the cold that our coffee froze within a few minutes
after it was poured out, while within four or five
feet of a huge fire, and in the back end of the tent
the temperature was many (18, I think) degrees
below zero. Pancake batter had to be mixed with
nearly boiling water and held near the fire all the
time to prevent its freezing. Such a camp had
little in the way of comfort to offer. Should
sparks fall on the tent, sprinkle it on the outside
with water which freezes and makes the cloth
practically fireproof. When no tent is carried, a
shack may be made of bark or boughs, which, if
covered with snow, will keep the wind out and the
heat in. In the event of a heavy fall of snow pre-
cautions must be taken to prevent the tent giving
way beneath the weight of the snow. A rough
structure of boughs over the tent will have the
desired effect.

A most important part of the outfit is the food,
for so much depends on the proper selection and
quantity. Do not go by what some precise-minded
man says. He works out the problem theoretically
with mathematical precision for which you gene-
rally have to suffer. I once was a victim of such
system, and now I carry what I think will be
sufficient and not what somebody else Anows will be
enough. In cold weather one’s appetite is usually
keen, and in order to keep out the cold a full
stomach is very essential, and, I may add,

312 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

comforting. In making out the provision-list do not
ever think of canned foods, except the unsweetened
condensed milk (I have never known it to freeze) ;
canned meats are luxuries which are heavy to carry
and cumbersome to pack. Whenever possible, put
all provisions in strong muslin or paraffined cloth
bags, and pack these in waterproof canvas bags of
convenient size for carrying. Cooking utensils of
aluminium are the only suitable kind, not only on
account of their lightness, but because they will
not burn. An outfit of good quality should, with
care, last a lifetime. It is well to remember that
all trace of either salt or ashes should be carefully
removed before the utensils are put away for any
length of time. In selecting an axe, which, need-
less to say, is an important part of the outfit,
choose one that is ight and has a long handle, and
be sure that it is tempered to suit the cold weather ;
an axe tempered for southern countries will fly to
pieces when used in a very cold climate.

As the camera is an almost invariable adjunct to
the camper’s outfit, a few words of caution in regard
to the care of it may not be amiss—above all things
keep the camera and the plates (or films) well away
from the fire, as the slightest warmth will cause
moisture to condense not only on the lens, both
inside and out, and working parts of the shutters,
but also on the plates or films, and this moisture
will freeze immediately the camera is removed
from the influence of the fire. If glass plates are
used, do not dust them with a brush when filling
the plate-holders, as, owing to the dryness of the
air, the electricity that is generated by the friction

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 313

will cause all particles of dust to be drawn to the
films ; so it is better either to leave the plates un-
dusted, or to gently (and dryly) blow the surface.
If a tripod is used, and it is by all means recom-
mended, the length of the ordinary legs will be found
quite insufficient, owing to the depth of the snow;
an extension leg of about two feet in length will
prove of the utmost value, or, better still, have
small light discs, about four or five inches in
diameter, which should screw on to the end of the
tripod legs. Those will act as snow-shoes and
prevent the legs sinking too deeply in the snow.
Keep plates or films in a waterproof bag, and let the
bag be buried in the snow when not in use.

CAMPING IN SUMMER.

WHEN the trees are in full leaf and the days
begin to be warm most of us talk of what we will
do during the summer; how we will spend our
holiday. Each one has some particular idea of how
asummer holiday should be spent. One prefers the
sea-shore, another a regular summer hotel in the
country, and many take long trips on bicycles or
in boats. Comparatively few even think of camp-
ing; the crudest country boarding-house or the
much caricatured farm-house which condescends
to be inconvenienced by summer guests for a paltry
consideration of $10 per week ($5 would be more
than ample) seem to the uninitiated better than
camping, and they put up with uncomfortable and
often unclean beds, stuffy rooms, and poor food with-
outa murmur. Why do they not take a good tent,
or several if the party is large, and go to some suitable

314 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

place and there enjoy the summer? The cost
of an outing of this kind, if divided among a few
friends, is very small, while the pleasure and benefits
to be derived from being in the open air so much of
the time are, of course, beyond words. Almost any
degree of comfort may be had in camp life when one
is near a village, and, while roughing it appeals
strongly to some of us, it is by no means necessary.
Why so many people insist on using tin cups and
spoons and steel forks when camping I have never
been able to understand. They would not use
them at home; even the idea of it would be repul-
sive to their delicate taste. Then why not carry
plated forks and spoons into the woods? They
are no heavier, are more easily cleaned, and have, so
far as I know, no drawback ; enamel iron cups and
plates are a trifle heavier than tin. They are also
more desirable. Wooden plates are sometimes used
by those who have little love for dish-washing, but
as the cooking utensils have to be washed, very
little labour is saved by using them. In order to
make a tent absolutely comfortable, a board floor
should be laid. It costs very little, and is worth
any price. Asarule acarpenter will lay it for a
small consideration if he can have the boards after
you have finished using them. It is best to have
the boards planed on one side. Otherwise it will
be necessary to lay a canvas floor-cloth, on account of
the splinters. In pitching a wall tent it is best not
to use the regular tent-pegs, but drive a strong
stake (avhich should be at least a foot higher than
the wall) in at each corner. To these stakes two
poles should be fastened on each side of the tent,

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 315

one for the tent grip, the other a foot or two above
for the fly, a necessary thing in hot weather. In
this way you do away with the long grip ropes,
over which everyone trips, and as they shrink and
stretch continually, according to the amount of
moisture in the air, they are a constant source of
annoyance. Around the tent a shallow ditch
should be dug, otherwise the drip from the roof
during a heavy rain will form pools under the floor.
If no fly is used it is well to remember that nothing
must come in contact with the tent roof. A leak
will result if this is forgotten. In the way of beds
there is nothing much cheaper or more easily trans-
ported than a folding canvas bed. These require
no mattresses, and are therefore comfortable for
summer use. If you sleep on the floor, a mattress
is more or less necessary, but it is more cumbersome
than the folding bed. Of course if you are camp-
ing in a place where balsam or fir is abundant, then
use the tips of the branches, and no better bed need
one wish for. Some people carry folding tables
and chairs with them; these are comfortable, but
by no means necessary A plank placed on two
boxes will serve for a bench, and several boards laid
together are good enough for a table. Folding
tables are small and usually expensive. ‘Two hem-
lock boards, 12 inches wide and 7 feet long, cost
but a trifle, and will answer better than a folding
table costing six or eight dollars. For cupboards,
packing-boxes, with their lids arranged as shelves,
are most convenient. A piece of clean cloth will
serve as a door for those who are very particular.
We all associate a large open fire with camp life.

316 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

A pile of huge logs burning and crackling, with
pots hanging over it, is, of course, the only thing
when we camp in the wilds, but near civilisation
there is the difficulty of obtaining wood, and anyhow
an open fire is not nearly so convenient as a stove
for cooking purposes. Especially is this true
during the warmer months. For practical use there
is nothing much better than an oil stove, which
should be used in a tent and sheltered from the
winds. In case you are bothered by mosquitoes,
nets over the beds are almost a necessity, but as it
is nearly impossible to make a tent mosquito-proof,
a smudge should be placed in a suitable place. A
smudge is easily made of woods, chips, pieces of
bark, leaves and grass, placed in a tin bucket or can.
Be sure not to leave this where it can set fire to the
tent, in case it bursts into flame. The best preven-
tion for mosquitoes is to find a place where they are
not. ‘To insure comfort it is absolutely necessary
to place your camp as near as possible to the water
supply. It seems easy enough to carry a pail or
two of water two or three hundred yards, but after
a time you will come to the conclusion that a tenth
of the distance is ample.

A very delightful way of spending a few weeks
is to go either alone or with some thoroughly con-
genial spirit, taking all your belongings in a pack-
basket. In this way, if your load be not too heavy,
you can go from place to place with comfort, camp-
ing where you will. A few days can be spent with
the greatest possible pleasure along a trout stream,
away from habitations ; but do not depend altogether
on trout for food; if you catch many you soon

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 317

become tired of them, and there is always that
delightful uncertainty which is the great fascination
of the sport, but which would lead to a slender meal ;
and such a thing is not to be desired in camp.
The outfit necessary for a short summer trip should

not weigh more than fifty or sixty pounds. Some
of the items are :—

lbs.
Tent of the pattern shown in the

illustration, large enough for two

persons . 3h
Sleeping bag of fet weol bisakers 10
Rubber or waterproof canvas sheet,

about . 4
Change of qndeselothies: and eters
stockings . ; ‘ . 4

Cooking utensils of ale aints two
kettles, fry-pan, coffee-pot, folding
baker, plate, cup and bowl, knife,
fork and spoon ‘ 3 . 5

Fishing-rod and tackle . : ee:

Light axe, with long handle 3

Food for one week, per head :—

Bacon, 3} lbs. ; flour, 8 Ibs. ; corn-
meal, 3 lbs. ; rice, 2 lbs.; butter,
14 lbs.; lard, 14 Ibs.; sugar,
13 Ibs.; cereal, 2 lbs.; baking
powder, 4 lb.; condensed milk,
2 Ibs. ; coffee, 1 Ib. (or tea, $ lb., or
chocolate, 3 lb.) ; dried fruit, 2 lbs. 28

Total . , . 59

To this may be added a can or two of meat, even
chipped beef, or codfish.

he

318 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

For two people the weight for each individual is
of course less: one tent, one axe, and one set of
cooking utensils being enough. The quantity of
food is rather less, as there is less waste. With such
an outfit one can live in comfort for a week if no
fish are caught, while the addition of fish will make
supplies last for another ten days. A trip to the
nearest village can be made at any time to replenish
the supplies. To those whose tastes run in the direc-
tion of nature studies, a camera is almost a necessity.
A 4 by 5 size is large enough, and it should be of the
long focus type. Roll films may be used, but either
cut films or glass plates will be more satisfactory,
and will be worth the trouble of carrying.

WINTER CaMPING IN FLORIDA.

In the winter months, when the cold winds howl
through the streets of the northern towns, when
the streets are ankle-deep in slush, and when all the
country about us is clothed in white, and the leafless
trees are pencilled strongly against the darkened sky,
then our houses are heated almost to fever point by
steam or hot air, and we long for the genial warmth
of the south. Its bright days and its lazy climate
act as a lodestone, and we leave the cold bleak north
and, if we are wise, we go camping in that winter
paradise, Florida. Nowhere can we find more
pleasure than in this land of palmetto and sand, and
nowhere are fewer difficulties to be met with. People
talk of snakes and mosquitoes and shudder at the
very idea of sleeping on the ground in such a pest-
ridden country. How little do they know of the
real conditions! Snakes there are, ’tis true, but

Winter Camping in Florida.

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 319

how many authentic cases of deaths from snake
bites do we hear of? As compared with the deaths
from trolleys or from fire they are as one is to one
million, yet people walk boldly in front of a trolley
and light fires daily with no idea of the awful risk
they must surely be running. But camp in Florida,
the land of snakes! No, never!

I have spent many months camping in this
terribly dangerous country, sometimes with and
sometimes without a tent, sleeping in all sorts of
places, shooting in swamps and in pine-lands, and
two rattlesnakes only have I seen (both inside
a city limit). Moccasins are common in places,
but so slow are they in their movements that
they need cause but little fear. As for mos-
quitoes, about which one is always asked, excepting
along the coast they are seldom noticeable. A
net to cover the bed may be carried, but it will
seldom, if ever, be needed. More troublesome
than mosquitoes or snakes are the turkey buz-
zards; these winged scavengers are at times a
positive nuisance. Nothing in the way of meat
is safe from their searching eyes unless it is
carefully covered. So it is well to be provided
with a few cheese-cloth bags of different sizes in
which meat of any kind may be secured.

There is but one drawback to Florida camping,
that is the difficulty of obtaining good drinking-
water. In some of the rivers, as, for example, the
Kissimee, the water is good, and, strange to say,
cold. But in many it is extremely doubtful.
Curiously enough, the very clear water is usually
the most harmful. Away from the rivers very fair

320 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

water may be obtained from the sand flats. These
are sandy depressions of sometimes many acres in
extent in which the rain water collects. By way
of precaution it is usually best to boil and filter the
water before using it, if there is any doubt as to
the quality. There are three principal ways of
camping in Florida: driving with outfit to suitable
ground, canoeing or boating, carrying complete
outfit, and house boating, if this may be called
camping. Each has its own advantages. Where
one doesn’t wish to change constantly and there is
a really good place, it is easy and satisfactory to be
driven or carried by steamer to the spot, and there
make a comfortable camp. If necessary have fresh
provisions brought once in a while. In this way I
have spent weeks camping by myself not far from
the everglades, fifty miles from the nearest villages,
and once a week a man came with his wagon and
renewed my supplies. Travelling in one’s own boat,
be it canoe or flat-bottom boat, is delightful, and
has the great charm of making one feel extremely
independent. Owing to the shallowness of the
water it is well to have a boat of very light
draught—not more than four or five inches. The
house-boat is comfortable of course, but its range
is so restricted that it is scarcely to be recommended
except in certain favourable localities.

The few things necessary to one’s comfort in so
genial a climate constitute one of its greatest charms.
In the way of clothing all that is needed is just
what light things we use during the summer months,
with the addition of one warm suit of underwear
and a sweater. These are necessary only in case of

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 321

a norther, when the temperature falls very suddenly
to freezing point or thereabouts, and the change,
coming as it does at a few hours’ notice, makes one
very sensitive to the cold; warm clothing will
therefore be most welcome. Any ordinary foot-
wear will answer, but it is not advisable to use
expensive waterproof boots, as the scrub palmetto,
with its saw-like edges, will cut the leather. Rubber
hip-boots will be found useful for those who object
to getting their feet wet. Heavy canvas leggings
protect one’s legs from the palmetto and are there-
fore to be recommended. Unless you expect to
camp in swamps, it will not be necessary to burden
yourself with air mattress or any other kind of
portable bed. If you are in a palmetto country,
the palmetto will make a bed fit for anyone.
Kither the scrub or cabbage variety answers almost
equally well. To make the bed, gather a number
of the leaves, split them into several parts, and lay
the pieces smoothly to a depth of six or eight inches.
The result will be a springy cushion equal to, or
better than, a well-made bed of balsam boughs.
Should you not be able to find palmetto, use
Spanish moss, tearing it apart very thoroughly
to avoid lumps. This, if carefully arranged, makes
a comfortable bed, but it should be aired every
day. A waterproof sheet laid over either of
these beds is advisable and, as Florida nights are
nearly always fairly cold, be sure to have enough
blankets.

The provision-list need not include any canned
meats, as there is game in abundance in nearly all
parts of Florida, and it must be a poor sportsman

W.L.C. Y

322 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

who cannot get enough for food purposes. Ducks
of several varieties are to be found in immense
numbers, both inland and on the coast. Shore
birds, too, are abundant, while quail, doves, snipe,
plover and curlew are common in suitable localities.
Deer are becoming somewhat scarce, but in the
more remote regions they are still to be found.
Fox-squirrels, which are excellent eating, are plenti-
ful in the cypress swamps, and may often be seen
in the pine-lands. Not many years ago wild turkeys
were very numerous. To see thirty or forty in a
day was not at all unusual, but thanks to the pot-
hunters they have been killed off in such numbers
that it will be but a short time before they will no
longer be reckoned among the game birds of
Florida. The fishing throughout the State is so
remarkable that to give any true account of it
would be to place oneself in the awkward position
of being a teller of fish stories. In the inland
waters and on the coast, fishing of many kinds can
be had, and the table may be supplied with scarcely
any effort. On the west coast oysters are to be
had for the gathering. At low tide beds of them
may be found scarcely a foot below the surface,
while the small “coon oysters” are high and dry.
Another article of food furnished by the country
is the “cabbage”’* from the cabbage palmetto,
Taking it means killing the tree, but in the wilds,
where they are common, that does not matter very
much. ‘These cabbages, if young, are palatable

1 The palmetto cabbage is the core of budding leaves which is
cut out of the top of the tree. The outer leaves are peeled off
and the inner ones are boiled ag cabbage.

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 323

and scarcely more difficult to digest than our own
garden cabbage.

To those who have never been in Florida a few
words descriptive of the conditions to be met
with may not be out of place. The country 1s
divided into hummocks, prairies, open swamps,
cypress swamps, live oak woods, palmetto “ islands,”
and the endless and somewhat uninteresting wastes
of stunted pine-lands. Hummocks are thickly-
wooded places where the soil is rich, but, owing to
the usual dense tangle of briars and scrub, they are
more or less inaccessible. In these the shooting
is good if you can get at it. Bears, wild-cats and
other animals hide in these jungles, knowing full
well that they will be safe from the attacks of men.
A Florida prairie is a restricted low, sandy flat with
a thin and irregular scattering of poor grasses.
Here and there are small shallow pools around
which birds flock in great numbers. Deer, wild
pigs (descendants of the domestic pig), as well as
coons and other “ varmints,” frequent these prairies.
They are the feeding-places for the stately whopping
crane, and sometimes turkey may be seen along the
edges. The open swamps, which form a considerable
part of the country, especially of the southern half,
are full of water-fowl of many kinds, but it is in the
cypress swamp that the finest shooting is to be had.
These cypress swamps are scattered throughout the
country, being very abundant in some localities.
Each of the smaller ones is a pond, frequently
seven or eight feet in depth, surrounded by a belt of
cypress trees and a scant growth of myrtle and

other bushes. On the outer edge of the belt, maple
Y 2

324 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA

trees are interspersed with the cypress; outside of
the tree belt is a flat strip of land, sometimes with,
but more often without, any grass or other vegeta-
tion. This strip may be anywhere from fifty to
three or four hundred feet wide, and is usually
bordered by palmettos and pine-land. Some of
the cypress swamps are of immense size, and, I
believe, are over forty miles in length. In these
swamps nearly every kind of animal and bird
incidental to Florida may be found, and the
opportunities for both shooting and photographing
are most excellent. Usually palmetto “islands”
exist in the neighbourhood of cypress swamps.
These “islands” are slightly above the level of the
surrounding country, and are therefore dry and well
adapted for camping sites. The cabbage palmetto
affords shade, the dry leaves are good kindling,
while the green leaves are used for the bed. The
live oak country has little to recommend it except
that it offers the most beautiful of camping sites,
and bedding in abundance, as the trees are usually
festooned with immense quantities of Spanish moss.
The wood of the live oak is not suitable for a camp
fire, as its smoke inflames the eyes to a painful
degree. Of all the dreary things there is nothing
in nature more dreary than Florida pine-land, after
the novelty of it has worn off; dead level for the
most part, with scrubby pine trees thinly scattered,
miserable, low, stunted scrub palmetto, with wire-
like grass still more thinly scattered. Between
this wretched growth is the dry sand.

This is the Florida pine-land as seen from the
train for hour after hour as one passes through the

CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 325

country, and yet we find a certain fascination in the
very monotony of such scenery when we walk or
ride through it, and not the least among its winter
attractions are the robins and bluebirds who, like
some of us, spend their winter in this balmy climate.
With the choice of many and such different kinds
of country for camping, a winter climate as good
as can be had, fishing and shooting in abundance,
almost endless opportunities for the camera hunter,
boating, riding, bathing to suit everyone, it is a
wonder indeed that more people do not take
advantage of such opportunities, and leave the
bitter cold of the north for this land where, even
during the winter months, nearly every day is a
day of sunshine.

INDEX

ABOLJACKNAGESIC
carry, 266
Adder-tongue, 101
Adirondacks, the, 49
Alder, 245 ; the black, 283
Ambajeejus Falls, 258
Ambajeejus Lake, 258
Animal photography,
necessary for, 18-23
Arkansas, 148
Au Sable River, trout of, 200
Azalea, 101, 279

(Ab ols)

outfit

BackcGrRounps, artificial, for
bird photography, 10

Bait for Gilbert trout, 195-96 ;
for yellow-tail, 206

“* Ballasting,”’ 159

Baltimore oriole, 12

Bark for “‘ lean-to,” 253

Bass fishing, 214, 230, 245

Bass fly, 219, 239

Bears, 323

Beaver swamps, 245

Bird and animal photography
compared, 16-18

Birds and the camera, 9, 63-72 ;
effect of heat on, 69; young,
habits of, 71 ; responsibilities
of parentage, 78-9, 120-21 ;
blood-letting for, 87

Bitter-sweet, 282

Black flies, 54, 58, 243

Blinds, for caribou, 27-28 ; for
wild duck, 147

Blood-letting for birds, 87

Blood root, 76, 101

Bluebirds, 211, 235; story of
“Bluey,” 75-90; habits, 88-89

Blue jays, 104, 283

Blue swans, 161

Boats, folding, 197

Boston, 252

Brown thrasher, 9

Bustard, 151

Buzzard, turkey, 319

CABBAGE palmetto, 322-24

Cabin, trapper’s, 300

Caddis fly, larve, 196

California, fishing in the high
Sierras, 177-200 ; fishing off
Catalina Island, 203-7

Camera, the, size for bird
photography, 10-11; kind
to use for animal photo-
graphy, 18; the reflex, 21;
portable cases, 22-23; birds
and the, 63-72; sporting
possibilities, 147; in the
camper’s outfit, 312-13

Camping out, 252-53; winter,
307-13; summer, 313-18;
winter camping in Florida,
318-25

Canada jays, 30, 34, 44, 262

Canada, trapping in, 298-303

Cardinal, the, 12

Caribou, migration in New-
foundland, 27-45, 244-465 ;
colour, 39-40; cause of the
migration, 40; the leads,
40-41; effect of captivity
on, 42-43

Cases, travelling, 22-23

Casting for yellow-tail, 205

328

Cat, 72; house cat, 289; wild |

cat, 323

Catalina Island, fishing off,
203-7

Catbirds, 9, 104

Caterpillars, 106

Cat-tails, 278-79

Cedar, 259-60

Chat, yellow-breasted, 104

Chickadee, the, 93-111,
270, 282

Chipmunk, 276, 288, 291

Clothing outfit for winter camp-
ing, 309

Codroy River, 232

Colorado, fishing in, 197, 199

Columbia, fishing in, 200

Conifers, 180, 279

Coon, 288, 323

“Coon oysters,’ 322

Cotton-tail, 277, 280-82, 290-
91

Cow-bird, eggs of the, 130-31 ;
the vireo and, 131-35

Crane, whopping, 323

Creels, 198-99

Crested fly-catcher, 64-69

Crow, 152

Cuckoo, European, 130

Curlew, 322

Currituck Sound,
swan of, 157-63

Cypress swamps, 323-24

257,

whistling

Decoys for wild duck, 148, 150

Deer, 151, 259-60, 267, 322,
323

Dog tracks, 289

Dogs, a trapper’s, 300

Dories, 241

Dove, 322

Drake, mallard, 150

Duck, wild, blinds for, 147;
decoy for, 148, 150; the
photograph, 150; habits,
161; ducks in Florida, 322

“Durham ranger,’”’ 248

INDEX

“Dusty miller,” 231
‘“Dutchman’s breeches,” 76

EASTERN brook trout, 194, 196,
198

Eggs, the cowbird’s, 130-35 ;
the red-eyed vireo’s, 134;
the American woodcock’s,
140-41

Elk, 43

Emerson, quoted, 287

European brown trout, 194

“Farry,” 248

Fall River, 259

“Fiery Brown,” 248

Films, preference for, 22; roll,
318

Firs, 180
Fishing, sea-trout, in New
Brunswick, 211-22; trout,

177-200; yellow-tail, off
Catalina Island, 203-7

Fishing-tackle, effect of dry
climate on, 197-98

Flashlight work, 23

Fledglings, young in nest, 8-10;
young birds feeding, 14; the
red-eyed vireo, 134-35; wood-
cock, 141

Flies, for rainbow trout, 196;
for sea-trout, 212, 219; for
salmon, 227, 229-30, 231-32,
248-50

Florida, yellow-tail of, 207;
trapping in, 298; winter
camping in, 318-25; con-

ditions in, 323-25

“ Fluff,’ 82

Fly-catchers, crested, 64-69

Fly-fishing, 198

Food for camping out, 311-12,
317, 321-22

Fox, the, 277, 280, 293 ; tracks,
289; a cross, 302; silver,
302-3

Fox-squirrel, 322

INDEX 329

Francis, Joe, Indian guide, 268
Fredericton, 211

GarFs, 205, 251

Gaff-topsails, 39

Gander River, 232

Gentian, 182

Golden rod, 282

Goldfinch, 282

Goose, wild, 149-53, 246 ;
habits, 151, 161-62 ; baiting,
152-53

Grand River, 232

Grasshopper, 89, 124, 195

Great Lakes, 159

Grilse, 228, 231, 237

Grilse rods, 240, 247

Grosbeaks, 82

Grouse, 266, 268

Grouse, ruffed, 262, 277, 282,
290

Gulls, 206

Gum trees, 167-68

Hacgixss, 196

Hare, tracks, 292

Harry’s River, 232

Hawk, the, 140, 151, 280

Headgear for camping out, 309,
310

Hens, ’possums and, 167-73

Hepatica, 76, 101

High Sierras, fishing in the,
177-200

Holder, Mr. Charles P., 206

Hooks for yellow-tail, 206 ;
double and single, 250

Horse fly, 67

Hummocks, 323

IncH-worm, 106

Indigo bird, photographing the,
14-15; habits, 15-16

Individuality of birds, 10

Instantaneous photo work, 105

Isochromatic plates, 141-42

Jay, the Canada, 30, 34, 44,
262; blue, 104, 283

“ Jock Scott,” 229, 230, 231,
248

Joe, trapper, 300-303

John, guide, 211-19

Junco, the, 282

Juniper, 183

KataHDIN Brook, 263, 266,
270

Katahdin, Mount, 257-71

Katepskonegan rapids, 265

Kern River, fishing in the, 177,
184-95

Kissimee River, 319

Klamath River, 193

LAUREL, 279

Leaders, necessity for good, 250

Leads, caribou, 40-41

Lenses, telephoto, 19-21

Licence, rod, 246 note

Long Island, Montauk Point,
150-51; swans, 157

Lupin, 180, 182

Lynx, trap for, 299

MaINng, 253, 262

Mallard drake, 150

Mariposa lily, 180

Marten, trap for, 299

McCloud River, 199

“ McGinty,”’ 220-22

Mice, 279, 280, 289, 290, 302;
habits, 293

Michigan, 200

Mink, 277, 280-82, 288; tracks,
291-93; traps for, 299, 301;
skins, 303

Missouri, trout, 200

Moceasin, 319

Moccasins, 309

“ Mockingbird food,” 87

Montauk Point, wild geese of,
150-51

330

Moose, 221, 261; a cow-moose,
262-63

Moosebirds, 262

Morcross, 257, 271

Mosquitoes, 54, 241, 243, 316,
319

Mountain ponies, 179, 181, 183

Mules, 181, 197

Muskalunge, 245

Musk-rat, 168, 288; trap for,
299-300; skin, 302

““NEsT containing eggs,” 8

Nest, the red-eyed vireo’s,
69-70, 131-32; the oven-
bird’s, 71-72; the chicka-
dee’s, 99; the worm-eat-
ing warbler’s, 117-18; the
American woodcock’s, 139
-43; the whistling swan’s,
159-60

Netting for salmon, 227, 232-33

New Brunswick, sea-trout of,
211-22

Newfoundland, the caribou
migration, 27-45; fishing
season in, 225-33, 247-48 ;
to get at, 251-52; camping
out in, 253

New York, 66, 90, 141, 288

Niagara Falls, 159

Nissuee, 199

North Sydney, 226

““No-see-ems,”’ 58

O’Connor, DENNIS, story of
*possums, 170-73

Opossum, the, hair of, in
chickadee’s nests, 99 and
note; habits, 167, 288; a
story of two ’possums, 167-
73

Oregon, 185; trout, 200

“ O'Shaughnessy ” hook, 206

Otter, value of skin, 288, 302;
trap for, 300

Oven bird, the, 71-72

INDEX

Owl, 277, 280; habits, 167
Oyster, 322

Pack baskets, 310

Palmetto, 321

Palmetto ‘‘ islands,” 324

Paper hornet, nest of, 70

Partridge berry, 262

Passaic River, 168

Passamagamet carry, 263, 265

Passamagamet Lake, 259

“ Patridge,” 262

Penobscot River, 258

Pig, wild, 323

Pine-land, Florida, 324-25

Pintail, 149

Pitcher plant, 261

Placentia River, 232

Plate-holders, 21-22

Plates, isochromatic, 141-42

Plover, 322

Pockwockomus carry, 265

Porcupine, the Canadian, 49;
story of a porcupine hunt,
49-60; habits, 50-51, 293

Port-aux-Basques, 226

Prairie in Florida, 323

Pummadumeook Lake,
258, 271

Pump gun, 162

257,

QUAIL, 277, 322

RABBITS, 221-22, 288-90, 292

Rapids, poling through the,
263-66

Rattlesnakes, 319

Red-eyed vireo, 69-71, 101, 104

Redwood, 180; giant forests,
192-93

Reels, for trout fishing, 198;
for salmon fishing, 250-51

Reflex camera, 21

Restigouche River, 246

Rhododendron, 279

Rifle shooting, 161

Robins, 270, 325

INDEX

Robinson’s River, 232

Rods, care of, 197-98; grilse,
228, 247; two-handed, 247

Roosevelt, Mr. Theodore, 193

“ Royal coachman,” 239, 249

St. JoAcHiM, 181

St. John, 252

Salinonier River, 232

Salmon, the Atlantic,
catching a first,
habits, 231, 248

Salmon fishing, outfit for, 230-
32; flies for, 248-50; best
time for, 251

San Diego County, 193

San Louis Bay, 193

Sand flats of Florida, 320

Sandy River, 39, 41

Scarlet painted-cup, 182

Sea trout in New Brunswick,
211-22

Sequoia, 180

Shasta, Mount, 199

“She,” 82

Shrew, tracks, 290

Sierra Nevadas, 199

“Silver doctor,” 212, 214, 227,
230, 231, 248

Sleeping outfit for camping,
308-9

Smudges, 316

Snakes, 318-19

Snipe, 322

Snowbird, 262

Snowshoes, 308-10

South Orange, N.J., 99 note

Spanish moss, 321, 324

Sparrows, 270

Spruce, 180

Squirrel, the red, 262, 266, 270,
276, 280, 288, 290, 291; the
grey, 276, 290; the white,
290; tracks, 291-92

Stalking of wild geese, 151-52 ;
of swans, 161

Sunflowers, 182

194 ;

225-30 ; |

331

Swan, the whistling, arrival at
Currituck Sound, 157-58;

speed, 158-59; habits, 159-

61; the whistler and trum-
peter compared, 160-61;
protection of the, 161-63 ;
the blue swan, 161

Syringa, 180

TANAGERS, 104

Telephoto work, 153; lenses

for, 19-21

Tents for winter camping, 310-
11; for summer camping,
314-15

Trapping, 288; life of a trapper,
297-303

Traps, kinds of, 299-300

Trolling in yellow-tail fishing,
205

Trout, Kern River, 177; Gil-
bert, 177, 194; golden, 177,
184, 189-93; rainbow, 185-
89, 193, 195, 199; Eastern
brook, 194, 196, 198; Euro-
pean brown, 194; various
species, 199-200; sea-trout
of New Brunswick, 211-22;
habits, 230, 231; trout and
salmon fishing compared,
242; as food, 316-17

Trumpeter swan, 160-61

| Turkey, wild, 322, 323

Vireo, red-eyed, 69-71, 101,
104; and the cow-bird, 129-
35

Virginia deer, the, 39

Visalia, 179

Voleano Creek, 177, 184, 190

| WADERS, 199, 253-54

Warbler, 104; worm-eating,
64, 115-25

Washington, 200

Water in Florida, 319-20

| Weasel, 293, 302

332

Western Oregon, brook trout
of, 199-200

Whisky jacks, 262

White lilac, 180

Whitney, Mount, 190

Wild birds photographed, 5-16

‘* Wilkingons,”’ 212

Winthrop, quoted, 263

Woodchuck, 288

Woodcock, American, breeding
habits, 139-43

INDEX

Woodpecker, 70, 116, 257

Wood-thrush, 9, 11-14, 70, 104,
133

Worm-eating warbler, 64, 115-
25

“YELLOW SALLY,” 238, 239,
249

Yellow-tail fishing, 203-5 ; out-
fit for, 206-7

BRADBURY, AONEW, & CO, LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

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