OUTDOOR LIFE must be read by everyone in the U. S. above the second grade in school. Since Jack Hogg’s story about me and the grandpa trout came out [A Brownie for Grandpa, March 1953], I’ve had letters and cards from all over the country. One of them came from as far away as Oregon.
One mellow day in October I was walking up a stretch of shore looking for channel bass sign in the Cape Hatteras region of North Carolina when I came across a fisherman reclining on the sands with his head propped against some driftwood. Beside him, its butt in a sand spike, was a long, heavy rod of Calcutta cane, a homemade affair.
No doubt about it, skin diving has become the rage—and I don’t mean little boys cavorting in the ole swimmin’ hole, either. Nope, I mean fishing, or observing fish, by swimming under water. During the past summer even the small fry began begging for water goggles and rubber fins instead of cowboy suits.
WARNING! This tabulation is compiled from official sources: but in the space available it is impossible to give full details, and in some cases the authorities have power to change seasons on short notice. So before you hunt in any state or province, get a copy of current regulations from the proper agency and then read up on bag limits, local exceptions, etc.
One last fling at stalking chamois in Bavaria — the most dangerous hunting in all of Western Europe
COL. WARD R. BETZ
It was the fall of 1950, and our last chance to hunt in that fabulous land of glamour and adventure which lies across southern Europe where France, Switzerland, Austria, and Italy are joined by the Alps. There in the blue-white splendor of the lofty Bavarian peaks, on four occasions in as many years, I’d shared the Alpine hunter’s thrill of seeking out and bagging the chamois, that playful clown of the high places that hides his cunning behind a comic mask.
Her father's secret lay hidden on that lofty peak. And how could I resist when she challenged me to climb it with her?
If, about a year before I was born, a Scottish gentleman by the name of Grant had not traveled far from his native heather in quest of a bighorn ram, the events of which I now write would never have taken place. But the gentleman did set out from Scotland one day in August, 1902, and after some 7,000 miles of travel arrived at a remote trading post on the Chilcotin River at a spot now known as Hanceville, British Columbia.
Bundled anglers from all over the country brave Minnesota blizzards to hook just one of the king-size fish that leave Lake of the Woods
Cement for Flies
On the Minnesota-Ontario border, running through the silent country between Rainy Lake and Lake of the Woods, is the swift and black Rainy River. Aside from its historical significance as a waterway for free-lance fur traders and as a battleground of Indians, the Rainy has another claim to fame.
Late summer, and the fruits of the orchard are slowly ripening. Now the harassed farmer, having successfully fought off insects and borers, must contend with one of the biggest moochers in the land—the white-tail deer. In the painting on the opposite page two white-tails, a buck in velvet and a doe, are fleeing before the wrath of a landowner.
He was all washed up on fishing—wouldn't even hold a rod—then the accident happened
New Neutral Clutch
Replacement Starter Rope
Dope for Rubber Boats
Sure," Walter Griffin agreed, "I'll go along for the ride, but you can have the fishing." "You're kidding," I said. He shook his head. "I've caught enough fish to feed the Chinese army, and if I never see another fin it'll be too soon." "Have you seen your psychiatrist lately?" I asked.
He shot tigers in China and brown bears in Alaska, but life held no greater thrills than his boyhood hunts for a legendary coon
Marlin’s New Barrel
It was one of those blustery days in Ketchikan, Alaska, where I had been recuperating from the rigors of my Chinese mission, and I stepped into the shelter of the school superintendent’s office. On his desk, I was startled to see a copy of a popular national magazine opened to a full-page picture of myself.
Bobby Dodd, Georgia Tech's coach, won't be happy until he gets even with the bigmouth that gave him his lumps on an off-tackle play
Can Trout Be Trained?
The old reporter looked at me quizzically. “Sure,” he said. “Sure, Bobby Dodd is lucky—he’s lucky to have Bobby Dodd’s brains.” “Very cutely put,” I said. “But you know very well what I mean. Here’s a guy who is the hottest football coach of 1952, give or take Biggie Munn.
Bears are unpredictable, and so are bear hunters, as this one learned when he matched his wits with a thieving, black rogue
Hunter’s "Muff” Glove
PHIL H. MOORE
I first went after bears in company with a professional bounty hunter in Utah back in 1899. Since then I’ve hunted bears of all colors and sizes from British Columbia to Baffin Island. From my Lake Rossignol camp in Nova Scotia, which I operated for 25 years until the government built a dam and flooded me out, I helped to trap, shoot, and tame more black bears than I can remember.
Want big-game specimens that rate with America's best? Here is your guide to the areas producing them
Doc DuComb and I had been out in the northern British Columbia wilderness for almost a month, and we were 11 days’ hard packing from the nearest point on the Alaska Highway. We each wanted an exceptional Stone-sheep ram. In four weeks of hunting and traveling we’d seen around a hundred rams, but so far we hadn’t put our binoculars on one we wanted.
OUTDOOR LIFE’S shooting editor, Jack O’Connor, has realized a lifelong ambition: as this is written he is on a hunting expedition in the fabulous game fields of equatorial Africa. With Jack are two old hunting companions, Herb Klein and “Red” Earley, Texans both.
The quaint little village of Belleek stands on the border of Donegal and Fermanagh counties in the north of Ireland. A celebrated pottery center, it has for generations been shipping its exquisite Chinaware all over the globe, and its name has become synonymous with the lustrous quality of its products.
An impossible place for waterfowl, he thought. But he changed his mind about it when the real pass-shooting started
Sealed llag' Prol eels lîiin
I can think of many times when I would have been trying to figure the answers, but the morning I stood answers, but the morning I stood with Frank Brady, his boy Bud, and Dr. Herbert Kennedy on the crest of a sand hill in Nebraska wasn’t one of them. I was too cold to think.
What happens when a man pits his skill and agility against one of the most vicious big cats in the world?
I have been mauled by grizzly bears and mountain lions. A lion bit me through the left knee and did it no good at all. Anyway, I’m not kidding myself; I know that I’m no longer as young and spry as I once was when I roped lions in and around Grand Canyon.
Brand-new route around Robin Hood's barn: a hair-raising boat hunt on the Snake River
When Jack O'Connor invited me to go pheasant hunting in Idaho I should have looked for the gimmick. The first time I went out with Jack it was to hunt elk in the Jackson Hole country of Wyoming. Instead we wound up in the red desert after antelope.
Along the eastern shore of Puget Sound, north of Seattle, Wash., there’s a long stretch of mud and marsh known as the Skagit Flats. Topped with grasses, tules, and rushes, it’s an excellent feedingground for a variety of waterfowl, including a mysterious flock of snow geese.
His hunts are never so good when he's awake, but this one in North Carolina came close
Bird hunting is a sport I love. Ruffed grouse, ducks, geese, pheasants, doves—they’ve all given me days of pleasure I’ll never forget. But quail are my biggest weakness, and when I dream about hunting, which I do often, it’s always about quail hunting.
Here published for the first time anywhere is the latest adventure story of Jim Corbett, the author-hunter who won wide acclaim for his books “Man-Eaters of Kumaon,” “My India,” and “The Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag.” The setting for “Jungle Lore” is the region around Naini Tal, a settlement 6,000 feet above the plains of India in the foothills of the Himalayas.
On the death of my father, when I was four years old, my brother Tom took over the responsibilities of our family in India. As I grew older he taught me how to handle and fire a gun, and even took me into the jungle, with the object, I believe, of showing me that no danger was to be anticipated from unwounded animals.
When Jack O’Connor wrote this article, he had some problems of his own: What rifle and load for lion? For rhino? For African buffalo? Jack then was getting ready for his extensive African safari. For news of that expedition, see page 51.
Hardly a week goes by that I don't get a letter from some hunter who is either going on a moose hunt or hoping to go on a moose hunt. He wants to get himself a rifle with enough authority so that if he shoots at a moose the moose won’t shoot back. The notion has long gone around, particularly in the United States, where there are very few moose, that old Alces americanus is a pretty formidable creature.
Question: Can you give me some loads of .50 caliber machine-gun powder for my .30/06, .30/30, .270, and .257 Roberts? Is this powder satisfactory for them? I’d use cast gas-check bullets and jacketed bullets. Can the powder be used in reloading for the .38 Special handgun?
The brass cartridge case is pliable, expandible. It assumes the shape of the chamber in which it’s fired, and it is all that stands between the shooter and the white-hot powder gas which drives the bullet out of the barrel with pressures that may run 50 tons to the square inch.
Wall-eyes puzzle me. They're good eating fish, but in my opinion the little sunfish, ounce for ounce, shows a more valiant spirit when hooked. Wall-eyes often run to good size, but the much-abused carp, for example, grows larger. Though they're swift, powerful swimmers capable of holding their own with bass, hooked wall-eyes often hug the bottom like big eels.
It used to be that Labor Day marked the end of the boating season for most people. Nowadays, though, a great many owners keep their craft in commission for week-ends well into late fall. And in the South, of course, boating is largely a year-round proposition.
Leaks that admit rain or bilge water are among the first signs of wear in such outdoor equipment as tents, packsacks, storage bags, and hunting clothing. Water may trickle through a weakened seam or seep through large areas of cloth where the original waterproofing has deteriorated.
Has Cap Dixon been around?” Ed asked as he came into the barber shop that serves as a news exchange for the village spoilsmen. “Not yet,” the barber answered from across a lathered face. “We got two broke bird dogs at the express office, and Cap’s going to haul mine out in his station wagon,” Ed explained.
Question: My veterinarian does not make home calls but it is difficult for me to take my pups to his office for a series of three weekly distemper shots. Is this necessary?—E. B. Herbert, Idaho. Answer: It is advisable to take the puppies to your veterinarian for the injections, so he will be able to examine them first. Temporary injections are given, then the permanent inoculation.
Question: I’m training my springer spaniel to hunt, but he follows behind me and pays no attention to game. How can I get him to go ahead?—William Sobbe, Ill. Answer: Take him out with a dog that will range ahead. The other dog needn’t be a bird dog, but one that will romp out across a field and chase anything that takes to the air.
Who caught whom? Missouri Conservation Commission men were chopping up fish trap found in St. Francis River recently when furious local resident crashed through bushes, accused them of stealing fish from trap, ended up with “And that’s my trap you’re breaking up!"
FARM BOOM. The Tennessee Division of Game and Fish is experimenting with a device to scare deer off farmlands. It’s a device that hangs in a tree; constant dripping of water on carbide builds up gas in a chamber, and every few minutes a pilot light explodes the gas.