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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSlii 
 
Camps and Trails 
 
 3y 
 HENRY ABBOTT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 1918 
 
■<s 
 
 Copyright 1918 
 
 by 
 
 HENRY ABBOTT 
 
 NOV 21 f9J8 
 ©G!.A5t)(S20i 
 

 Camps and Trails 
 
 by 
 
 Henry Abbott 
 
 MY rifle was standing against a 
 birch tree within easy reach 
 of my right hand, while I, 
 sitting on a log, was eating my lunch. 
 A hunter's lunch is carried in a small 
 cotton bag and a string tied around the 
 mouth of the bag also secures it to 
 one's belt. On one side of this bag, 
 faded to a pale blue from many wash- 
 ings, appears printed matter contain- 
 ing a trade mark, a nam.e of manufac- 
 turer or dealer and indications that the 
 bag once contained sugar. The con- 
 tents of the bag on this occasion just 
 fitted my appetite. 
 
 While I was busily munching a sand- 
 wich I became aware of a curious bird 
 sitting on the lower limb of a tree at 
 
 3 
 
my left find about ten yards away. I 
 do not mean that he was an unusual 
 bird; he wore a plain slaty-gray coat 
 and was a little larger than a full grown 
 robin. He was quite a commonplace 
 bird and one often seen in our northern 
 forests. His name is Canada jay. I 
 do not know why, but he is also some- 
 times called whiskey jack. He was 
 curiously and intently watching me 
 with his right eye. Presently he turned 
 his head and studied my operations 
 with his left eye. Most birds and 
 many animals who live in the woods 
 have a distinct advantage over man 
 in the fact that their eyes are so placed 
 that they are able to look in opposite 
 directions at the same time. They can 
 thus look for their prey with one eye, 
 while watching out for an enemy with 
 the other. 
 
 This fellow was apparently not en- 
 tirely satisfied with what his right eye 
 
 4 
 
saw, so for purposes of confirmation he 
 turned on me the left eye. I had not 
 noticed his arrival. He had silently 
 come after I sat down on the log. He 
 now spread his wings and without a 
 single flap silently skated across the 
 air to another tree on my right but a 
 little nearer, where he could "view the 
 subject from another standpoint." It 
 now occurred to me, that, possibly the 
 jay bird might also be needing some 
 lunch so I tossed a small piece of bread 
 out on the other end of the log when 
 he slid down and ate it. Then I in- 
 vited him to come nearer; and pres- 
 ently, when I gave him a piece of meat 
 he was eating it out of my hand. 
 While I was closely watching my guest, 
 there suddenly and as silently appeared 
 a second bird walking down the log, 
 and then in a moment a third arrived 
 to join the lunch party. The strangest 
 thing about the incident was the silence 
 
and suddenness with which, like ghosts, 
 the birds appeared before me, and 
 when the last crumb had been de- 
 voured, they as silently slipped away. 
 
 The place where the jays and I met 
 was in a dense forest about fifteen 
 miles from any human habitation and 
 it is probable that they had met the 
 human animal so seldom that the native 
 curiosity of the forest dweller had not 
 yet given place to fear. 
 
 Bige and I were hunting. We were 
 living at *The Dan'l Boone Camp" on 
 the northwestern slope of Crescent 
 Mountain. We left camp that morn- 
 ing about seven o'clock and together 
 travelled down the valley, following 
 one of our own trails about three miles 
 until we crossed Pigeon Brook, where 
 we separated. When Bige and I hunt, 
 we always get far enough apart so 
 there will be no possibility of shooting 
 each other. Also, we hunt separately 
 
 6 
 
to avoid conversation. Gossip on a 
 "still hunt" is about the worst practice 
 in which one can indulge. 
 
 On this occassion, it was agreed that 
 Bige should climb the eastern end of 
 Wild Cat Mountain and proceed along 
 the top of the ridge which extends 
 several miles toward the west, while I 
 hunted through the valley and over the 
 foot hills, meeting him on the western 
 end of the ridge for lunch at twelve 
 o'clock. It was now nearly one o'clock 
 and as I had been unable to find Bige, 
 I ate lunch with the jay birds as above 
 described. 
 
 Since leaving Bige that morning I 
 had seen no big game, but had shot a 
 goshawk. Every guide and hunter of 
 my acquaintance in the North Woods, 
 is the sworn enemy of this bird of prey. 
 No man is thought to have performed 
 his duty if he allows one of these hawks 
 to escape. The goshawk destroys many 
 
 8 
 
song birds, but his particular object 
 in life is to kill partridges. The par- 
 tridge is one of our most desirable 
 game birds. He has many enemies 
 among the four footed residents of the 
 forest. The owl also, will kill a par- 
 tridge at night, while he is roosting in 
 a tree; but the goshawk (sometimes 
 called partridge hawk) pursues a policy 
 of frightfulness amounting almost to 
 extermination of the partridge. He 
 will sit all day, and day after day in 
 a tree in that part of the woods where 
 a flock of young partridges live, watch- 
 ing his opportunity to pounce upon and 
 kill them one after another, until the 
 last one is disposed of; when he will 
 go on a hunt for another flock. 
 
 The "Boche" which I shot was sit- 
 ting on the limb of a tree eating some- 
 thing which he was holding down on 
 the limb with one foot. On going up 
 to the tree to pick up my hawk I found 
 
 9 
 
on the ground, feathers, that I knew 
 did not belong to him, and a few feet 
 away, discovered a full grown par- 
 tridge, recently killed, from the breast 
 of which a piece of flesh had been torn 
 out. 
 
 I suspect that our feeling of enmity 
 toward the goshawk is not entirely due 
 to sympathy for the defenseless par- 
 tridge. Mixed motives may inspire us 
 to acts of revenge. We, ourselves 
 sometimes eat breast of partridge. 
 
 After my luncheon guests had gone, 
 I took a drink of water at a spring 
 near our lunch table and considered 
 what should be my next move. Fail- 
 ing to meet Bige at the appointed place, 
 I reasoned that, possibily he was on the 
 trail of game which led in the opposite 
 direction. In any case, I felt quite 
 sure he would not, in returning, come 
 back over the route I took going out; 
 also that he would not feel safe in 
 
 10 
 
crossing my path; so he most likely 
 would go back on the northern slope of 
 the mountain. Accordingly, I turned 
 southward, intending after about a 
 mile on that tack to swing toward the 
 east and work back to the camp ; cross- 
 ing Pigeon Brook below where we had 
 crossed it in the morning. This course 
 would take me half-way up Crescent 
 Mountain and around the outside curve 
 of that ridge. I estimated that I could 
 make this course back to camp, travell- 
 ing quietly as a hunter should, in about 
 five hours. 
 
 So, frequently consulting my com- 
 pass, I proceeded down the mountain, 
 over hillocks, across ravines, through 
 swamps, often following the beaten 
 path of a deer's runway ; again, forcing 
 a passage through a briar patch or 
 tangled witch-hopple. Then, there were 
 long stretches of smooth forest 
 floor carpeted with a Persian rug of 
 
 II 
 
Autumn leaves of brilliant and somber 
 hues, woven into the most gorgeous 
 and fantastic patterns. A soft October 
 breeze rustled the tree tops and partially 
 drowned the noise of rasping dry 
 leaves under foot. It was an ideal day 
 for wandering alone in the woods, far 
 from the call of the telephone bell or 
 the rush and jostle of the crowded city 
 street. 
 
 Presently, coming over the top of a 
 knoll, I saw a few rods ahead, a deer 
 with gracefully mounted antlers which 
 had recently been polished by rubbing 
 them against bushes and saplings. The 
 deer was making most unusual mo- 
 tions. I have seen deer in the woods 
 doing many queer and unexplained 
 things, but this fellow seemed to be 
 digging a hole in the ground as does 
 a rabbit or a woodchuck. He was paw- 
 ing the earth with both fore feet; was 
 working hard and giving his entire at- 
 
 12 
 
tention to the job, while the leaves flew 
 from his rapidly flying hoofs. His 
 head was turned away from where I 
 stood and he had not noted by ap- 
 proach, so I crept up behind a clump 
 of bushes and watched the progress of 
 what I believed to be a new game for 
 deer to play. Presently he pushed his 
 muzzle under a pile of leaves and lifted 
 his head working his jaws vigorously. 
 Then something fell from the tree 
 above, hit him on the head and bounded 
 off in the leaves. He paid not the 
 slightest attention to it, but continued 
 to paw the ground and occasionally 
 root his nose into it like a hog. 
 
 Then I gave my attention to the tree 
 under which the deer was digging and 
 saw that it was a beech and that beech 
 nuts were being shaken down by the 
 wind and sifted through the fallen 
 leaves; while the deer was pawing the 
 leaves away to get the nuts. 
 
 13 
 
About this time a shifting breeze 
 carried the human scent to the deer's 
 nostrils and his head came up with a 
 jerk. He blew a bugle blast of warn- 
 ing that could be heard a mile down 
 the valley, and with head and tail erect 
 he bounded away down the hillside as 
 if the Devil was after him. 
 
 Just then, it occurred to me that I 
 had a rifle in my right hand and that, 
 for that day at least, it was my busi- 
 ness to hunt deer. By this time, how- 
 ever, several trees were between the 
 deer and myself and though I could 
 occasionally see the flash of his white 
 tail in the distance it would have been 
 folly to waste a shot on him. An ex- 
 amination of his tracks showed that 
 he was covering twenty feet at every 
 jump. 
 
 After gathering a pocketful of beech 
 nuts for my own consumption, I pro- 
 ceeded on my way eating nuts and mus- 
 
 14 
 
ing on the good judgment of the deer 
 in his choice of food. 
 
 About an hour later I heard in the 
 distance ahead, a rumbhng noise that 
 seemed hke the long continued roll of 
 a snare drum or the purr of an eight 
 cylinder gasoline engine. I felt quite 
 certain that no motor car would be 
 found in this roadless wilderness but 
 pressed forward to investigate. Pro- 
 ceeding in the direction from which the 
 sounds came, which were now repeated 
 at intervals, beginning slowly like a 
 locomotive starting ; I heard the bumps 
 coming gradually faster and faster 
 until they merged into a continuous 
 rumble lasting for a half minute when 
 the sounds died away as if the steam 
 supply were exhausted. 
 
 I now recognized my old friend the 
 ruffed grouse or drummer partridge 
 on his drumming log. With tail 
 
 15 
 
feathers spread fanwise, neck feathers 
 ruffed up and the points of wing 
 feathers dragging, he would strut Hke 
 a turkey gobbler up and down the log 
 until arriving at the particular drum- 
 ming spot, he stretched his neck, filled 
 his lungs with air, lifted wings and 
 pounded his breast-bump-bump-thump- 
 bup-br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. 
 
 The drummer partridge— the male 
 of the species is very fussy and particu- 
 lar about his drumming log. It is care- 
 fully selected with reference to its 
 sonorous quality. He always drums on 
 the same log and at exactly the same 
 spot on that log throughout the season. 
 Indeed the same log is likely to be used 
 for drumming purposes several years, 
 but it would be difficult to prove that 
 the same bird did the drumming in suc- 
 cessive seasons. One can, however, be 
 quite certain that no two drummers 
 ever occupy the same log in any single 
 
 i6 
 
season. The fittest would surely whip 
 the weaker one and drive him away. 
 
 Several years ago, there was a drum- 
 ming log about sixty feet back of our 
 "Cedar Lake Camp." Bige and I were 
 wakened early every morning by the 
 old drummer announcing with his 
 tattoo that it was time to get up. He 
 was very regular in his habits and made 
 an excellent alarm clock. 
 
 I had by now worked my way up 
 close enough to the log to study the 
 movements of the drummer; indeed I 
 could have knocked him off of that log 
 with a club. He soon discovered my 
 presence, stopped drumming and flew 
 up into a tree about thirty yards away. 
 
 We usually hunt partridge with a 
 shot gun and are supposed to shoot 
 them while on the wing. But if one 
 meets a partridge while using a rifle 
 the ethics of the woods requires that 
 one must wait until the bird alights 
 
 17 
 
and then shoot him only in the head or 
 neck. Now, the neck of a partridge 
 when the feathers are removed, is about 
 the diameter of a lead pencil and the 
 head is the size of a silver dime. This 
 makes a small target to hit with a rifle 
 at thirty yards, but it has been done, 
 so I fired. The bullet passed close to 
 his left ear causing him to sharply 
 dodge toward the right. The second 
 shot cut a feather from his neck, then 
 he suddenly remembered an engage- 
 ment he had with a lady bird on the 
 other side of the valley. 
 
 I arrived at camp before dark and 
 had a fire started, the potatoes put 
 over to boil and other preparations for 
 supper under way when Bige came 
 staggering into camp with the hind 
 quarters of a deer wrapped in the skin 
 on his shoulders. Bige had put in a 
 strenuous day, had carried his meat 
 from the valley west of Wild Cat 
 
 i8 
 
Mountain, a distance of about seven 
 miles and he had a good appetite for 
 supper, which I had ready by the time 
 he had put the venison in the cooler. 
 The cooler was an empty pork bar- 
 rel which a year earlier we had pro- 
 cured at a lumber camp several miles 
 down the valley; and which at great 
 expenditure of effort and time we had 
 rolled, tumbled and carried through, the 
 woods all the way back to our camp. 
 We had then scrubbed out the barrel, 
 weighted it with stones and in the 
 shade of a clump of balsam trees had 
 sunk it in a deep hole in the brook 
 flowing from our spring so that the 
 water came near its top. On nails in- 
 side of the barrel we hung our fresh 
 meat and game, and the icy water 
 from the spring flowing around the 
 barrel kept the contents as hard and 
 fresh as if in a cold-storage ware- 
 house; while a slab of spruce bark 
 
 19 
 
with a stone on top formed a cover 
 to keep night prowling flesh-eating 
 neighbors out of our refrigerator. 
 
 At the supper table I told Bige about 
 the deer I had seen digging beech nuts, 
 and he said that in dressing out the 
 deer he shot, he found its stomach 
 filled with beech nuts, and that they 
 more nearly resemble buckwheat, than 
 any other food a buck-deer can find in 
 the woods. Long after the first snow- 
 fall in the Autumn one can find places 
 where deer have pawed away the snow 
 to dig beech nuts out from under the 
 leaves. 
 
 In the middle of the night I was 
 wakened by some unusual noise out- 
 side the cabin. Listening intently I 
 heard footsteps softly padding down 
 the path toward the spring brook. Not 
 a breath of air was moving and the 
 silence of the night was noisy and op- 
 pressive. Straining my ears I again 
 
 20 
 
heard the soft foot falls. Then a sniff- 
 ing, smelling sound. Later, two bright 
 stars close together appeared through 
 the open doorway about a foot above 
 the sill. Twinkling, shining, expand- 
 ing, the stars grew into a pair of eyes 
 in the darkness. The owner of the eyes 
 sniffed, then spoke, apparently to his 
 partner outside, — ''Uh huh !" — They're 
 here!— "Uh huh! Uh huh!"— Been 
 here before! — They're here again! — 
 "Uh huh!" We keep a pile of dry 
 wood inside the cabin for use in kin- 
 dling fires on rainy days. From my 
 bunk I reached over, grabbed a stick of 
 wood and flung it through the door- 
 day and the thieving coon in his striped 
 prison garments scuttled away through 
 the bush into the night. 
 
 The following morning we found the 
 coon's tracks — they looked as if made 
 by the hand of an infant — in the soft 
 mud near our refrigerator. 
 
 21 
 
After breakfast Bige and I sawed a 
 couple of blocks, each about four feet 
 long, off a spruce log. Then Bige 
 took a pack-basket and went back to 
 Wild Cat Mountain for the forequar- 
 ters of the deer which he had left hang- 
 ing in a tree the day before; while I, 
 with an axe and a couple of hard wood 
 wedges (the same tools with which 
 Abe Lincoln, ninety years ago, split 
 rails), proceeded to split the two spruce 
 blocks into thin staves from six to eight 
 inches wide. These I sharpened at one 
 end and drove into the ground on the 
 bank of the stream below the cooler; 
 arranging them as nearly as possible in 
 a circle with the edges touching and 
 making a vertical cylinder about two 
 and a half feet in diameter. I put hoops 
 of osier withes around the tops of the 
 staves and used other slabs of the 
 spruce for a cover. Then I gathered 
 stones and built a fireplace on the 
 
 22 
 
gravelly bed near the water. A trench 
 was dug from the fireplace up the slop- 
 ing bank and under the cylinder of 
 staves. This was covered with flat 
 stones and dirt and it served as a flue 
 to carry smoke from the fireplace by 
 the brook into the smoke-house on the 
 bank. In the smoke-house we hung 
 strips of venison — the venison having 
 first been packed in salt over night. 
 The fire was kept smouldering and 
 smoking by a liberal use of green birch 
 wood. At the end of two days smok- 
 ing we had on hand a stock of the finest 
 * 'Jerked Venison" that any hunter ever 
 put into his lunch bag. The smoke of 
 green birch imparts a spicy flavor that 
 is not found in jerked meat cured by 
 the Indian method of drying in the sun. 
 The Dan'l Boone Cabin was built fif- 
 teen years ago, and was located in this 
 particular spot because of a spring of 
 pure cold water which we discovered 
 
 23 
 
while on a hunting expedition. It is a 
 long way from any lake but is in the 
 edge of good hunting country. To 
 reach it, from our cottage we went by 
 boat up the lake to the mouth of the 
 river, then proceeded along the river 
 bank past the rapids about two miles 
 to the falls. At the falls the township 
 line crosses the river, and we followed 
 it through the woods up over the top 
 of the mountain and down to one of 
 the foot hills on the opposite slope. 
 
 The township line was marked 
 through the woods by four blazes on 
 each tree, placed in the form of a dia- 
 mond, a chip being cut out at each 
 angles of the diamond. The line was 
 practically straight and was not diffi- 
 cult to follow, except that it led up the 
 steepest part of the mountain and over 
 the highest ridge. In places one had to 
 crawl on hands and knees and hang 
 onto roots and bushes to avoid sliding 
 
 24 
 
back. We had to climb 
 just the same, both go- 
 ing and coming and 
 with a heavy pack on 
 one's back it was rather 
 strenuous, and there 
 were about four miles 
 of the line that we used. 
 I felt confident that 
 a better route could be 
 found to the camp and 
 Bige and I often dis- 
 cussed the matter but 
 we continued to use the 
 township line through 
 the first season. One 
 day during the second 
 summer of our tenancy, 
 while Bige was busy with some other 
 chore, I took an axe and started out 
 from camp, determined to mark a new 
 and better trail out of the woods. 
 
 25 
 
 The Township 
 Line 
 
There was a steep rocky ledge or 
 rather a succession of ledges, leading 
 to the mountain top and I reasoned 
 that if I kept to the left and below 
 these ledges I should pass over the 
 shoulder of the mountain thus avoiding 
 the high ridge and steep part of our 
 old trail. Then, after passing the rocky 
 ledges I knew that if I continued on 
 down hill I should, sooner or later, 
 reach water; either the river or the 
 lake. This was such a simple proposi- 
 tion that I should not need my compass 
 so left it in camp. 
 
 In marking an ordinary trail through 
 the woods a chip is cut out of a tree 
 so as to expose the white wood under 
 the bark, this we call a "blaze" and it 
 is usually placed about five feet above 
 the ground which brings the mark as 
 nearly as possible on the line of vision. 
 It also is high enough to be seen above 
 the deep snows of winter. The dis- 
 
 26 
 
tance between blazed 
 trees depends upon the 
 density of the forest, 
 but in passing one mark 
 the next one should al- 
 ways be in view. Also 
 the trees should be 
 marked on both sides so 
 that the trail may be 
 followed in both direc- 
 tions. A blaze on a 
 soft wood tree, a pine, 
 spruce, hemlock or bal- 
 sam will remain white 
 and visible longer than i^ 
 one made on a hard- 
 wood tree. The ex- 
 posed wood of a beeeh, 
 birch or maple becomes stained and 
 browned in a few months and is not 
 distinctly visible on a dark day ; so we 
 always mark the soft woods when 
 possible. 
 
 27 
 
 A Trail 
 Blaze 
 
It was my purpose to first go through 
 and mark out the new route, then, 
 later with Bige's help cut the brush and 
 clear fallen wood out of the path. 
 
 I made rapid progress, keeping the 
 rocky ledges always in sight in the dis- 
 tance, but working well below and to 
 the left of them. After about two 
 hours work I crossed a line of old 
 markings on the trees that looked 
 strangely like the township line, but I 
 knew it was not possible that it could 
 be, as the township line was more than 
 a half mile to the south of where I 
 stood and moreover, it ran in a differ- 
 ent direction. This must be a boundary 
 line of the lumber company's property. 
 So I continued on with my job of 
 marking trees. 
 
 After another hour it occurred to me 
 that it took a long time for me to get 
 past the ledges of rock that pointed 
 up to the ridge of the mountain top. 
 
 28 
 
I ought surely, by this time, to be going 
 down hill toward the river. So I 
 stopped work to study the forestscape. 
 There were the ledges in the distance 
 on my right and the forest floor slop- 
 ing gently to the left. There were the 
 undisturbed, primeval forest trees with 
 their tops a hundred or more feet 
 above, branches interlaced and shutting 
 out a view even of the clouds which 
 now obscured the sun. There was 
 very little underbrush and this sug- 
 gested the thought that the task of 
 clearing the path would be easy. 
 Everything was as it should be, so I 
 continued cutting chips out of trees on 
 my new route. 
 
 A few minutes later I crossed an- 
 other line of old blazes very like the 
 one I had crossed an hour ago. This 
 I decided was the other side of the lum- 
 ber lot. In another quarter hour I met 
 a third line of blazed trees. But this 
 
 29 
 
time the marks were fresh, there was 
 only one blaze on each side of a tree 
 and there were fresh chips on the 
 ground under them. This was most 
 extraordinary. I could not conceive of 
 any reason for any other person mark- 
 ing a trail in those woods, unless, pos- 
 sibly a surveyer might be at work there, 
 but I had not met a surveyor in the 
 woods since the Government Maps 
 were made several years ago. 
 
 I determined to investigate, so struck 
 my axe into a tree, left it there and 
 started down this new trail to find the 
 fellow who was making it. Broken 
 ferns, trampled moss and bent bushes 
 indicated that it had been made very 
 recently and I might overtake the trail 
 maker if I hurried up. So I stumbled 
 along as fast as possible. 
 
 In about twenty minutes I saw an 
 axe sticking in a blazed tree. The 
 owner of that axe must be somewhere 
 
 30 
 
near and I looked around for him. 
 Not finding him within range of vision 
 I examined the axe. It was mine! 
 There was a nick in the helve that I 
 had put there myself. But how the 
 dickens did it get here? Was it pos- 
 sible that Bige? Yes, we had two axes 
 in camp. No, that was the same axe I 
 had taken out that morning. Its weight 
 and shape suited me better than the 
 other and so I had marked the handle. 
 Puzzling over the mysterious situa- 
 tion, I continued explorations. Leav- 
 ing the axe sticking in the tree trunk, 
 I started to climb over the rocks up 
 the steep mountain side. In due time I 
 reached the top and found the town- 
 ship line which I had many times fol- 
 lowed over the ridge. I then proceeded 
 along the ridge toward the south, but 
 it ceased to be a ridge after a few rods 
 and I soon climbed down steep rocky 
 ledges till I met a new blazed trail. 
 
 31 
 
Then I went back up the mountain and 
 followed the township line down the 
 steep part and met another new blazed 
 trial. Then I followed this new blazed 
 trail until I crossed the township line 
 again and a few rods further on I 
 came back to the axe sticking in the 
 tree. 
 
 At this point in the game I peeled 
 a piece of birch bark, sat down and 
 with a stub of pencil made a diagram 
 of the mountain and the various trails 
 I had made and met during the day. 
 
 This w^as the northeastern end of 
 the mountain which Bige and all the 
 other guides for many years had known 
 to be a crescent shaped ridge. They also 
 had known that the ridge, following 
 its curve was about three miles long. 
 My discovery consisted in learning that 
 this end of the mountain was a rocky 
 cone-shaped peak and about three 
 hundred feet higher than the top of the 
 
 32 
 
ridge. Also that during an entire Sum- 
 mer we had been climbing over this 
 peak on the township line and had 
 thereby wasted many thousands of 
 foot-pounds of energy. 
 
 By keeping the rocky ledges in view 
 in laying out my new route, I had made 
 a complete circle around the mountain 
 peak, had twice crossed the township 
 line and intersected my own trail at the 
 end of the loop. 
 
 I reached camp about the time Bige 
 had supper ready. At the table I told 
 him about my new route to the river. 
 "Sufferin Mike! well, by Gosh! Ha- 
 ha-ha'* spoke Bige. "The next time 
 you lay out a trail, you take a compass 
 along, and no matter how sure you may 
 be that the compass is wrong, you go 
 where the compass points. Many a man 
 has been lost in the woods by refusing 
 to be guided by his compass and using 
 his own judgment instead." 
 
 33 
 
The following day, I went down to 
 the lake and from the boat out in the 
 middle of the lake I sighted across my 
 compass over the shoulder of the moun- 
 tain and determined that I should start 
 from the shore of the lake, instead of 
 the river, follow a course toward 280 
 degrees while the needle was at zero, 
 till I reached the crest of the shoulder, 
 and then swing toward 270 degrees. 
 This proved to be the correct theory 
 and in the course of time my three 
 mile trail ended within ten rods of the 
 cabin. This saved us a walk of two 
 miles up the river bank and a boat ride 
 of more than half a mile on the lake, 
 besides cutting out a steep climb where 
 the grade, in the opinion of one of our 
 guests, was "ninety-five per cent." 
 
 This trail making incident occurred 
 fourteen years ago. It serves to indi- 
 cate how easy it is for one to go astray 
 in a large forest. I have since blazed 
 
 35 
 
many trails in the woods. I have also, 
 many times been misplaced in the 
 forest while hunting or exploring and 
 am always on such occasions reminded 
 of Bige's advice to ''never argue with 
 your compass while in the woods." 
 Whenever my compass tells me that 
 camp is in a direction opposite to that 
 which reason and memory and the lay 
 of the land indicates, my practice is to 
 sit down on a log, lay the compass on 
 the log, stand the gun up against a 
 tree far enough away so the steel of 
 its barrel will not influence the com- 
 pass needle and try to arrange in mind 
 the topography of the country I am in. 
 After a reasonable rest I am always 
 willing to follow the pointing of the 
 compass at least for a limited distance. 
 The first impulse of one who thinks 
 he is lost in the forest is that of haste. 
 One is always in a desperate hurry to 
 get somewhere quick. If this impulse 
 
 36 
 
is obeyed and the now alarmed travel- 
 ler rushes off at headlong speed, the 
 danger is, not only that of going in 
 the wrong direction, but in nine cases 
 out of ten, the victim travels in circles. 
 The psychology of deliberation is like 
 first aid to the injured and the victim 
 soon begins to realize that he is not 
 really lost. He is only temporarily mis- 
 laid and will soon pull himself out and 
 locate some familiar landmark. 
 
 The "Davy Crockett Camp" we 
 built on a narrow shelf on a steep hill- 
 side. It overlooked "Muskrat City" 
 which lay in the valley directly in front 
 and below our open "lean-to." We 
 were well pleased with the result of 
 our efforts in the construction of this 
 forest boarding house. It had a fire- 
 place in front for heating the camp and 
 a cooking fireplace at one side. This 
 arrangement kept the cooking odors 
 out of our camp blankets and clothing 
 
 Z7 
 
We also had a dining table and a 
 kitchen table, both made of split logs. 
 The water was good and the entire 
 outfit comfortable. Moreover, we gen- 
 erally had good luck in hunting while 
 there. 
 
 The best way to reach Davy 
 Crockett's was to go up the river about 
 seven miles, then take the "Elk Pond 
 Tote Road" back through the woods 
 five miles to Muskrat City. We also 
 sometimes used another route which 
 was shorter but more difficult. This 
 was by way of Dan'l Boone's; from 
 which point we had cut a trail down 
 the valley and over the western end 
 of Crescent Mountain. 
 
 Several times I tried to get a photo- 
 graph of the Crockett Camp. Because 
 of its location I could get no standing 
 room for a front view. If the camera 
 was placed up the hill back of the camp 
 the picture would show only the roof. 
 
 38 
 
One day I climbed a tree with the 
 camera and took a snap shot at the 
 side. The artist spoiled this film in de- 
 veloping. The following winter, six 
 feet of snow broke down the roof and 
 in a wind storm a large tree fell across 
 it and smashed the shack. It was not 
 rebuilt and I never got a picture of 
 the Davy Crockett Camp, 
 
 We once set up a tent alongside the 
 "Cherry Pond Camp" and for a week, 
 entertained there a party of six hunters 
 and four guides. It proved to be a 
 strenuous business to provide enough 
 food for ten husky appetites. How- 
 ever, they all expressed the wish that 
 they might come again; we therefore, 
 concluded that they were not sent away 
 very hungry. 
 
 The "Cedar Lake Camp" on the 
 shore of that lake, was in a good fish- 
 ing region. It was a starting point as 
 well, for exploring trips. Through the 
 
 39 
 
c 
 5* 
 
 S 
 
waters of that lake and its many tribu- 
 tary streams with short carrys to other 
 lakes and ponds, we could make long 
 excursions by boat. 
 
 The ''Buck Mountain Camp" was at 
 first a cabin similar to Danl's. Later 
 we built an open camp addition which 
 we used for sleeping quarters during 
 the summer but we usually slept in the 
 cabin in cold weather. A short distance 
 from this camp was "The Anxious 
 Seat" which has been fully described 
 in another story. 
 
 One day while staying at this camp 
 I was hunting in the valley north of 
 Parker's Pond. Had just crossed a 
 beaver meadow and entered a thicket 
 of balsam and cedar trees, when I came 
 upon the saddest and most distressing 
 sight I have ever witnessed in the 
 woods. Under the shelter of these ever- 
 green trees in a space perhaps twenty 
 yards in diameter, I counted the bleach- 
 
 41 
 
ing skeletons of seventeen deer. Eight 
 of these were small, evidently the bones 
 of young animals, less than a year old. 
 The ground within this space was 
 trampled hard and bare of green vege- 
 tation. Witch hopple bushes had been 
 pulled up by the roots and the larger 
 stems and branches stripped of twigs 
 were left lying on the ground. Ground 
 hemlock had been skinned of every- 
 thing except the main stems. Even the 
 bark was gone. The lower branches of 
 the trees, balsam, cedar and a few hem- 
 locks to a height of seven feet from 
 the ground were stripped bare of twigs 
 and bark. A fallen and rotting hard- 
 wood tree lay partly within the circle 
 of death. Beyond the bone yard, this 
 tree trunk was covered with a heavy 
 coating of moss. Within, it had been 
 scraped and gnawed. Starvation was 
 written in large letters all over the 
 place. 
 
 43 
 
In summer time the deer find food 
 in plenty everywhere; and in great 
 variety. In winter their diet is more 
 limited as to variety but they can al- 
 ways find enough food if they are able 
 to move about. Deer can manage fairly 
 well even in deep snows, so long as the 
 snow remains soft. They also have 
 been seen travelling on a hard crust 
 formed on top of four or five feet of 
 snow. But when the crust is thin and 
 the deer breaks through, the thin sharp 
 edges of icy crust cut his legs and a 
 bloody trail marks the path of his 
 floundering until, discouraged, he re- 
 turns to the "yard" in the evergreen 
 thicket, where he, and a number of his 
 fellows herd together for protection 
 from the cold winds of our northern 
 winters. Within this yard the animals 
 move about and pound down the fall- 
 ing snow, while outside, the drifts 
 grow deeper. Here, when the crust 
 
 45 
 
had formed on the snow and every 
 green thing within easy reach had been 
 eaten, the deer stood upon his hind 
 legs, stretching his long neck to its 
 utmost length and reached into the 
 lower branches of the overhanging 
 trees for a mouthful of browse. When 
 the last scrap of brush had been de- 
 voured, too weak to longer stand, he 
 lay down to await a slow and linger- 
 ing death by starvation. And when the 
 last feeble blat of the last surviving 
 member of the herd trembled on the 
 frosty air, the curtain fell on the sad- 
 dest of all woodland tragedies. 
 
 Every summer we find it necessary 
 to cut out trees which have been thrown 
 across our trails by storms of the pre- 
 vious winter. Sometimes, the limb of 
 a tree falls through the roof of one 
 of our camps, making repairs neces- 
 sary. Occasionally, in our absence, a 
 porcupine gnaws our rustic camp stools 
 
 46 
 
or eats up the dining table; now and 
 then, some animal friend steals our 
 food, but these are minor troubles that 
 are easily cured or provided against. 
 
 A few times, other people have used 
 our camps, but these, if they are real 
 woodsmen and know how to use a 
 camp, are always welcome. To such, 
 "the latch string is always out." But 
 the animal we most fear, indeed the 
 most destructive animal that ever enters 
 the woods, is the picnicker. His bump 
 of destructiveness is, if one may judge 
 by his works, abnormally developed. 
 He is never constructive. He calmly 
 makes use of the works of others with- 
 out ever saying, by your leave. Seem- 
 ingly, he is never happy, unless he is 
 tearing down something that others 
 have painstakingly and laboriously con- 
 structed. 
 
 When your picnicker enters a camp, 
 he burns up the firewood if any has 
 
 47 
 
been left there, and he always uses the 
 balsam boughs of the camp bed for 
 kindling. Also, he uses a lot of it for 
 fun, just to see it blaze up high and 
 throw out sparks. He never has been 
 known to cut firewood. He has no axe 
 and wouldn't know how to use an axe if 
 he had one; so when he arrives at a 
 camp, if no wood is found ready to 
 hand, he burns up the rustic seats. 
 Next he burns the slats of the bed, 
 then the camp table, then a part of the 
 frame or roof timbers of the camp. 
 When he departs the ground is left 
 strewn with scraps of the late meal, 
 lunch boxes, newspapers, tin cans and 
 other refuse. After a few visits of pic- 
 nic parties the camp is a complete and 
 hopeless ruin. 
 
 A few years ago, George and Leslie 
 built a camp for Judge Bowles. It was 
 located at the place where the trail to 
 Bald Mountain Pond crosses High 
 
 48 
 
I 
 
 a, 
 
 a 
 
 o 
 
 a 
 n 
 
 •— < 
 
 n 
 
 « 
 
Ball Brook. The camp had a frame 
 made of saplings that was covered with 
 tar paper. It had a good bed, rustic 
 table with bark top, seats, fireplace, 
 etc., and was, in every way comfort- 
 able. The Judge and his friends stayed 
 in his camp one night. After that, 
 whenever he visited the place, he found 
 it occupied by a picnic party. 
 
 The trail to Bald Mountain Pond 
 was marked many years ago by the 
 Indians. It is now a well beaten path, 
 known and used by Summer residents 
 and boarders along both shores of the 
 lake through fourteen miles of its 
 length. They came in motor boats, in 
 parties of four, of six, of a dozen, and 
 twenty-five or thirty at a time. It was 
 a short and easy walk of a half an hour 
 through the woods to the camp. The 
 picnickers did the rest. The two pic- 
 tures "before" and ''after" herewith, 
 
 50 
 
show what happened in one short sea- 
 son to the Judge's camp. 
 
 Most of the camps that Bige and I 
 have built, are too far from the main 
 lines of motor boat travel, and they 
 require the expenditure of too much 
 effort to reach them, to make them 
 attractive to the average picnicker. 
 Yet, mindful of the fate of the High 
 Ball Brook Camp, we have in some 
 cases thought it wise to camouflage the 
 trail. Many novel and some ingenious 
 devices have been employed to this end. 
 
 One misguiding scheme, we success- 
 fully practiced as follows. At a place 
 where the trail should, properly, de- 
 scribe an elbow or a curve, the blazing 
 of trees would continue on in a straight 
 line, leading possibly over a hill or 
 down through a swamp where it would 
 peter out and end in nothing. Then re- 
 turning to the elbow or turning point, 
 the real trail would be marked by tak- 
 
 51 
 
 <:' 
 
'f&^L 
 
 f^mm^S 
 
 r 
 
 "^ 
 
 .^ 
 
 ■ 
 
 .',*- ^. > •v^''4m^^^^H 
 
 The High Ball Brook Camp— after 
 
ing bunches of moss 
 off the hardwood trees 
 and nailing them onto 
 balsam or spruce trees. 
 This practice would be 
 followed for fifty yards 
 or more, when the 
 blazes would begin to 
 appear again. Of 
 course, an old and ex- 
 perienced woodsman, if 
 he were suspicious of a 
 trick, would never be 
 caught by this one; as 
 he would know that 
 moss never grows on ia 
 live spruce tree, except 
 in small patches near 
 the roots in a wet or swampy place, 
 while an entire Russian beard of moss 
 can be seen anywhere on beech, maple 
 or birch trees. Indeed, at the place 
 
 53 
 
 Whiskers On 
 A Spruce 
 
where we thus marked our trail, one 
 could, without moving a step, count 
 twenty or more similar bunches of 
 whiskers on as many hardwood trees 
 within his range of vision. However, 
 the picnickers never got by. 
 
 The struggle for existence, the 
 elbowing, pushing and crowding of in- 
 dividuals, and the final survival of the 
 stronger, the more fortunately placed, 
 or the one who arrived and got estab- 
 lished first, is nowhere in nature more 
 marked or more conspicuous than 
 among forest trees. The weaker ones 
 die before they mature, because there 
 is not "room in the sun'' for the 
 branches of all; and because, as the 
 roots develop and increase in size, 
 there is not enough room in the 
 ground for the roots of all. Also, 
 there is not enough plant food in the 
 soil to sustain life in all the trees that 
 get a start in the forest. Hence, it is, 
 
 54 
 
that in the older woods one can always 
 find, still standing but dead and dry, 
 half grown trees of all kinds. Of these, 
 the hardwoods make the very best fuel 
 for campfires. And a dead spruce six 
 to ten inches in diameter makes excel- 
 lent logs for building an open camp or 
 a cabin. The smaller dry spruces, three 
 to four inches in diameter, make better 
 roof timbers than do green ones. But 
 they must be taken while standing. A 
 tree lying on the ground in the shade, 
 absorbs and retains moisture and it 
 soon decays and is unfit for use for 
 any purpose. Thus, while conserving 
 live forest trees, one may obtain ma- 
 terial better suited to his purpose than 
 if he had used green timber having a 
 market value. 
 
 The State owns more than two mil- 
 lion acres of forest land in the north- 
 ern mountains. A few years ago, it 
 was permissible to build log camps on 
 
 55 
 
State lands. Recent laws forbid this, 
 and now camping on forest land owned 
 by the State is limited to the use of 
 tents. 
 
 Now, when Bige and I decide to 
 build a shack we select a spot on some 
 lumber companies' property and then 
 try to get from the owners, permission 
 to build. Such a permit is usually not 
 difficult to get, but one must always 
 furnish evidence of his knowledge of 
 woodcraft, especially of his ability to 
 so construct a camp fireplace as to pre- 
 vent the fire spreading to the woods 
 and thus destroying a lot of property. 
 
 **The Trout Hatchery Camp" is of 
 this class, the owners only reserving 
 the right to use the camp for their own 
 employees in case of need. I believe 
 that in a period of five years they have 
 so used it only twice. On one occasion 
 a party of surveyors, who were correct- 
 ing and reblazing the boundary line of 
 
 56 
 
the companies' property, spent a night 
 in the camp. On another occasion some 
 men were sent over the mountain from 
 headquarters to put out a fire about a 
 half mile from The Hatchery. This 
 fire had been started by a careless 
 cigarette smoking hunter who threw 
 a burning cigarette butt down in the 
 dry leaves. 
 
 The Hatchery camp was built by 
 Bige and Bill at a time when I was 
 carrying about with me a rather com- 
 plicated harness in which was a broken 
 arm ; so, I had no hand in its construc- 
 tion, but I contributed a lot of advice. 
 I have found it a very comfortable 
 living place. 
 
 It has for many years been our prac- 
 tice, on occasions when we happened 
 to have a good supply of game in the 
 cooler, to go back to the cottage by 
 the lake, collect our women folks and 
 lead them over the trail to camp, where 
 
 57 
 
we would give them an exhibition of 
 real camp cookery; while we roasted 
 a saddle of venison before the camp- 
 fire, serving it to our distinguished 
 guests while they sit upon logs around 
 our rustic camp table in the shade of 
 the towering forest trees. Thus do we 
 square ourselves, justify long absences 
 and gain new indulgences. 
 
 There is a wonderful spring at The 
 Hatchery. The water is very cold and 
 there is a large volume of it boiling 
 out of fissures in the rocks on the 
 mountain side. Indeed it is the begin- 
 ning of a fair sized brook which 
 tumbles over the boulders and swiftly 
 rushes along its gravelly bed just back 
 of the cabin. By its music we are 
 lulled to sleep at night and it is the first 
 sound to greet us at day break. 
 
 Bige allowed that it was a great pity 
 that there were no holes in that brook 
 with water deep enough for trout to 
 
 S8 
 
Basting a Venison Roast 
 
live in as the water was ideal for that 
 purpose. Trout are fond of cold spring 
 water. They flourish best in it. Be- 
 sides, the nearest trout brook was two 
 miles away, and sometimes, during the 
 open season, we need fish. So, said 
 we, ''let's make some holes." 
 
 Immediately, we got busy building 
 a dam across the stream near the shack. 
 We employed some of the methods of 
 Brother Beaver, which, though primi- 
 tive, are none the less effective, and we 
 soon had a pool of water from three 
 to four feet deep, seventy feet long and 
 twenty feet wade at the dam. Then se- 
 lecting our smallest hooks, we filed off 
 the barbs and went down to Pickwacket 
 Brook where we caught some trout 
 which we kept alive and brought back 
 in a bait pail. Many and frequent 
 changes of the water were necessary 
 to keep our fish alive, but they were 
 safely deposited in the pool. 
 
 60 
 
X 
 
 a 
 
 a, 
 
 V 
 
 G 
 C 
 
 5 
 < 
 
Then, a more pretentious plan was 
 devised and in carrying it into effect, 
 we built other dams, five in all, with 
 stretches of swift water between. 
 Gravelly and sandy spawning beds 
 were provided in the shallow water. 
 Overflow or spillway places were made 
 on one end of each dam, so that the 
 fish might freely pass up or down from 
 one pool to another. Stones and over- 
 hanging banks made suitable hiding 
 places for the shyest and most wary 
 fish known to anglers. In short, we re- 
 produced as nearly as possible the most 
 favorable conditions for the natural 
 propagation of brook trout. 
 
 Many fishing trips were made be- 
 fore we considered our hatching ponds 
 sufficiently stocked. At first we fed our 
 fish daily, but we soon learned that 
 they had natural food in abundance 
 and that they preferred it to what our 
 catering provided. 
 
 62 
 
During three summers that our ex- 
 periment in pisciculture has been in 
 progress, not the least of the pleasures 
 of life at Camp Hatchery, is found in 
 watching the spawning beds, observing 
 the play of schools of fingerlings, or 
 lying on the shore of one of the pools 
 in the evening twilight, to see the larger 
 trout jump clear above the surface and 
 grab a passing fly or moth. 
 
 Enemies of the brook trout, neither 
 those of the two-legged nor those of 
 the four-legged varieties have yet seri- 
 ously raided our fish farm. Individ- 
 uals of the original planting have now 
 developed into the most desirable sizes 
 for table use. And it is now possible 
 for me, in the morning while Bige is 
 lighting the camp fire, to take a fly rod, 
 go twenty yards back^ of the cabin to 
 one of the pools and by the time Bige 
 has the coffee made and the bacon 
 
 63 
 
cooked, have my breakfast trout 
 caught, dressed, and in the frying pan 
 before they have finished flopping. 
 
 64 
 
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