It should be a matter of profound gratification to nature lovers everywhere that the crusade of the Audubon societies and of the American Ornithological Union against the useless and criminal collecting of birds’ eggs and nests by schoolboys and others, is beginning to bear fruit.
Old man Prewitt grinned and exposed his toothless gums. Then he shook his grizzled head and stared hard at the fire. Following this came sundry hitchings forward, tamping of pipes and dusting of vest fronts, for the circle recognized the signs that invariably paved the way for the old man’s fluency.
Saffron, rose and gold Throb in the western sky; Across the silent wold Long shadows lie. And came into this twilight land A wanderer; With Sorrow hand in hand To ponder there. And then each vision passed— Once more to roam— And last—the tears came fast— His boyhood home.
Have you been to Colorado Little May. Where the mountains stare upon you Night and day? There at night, when fast, each lock is, All the shadows of the Rockies Ride the winds, astride like jockies— So they say. In the wilds of Colorado Little May, There is ample scope for goodness, I should say!
“Wake up there and get a move on, you long-eared trolley car of the desert,” I yelled, at the same time applying a goodly amount of elbow grease with a fair-sized manzinita club as a transmitter to the hindermost parts of the beast, as the heavily packed burro hesitated at the ford of the Little Santa Anita.
As the September days drift along into the teens and cool evenings and nights have convinced the camper that it is about time to break camp, like the fisherman, the bass, pike, and pickerel seems to take on new energy, and the fish, instead of lying sluggishly on the shallow weed beds prefer the deeper water and a livelier bait.
By the side of the road when the grasses are dead And the leaves flutter down from the boughs overhead, From out of the hedges and out of the corn Still white with the frost at the break of the morn, Re-echoing back from the meadow and vale, Pathetic and sweet comes the call of the quail.
In the days of our great-grandfathers the beaver vas a resident of many streams and small lakes all the way from Maine to Oregon. He is now numbered among our rare animals, and is regarded with the greatest curiosity, both on account of his industrious habits and his valuable coat of fur.
When the trees are leafing out and the sun is getting warm And the birds are waiting round to build their nest, We hear those nature voices, giving spring its subtle charm And our hearts are getting young, now, like the rest. We see the river flowing past with blossoms on its wave, Blown from the budding apple trees in orchards standing near;
The Wonders of Behring Sea are its Icebergs, its Animals and Birds, its Islands—Their Formation and the People Who Did Once Inhabit Them; Together With a Description of the Great Tragedy that Depopulated its Largest Island Containing Four Hundred People. An Account of the Awful Trials and Suffering of Gaspar Vallenciello.
DR. J. WARD SHULTS
The “Petrel” lay in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Port Victoria. Every effort was being made to get her in “ship shape,” for within a few days she was to start on one of her long, tedious and arduous whaling voyages in the Arctics. Her captain, Jimmy Kelley, stood watching every box, barrel, or bundle that went on board, for he knew that not alone the lives of his crew but his own might depend upon his vigilance.
How truly the poet spoke, and that because he himself was an angler. One who loved to wander along the stream casting his line into every pool and shady nook where lay the largest trout and gamiest bass. No man who has not experienced the delightful sensation of the bending rod, the thrill and emotion of a tight line can depict the fisherman’s delights in this gentle art, so aptly as a poet who loves to cast a fly.
Pungent smells of burning balsam are borne within the tent; The bed of spruce boughs offers balsam sweets and slum ber blent;; And mosses, ferns and sprawling shadows sylvan charms have lent A welcome to their guest until the dawnin’. The trout are splashing in the wilds this velvet night in June; The trout are splashing in the wilds this velvet night in June; The dreamy dark is mantling 'neath the spell of a full moon; And the raucous owls and whippoorwills cry in a mystic rune, While we watch the camp-fire, chat—and sleep till dawnin’.
Were you ever hunted by a mountain lion?—one of the great, fierce cats that are found in the mountains of the West, big, powerful brutes that can kill and carry away a calf as easily as you would a rabbit? Most hunters and naturalists say they will not hunt man.
I am dreaming of the mountains where mellow shadings play, Leaping trout and darting minnow in the pool beneath the trees; I am longing for the life that thrills the pulse at noon of day Where balsam odors fan the cheek, borne south with ev’ry breeze.
The subject of hang, balance and outline of fire arms of whatever kind is one of never ceasing interest to those who have attained proficiency in their use. It is a question that “will not down,” neither will it ever be settled to the satisfaction of every one.
Where would you seek for the joy of life? Would you turn to the city’s gaudy glare Where brick and mortar shut out the sight Of the clear blue sky and the sunshine bright? You’ll find it not if you seek it there. In the crowded street With its hurrying feet, Where the rushing waves of commerce meet— Where aged are the young with sorrow and care?
The editor of the Cripple Creek, Colo., Times is greatly exercised over the fear that the Iowa Legislature has seen fit to make it a penalty to kill (or be found in possession of) a song bird. Visions of “class legislation” arise before our worthy editor, and in the bitterness of his wrath he denounces the Iowa Legislature, entire and individually, for passing what to him seems a nonsensical law.
In the early part of May Maurice Diehl, Uri Hotchkiss and J. S. Gill of Montrose, Colorado, went over on the Cimarron river, western Colorado, to distribute some young trout fry in the headwaters of the many lakes that abound in the Saw Tooth mountains.
I am sending you to-day a photo taken by myself of a remarkable pack-horse. I killed the bear which is shown last, fall still hunting without the aid of dogs, and packed him over five miles in the manner shown. The horse is a stocky Indian pony and made no objection to his pack.
“Rawhide’s” articles, dealing with the head and tusk hunter, should receive the strong endorsement of all who are in the least interested in the protection of game. His remarks are timely and strictly to the point and on the subject of which he wrote there remains little to be said more than by way of endorsement.
I heartily agree with a number of your readers in regard to prohibiting the sale of game and to limit the bag to be killed in a day, as our game is fast disappearing. We have here (North Carolina) lots of quail, but the way they are slaughtered here during the forty days’ open season, and marketed, is disheartening to a true sportsman.
Above is shown in miniature the full set of game birds (with two fishes) that have run in Outdoor Life during the past three years. Each of the above pictures is beautifully printed in the true colors on separate sheets(size of sheet 6¾x9½); the lot mailed postpaid for $1.50; any 16 for 90 cents; any 8 for 50 cents.
During the past couple of months we received for publication an article from one of our contributors, Mr. F. M. Vancil, in which he made a statement leading one to believe that he considered the black, brown and cinnamon bears were all different species; his letter also distinguished the grizzly from the silvertip, and told of the killing of a cinnamon bear weighing 1,200 lbs.
I have been interested and somewhat amused in regard to the letters published in your magazine as to our wild pigeons. Although the gentleman from Michigan has the same name that I have, we have no acquaintance with each other whatsoever.
I have been a reader of your magazine for almost three years and in that time have read many contributions and editorials on the protection of large game. I have read very little about the protection of the game birds. Why not protect and save a portion of them that we have left?
The good done by the crow through the destruction of mice or insects does not appear to weigh in the balance against the wrong done by these same birds. The rapid disappearance of prairie chickens in Indiana, Illinois and other prairie states of the West is directly attributable to the crow, that, from morning to night, month in and month out, preys upon the nests and young of these birds and has been known in very many instances to attack and kill nearly full grown prairie chickens.
I would like to draw your attention to the Lacey bill now before Congress and just reported favorably from committee. It is called a bill to enable the President to establish as many so-called game and fish preserves as he sees fit upon the forest preserves.
Our readers are familiar with the argument on the three game pictures published in our last issue and with the letters which passed between this office and the sender of the pictures, who alleged in the strongest terms that they were genuine photographs of live wild game.
I have just received two freshly-killed Rocky Mountain sheep heads to-day measuring as follows: No.1 head, spread of horns, 20 inches between points (6 inches of points being broken off); length of right horn, 43 inches; circumference of right horn 17½ inches; length of left horn forty-four inches; circumference of left horn 17¾ inches.
Several years ago in company with four others, I started for our annual deer hunt in the northern part of the state of Minnesota. We arrived at our destination about 4 o’clock in the afternoon and got things ready for supper, which was enjoyed by us ali, for we had traveled over one of the roughest of timber roads.
In our February number M. P. Dunham of Ovando, Mont., made a statement relative to white mountain goats being found in Dakota which was much at variance with statements made by Madison Grant in our October (1905) number. The matter immediately interested W. T. Hornaday, director of the New York Zoological Society and author of valuable works on natural history, who wrote Mr. Dunham regarding goats ever having been found in either of the Dakotas.
The Senate has passed the bill creating the Mesa Verde National park in Colorado. Under its provisions that part of the southwestern part of the state which includes the most important of the cliff dwellers’ ruins, is placed under the control of the government.
L. E. Nelson of Sulphur Springs, Colorado, writes us that Game Warden Farris of that town lately arrested a man for killing a doe deer near Sulphur Springs. He was fined $25 and costs—$45 in all. He also arrested and had fined some men for hunting rabbits without a license.
There’s a mighty pleasant feeling. That comes over one at times, When the very air seems pealing With elusive, fairy chimes; And one’s heart, just keeps a-springing. And a-bubbling up with joy, And you have to keep a singing, Or a whistling like a boy.
A butterfly on trembling wing— Happy, careless, fragile thing— Hovered above the roses white, And led her wild, capricious flight In airy circles, light and free, With ever-changing reverie. But at last, one day in May— Cruel, heartless, treacherous day— Came a wasp with coat of gold, Then—the story never old; The friendly roses breathed a sigh, They knew she went away to die.
Will you be kind enough to tell me through your columns how best to tan hides with the hair on—for instance, a bear skin? W. D. GRIFFITH. Answer—Our subscriber would be very foolish to attempt to tan any kind of hide— and especially such a valuable trophy as a bear skin—when he can have it done right at a moderate cost by an experienced tanner.
To keep comfortable on a frosty night with nothing but a damp saddle blanket is rather a hard Job. The readers of Outdoor Life that have tried it will agree with me I am sure; but if you happen to be stranded where the conditions are right, you will not suffer at least.
With a few strands of horse-hair from the animal’s tail it is comparatively easy to fashion in the woods very serviceable lines and leaders which answer the practical fisherman’s every requirement. When our old timers have referred to fishing with a horse-hair line they have meant a line composed of from eight to twelve hairs neatly twisted into a hard round line, quite as strong as a silk line of equal size.
TRAINING, HANDLING, CORRECTING FAULTS AND CARE OF THE BIRD DOG.
ED F. HABERLEIN
N. K. J., Montpelier, Idaho.—I have a cocker spaniel bitch that has poor success in raising her pups. I have been able to raise but two out of four litters. Have given her the best of care, fed highly and she is very fat; have been feeding considerable raw meat and sweet milk.
As we slip along With the river’s song Lulled drowsily in our ears, Our hearts are light, And the skies are bright— We’re mindless of self and years. And the live-long day With our thoughts a-stray, O’er the waters, turquoise blue We idly glide As we gently ride In our little birch canoe.
Onct I was walkin along ’ith ma and pa, ’N’ stumped my toe. It jus’ knocked tears up in my eyes, It hurted so. An’ ’fore I had a bit o’ time to think A word hopped out ’At I thought ma ’n Pa ’d never quit A-talkin’ ’bout. It wasn’t nothin’ but “Doggone,” But pa, he said Ef I don’t stop I’ll never go to heaven When I’m dead.
A Fabulous Snake.—“Old negroes down here tell great stories about a ‘hoop snake’ that has a horny spine in the end of its tail. It takes its tail in its mouth and rolls down hill like a hoop. One old fellow says he was chased by a hoop snake but he jumped aside just as the snake was about to strike him.
Thy glist’ning, fair and undulating bosom— Its rythmic rise and fall betok’ning peace; Its gentle motion scarce enough to loosen The sands from one another, or release A bit of stranded seaweed on the shore. Thy gentle breaths, as through the shells they murmur, Bring forth the sweetest music to the ears; Enveloping with quietude the yearner For peace as calm, through all the coming years, Untroubled by the coming morrow’s store.
Referring to Mr. Wertman’s article in the April number of Outdoor Life, I for one cannot subscribe to his opinion as expressed by himself. I do not think Mr. Wertman has given the subject the study it deserves, or perhaps his opportunity for practical work with both types of weapon has been limited.
I am exceedingly glad to see Mr. Streit's communications in the April number. I have been fixing my sights for Mr. Streit for a long time. It may be worth while to state to those readers of Outdoor Life who do not see “Shooting and Fishing” that Mr. Streit has written to it a very large number of communications about automatic pistols of almost every make.
Both single and double action weapons have their limitations beyond which points of advantage claimed for them cannot be carried. The double action Is of necessity a pocket weapon built for rapid work at close quarters, such as shooting from the pocket or to be pushed against a man’s belly across a gambling table.
I will be greatly obliged if you will answer either by letter or through the columns of your magazine the following questions: (1) What are the dimensions of the rings and bullseye of the standard German ring target for 25 yards? (2) What are the dimensions of the standard American target for 25 yards?
I am a new subscriber to your valued magazine and am very much interested in it, especially in the rifle and trap department. As experiences with gun and things pertaining thereto are solicited, I feel as though I would like to say something.
I had intended, in fact had promised, to write no more concerning the proposed new single action swing out cylinder revolver, but from the many articles on this subject appearing in Outdoor Life, as well as various other magazines, I am under the impression that there are a few who do not yet have a proper conception of what the requirements of the new gun really are.
Quite a number of our boys are getting outfitted with target rifles and we expect to be making holes in the atmosphere before long and perhaps occasionally in the target. We had a very interesting shoot for the Patton medal April 8th and 12th.
I send herewith a copy of the target made by E. A. Hitting, Palo Alto (Cal.) Rifle Club, of which I wrote you before. The remarkable thing about this target is the four 25s and a 23 made in succession. The score was but 209, at 200 yards, German ring target, off-hand, shooting a Pope barrel.
Practical Dog Education, by “Recapper” (Thos. C. Abbott); M. T. Richardson & Co., publishers, New York. This book is devoted to the training of the hunting dog for the field, and contains much valuable advice for the novice as well as many pointers for the older follower of the dog and gun.