Its habits, characteristics, peculiarities—and some that have been met up with by the author.
Felis Pardus inhabits the widest area of all the carnivora fissipedia. In Asia he is found from the cold forests of Siberia to the tropical islands of the Straights Settlements; from the Yellow sea to the deserts of Arabia; and in every nook and corner of the African Continent.
We should hardly have been human if we were not tired the next morning—in fact, we arose about how and when we pleased. This long-distance hunting was beginning to “get” us, for where the James branch of our party hunted yesterday it was eleven miles from camp.
Oh, yes, I went a-fishing where the brooklet flowed along, I had with me lots of courage and my heart was full of song. As I waded in the water I at once rigged up my rod, Then cast a fly before me and pulled in—a lot of sod. No, I didn’t cuss nor mutter, but I merely tried once more And hooked one of the branches of the big tree on the shore.
To those who think crocodile hunting can be nothing more than deliberate target shooting, let me say they are mistaken. A physically exhausted, entirely worn-out man, muddy from head to foot and carrying a muddy .250-3000 Savage rifle and an irregular shaped lump of mud which, on closer investigation, was found to be the skin of a good-sized Crocodilus Americanus, came to the writer’s house at Gatun one day.
Did you ever hear the call of the wild, As you pegged away at the daily grind With a heavy heart and a weary mind, Your nerves strung up like a frightened child— Did you ever hear the call of the wild? Did you ever hear the call of the stream As you worked along in a ceaseless strain, With muscles taut and a fagged-out brain When life was a restless waking dream— Did you ever hear the call of the stream?
The photographs that I am sending you comprise pictures of some of the big game that I have shot in Malaya during the last fifteen years. However much these photographs may or may not interest others, to me they bring back the memory of many a strenuous day spent in the jungles of the Malay Peninsula, recall the memory of many an exciting incident, many a temporary disappointment, and many an evening spent over the camp fire, enjoying to the full that priceless sensation which comes to all hunters as the reward of a successful finish to one’s labors, when the game which one has followed for many a weary hour, over many a steep hill, and thru many a deep swamp, has at last been outwitted and brought to bag.
“If you want some real good muskellunge fishing go up to Dorset, Minn., and fish the Sand Lake Chain. There are lakes there where the muskies will strike at a tin can, pie plate, or anything else. Pinch yourself! Wake up! I’ve had insomnia for a week thinking about fishing.”
Ontario, Canada, is noted for her beavers, for they have been protected and there are large numbers of them. What a grand thing it would be if all animals of the nature of beavers could be protected. Beavers are purely vegetarians, and in this country they live chiefly on the bark of young poplar trees.
One day as I rambled o’er meadow and wood, I chanced on a highway of old That for decades had laid in a state of decay, And was covered with mosses and mould. Where man had once traveled is traveled by beast— The deer is the master of all, And the voice of the farmer is no longer heard— There is only the wood-creature’s call.
Several years ago one August afternoon the expressman delivered at my office a rudely constructed crate containing a whining pup. A fellow down in Oklahoma had advertised a young hunting dog for sale and I had answered the “ad,” stating that if the dog was just half as wonderful as the owner claimed it was he should have no hesitancy in sending the doggone dog on approval.
I see you, on the zigzag rails, You cherry little fellow! While purple leaves are whirling down And scarlet, brown and yellow. ƒ hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, "Bob-white ! Bob-while !" you whistle.
Weather is so closely related to man and his every-day life that it is a subject which interests everybody, yet very few people really know anything much about weather and why weather “is.” Every locality has its weather prophets who “hit it” more or less accurately, as they are able to make a shrewd guess from the signs they see in the sky.
THE sportsmen must come to the realization that the game is his game. If he will not interest himself in behalf of the birds or animals from which he derives his pleasure, who does he expect to shoulder this burden? Of course, it is true that both state and federal government employ men to enforce the law, but what can these men expect to accomplish without the co-operation of the sportsman?
The smell of burning grass and Weeds awoke Us in our covered-wagons near our claims. Preceded by a firmament of smoke, A regiment of shooting, crackling flames Stole on us in a wild, offensive drive, Attacking nesting grouse and prairie bird. And leaving only those dear ones alive
Just why anglers should always associate wading with fly-casting is not clear in my mind. That there is rare sport in fishing a wadeable water—either lake or stream—with the short rod and regulation casting reel, I am ready to volunteer testimony in any angling court.
I am delighted to find that I disagree with you on the subject of hooks. I have lost more fish “off” Sneck bends than all the rest put together. Yes, I have some in my dry fly box, but that only goes to prove that they are worthless; every angler worth his salt has the worst represented in his rigging.
In August, 1918, I was fly-fishing Whatcom Creek, under the Grand Avenue bridge, right in the heart of Bellingham, Wash., with no success to speak of. However, the trout were rising all around me, tho they would not take my fly. Soon there came another fly caster who said that if we had the right kind of fly we would get some fish.
No one ever accused me of being a fisherman. Why? Because they had no cause for so doing. Yet I’m interested in fishing and have my field of operations. If you are in the Forest Service and you travel along the streams you will meet many kinds of fish and fishermen.
Letter No. 546—The Lake Was Stocked With Steelhead.
Letter No. 547—Trout and Pheasant on a Fly.
Letter No. 548—Leader Knots.
Letter No. 549—Preserving the Color of Silk Windings.
Letter No. 550—Just Fishin’.
Letter No. 551—A Canvas Boat.
A “Pot-Bellied Trout.”
O. W. S.
Editor Angling: Department:—I have just ordered a Leonard fly rod, 9½ ft. long, and to weigh in neighborhood of 4 or 5 ozs. What double-tapered line shall I get? A local dealer recommends an imported “H. C. H.,” double-tapered “Halford,” because of greater ease in casting.
The April number of Outdoor Life is so interesting that I can’t forbear a few remarks and some reminisences on the subjects that interest me most. “The Scream of the Cougar” agrees with my experience with the brute, altho I can’t be positive that I heard them “scream,” but they certainly make a variety of sounds now and then.
We arrived at Wellfleet on Cape Cod in the afternoon, and anchored off a small neck of beach which protruded from the mainland. We had a small supper and then went ashore to investigate the hunting grounds. Here were the small tracks of sanderlings and ring-necked plover, and there were the tracks of a long black duck which had wandered around the beach, and here, at last, was what we sought, the signs of golden and black-breasted plover.
I am sending you a photograph of a couple of interesting deer heads. The one shown on the right is the original deer which grew both sets. These horns were in the velvet when the deer was killed. This deer was killed in Cherokee County, Texas, in August, 1893.
While being in favor of a reasonable bill for the protection of bears, there are many unreasonable statements made in regard to the habits of bears in Alaska, some of which I shall attempt to correct. For proof of my statements here made I will ask Charles Sheldon, the editor of Outdoor Life and others to investigate the past history of the '98ers in the Copper River country of Alaska and their experiences with the bears of that country.
Sometimes a man reaches the sere and yellow age in life before he learns things he ought to have known all the time. Here I am, — years old and just learning two things ; one, that Outdoor Life is a magazine the like of which I have often thought ought to be published; the second point is that in the first copy of Outdoor Life I ever saw about the first thing I noticed was a letter from one of your subscribers describing me as a “market hunter” and giving what he probably believes to be a true account of my guns and loads.
The constitutionality of the Federal Migratory Bird Treaty Act approved July 3, 1918, is upheld in an opinion rendered June 4 by Federal Judge Jacob Trieber of the Eastern District of Arkansas in the case of United States against E. D. Thompson, of Memphis, Tenn., charged with killing and possessing one robin in violation of the act.
Under separate cover, I am sending you a copy of our new game laws. The principal changes are as follows: 1. Deer season is uniform thruout the state, being from September 1st to October 31st, except in Union and Wallowa counties, the season opens on September 10th and closes on November 10th.
Outdoor Life has for some time contained articles on preserving the elk of Wyoming and Colorado and as we have a different elk problem here in California, the enclosed clipping from the Pacific Grove Daily Review may interest you. The elk were wild enough when turned loose in the Del Monte Forest, a body of land containing about 7,000 acres, but as they were unmolested they soon became used to autos and pedestrians, for the famous 17-mile drive and other drives in this forest are much traveled.
It is very doubtful if our last state assemblies paid enough attention to the aeroplane with regard to its bearing on game protection. At a time when private aeroplanes are being bought and used for pleasure purposes, it is a deplorable fact that hardly a state in our Union has as yet passed measures protecting the game from pursuit by hunters in these machines.
I believe I owe you this letter. Several months ago I read in Outdoor Life that the last passenger pigeon known to be in existence had recently died in the Zoological Gardens of Cincinnati. I wrote you that I thought you were mistaken; that I had seen several flocks of them near salt water on the Oregon Coast, near Port Orford and Pistol River.
In the game field department of April Outdoor Life the article by Frank C. Cowan regarding the scream of the cougar interests me. I will say that I think there are very few men who ever heard a cougar scream while in the woods. For the last twenty years I have lived in the woods in every month in the year, and I have never heard a cougar scream.
The last assembly of Minnesota passed a law providing that killing a moose illegally, or attempting to do so, or having moose meat illegally in possession, is now a gross misdemeanor, a grand jury, district court case, the penalty for which is imprisonment for not to exceed one year or by a fine of not more than $1,000.
Within a few weeks another trapping season begins. Many are already wondering what fur values will be? Nearly all raw furs have been selling at highest prices every known during the past year. No one knows just what prices will be, but judging from present conditions (weeks before date of this issue) prospects are for continued high prices for most raw furs.
The only way to go at the business of trapping wild animals is with the idea that you are going to make as much money as possible. To do this, those who are novices or who have been trapping only a very short time, should follow certain rules. And the first and most important rule of all is—don’t trap until furs are prime.
I call it the “Chuck Range” for two reasons. First, all of the paraphernalia can be “chucked” into my dope bag and rifle case, transported to some suitable locality, and the experimental range set up anywhere that it is safe to turn loose a rifle bullet.
The greatest, if indeed the only, pleasure in shooting, at least with revolvers, is in trying to do something one can’t do. The instant it is done one gets his reward for weeks, months, or even for years of effort; the next instant it all turns drab, and one must need find a new world to conquer.
If the .45-70 is to be dropped, as rumor says, only the .33 will be left of all the many cartridges that have been used in the ’86 Winchester. The ’86 Winchester has always been more popular than the cartridges it fired. When small calibers came into fashion which killed big game by mushrooming and had a flat path and were small and light, the old 500-grain bullet of the .45-70 was cut down to 300 and loaded with better powder, so that its speed went up to nearly 1,900 feet and its energy to nearly 2,400 foot-pounds.
Impetuous youth is always at variance with its elders, and the writer is no exception. Our own offspring already gives evidences of also following in the paternal footsteps, and this will have to serve as an excuse for our taking issue with one Chauncey Thomas, and we trust he will bear with us for that reason.
Years ago I used to shoot a pistol in this way, that I grasped it alongside a walking stick; the end of the stick rested on my right shoulder, the right thumb was hooked over the stick, the left elbow rested against my side. I could do very accurate shooting that way, and there were two drawbacks: The first was the outstanding cylinder of the old-fashioned revolver.
I notice in your September (1918) issue a query from Melvin Halvarson regarding the Ross. As I have had a great deal of experience with these rifles, both sporting and military, the latter during forty-five months as an armourer in the Canadian Expeditionary Force, I may be able to help him some, and will at any time be pleased to answer any question pertaining to the various models of the Ross, more especially the military model.
Let me suggest a weighing device that costs nothing, is accurate and fast: Draw a bullet from a factory shell, put it in the cup marked “bullet,” partially balance it with sand, fine shot, or anything in the cup at charger end so that addition of charger cup, with the load of powder from tho same shell will balance.
In your March number C. B. Poole of Oklahoma laments the lack of popularity of the .22 center-fire cartridge (22-13-45) in the United States. It seems to me that in this case the old saying that no prophet is appreciated in his own country comes true, as its merits were long ago recognized in Central and parts of Eastern Europe.
In re “Gordon’s” inquiry concerning the Beaumont rifle and ammunition in January Outdoor Life, Arms and Ammunition Queries, my experience with that rifle and cartridge may be of interest to himself and others, as well. This obsolete foreign army musket having been pretty thoroly distributed over the United States, I “happened” on one some years ago when considerably younger than I am now.
The annual meeting of the United States Revolver Association was held June 28, 1919, at the Seventy-first Regiment Armory, New York. The following officers were elected: President—A. M. Poindexter, Denver, Colo. First Vice President—A. C. Hurlburt, Hartford, Conn.
Please advise me, can the .25-35 Savage rifle cartridge be reloaded with either the 86-gr. bullet of the .25-20, the 87-gr. bullet of the .250-3000 or the 101-gr. pointed bullet of the .25 Remington auto., and shot at a velocity of 2,500 to 2,800 ft. sec.?
Advised by physicians early in June to renew his acquaintance with the great outdoors and to take up some form of recreation if he wished to regain his health, which had been sapped by a long siege of typhoid fever, George William Lorimer, former mayor of Piqua, and now a most respected citizen of Troy, Ohio, went back to his first love, the shotgun, and after nine weeks of clay target practice he shot in and won the Grand American Handicap, the “big” event of the Grand American Handicap Trapshooting Tournament, and for these many years regarded as the blue ribbon event of trapdom.
Fighting the Flying Circus, by Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker; 370 pages; $1.50 net; Fred’k. A. Stokes Co., New York. The names of Rickenbacker’s comrades are those which will blaze in history’s pages as their country’s heroes, faithful to the death.
I have written a good deal on judging, and I believe my efforts to not only standardize show dogs, but to standardize judges, superintendents and benching, and place them on a business foundation will some day bear fruit. Type and what it stands for, or rather does not stand for, has been a prolific basis for argument, which has been detrimental to the dog fanciers and dog lovers and dogs.