by Tom Keer
The phone rang, and it listed a number I did not recognize. Nonetheless, I answered.
“I have the chair,” the voice said.
“Good chairs are important,” I said. “Is yours comfortable?”
“You know it’s virtually impossible for a man to shoot himself in the back of the head with a shotgun while standing let alone while sitting.”
Ah, now we were getting somewhere. This comment involved a piece I had written. “You have Edmund Davis’ chair?”
“Yes. I stopped for gas in a station near the Cascapedia River, and a salmon guide was sitting in it. It took a bit to establish provenance, but I bought it from him and donated it to the Cascapedia River Salmon Museum. To my knowledge it’s still on display.”
That’s how I met Ed Belak, a bird hunter and fly rodder who knew of the June 19, 1908 shot fired on the front porch of Red Camp on the Cascapedia River. Edmund Davis owned Red Camp, the place he acquired from his fishing friend R.G. Dun. That’s not dun as in an adult mayfly; it’s Dun as in the founder of Dun and Bradstreet. But the big question is this; was murder committed along the banks of churning pocket water that filled deep, slow pools? Or was it a suicide overlooking banks rimmed with alders chock-a-block with grouse and woodcock?
Davis and Dun came from families of a similar ilk. Perry Davis, Edmund’s grandfather, was a Rhode Islander who, in 1840, invented the Davis Painkiller. The drug was an all-natural blend of opiates and ethyl alcohol initially used for treating colds, coughs and sprains. Civil War doctors and field medics came to rely on Davis Painkiller to treat wounded soldiers. The fighting was high, and that made the demand tremendous. The Davis family became quite wealthy.
Young Davis was a lackluster student. His study at Harvard University, designed to prepare him to manage his family’s company, ended unceremoniously after two years. His passion was in the woods and waters, and his inspiration came from Teddy Roosevelt’s sporting travel to new frontiers across all points on the compass. Davis climbed a train headed for Canada, and rode a buckboard that rattled down dusty, dirt roads. He fished and hunted all year for everything, but Atlantic salmon fishing, grouse and woodcock captured his heart.
And Davis excelled in both disciplines. His two Atlantic salmon that weighed more than 50 pounds established him as only one of three Cascapedia anglers to have accomplished that feat. He privately published a book of 100 copies called “Salmon Fishing on the Grand Cascapedia,” in which he thoroughly discussed the knowledge of a species garnered by one who fished every day of the spring, summer and fall seasons. The fact that he landed a brace of 50 pounders in the era of cane rods and gut leaders speaks volumes.
Davis’ book on salmon fishing was upstaged only by his privately published 1908 book titled “Woodcock Shooting.” Published a scant few months prior to his death, Davis laid down a series of widely adopted principles that many of us use today. If you can find one of the original 100 published copies, it’ll cost about the same as a Parker VHE 20 bore in good condition. To my mind, it’d be worth it. I understand the importance of a fine gunning iron, so here are a few of Davis’ pioneering efforts.
Dogs
Davis is considered to be the first man to hunt birds in Canada with a dog. He didn’t have breed myopia, and his breeds of choice included pointers, cockers and setters. He did note that he favored a white base coat for easier visibility and a thick coat to protect the dog from briars. Davis selected dogs with a moderate range and excellent sniffers, and he whistle trained them for casting and recall. He broke dogs all the way through, which is why he added a sheep or a goat bell to their collars to help locate them.
Davis knew his dogs ran hard, so he fed them well, once before a morning run and later at night. To prevent soreness and stiffness, he bathed his dogs’ legs and feet in a mixture of warm water and alcohol every night. Then he looked for burrs and briars between their toes and in their pads. Finally, Davis lined their kennels with hay to add warmth during a cold night.
Guns and Loads
Davis recognized the need for quick, effective shots, and as a result, he favored responsive shotguns that were light in hand. The defacto side-by-side was perfectly designed as an upland game gun, and he found precision in a 20 bore that weighed in around six pounds. For this type of close shooting, Davis preferred the ideal pattern spread accompanied by more open chokes and light, ¾ ounce 20-gauge loads. Smaller shot sizes made him deadly. If you’ve ever seen a woodcock hunter drop to a knee in a thick alder run to have extra room for his swing, think of Davis, for that was a style of shooting he pioneered. He was quite outspoken about pulling the trigger when the muzzle met the bird. Swinging through didn’t work well in tag alders, where a snap shot excelled.
Apparel
Lots of walking in a wide variety of conditions made Davis think of his feet. He wore high, lace-up boots certainly for comfort with an eye towards keeping his feet dry in damp river bottoms. His shirts and pants were made from tightly-woven cotton to keep Hawthorne tines and briars at bay. To improve movement, Davis shied away from the standard shooting jacket as the snug fit restricted movement and resulted in a missed shot. Instead, he preferred wearing a vest with pockets for shells and game.
Davis met his end in the rocking chair that Ed Belak found in a modern gas station. Despite the argument heard with his son shortly before the shot, his death was ruled a suicide. Folklore says Davis’ diagnosis of Bright’s disease, one that would claim his kidneys, led him to that possible decision. Others believe his wife Maria shot him after learning his intention to file for divorce. A third theory suspects his son Steuart was the assassin. Inheritance greed allegedly drove that possibility. Due to his social prominence, Davis’ death attracted attention similar to the JFK assassination. It’s also a mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma. Bird season approaches, and the more things change, the more they stay the same. My hunting approach isn’t unique, for I follow in the shadows of Edmund Davis. I tighten the laces of my knee-high L.L. Bean boots that are ideal for walking through mucky river bottoms and feeder streams. My clothes are waxed cotton, and I wear a strap vest. In the early season, I’ll shoot light loads through a 20-bore, and when the leaves fall, I’ll switch to a 28. I have three English setters, and my Parkers weigh in a bit more than six pounds. Instead of a train, I’ll load up my perfectly broken-in pickup with 204,000 miles on it. I certainly have fewer zeros following the commas in my bank account, but thanks to Davis, I feel just as rich. I should give Ed Belak a call. I suspect he’s itching to go.
