2l8 



RECREATION. 



FISHING IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 



H. LESTER KUTCHIN, M.D. 



We never had a more pleasant trip than 

 the one we made last summer. 



Our objective point was Manistique lake, 

 in Michigan. We had heard so many good 

 reports of these waters, that our expecta- 

 tions were on tiptoe, and for once we were 

 not disappointed. 



My wife and I, went from Columbus to 

 Cleveland, where we took the steamer 

 " City of Mackinac " for St. Ignace. 



It is a most delightful trip; once on the 

 big boat you are free for a time from the 

 worry and exactions of business; free from 

 the heat and dust; ready to be at ease 

 and " loaf with your soul," or with any 

 other congenial soul that happens to come 

 along. 



Our first stop was at Detroit, the pretti- 

 est, cleanest city in America. 



We had our wheels along, so we took a 

 spin about the town, and went to pictu- 

 resque Belle Isle park, in the middle of the 

 great river. 



The trip up the river, through the St. 

 Clare flats, and across Lake Huron, was a 

 gorgeous panorama of out door beauty. 



We took our view of Mackinac, from the 

 deck of the steamer. A nice place, I should 

 judge, but we wanted the quiet of the deep 

 woods and the chirp of half awakened 

 birds. 



St. Ignace is the end of the line, so we 

 were forced to leave the boat, and waited 

 5 hours for a train that would take us 

 where we could get a team for Manistique 

 lake. 



We tried to kill time by riding about the 

 quaint old town, in a yellow wagon driven 

 by Felix Pokan, a wild French half breed. 

 He gave us his entire history without our 

 asking for it. He said he was brought up 

 in an Indian camp, and never learned to 

 read or write; that he had a hotel and store 

 in St. Ignace for 30 years and made $7,000; 

 then his wife died and in 3 months he got 

 another, who proved his ruin, spending his 

 money, and driving him to drink. 



He took us to the grave of Father Mar- 

 quette, and to the old church that he built. 

 Felix, who swore like a Gulf pirate, was 

 very devout in the church, and rolled up 

 the whites of his eyes like a dying calf. 



We reached the lake in time for supper, 

 and found some very pleasant Columbus 

 people in the hotel; Mr. Lampson, and 

 his charming wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Kauf- 

 man. 



We arranged for our boat and guide, and 

 the next morning as soon as we could see, 

 we were up and after the fish. 



Probably most readers of Recreation 

 have caught big fish, so I will not go into 

 a description of our catch. 



We never had finer sport; big 12 pound 

 pike, and elegant black bass, and muska- 



longe one third as long as your rod. Who 

 could ask for anything better? 



My wife caught the largest muskalonge, 

 a 17 pounder. The next largest was caught 

 by Mrs. Lampson. 



We quit every day at noon, as we did not 

 want to be piggish, and catch more than 

 could be used at the hotel, and about the 

 lake. 



Our largest catch was 80 pounds of fish. 

 We did not go after trout, but Mr. Lamp- 

 son, and Mr. Kaufman, went up a little 

 creek that empties into the lake, and 

 brought back 124 of as fine trout as were 

 ever landed.* 



The Peninsula is a paradise for invalids 

 and sportsmen. The air is full of ozone, 

 the lakes are full of fish, the woods abound 

 in game. 



I am in love with this part of old Earth 

 as a summer lounging place. 



We are impatiently looking forward to 

 another season, when we can get our fish- 

 ing tackle together, and go once more after 

 the scaly denizens of this beautiful lake. 



A DAY OFF." 



The office force had been getting uneasy, 

 for several days, as the trout season was 

 far advanced and none of us had had the 

 opportunity of baiting a hook. The strain 

 became so tense that finally the Boss said 

 business might go to the Devil; he was 

 going trout fishing, and we might go with 

 him. He insisted, as usual, on furnishing 

 rig, bait, meals and even the trout stream, 

 as he happened to be a member of the Big 

 Bear Fishing Club, who own Big Bear 

 creek, in Sullivan county, Pa. 



The party consisted of the General 

 Agent, Ed. the cashier, Buckbee, Mollie, 

 Mrs. K. acting as chaperon, and last but 

 not least, the Fellow they took along to 

 have fun with. 



A drive of 25 miles, through one of the 

 most picturesque parts of the state was un- 

 eventful, and we reached our hotel, at the 

 mouth of the stream, by 4 p.m., having 

 made the trip in 3 hours. The team was 

 immediately unharnessed, and Ed. and the 

 Fellow started up the stream. The water 

 was clear and low, but we succeeded in 

 capturing 13 nice trout before supper. In 

 the meantime, the General Agent had 

 started off alone, with the full intention of 

 not leaving anything that could shake a 

 tail, in the creek, and from the looks of his 

 basket when he came in, he hadn't. He 

 even tried to ring in some measly little 

 chubs on us, and count them as trout. 

 After supper somebody proposed that we 

 go and see John Dean, a member of the 

 Club, catch trout in the dark. Taking a 



* Entirely too many for 2 men in one day. — Editor. 



