202 



RECREA TION. 



leisurely, through the rugged wilderness, to 

 the Lake of the Woods, a fathomless pool 

 into which no streams flow and which has 

 no known outlet. They camped over night, 

 and were tormented by mosquitoes and 

 thirst, for the water is bad. The Mazamas 

 divided here, the main body turning aside 

 to make the ascent of Mt. Pitt, a snow-peak 

 9,250 feet high. The 3 wheelmen went on 

 to Pelican bay, on Upper Klamath lake, 

 where they had glorious sport catching 

 trout, some of which are said to have 

 weighed 15 pounds each. 



" Monday August 17th. Mt. Pitt's party 

 arrived in camp at Pelican bay about 1 

 p.m." They reported a difficult trip, or 

 what the official report designates as a 

 "regular starveout time;" but after an 



hour's rest and refreshment they were 

 ready to press on toward the lake. 



From here on the journey was pleasant 

 but uneventful. The roads, for the most 

 part, being fairly good. At the foot of Mt. 

 Mazama they made the last camp, before 

 reaching the lake. The last entry, in Pro- 

 fessor McClure's note book, records the 

 fact that when in sight of the lake the cy- 

 clometer registered 887^, and leaves the 

 rest to the imagination of the reader. 

 However, it is known that these 3 dauntless 

 wheelmen made the return trip with ease, 

 and that by actual experience they have 

 proved the possibility and pleasantness of 

 bicycle mountaineering. They were the 

 first to make this long and rugged journey 

 by wheel, but will not be the last. 



A CANOE CRUISE IN NORTHERN MINNESOTA. 



S. B. BUCKMASTER, M.D. 



" Give me of your bark O birch tree ! 



Of your yellow bark O birch tree ! 



Growing by the rushing river, 

 . Tall and stately in the valley. 



I a light canoe will build me, 



Build a swift cheemaun for sailing, 



That shall float upon the river, 



Like a yellow leaf in autumn, 



Like a yellow water lily." 



Years of application to an exacting pro- 

 fession have failed to still the desire for the 

 piny wilderness, always felt, and but partly 

 gratified nearly a quarter of a century ago, 

 when a lad, in the beautiful valley lying in 

 the shadow of mighty Shasta, in Northern 

 California. Their summer vacations gave 

 opportunities for camping and hunting; 

 so one fall, when my friend, Dr. Hart, of 

 the Leech lake Indian Agency, in Northern 

 Minnesota, invited me to visit him, I joy- 

 fully arranged for a 2 weeks' absence. 



A day's ride to Brainerd, and a farther 

 ride of 60 miles Northward, brought me to 

 the town of Walker, on Leech lake, where 

 my friend met me at the train. Embark- 

 ing on a little steamer, filled with Chippe- 

 was, we soon reached the agency, located 

 on the shore of beautiful Leech lake, with 

 its 425 miles of pine-clad shores. Here is 

 the reservation of the Pillager band of 

 Chippewas, numbering some 1,500. 



The following day arrangements were 

 completed for our dash into the wilderness. 

 In the afternoon we embarked in 2 birch- 

 bark canoes. 



Our party consisted of C , the prin- 

 cipal of the Government school for Indian 

 children; my friend and me; Mart, whose 

 knowledge of Chippewa and woodcraft did 

 much to make the trip successful; and 2 

 men to do the work. 



We journeyed Northward for 5 days, glid- 

 ing past beautiful pine groves, interspersed 

 with deciduous growths, taking on their 

 autumnal livery; through winding rivers: 

 across wide lakes; amid vast beds of wild 

 rice, from which the mallards arose in 

 thousands; on through Winnebegoshish; 

 beyond the Mississippi, near its source; 

 and, with a 12-mile portage through the 

 pine woods, reached the Bowstring river. 

 Down the Bowstring; through dense for- 

 ests, with waving grass meadows inter- 

 spersed, in which could be seen many trails 

 of moose and deer. On past Moore river, 

 into the big fork of Rainy river, we pad- 

 dled, every hour replete with the pleasure 

 which comes to the wilderness lover. 



Everywhere the Chippewas were busy 

 gathering wild rice, beating it into canoes, 

 while paddling through it. It was taken 

 ashore and parched in large kettles, by 

 squaws. The bucks then hulled the rice, by 

 trampling, barefooted, on it, in a hole in the 

 ground. Tossing it in the air, in large 

 birch trays, served to separate all the dirt 

 thought necessary, by these none too par- 

 ticular feeders. I found it quite palatable, 

 when boiled, until personal observation 

 showed me how it was prepared. After 

 that, camp biscuits and game were good 

 enough. 



One afternoon we landed at an Indian 

 village. Entering a birch-bark tepee, to 

 see if I could buy some venison or moose 

 meat (the Indians on the reservation pay 

 little heed to game laws), a party of bucks 

 was seen seated on the ground, around a 

 red blanket, too deeply interested in a game 

 of poker to heed the stranger. A request 

 of the chief for permission to take their 



