A TRIP TO THE MAINE WOODS. 



F. M. SPIEGLE. 



Our little family party had been at 

 Rangeley lake only 2 hours; in fact, just 

 long enough to be shown to our airy rooms 

 overlooking the most beautiful sheet of 

 water I had ever seen. We had changed 

 our dusty clothes, when decided symptoms 

 of the fishing fever took possession of me. I 

 had often read of the wonderful Rangeley 

 lake region and of the enormous trout 

 that abound in those waters, and had been 

 told by my friends of their personal experi- 

 ences at that place and of their remarkable 

 catches; but an old angler always takes fish 

 stories with a great deal of salt. I had my 

 rod with me, but had not much hope of 

 being able to use it, as our stay at the 

 Rangeley region was to be short and was 

 not intended for a fishing trip. But when 

 one is longing to cast a fly he may be for- 

 given for yielding to his inclinations. So it 

 came to pass that by the following morn- 

 ing, bright and early, I was seated on an 

 old buckboard with Martin Fuller for 

 guide, rattling away for Kennebago camp. 

 Fuller is one of the best guides I ever em- 

 ployed. He proposed the Kennebago lake 

 trip in order that I might see as much of 

 the country as possible, besides securing a 

 good mess of trout. I will never forget 

 that drive. Some people might have called 

 it tiresome, but to me the excitement of 

 riding over boulders 3 feet high and 

 through forests that had never been mo- 

 lested by lumbermen was delightful. 



My companion told me the Range- 

 ley lake region was named for an Eng- 

 lishman who settled there some 50 years 

 ago and founded the village of Rangeley. 

 Fuller said that even in those days wealthy 

 men traveled many miles to visit that 

 section to catch trout and kill big game. 

 Although the region has been known so 

 many years there are comparatively few vis- 

 iting it to-day. This seems strange as it 

 is a perfect Paradise for sportsmen and 

 through the well conducted guide system 

 the most remote and isolated lakes and 

 ponds are reached with ease. 



We had driven about 2 miles when Ful- 

 ler pointed out to me the White moun- 

 tains of New Hampshire, 80 miles away. A 

 grander view I had never seen. The soft, 

 fleecy clouds which had been gathering all 

 morning lay in great masses through the 

 numerous valleys, casting fairy-like shad- 

 ows below and, like immense curtains, lift- 

 ing occasionally with the wind, unveiling 

 some grand old peak we had not seen be- 

 fore. 



About 10 o'clock we arrived at Loon 

 Lake camp, which marked half way be- 

 tween Rangeley and our destination. After 

 a hearty handshake with old Captain York, 

 the proprietor, a glimpse of the lake and a 

 welcome invitation to dine with him on our 

 return, we again went on our way, bumpity 

 bump, for Kennebago, arriving at that camp 

 about noon, too eager for sport to take 

 time for dinner at the camp. We hurriedly 

 unhitched, stabled our horse and lost no 

 time in preparing ourselves for the fun. 



Kennebago is the favorite entrance for 

 hunting parties starting out for big game 

 in the Maine wilderness. The camps con- 

 sist of several well built log cabins, where 

 a sportsman may remain any length of 

 time and receive the best of care for a 

 comparatively small amount of money. I 

 would not advise a society man to take his 

 family there for the summer, as I am afraid 

 those inclined to gayety would be disap- 

 pointed. The proprietor is a big, brawny 

 mountaineer, who is ever ready to do all 

 he can for the pleasure and comfort of his 

 guests. I am told by trustworthy patrons 

 that his cooking cannot be excelled. The 

 interior of the cabin is adorned with 

 mounted heads of moose, deer and caribou, 

 which have been killed in the vicinity. 



Lake Kennebago, only 100 feet away, 

 is one of the grandest sheets of water 

 in the State, is 7 miles long and will aver- 

 age about a mile wide. The water 

 is as clear as crystal and is the home of 

 monster trout and salmon that are ever 

 ready to snap at the slightest suggestion 

 of a fly. The lake is surrounded by for- 

 ests of spruce and balsam so dense it fs 

 almost impossible to penetrate the^a any 

 distance. Most of the traveling is done by 

 canoe through the numerous lakes and 

 streams, with only short carries now and 

 then. About a mile below the foot of the 

 lake are the Kennebago falls, which are 

 noted for their beauty. Up the stream 3 

 miles is a picturesque lake, about a mile 

 long, which is appropriately called "The 

 Fly Fisherman's Ideal." On its shores deer 

 can be seen at almost any time. Up this 

 stream and across the waters of Little Ken- 

 nebago lie, in far away solitude, the Seven 

 ponds. There the sportsman can find un- 

 limited fishing and hunting, besides seeing 

 some marvelous work of beavers. 



Comfortably seated in a canoe which 

 Fuller skillfully paddled just close enough 

 to shore to allow me to cast my flies tow- 

 ards a likely home of a thoughtless trout, 



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