Class. 
 Book.. 
 
 
 GopyrigM . 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Back Log and Pine Knot 
 
 A Chronicle of the 
 Minnisink Hunting and Fishing Cluh 
 
 BY 
 
 O. H. 
 
 C i<x, Hin*rcK*~Ji_ 
 
 Privately Printed 
 
 COPYRIGHT. 191* 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER HOWARD WOLFE 
 
SITU 
 
 ,W<6 
 
 CI.A453161 
 
 DhC 16 1916 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 The Woods 
 
 A UTUMN has come again to our Mountain. 
 *■*■ Through the summer, the silent trees have skeltered 
 the wild creatures of the woods and tne birds which 
 made the days joyous with chatter and song. 
 
 The feathered songsters have gone and with them, 
 the myriad creeping, crawling and winged insects that 
 joined the drowsy night chorus. They, too, are still. 
 
 The trees alone give forth soft whisperings, the voice 
 of the woods. 
 
 Every breath of the west wind awakens a rustle and 
 murmur among the rugged oaks, the stately chestnuts, 
 the gaunt pines and hemlocks. The spruces down in 
 the swamp hiss as they sway in the caressing breezes. 
 
 There is a tang in the air even when a hazy calm 
 hangs over the swales and ridges. 
 
 The lazy sun rises over the Lake, adding its golden 
 touch to a picture upon which no color has been spared. 
 Yellow, red, orange and purple are splashed on every 
 grove and thicket. The slender white birch glistens in 
 graceful columns along the banks of the dark streams. 
 
 Only the evergreens have resisted. Even so their 
 dark tops proclaim them and give them utterance no 
 less pronounced than their gaudy neighbors. 
 
 This is the season that bids us, unafraid, be out of 
 doors. 
 
 Out-of-doors ! How weak and meaningless a term 
 to express the glory and the wonder of mountain woods 
 in the fall ! 
 
 Man builds him a shelter to shield his frail body 
 against the sun, the rains and the wind, upon which 
 all else that lives thrives and is happy. Forthwith, he 
 divides all the earth into two parts : his little corner 
 and that which is outside. 
 
 But there are those who rebel. They who know that 
 the sun is hot only to those who will not let its warmth 
 touch them ; who delight in the rough but friendly play of 
 boisterous winds ; -who bare their faces to the life-giving 
 rains and go forth in search of wholesome adventure. 
 
 1 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 Only a little while and the soft snow will turn a fresh 
 page that Nature may -write a new chapter for her 
 lovers to read. Now we shall see what other characters 
 she will put in the story. 
 
 A deer has crossed here. He is headed for the pine 
 Darrens where better acorns may be found among the 
 scrub. 
 
 Now we come upon the zig-zaggmg tracks of ruffed 
 grouse. If we follow, we may come upon them feeding 
 among the wintergreen berries on the sun side of a 
 ridge. 
 
 A snow-shoe rabbit has been playing tag with him- 
 self among these alders and rhododendron. If we watch 
 closely, we may discover him, his white body flattened 
 against the whiter snow, waiting for us to pass by. 
 
 His small brown cousin has been about during the 
 night but his track leads beneath the root of a fallen 
 pine. He knows better than to sit outside to be picked 
 up by a roving fox or slinking wild-cat. 
 
 They, too, have been here. The firm, rounded print 
 of the big tawney cats cushioned feet contrast widely 
 with the carelessly lifted paw of the red fox. 
 
 Down by the edge of the swamp, you stop short and 
 grasp your rifle tighter. You have come upon the fan- 
 shaped, hand-like track of the black bear. Never fear. 
 His keen nose and sharp ear have warned him of your 
 coming long before you might have seen him. He 
 has pushed his broad shoulders through the thickest 
 laurel deep into the swamp. 
 
 You have seen enough for today. The sun has almost 
 set and the woods know no friends at night. The wind 
 is sweeping little puffs of drift snow across the black 
 ice on the lake as you cross. 
 
 Through the dim outline of white birch, on the farther 
 shore, a light gleams to welcome you. In a moment, 
 you are penitent. A word, unspoken, has weaned your 
 spirit from the wild : 
 
 The Cabin. " 
 
. BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 High Knob 
 
 HIGH Knob is a mountain with a mission. In spite 
 of its name, it is not very nigh albeit it has the 
 distinction of being the highest point in Pennsylvania. 
 A knob it surely is, swelling above the dull level of 
 the eastern spur of the Pocono ridge like a fungus 
 growth on a fallen oak tree. Its rounded dome sug- 
 gests no thought of altitude, yet from its summit is 
 to be had the most glorious view in the State so far 
 as sheer distance is concerned. In that stretch of 
 lake and forest denuded in the greater part of the 
 virgin pine and hemlock that once enriched its swales 
 and ridges, there still roam the deer and the bear 
 alone of all the company of antlered and fur robed 
 creatures that once drank of its amber streams or 
 splashed in the sedgy borders of its sombre lakes or 
 hid deep within the thatched tangle of its dark swamps. 
 
 Gone are the elk, the 
 moose, the panther and 
 the wolf. The lumber 
 jacks fifty years ago ac- 
 counted for all of these 
 that had been spared by 
 the arrow of the Minsi 
 warrior or the long rifle 
 of the trapper and back- 
 woodsman. Of the 
 lesser animals, there 
 remain the wildcat who 
 makes the wet spring 
 nights hideous with his 
 unearthly scream ; the 
 sly red and grey foxes, 
 the racoon, the Canad- 
 ian snow-shoe rabbit or 
 
 mountain jack who 
 puts on his white coat 
 of protection when the 
 snow bends down the 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 rhododendron and scrub oak; the brown rabbit and the 
 squirrels, red and grey. Among the fur bearers are the 
 skunk, the mink and the muskrat, and until just recent- 
 ly, the otter. Some of the streams show evidence that 
 beaver were here at one time. All the common birds 
 are to be found while the ruffed grouse and wild duck 
 are in sufficient number to entice many bird hunters in 
 the fall months. 
 
 High Knob is a sullen, sulky sort of an eminence. 
 Although it claims no attention from the tourist, the 
 railroad or the summer hotel, it commands a view the 
 entire outer rim of which consists of some of the most 
 frequented mountain sections of three states. Along 
 the southern horizon is the long misty line of the 
 Blue Ridge, dipping in the centre where Culver s Gap 
 provides a pass from upper Jersey into the Dingman s 
 Ferry country, twenty odd miles above the abrupt V 
 that marks the Delaware Water Gap. To the east, 
 some fifty miles away, a clear sky will reveal the 
 Catskill Mountains in New York. North is the Sullivan 
 County region of that State and the picturesque upper 
 reaches of the Delaware River. On the west is Mt. 
 Pocono s rough shoulder, the western fortress of this 
 twenty mile embankment that nature has thrown up 
 against attack north and south by railroad or highway. 
 The very hub of this mountain and lake mecca of the 
 summer boarder, this lonely old hermit bump in 
 the Alleghenies holds itself serenely aloof from all of 
 them, full twenty miles from the nearest railroad. 
 Knob though it is, undignified by any name a mountain 
 might be proud to own, not even referred to as a 
 mountain ; known among its friends as the Knob, 
 a nickname betokening as much real affection as Bill, 
 or "Pop,' or Doc, other well known characters in these 
 woods, this mountain, we repeat, has a real mission. 
 
 The Matterhorn is said to be the most satisfying 
 mountain in the world. It has the precise effect upon 
 the beholder that any well regulated mountain should 
 have as per prospectus. It inspires in the human breast 
 a feeling of admiration and of awe, perhaps something 
 
 4 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 also of fear. But it is one of many, arrogantly claiming 
 recognition by virtue of its very magnificence as a 
 spectacle. If it should be flattened out, as it probably 
 will be in a million years, the hotels, Swiss guides and 
 photographers would merely pack up, move a few miles 
 up the road and open shop on the instep of another giant. 
 
 High Knob, on the other hand, inspires you as the 
 bubbling spring does the thirsty woodsman, or the smell 
 of bacon crisping over a wood nre inspires the heavy 
 footed hunter of a bleak November night. For it is 
 the high calling of the Knob to play the part — (no, that 
 has a hollow, make-believe sound) — to live the life of 
 a good friend. It is your homely but good-hearted neigh- 
 bor. It does not thrust itself upon you and so it is 
 always welcome. If you are in doubt as to your way 
 in these trackless -woods, you have but to climb the 
 nearest pine and High Knob will see you and tell 
 you which way to go. If you are not sure which is north 
 and which is west, High Knob always knows even if 
 the sun does not. If you are lonely and tired as you 
 sit cramped up against your old hemlock stump, your 
 cold rifle barrel as anxious as you for a glimpse of 
 tawney hide that will warm both your hearts, the Knob 
 looks down at you calmly and cheers you with its very 
 presence. Or if you are thirsty after a hard hour in 
 the scrub oak, you may be sure the old mountain has 
 sent a stream from its rocky fountains somewhere in 
 your direction. For if you will look at a good map 
 of Pike County, you will note that the streams all 
 seem to radiate from a common centre. If you are 
 given to reflection, it will occur to you that there 
 must be some high ground that sketched the streams 
 on the map like spokes from the hub of a wheel. There 
 is, though your map may show no legend to that effect. 
 High Knob does not appear in the social register of 
 mountains. Your map will not disclose it. But there 
 it is whenever you want it, your well beloved coun- 
 sellor and friend. 
 
 On the topmost ridge of the Knob, as it is profiled 
 against the northwestern sky, there appears to be a 
 
 5 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 growth of pine. This is a delusion. There are no 
 Dig trees above the second ledge of rock that runs 
 diagonally upward around the eastern face of the 
 mountain. The top is covered with low scrub and 
 huckleberry hushes. What you took to he a tall pine 
 is only a wind dwarfed nubbin of a tree about ten 
 feet high. It seems high from the distance you were 
 away because it stands almost alone, as if it had es- 
 caped from Indian Swamp at the southwestern base 
 and had ever since tried to boast of its temerity by 
 pretending to have grown as tall as the slender spruces 
 a thousand feet below. That chesty little scrub pine 
 has had some of the conceit taken out of it by having a 
 napping pennant tied to its scalp lock on the occasion 
 of the first visit paid to the summit by a party of hunters 
 with whose further exploits these annals are concerned. 
 The little pine on the Knob forms the extreme point 
 of the skyline and thereby becomes an object of interest. 
 It is only the extremes that hold human attention for 
 very long. We tire of the commonplace. Around 
 the camp fire, after supper is over and the tired crew 
 are stretched on floor, chair or cot, it is the unusual, 
 the extreme event that forms the topic of conversation. 
 The red bresn that tore the ding-busted hide off 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT • 
 
 Hoddys dod-blasted shins when he inadvertently came 
 through one end of the Bunnell Barren, was by far the 
 worst patch of scrub in the woods. The rock that Dave 
 stood on for an hour this morning till his teeth chattered 
 so loud he had to build a nre to keep from being shot 
 for a wood-pecker, was the coldest rock south of the 
 Arctic Circle. The doe that Bill 'coulda spit on" 
 was bigger than most bucks ; the swamp that O. H. 
 'drove ' was so thick that he had to crawl through 
 backwards with his compass in his teeth to keep from 
 coming out below where he went m. It is not only 
 the fisherman and the Western booster who maltreat 
 the superlative. Adjectives are unacquainted with any 
 other degree when they go a-campmg. 
 
 The matter of extremes is of interest when you seek 
 to analyse the camper. You ride up Fifth Avenue on 
 the upper deck of a bus and you note mansion after 
 mansion. You are eager to know who lives in each. 
 The ordinary brown stone front interests you not at 
 all. Your eyes and imagination are for the marble 
 and stained glass. Yet if by some freak of municipal 
 history an old thatched cottage with a stone chimney 
 at one end should survive amid this not of Grecian, 
 Italian and Manhattan architecture, you would brush 
 the conductor off the platform in your haste to climb 
 down and knock at the old oak door. Either extreme, 
 no matter which, but the compromise never! It does 
 not occur to us that the mansion of one epoch is the 
 hovel of another. The wigwam was the envy of the 
 man who lived in a cave. The log and mud hut were 
 aspired to by the man whose tent had blown into the 
 next reservation. The cabin and the chimney place 
 of the early settler put the grass and mud architect 
 out of business. Then some crude but socially ambi- 
 tious pioneering mason built him a stone house and 
 so by easy stages, we come to Fifth Avenue. 
 
 Your real camper in one wild plunge into the abyss 
 of centuries jumps from the front door step of the gilded 
 temple sheer to the day of the cave man or the tent 
 dweller. Then if he repeats often enough, you will 
 
 7 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 note in him the instincts of the race. He will have 
 dishes and a table. In a moment of rashness, he de- 
 cides to try a -winter camp which means a tent stove 
 if he is to be comfortable. A -winter camp has many 
 advantages over summer tenting; there are no daddy- 
 long-legs to drop off the ridge pole into your upturned, 
 unsuspecting face at the first crack of dawn ; no mos- 
 quitoes chase you to the protection of your netting as 
 soon as the sun has set; there are no rattlesnakes 
 abroad and Pike County, take it from Horace Greeley, 
 is noted for these gifted entertainers. 
 
 Against these self evident advantages, the -winter 
 camp has two disadvantages, neither of which, however, 
 are serious ones. The days are short, and you can t 
 build a roaring log fire in a twelve by twelve canvas 
 tent. You miss this latter comforter in the long winter 
 evenings. Finally one evening, just as you snuggle 
 into your particular groove under the blankets, you say, 
 Bill, -what this camp needs is an open fire place. 
 
 Bill agrees with you. You do not know it, but you 
 have started zigzagging back toward the stone house 
 with doors and windows and steam heat. And the 
 first step in this evolutionary process is the permanent 
 cabin. 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 The Cabin 
 
 THE Minnisink Hunting and Fishing Club had its 
 beginning at least sixteen years ago when Bill and 
 O. H. set out one May evening with a blanket apiece, 
 for the Perkiomen Creek. That first night was spent 
 on Mother Earth under a very crude shelter of green 
 boughs that oozed and dripped dew and red ants till 
 morning brought a blessed relief to aching joints. 
 A year or two after, the regular summer camping trips 
 to Big Spring above Dingmans Ferry began. Then 
 one summer, our now experienced campers made a 
 pioneer prospecting trip back to Peck s Dam, sleeping 
 two nights without shelter on the ground where the 
 Cabin now stands. 
 
 There followed some four years of tenting during 
 the open deer season in a little sheltered pocket about 
 two hundred yards west of the Cabin site. Visitors 
 were taken along, the genial Doc, quiet but hard- 
 working "Wawa," while "Dave" and Hoddy made an 
 annual visit from their camp down at Mud Pond. 
 In those days it was forbidden to erect a permanent 
 structure in the State forests. Then the law was 
 amended, or maybe it was only a departmental ruling. 
 Anyway, permission to lease an acre of land and erect 
 a building was to be had. The cabin idea now took 
 definite shape. It was to be built by our own hands 
 and was to stand on the "Point, the little open piece 
 of ground made famous by the original bivouac where 
 Bill and O. H. lay in a pouring rain and fought mos- 
 quitoes through two long nights. 
 
 The first "official trip was made by Hoddy and 
 Bill who met John Avery, the Forester in charge, and 
 surveyed our "claim/ Then the crowd gathered and 
 spent several sessions trying to convince our ambitious 
 architect that six amateur stone masons couldn t build 
 an all stone cabin in much less than six years. With 
 unfeigned reluctance, Horace consented to draw plans 
 for a frame cabin with a rough stone fireplace. Bill 
 and O. H. thereupon elected themselves stone masons. 
 
 9 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 The plans of the nre 
 place ana chimney were 
 drawn by O. H. who 
 jotted down notes from 
 a work on bungalow 
 architecture found in a 
 down-town New York 
 book store, said book 
 being priced at $5.00. 
 (Name and address of 
 store will be mailed on 
 application, also sug- 
 gestions how to extract 
 useful but costly infor- 
 mation without any 
 great outlay of capital.) 
 The time set for 
 building operations 
 wasthe week begin- 
 ning with Labor Day, 
 1914. No need to de- 
 scribe the uninterest- 
 ing but highly important details of preparation. In two 
 relays, the gang arrived on the ground at the appointed 
 time. Meals were taken at the Hotel de Mrs. Smith. 
 1 aken is the word. They were fairly snatched. Corned 
 beef melted away like the choicest sirloin. Fried pota- 
 toes, bread and apple sauce became total strangers to 
 the Smith garbage can. The Smithian swine went on 
 a forced diet for a week. When the "cows came home, 
 milk was added to the bill of fare, and it is still a 
 common belief among the Smiths that Dave bathes 
 in fresh milk. Bill and Matt, our carpenter, ate them- 
 selves into immortal fame. 
 
 The Cabin grew rapidly. Working hours were nxed 
 by the sun, the laborers sleeping in tents of various 
 styles and degrees of ventilation, pitched right on the 
 spot. I he weather was perfect; clear cool days and 
 cold frosty nights. Daily pictures were made snowing 
 the progress of the building from the laying of the 
 
 10 
 
• BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 foundation piers to the driving of the last nail. The 
 carpenters ana the masons organized a debating society 
 to decide the following question : 
 
 Resolved, the chimney holds the cabin up. 
 
 The masons took the affirmative, the carpenters the 
 negative, the latter claiming the chimney was in con- 
 stant danger of falling until they could build that end 
 of the cabin to hold it up. The debate ended in a 
 draw, and so did the chimney, but both the cabin and 
 the chimney are still standing. Matt s life was m 
 constant danger for he persisted in referring to the 
 edifice as the shack. 
 
 Modesty forbids any lengthy description of the fire- 
 place. The best thing to be said about it is that it 
 works, 'and don t you doubt it, as Roe Heller fre- 
 quently remarks. It is built to stay. The foundation 
 is six feet square, resting upon solid rock, four feet 
 below the surface. These dimensions are maintained 
 until the level of the hearth stone is reached. This 
 remarkable slab was discovered about a mile up the 
 Hawley Road tilted slightly and presenting an even 
 surface on both sides. It was six feet by eleven and 
 with an average thickness of four inches, weighing prob- 
 ably half a ton. Smith s horse was mustered into 
 service to haul it to the Cabin where it was cut into 
 shape with much labor and a cold chisel after it was 
 too dark to work laying up stone. 
 
 The mantel is a chestnut oak log with the bark on the 
 outside and hewn flat with an ordinary axe, an artistic 
 job in itself. Matt was the artist. The flue is lined 
 with twelve-inch terra cotta sewer pipe. As it stands, the 
 nre-place is a monument to unskilled open-shop labor, 
 the entire work having been planned and finished by two 
 men who never laid a stone or handled a mason s trowel 
 in their lives before. At least one of them can testify 
 that it was a week before his stone bruised and cement 
 burned hands were able to shove a pen with their accus- 
 tomed ease and his back was a full month in getting 
 the kinks out. The completed job, the pride of the 
 camp, is worth all it cost in epidermis and elbow grease. 
 
 11 
 
MINNISINK CAMP • 
 
 After supper you pile her full of oak logs, gather 
 round in a rough unformed circle, nil your old jimmy 
 pipes, and the woods can furnish no more nomelike 
 or comfortable enjoyment. The old fire-place seems 
 to say, 
 
 Come, let us draw up and smoke ; you smoke and 
 I 11 draw up. 
 
 Dave takes down his banjo and in a vigorous tenor, 
 punctuated with puffs, he warns us to Come away 
 from dat window, or recounts the unfortunate fate 
 of his family since he was a student at Cadiz/' 
 
 Of course some credit must also be given the amateur 
 carpenters. They got the roof on so that it stays and 
 although some of the battens let in a million dollars 
 worth of air, who cares? The Cabin is well planned 
 and substantially built, standing thirty by fifteen feet. 
 It has seven windows of four panes each and two 
 doors. There is a half story attic, which serves the 
 same purpose as the attics at home — a store house for 
 junk. When there is extra company, the overflow 
 goes up stairs to bed, using a swinging white birch 
 ladder. An artistic railing of the same beautiful wood 
 keeps one from falling off on to the dinner table below. 
 Goodness knows that table has enough to bear up 
 under. A poor, half starved statistician who never 
 hunted deer or swung an axe in winter woods is au- 
 thority for the statement that the average man con- 
 sumes about seventy box car loads of food in a life- 
 time. Why that old white oil-cloth covered table of ours 
 sees that much grub every fall. And where does that 
 grub come from? 
 
 From the kitchen of course. We have left that until 
 the last although it is by far the most important depart- 
 ment of any well regulated camping party. 
 
 George, the colored cook, lives in the kitchen which 
 is boarded off from the main living and sleeping room. 
 The chief piece of furniture is an old out door army 
 range which came to Pike County on Roe Heller s 
 lumber wagon, with ideas of its own about drawing 
 through a regulation stove pipe. Such battles we did 
 
 12 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 have that first year with friend kitchen stove ! George 
 Green, our nrst cook, had an unfortunate habit of 
 rising about 4 A. M. to stoke up for breakfast. In a 
 few moments, thick clouds of suffocating smoke filled 
 the whole Cabin until one by one, we came up for air, 
 and went out doors mostly in neglige. Freezing, by 
 comparison, is a comfortable death to die. 
 
 That is, everybody sought the outer undiluted ozone 
 except Hoddy and Dave who surely will exhaust the 
 ingenuity of his Satanic Majesty to make them choke 
 on ordinary smoke. After many mornings of experi- 
 menting and profanity, we learned that the stove stops 
 smoking as soon as the outside pipe is warm. So 
 we had a door put m the first joint in which to insert 
 a newspaper to heat her up. Give Foddy McDowell 
 credit for that idea. 
 
 The kitchen boasts all the comforts of home and some 
 that home never thought of. Let no unsophisticated 
 tenderfoot or female of the species imagine that one 
 lives out of a tin can while in the woods. It is only your 
 greenhorn or lazy camper who cooks his meal with 
 a can opener. Of course there are tins, plenty of them, 
 in this semi-cowless forest, but they bear labels that 
 no self-respecting housewife would feel ashamed of. 
 
 And here let us remark that the hunter or fisherman 
 who tents it, and knows how, does not relish or tolerate 
 any unnecessary discomforts, culinary or otherwise. 
 He does not roll m a blanket on the ground (although 
 that is the warmest way to sleep) nor does he toss 
 flap jacks in a frying pan. He does not squat on the 
 ground and eat his meals picnic style. Those who 
 think all these picturesque (?) performances are com- 
 mon among campers get their information from the 
 pictures in hysterical magazine love stories. The 
 illustrated catalogue of a good sporting goods store will 
 disillusion anyone as to the paraphernalia and habits 
 of the woodsman. There are degrees and differences 
 in the living standards and methods of men in the 
 woods just as there are between men in the brown stone 
 palaces and their brothers in squalid brick. 
 
 13 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 
 -■ w. -B-^^n^^^H 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 : '-* 2 , 
 
 .- 
 
 !-* ^I^Sh 
 
 
 'i "*< 1 &~ ■ 
 
 1 
 
 ill 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 And so our kitchen contains all the stock groceries 
 and vegetables you might be proud to find, these 
 high cost of living days, in your own pantry. But we live 
 even tetter than you do. Hunting is hard work and the 
 keen November and December air has just as pro- 
 nounced an effect below one s diaphragm as above it. 
 Our larder is therefore stocked with the best that can 
 be bought and hauled the twenty odd miles back into 
 the mountain. In the spring, there are trout; in the 
 summer and fall, slim bellied pickerel and in the 
 winter pheasants, rabbits, wild duck and deer liver. 
 The venison itself is always taken home intact save 
 for the innards. Deer liver, as only Bill can cook it, 
 is a treat unknown to the city dwelling epicure. 
 
 There was one famous dinner in the old tenting days 
 which inspired one of the party to trochaic quatrameter. 
 Two neighbors, encamped by the Spring, shot their 
 first buck over near Hemlock and being tenderfeet, 
 they staggered the seven miles back under their 
 burden, at least fifty pounds the heavier because they 
 didn't think to remove the inside furniture on the spot. 
 The meter is somewhat suggestive of Longfellow, but 
 well print it here for the first time purely for the sake 
 of the moral : — 
 
 14 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 . . . .And the Hunters toiling homeward, 
 Brought the deer with all his blood in ; 
 Lights and liver, heart and kidneys ; 
 Came they from the Swamp of Hemlock, 
 Seven weary miles of labor, 
 Knowing not that they were bone-heads. 
 Then up rose Old Bill, the Boy Scout, 
 He the butcher, cook and baker, 
 Said, I 11 snatch that gory liver; 
 We will feed our guests upon it, 
 End the days of fast and watching 
 For Pot-meat-a, the white swamp hare. 
 For Cant-hit-em, the hen pheasant. 
 So he took his trusty snicker, 
 Ripped the red buck through the mid-rif 
 Till he found a three pound liver 
 That had urged the red deer onward 
 Where the gentle doe had lingered 
 In the swamp to wait his coming. 
 In the pot, Bill placed the trophy. 
 Till the blood and evil passions 
 All had left the crimson slices. 
 In the pan with hissing bacon, 
 On My-nl-las heated bosom 
 Fell the tender slabs of fresh meat, 
 Filling all the woods with perfume. 
 Came the guests unto the feasting, 
 Came with joy into the tepee 
 On each face the look of hunger, 
 Fell they then upon the muffins, 
 Drank the broth of tails of oxen. 
 Ate the green herbs from Turn Villa. 
 But the best of all that banquet 
 Was the liver of the ten prong 
 That had roamed the swales and thickets 
 Through the red brush and the laurel. 
 Then they smoked the pipe of plenty, 
 Smoked the peace-pipe, smoked Tux-e-do 
 I hough their own game tree was barren, 
 Said the Hunters, 'We should worry !" 
 15 
 
MINNISINK CAMP- 
 
 Peck s 
 
 r^ELIGHTFUL as the Cabin is in the spring and 
 -*-^ summer — the woods are always beautiful — it was 
 built principally as a hunting lodge. Our women folks 
 have the time of their lives trying to civilize the place 
 over an occasional week-end or summer holiday, and 
 Ave are grateful even to the extent of tolerating a cur- 
 tained off corner of the living room. But the cabin 
 is essentially the home and property of the eight more 
 or less determined deer hunters who comprise the 
 Minnismk Hunting and Fishing Club. The traveller 
 who has the courage to walk, drive or motor up the 
 riawley Road (familiarly known among Pecks Pond 
 fraternity as the 'pike ) will see a small sign-board 
 nailed to a pine tree at the entrance of our lane which 
 modestly informs him that the M. H. and F. C. is 
 located hereabouts. We boast no high wire fence in 
 which to enclose trained deer for target practice but 
 we are a bit jealous of our patch of oak, chestnut, pine 
 and white birch. The latter beautiful tree is very 
 bountifully distributed all about us and there are no 
 lovelier or more graceful specimens than those which 
 grow at the edge of the lake beside the Cabin. 
 
 Peck s is an artificial lake overflowing what was once 
 a large irregularly shaped swamp, The State construc- 
 ted a dam breast about one hundred feet long and 
 about ten feet high, just below the junction of the 
 headwaters of the Big Bushkill Creek and the East 
 Branch. The result is a body of water, comparatively 
 shallow, roughly L shaped, some four miles long to 
 the north and two miles long to the east with Pinchot 
 Island set in the angle. Dead pines and clumps of 
 various kinds of amphibious vegetation growing all 
 over the surface give the pond a particularly desolate 
 and unkempt appearance. This condition is offset by 
 the numerous islands all of which are picturesque and 
 interesting, especially Rattlesnake Island. Pickerel, 
 catnsh, sunfish and carp abound. 
 
 16 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 The lake and the clearing where Pecks Mill once 
 stood is the huh of all this country. Some of the 
 old stone foundations or the sawmill are still intact 
 and a jumble of hemlock sawlogs lie rotting in the 
 basin that was once the mill dam. From this as a 
 general centre, several old lumber trails radiate. 
 Some of these are so completely overgrown as to be 
 practically obliterated. Others are used by hunters in 
 passing through the otherwise trackless woods and 
 thickets, and they can be followed with comparative 
 ease in the winter when the leaves are down. The 
 best denned of the old roads is the Taylor Creek road 
 which bears southwest to the Big Indian Swamp and 
 beyond. The Hobdy Road runs about due west around 
 the Knob. Even a rough lumber wagon would find 
 the going difficult in this rocky region, but to the 
 tired hunter, with his hands and face bleeding from 
 fighting his way through the red bresh and his legs 
 tired from climbing over 
 and around the up-ended 
 
 rocks in the swales, these 
 winding, uneven trails are 
 as welcome as the Mil- 
 ford Pike is to the auto- 
 mobilist. 
 
 In addition to the old 
 lumber trails, there are 
 many other land marks 
 which guide us in our 
 daily tramps. The coun- 
 try over which we roam in 
 deer season extends from 
 two to eight miles in every 
 direction from the Cabin. 
 To the southwest, there 
 is a long, well defined 
 rocky ledge which paral- 
 lels the Taylor Creek road. 
 This we have named the 
 Southwest Ridge. If you 
 
 17 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 turn off the road to the west and follow the swales 
 beyond the ridge, you will come to the Little Indian 
 Swamp. But if you wish to change your course back 
 to the road by bearing to the left up over the ridge 
 before you ^et to the swamp, you ■will find yourself 
 entangled in the worst thicket that Pike, or any other 
 county can boast of. This is the terrible John Bunnell 
 Barren. Here the growth of scrub oak is about eight 
 feet high and so thick as to almost defy a passage. 
 But it can be done. Ask Hoddy. 
 
 Going on, out the Taylor Creek Road, you may take 
 either an ill-defined branch to the south to Big Pine 
 Flats, or else go straight west to the Maple Opening 
 in the Big Indian, famous for its bear harbors. All 
 the way from the Cabin, full five miles to the swamp, 
 the road has been winding around knolls, through 
 stunted oak growth and a few pines that the woods- 
 men have left us. All of it is good deer country and 
 many a fallen buck has taken his last journey along 
 the rough lane, borne on the stalwart shoulders of 
 those who have laid him low. 
 
 As we put the setting sun at our backs and push 
 toward camp, we notice a dark green spot in the tree 
 tops below us to the east, about a mile from home. 
 This is the Huffman Swamp, a little gem, from which 
 the clear waters of Fox Run slip to join the Bushkill. 
 This miniature swamp became famous one November 
 morning when "Wawa" dogged it for half an hour, 
 thinking he was driving Hogback for Bill and O. H., 
 who were on their stands at that favorite spot. 
 
 The Hogback Swamp lies along the west bank of 
 the Bushkill and gets its name from the smoothly 
 rounded ridge which runs into it from the west. It 
 was from this swamp that a fine black bear emerged 
 one snowy morning to be greeted with five shots from 
 a .303 Savage. He proved that a fat bear can stand 
 lots of lead for he carried his well ventilated pelt full 
 seven bloody miles only to be taken by another more 
 fortunate party of hunters. 
 
 18 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 Peace to his ashes ! The bunch of black hair and the 
 gory branches we brought home as souvenirs are all 
 the visible evidence we have to show lor our exciting 
 morning. Even the big pine that O. H. stood beside 
 while 'holding on hlm, ,, has fallen a victim to a northern 
 gale and lies there to crumble into red dust for the 
 pheasant to sun himself in. 
 
 Starting again, another morning, we may go up the 
 Hawley Road, turning to the left, back of Smiths. 
 Straight in leads to Rake Run and its series of open 
 swamps. To the right, up over the hill, lies Major 
 Swamp, one of the worst of the region in its confusing 
 lack of consistent direction. There is a passage at its 
 western end through the White Birch opening that leads 
 down to a smaller swamp often used as a harbor by 
 bear and deer. This smaller swamp gives rise to the 
 Tarkill, a small but beautiful trout stream which flows 
 into Peck s. 
 
 If, instead of going north, we should start to the south 
 along the Hawley Road, we bear to the right and cross 
 the Bushkill either at the upper crossing, or if we intend 
 to hunt back of Hogback, we use the lower Hickory 
 Crossing where the amber waters of the creek are 
 bridged by a fallen tree. 
 
 The most alluring section of all from the hunter s 
 viewpoint is that lying beyond the East Branch Swamps 
 in the region of Bald Hill. Here is Wolf Swamp and 
 Grassy Swale, the scene of a memorable afternoon 
 which will be the subject of further annals. East of 
 Wolf Swamp is the thicket through which we pass 
 to reach Hemlock Pond and its promising solitudes. 
 If any novice wishes to demonstrate his ability to find 
 his way about in this country or test his sense of 
 direction, let him try to find Hemlock Swamp ! Woe 
 is his if it begins to snow and he is -without a compass. 
 He will spend the night in the woods if not the better 
 part of his entire trip. For High Knob and its beckoning 
 summit cannot be seen through the snow. 
 
 A light tracking snow, well packed, say three or 
 four inches deep, is welcome in deer season. It is 
 
 19 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 then that all animals re- 
 cord their presence and 
 movements. Old deer 
 hunters claim they can 
 distinguish easily be- 
 tween the hoof prints of 
 the Duck and the doe, 
 but — just between us — 
 we don t believe they can. 
 A large track always ap- 
 peals to the imagination, 
 and it is generally attribu- 
 ted to a buck as big as 
 a cow. 
 
 The writer, one late 
 November afternoon, was 
 pulling toward home 
 around Hogback Swamp. 
 There was a six-inch snow 
 on the ground which dead- 
 ened all sound, espec- 
 ially if one wore mocas- 
 sins. Coming quietly over the top of a low ridge, I saw 
 a large doe standing just below me not twenty yards 
 away. She was listening intently, her nose pointed 
 toward Bill, who was some hundred yards or so farther 
 up in the woods and out of sight. Finally, she moved 
 off quietly and crossed the Bushkill. An examination 
 of her track showed all the so called characteristics 
 of a big buck. Or another case. I was on a stand near 
 White Birch opening in the Major Swamp when three 
 deer came directly up to me before seeing me — two 
 does, one larger than the other, and a buck fawn. They 
 stopped suddenly and made a beautiful picture — the 
 two does with nostrils dilated and ears extended as 
 they gazed at me nxedly with their magnificent eyes. 
 The little buck stood between, paying no attention 
 whatever, but absolutely motionless, content to leave 
 all the worrying to his mother and aunt. At a motion 
 from me, they ■were off like a flash, first giving a 
 
 20 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 prodigious snort. There was a good tracking snow, 
 and soon three experienced hunter friends came along 
 following the trail. They asked 11 I had seen the deer, 
 a Dig buck, a doe and a fawn. So much for deer 
 tracks. 
 
 21 
 
MINNISINK CAMP- 
 
 Deer Hunting 
 
 TIJ'OR two days or more, there has been a succession 
 ■■- of rumbles and bumps up the Hawley Road. 
 Tomorrow, the season opens, and the hunters are 
 coming in. There is the usual crowd at Smiths, proba- 
 bly a dozen in all. Scotty s crowd came in yesterday, 
 Rem, Joe, John, Jonie and Scotty, himself. Dale is 
 down at the Spring with a new buddy. The 'father- 
 in-law bunch have just arrived, five of them. Peck s 
 has mobilized its little army of corduroy and khaki- 
 clad, red capped riflemen for the annual foray. There 
 is no time for visiting yet. All is bustle as wagons are 
 unpacked, wood fetched in, and nres started. Since 
 the law has permitted cabins in these woods, the fa- 
 miliar sound of tent peg driving, with its accompanying 
 profanity, is no longer heard in the land. Trying to 
 drive a white birch peg through a half ton rock, neatly 
 covered with four inches of top sou, is a diversion 
 calculated to ruin anyone s disposition. 
 
 The day has been calm and not unpleasantly warm, 
 the last gasp of an Indian Summer. As the sun begins 
 to sink behind Southwest Ridge, only the Knob shows 
 up clear in the waning light. Soon it, too, grows 
 purple as the sun goes down back of the notch, and 
 the short day draws to a close. Columns of bluish 
 white smoke drift straight up through the taller oaks 
 as the camp cooks prepare the evening meal. The 
 sound of a good axe rings clear as the blade bites into 
 the red oak log. 
 
 What music is sweeter than that of steel as it strikes 
 into hard timber of a clear crisp November evening? 
 It suggests the fireside circle of whole-hearted, strong 
 muscled friends ; the roaring logs and the crisping 
 bacon. It is heard at its best as you come within hear- 
 ing distance of your cabin after a trying day in the 
 woods, especially if you have been lost just previously 
 in the red bresh/ 1 
 
 You are tired as you finish your chores the first night 
 in. Your back and arms have grown soft, you nnd. 
 
 22 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 You are glad to ■wash up at last and take your place 
 at the table while George carries in stacks of boiled 
 potatoes, fried nam and stewed onions, to be raided 
 as soon as you nave finished your steaming bowl of 
 ox-tail soup. You drink your tea finally, draw around 
 the fireplace and lay plans for tomorrow. 
 
 You decide at last that it would be best for trie 
 whole crowd to go to favorite stands depending 
 upon tne relatively large number of hunters in the 
 woods to keep tne deer moving. Parrott will go to 
 the Hogback ; Doc and Dave prefer Hickory Crossing. 
 Bill will climb his pet tree at tne Three Birches. 
 Hoddy, George and Wawa will try their luck along 
 tne High Rock Ledge. O. H. thinks the upper 
 crossing as good a place as any. Everything agreed 
 upon, you finally crawl under the blankets at 9.30, 
 the little old alarm clock being set to sputter its stupid 
 brains out at 4.30. 
 
 Which it does. Everybody hears it except Dave and 
 Hoddy who must have been born in a boiler factory. 
 There is a muffled grunt or two, each waiting for the 
 other to test the temperature which is at least 42° 
 below zero around your particular cot. Soon George 
 comes in with some kindling wood, and under the 
 influence of a roaring fire, you get up and dress. Break- 
 fast over, you begin to put on all the clothes that hang 
 within reach. You wont have been on your stand an 
 hour before you have wondered why you didn t put 
 on a few more. 
 
 Arrived at your stand, just as the sun peeps through 
 the pines on the eastern ridges, you brush the frost 
 orr the leaves and settle yourself as comfortably as 
 possible against a tree or rock, or any other protection 
 available. Or you may climb a tree or mount a rock 
 on the ridge. Now there is a peculiar atmospheric 
 condition that is met with in still hunting — the higher 
 the sun rises, the colder it becomes. When you reach 
 your spot, it cannot possibly be colder than 76°. You 
 carelessly throw off your mackmaw, stuff your gloves 
 in your pocket and light your pipe. In half an hour, 
 
 23 
 
• MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 you button your sweater. Next you pull the sleeves 
 far down over your wrists. Then you try to sit on your 
 feet. If you have your heavy Dig woolen gloves, you 
 force them over the toes of your hunting boots. No, 
 that wont do ; we 11 wrap the mackinaw around our legs. 
 Still it would be better to put it on. Mind you, all this 
 time you refuse to admit, even to yourself, that you 
 are getting cold. Isn't the sun getting higher all the 
 time? Ugh! That was a real shiver. You stand up, 
 lay your rifle down carefully and work your legs a bit. 
 In another hour, if you don't have a fire going between 
 some protecting rocks, you are dancing up and down, 
 beating your arms about you with as much chance of 
 having a deer come your way as holding a women s 
 suffrage meeting on Bunnell Barren. One by one, 
 as the day begins to fade, the hunters start home 
 until all are in save Bill and O. H., who usually get 
 warm by taking succesive stands farther and farther 
 away. By sundown, they, too, show up and the first 
 fruitless day draws to a close. 
 
 Around the fire, after the cold rifle barrels are rubbed 
 down, there is a swapping of the day's experiences. 
 One saw a doe, another a flash of a nag that was 
 probably a buck. (All deer but partially seen are bucks) 
 A gray squirrel running through the leaves gave some- 
 body buck fever. Somebody else flushed six pheasants 
 that seemed to know you can't hit them with a rifle, 
 etc., etc. But nobody got a shot. 
 
 So far as we are aware, still hunting for deer in 
 Pennsylvania has had no known influence on litera- 
 ture or philosophy. Yet there is no other sport or 
 occupation that should be more conducive to pro- 
 found thought and clear reasoning. Every inspiration 
 that nature affords is about you, as you sit musing 
 on your fallen log; the clear crisp air; the clean smell 
 of the woods ; the little nameless birds that visit you, 
 quite unafraid ; the squirrels that come about after 
 you have been quiet long enough to have gained their 
 confidence — all the little folk of the wood, in fact, 
 entertain you as you keep your vigil. You look at the 
 
 24 
 
 I 
 
• BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 trees and study the characteristics that distinguish one 
 from the other. You wonder what sights they have seen 
 through the many seasons they have stood there. 
 That little sapling yonder has of a certainty beheld a 
 sight that would at this moment thrill your heart for 
 its bark is all pulled off two feet from the ground up 
 where a buck has rubbed his rack during the night. 
 
 If you are on a high ridge and can look across at High 
 Knob, you try to picture what changes the centuries 
 have rubbed and worn into that old mountain. At 
 intervals, you hear rifle shots, some near but mostly 
 far off, often followed by two or three more in rapid 
 succession. As the reverberant echoes die away, you 
 seem to see a party of hunters come up to the fallen 
 buck, straighten him out, admire his rack and calculate 
 his weight. Too bad sight will not keep pace with 
 hearing, or you might have enjoyed seeing that fellow 
 miss the tin can quite as much as the other two chaps 
 did who hit it. 
 
 But hark! You heard an unusual sound then. You 
 can distinctly hear your own heart thump as you finger 
 the safety on your rifle to be sure that all is ready. 
 You listen intently, fairly holding your breath. A puff 
 of wind rustles the leaves and you hear the mysterious 
 noise again. You look up and note a bare spot on the 
 limb of a dead chestnut. Your deer turns out to have 
 been a very common but harmless creature, the tree 
 squeak. Shucks ! This is no place anyway. No 
 
 deer has crossed here in ten years. You get up, 
 knock the ashes out of your pipe and move a quarter 
 of a mile further down. In ten minutes a four prong 
 buck walks by the log on which you have been musing 
 for half a day. 
 
 Tomorrow, we will drive the lower point. Several 
 beds have been seen and the deer are surely in there, 
 bo Doc, Pop and three others take stands along the 
 old road clean down to Hickory. Giving them half 
 an hour start, Bill, Dave and Wawa go in the fire line 
 and begin the drive. Each has a cow-bell tied around 
 leg or arm, and as the three move forward in a line, 
 
 25 
 
MINNISINK CAMP • 
 
 separated by a hundred 
 yards, they give more or 
 less fancy imitations of 
 hounds on the trail. 
 Educated deer are ex- 
 pected to fall for this de- 
 ception, and rush madly 
 to escape via Hickory 
 Crossing, there to fall 
 easy victims to the un- 
 erring rifles of the five 
 convalescents just over 
 a bad case of duck fever. 
 Nothing doing. Perhaps 
 a doe is seen but the 
 buck have other engage- 
 ments and leave their 
 regrets. 
 
 For the benefit of all 
 kmdhearted but mis- 
 guided friends who offer 
 their sympathies (and 
 scorn) to the empty handed hunter, he it said that your 
 true fisherman or sportsman has just as enjoyable a 
 day whether he brings back game or not. His pleasure 
 is in the sport, not the score. Naturally, he is the 
 more pleased when he is successful, but it is not 
 necessary that he always win to be happy. He is con- 
 tent to play fair and abide by the rules, taking keen 
 delight in the strength, skill and cunning of the quarry 
 against which he matches his wits. 
 
 In concluding these random pages with the story 
 of a more successful day, it is also in order to correct 
 a few delusions under which most of our good sisters, 
 wives, mothers and sweethearts labor. I suppose 
 every tender hearted woman has the same idea about 
 deer hunting. 
 
 Oh, how can you shoot the beautiful creatures!" 
 How can you men be so cruel! ' — and other such. 
 
 26 
 
• BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 In their gentle minds, they have pictured a sylvan 
 dell, with the three trees and beeyootrful bubbling 
 spring at which the lordly deer (about the size of a 
 horse) comes to quench his royal thirst at high noon. 
 You wait to "catch" him with your gun in one hand 
 and a "bullet" in the other. As he steps to the spring, 
 he looks at you reproachfully out of his luminous eyes, 
 and turning to his doe with eight or nine spotted 
 fawns (the sweet little things) about her, he seems 
 to say, "Fear not, the dreadful man, though he never 
 washes or shaves while in camp, will not harm us. 
 
 BANG ! 
 
 You have shot him through the heart, immediately 
 pouncing upon his fallen form to rip his throat open 
 with that awful knife while you utter war whoops and 
 frighten all the little deer to death. Not so, ladies, not 
 by a million years. Not since the cavemen brained 
 mountain lions on High Knob to make clothes that their 
 wives might follow correct Mmnismk fashion. Listen 
 to this story of a typical deer hunt. 
 
 After several days in the woods, the first year the 
 Cabin was built, our game tree was still barren despite 
 the hardest kind of work from daylight to dark. Deer 
 had been seen but, unfortunately, none had horns. 
 So we planned a visit to Hemlock Swamp. Bill and 
 Horace left early to take stands near Wolf Swamp, 
 while O. H. undertook to steer a driving party, consist- 
 ing of Dave and Walter and himself. The drivers got 
 lost and did a few circles before getting to the other 
 two at Wolf Swamp. They were located about ten in the 
 morning and the whole party then moved over to 
 Hemlock Pond, shooting a large white jack rabbit on 
 the way. Some exploring was done around this famous 
 spot. Lunch was eaten beside the cheering warmth of 
 a friendly fire after which stands were taken. 
 
 At about two o clock, new plans were made. Bill 
 would stay at the point above the Swamp until say half 
 past three. O. H., as assistant guide, was to start 
 back with the others, posting them along Grassy 
 Swale and Wolf Swamp. Bill would then leave at the 
 
 27 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 predetermined time and pick O. H. up ; they, in turn, 
 would come to Walter and so on back, the idea being 
 to reach the Hawley Road about dark. The effect of 
 this kind of hunting is that some one of the party is 
 always moving, with the possibility of starting a deer 
 which might then come upon one of the hunters. When 
 deer are aroused, they follow no definite habits. Often, 
 they go out ahead of the hunter unseen, but they are 
 just as apt to sneak around him and go in the opposite 
 direction. Something of the sort happened on this 
 particular afternoon. 
 
 The writer had reached his position between Grassy 
 Swale and Wolf Swamp about three o clock, choosing 
 a fair sized rock on the side of a low ridge against 
 which I nestled in the leaves, my rifle across my knees. 
 Walter stopped a half mile further on, Horace and 
 Dave going on beyond the Swamp. The afternoon 
 was clear and calm, somewhat cool but with no snow. 
 1 had been quiet about half an hour when 1 saw a 
 movement in the scrub about a hundred yards to 
 my left. In a moment, I made out the form of a deer 
 but was uncertain as to the sex. lie quickly removed 
 all doubt by lowering a nne antlered head, snifnng the 
 leaves like a dog hunting a scent. However, he was 
 in such a thick growth as to be almost invisible, and 
 save for the instant he lowered his head, I saw no part 
 of his body at which to aim. 
 
 What ones heart does on such an occasion is past 
 belief. For days you may have toiled unceasingly, 
 fighting your way through dense swamps in the hope 
 of driving a deer to one of your camp mates posted on 
 the outer edge. Through miles and miles of tangled 
 scrub oak, you have pushed, backed, scratched and torn 
 your painful progress to reach a favorite ridge. There 
 you have sat and shivered the cold day through but 
 all in vain. Now, at last, you seem about to be re- 
 warded. No such feelings as move you when you 
 gaze upon the caged animal are yours now, as you strain 
 every sense and nerve lest a sound or false motion 
 betray your presence to the wild creature before you. 
 
 28 
 
• BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 There is an absolute stillness save for the thumping 
 of your heart ana your quick breathing. You ana the 
 deer are alone upon earth. Sub-consciously, you are 
 thinking the same primeval thoughts that must have 
 surged through the breast of every Indian hunter who 
 roamed these forests centuries before you. Your rifle 
 is at your shoulder. Until this moment, the odds have 
 been a hundred to one in favor of the deer but now 
 the chances are even. It s up to you. 
 
 After a momentary reflection, I concluded it would 
 be better to try a lucky shot into the scrub where the 
 buck was standing, than to risk his scenting me, and 
 ■with one leap in the opposite direction, escape without 
 even an opportunity given to shoot at all. So I aimed 
 at about the height where I calculated his shoulders 
 must be, and nred. 
 
 He bounded out at once, head in the air and fortun- 
 ately, in my general direction. Picking an opening 
 in the thicket ahead of him, I nred with the only result 
 that he increased his speed but without changing his 
 direction which brought him through an open space 
 about twenty-five yards directly in front of me. The 
 third shot brought him down in a heap, the bullet 
 having gone through his spine. An examination showed 
 that each of the first two shots had gone through the 
 flanks without striking any bones. Not fifteen seconds 
 had elapsed between the nrst and the fatal shot. 
 
 The nrst thing to do was to summon help so I nred 
 our private signals — 'two shorts and a long," that 
 is, two quick shots, and after a short interval, a third. 
 In a moment, Walter nred an answering signal, and 
 ten minutes later, he was with me. We tried to hang 
 the deer up in order to dress him more easily, but 
 found he was too heavy. A freshly killed deer weighing 
 in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds is the 
 hardest kind of an object to handle. He seems to have 
 joints that permit him to double up in any direction, 
 and his wiry, brown hair is as slippery as if oiled. We 
 had just finished turning him 'inside out,"- — being 
 careful to save the heart and liver — when Bill appeared. 
 
 29 
 
MINNISINK CAMP- 
 
 ^Z 
 
 
 •• 
 
 
 
 fe 
 
 : ,> Sy*B**" 
 
 
 
 Niiw « 1 
 
 
 
 '• 111 if ^1A 1 «& 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 MBBf 
 
 
 
 «*' 
 
 
 
 ^L|- 'li,' "',.. ,. . 
 
 ■m 
 
 
 _ 
 
 
 
 He had heard the signal 
 snots over two miles 
 away. Dave and Horace 
 did not near them, tne 
 wind being in tne wrong 
 direction, and they had 
 gone back to tne Cabin. 
 Tne sun was now set- 
 ting with tne hard work 
 yet before us, and a 
 good four miles from 
 camp. Don t take maga- 
 zine pictures seriously 
 which show the hunter 
 coming home with a deer 
 slung around his should- 
 ers. That cannot be 
 done except perhaps 
 with very small speci- 
 mens. After a deer has 
 hung twenty-four hours 
 and has gotten stirr, one 
 strong man can handle him, but not through red brush. 
 We cut our pole, strapped the deer closely to it and 
 began the hard pull for home, two men alternating 
 with the third who carried the three rifles. We made 
 half the distance and had almost reached the old road 
 through the pines when darkness and tired muscles 
 made further progress impossible. 
 
 It was decided to split the party. Bill and Wawa 
 stayed by the deer while O. H., being the longest 
 legged, set out through the black woods for camp and 
 help. On reaching the Cabin, I found the gang about 
 to sit down to supper, George having already served 
 the soup. The sight of the three rifles and my blood 
 stained clothing convinced them that the welcome news 
 was true. We stopped only long enough to eat the soup 
 and fill a bottle of spring water for the thirsty hunters 
 out there in the pines. In ten minutes, lanterns were 
 ready and the "gang" were off. A signal brought a 
 
 30 
 
BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 response from away beyond East Branch Swamp. We 
 wanted mem to know we were coming to their relief. 
 
 In an hour, or maybe less, we found them sitting by 
 a friendly nre and fairly cnoking for water. After 
 resting a moment and examining the prize, the return 
 journey was begun, the many willing shoulders making 
 possible continuous motion at good speed. We reached 
 the Cabin at nine. Hanging the deer upon our game 
 tree was short work, and we sat down to a hard earned 
 but rather late supper. 
 
 Many another such tale might be told — how Bill 
 brought down his first buck, shooting from a pine tree 
 at one of the finest specimens of black shouldered 
 deer ever taken out of Pike County; or how he and 
 O. H. waded and swam across from Pmchot Island 
 with a small buck one late November afternoon, 
 coming down the Hawley Road with outer clothing 
 frozen stiff. Every head that adorns our walls at home 
 suggests a story of its own and brings back memories 
 of those hard but happy days in the woods. 
 
 May there be many more like them ! 
 
 31 
 
MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 The sun has set back of the Knot) and the hunter is 
 coming in from the last days hunt. His cheery whistle 
 as he swings down the road is answered by a call from 
 the Cabin. What matters if he has had luck or not? 
 The two weeks in the woods have hardened his muscles, 
 steadied his nerves and nlled him with vigor for another 
 year of work. He throws off his coat, stands his rifle 
 behind his cot and prepares to do violence to the 
 Brobdingnaggian supperthatGeorgehasheaped smoking 
 upon the table. 
 
 The moon rises cold and clear over the black ice 
 and the stillness promises a bite to the air for the 
 morning. A glance at the thermometer shows fifteen 
 degrees. 
 
 "It will be zero in the morning, boys ; let s put that 
 big log on her tonight. 
 
 It takes two of you to bring it in, a heavy white oak, 
 twelve inches through and three feet long. You roll 
 it back and pile the lighter logs in front. Into the red 
 hot coals, you thrust three or four fat pine knots, and 
 in an instant, the flames break through, setting free 
 the stored up warmth and sunshine the trees have 
 spent years in gathering for you. Pipes are nlled, 
 chairs drawn up and the last tales are told. Tomorrow, 
 we go out. 
 
 Back Log and Pine Knot. They light us to our wel- 
 come blankets and give an inspiration to happy dreams 
 of these, the better days of our lives. 
 
 32 
 
• BACK LOG and PINE KNOT 
 
 Members of trie 
 Minnisink Hunting and Fishing Club 
 
 William L. Fox "Bill 
 
 O. Howard Wolfe "O. H. 
 
 Horace W. Shelmire ..... Hoddy 
 
 David R. Shelmire "Dave 
 
 Walter Peirson, Jr. ..... "Wawa 
 
 Dr. George R. Fleming ..... "George 
 
 S. Judson Parrott "Pop 
 
 Dr. George E. Levis ..... Doc 
 
 Honorary Members 
 
 David Shelmire 
 J. M. Wolfe 
 
 33 
 
•MINNISINK CAMP 
 
 Index of Illustrations 
 
 Frontispiece : ' Down by the edge of the swamp. 
 
 Page 3. "Climb the nearest pine and High Knob 
 will see you. 
 
 Page 6. 'Like the fungus growth on a fallen oak 
 tree. 
 
 Page 8. In the old tenting days. 
 
 Page 10. 'The Cabin grew rapidly. 
 
 Page 14. k Tt is built to stay." 
 
 Page 17. Up the Hawley Road. ' 
 
 Page 20. "Through the White Birch Opening. " 
 
 Page 21. "A good tracking snow. 
 
 (The clearing at Smiths; High Knob in 
 the distance.) 
 
 Page 26. "Where the amber waters of the creek are 
 bridged by a fallen tree" (Hickory Cross- 
 ing). 
 
 Page 30. "Hanging the deer upon our game tree was 
 short work. 
 
 Page 31. "Come, let us draw up and smoke. 
 
 Page 32. "The sun has set back of the Knob. 
 
 The cover drawing of the Cabin fire-place is by 
 J. S. Moyer. 
 
 34 
 
BIDDLE CORPORATION 
 PHILADELPHIA