Nepigon River Fishing 



Ducks seek the wild-rice swamps, spread- 

 ing out for leagues at a considerable dis- 

 tance east and west from the lake. The 

 guides delight in the chase after a few 

 brace of partridges, knocked down with 

 sticks, or twitched by a pole and noose 

 out of their stupid roost in the trees. A 

 covey once actually sauntered into the 

 tent, and was caught by quietly dropping 

 the flap. Those troublesome vermin, the 

 minks, are too shy for a shot ; and the 

 guides always neglect trapping them until 

 after some morning has found the corral- 

 pool empty of the best reserved fish. 



Man may not live by fish alone ; but 

 not until the potato, rice, and flour sacks 

 nearly reach bottom are the canoes over- 

 hauled with the last touches, and pointed 

 southward. Few care to keep up with 

 the river's speed, drifting in two days 

 through its rocky canons and placid lakes. 

 There are favorite casts to be repeated, 

 pools neglected on the way up that invite 

 trial ; and more than once the tent is 

 pitched and folded, prolonging the regret- 

 ful farewell. 



Americans on either side the border 

 concern themselves little about coming 

 generations. Yet interest, if not duty, 

 should prompt them to take some care 



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