IN THE WOODS WITH ROD AND CAMERA. 



F. W. HALSEY, M.D. 



Leaving Boston at 9 145 p. m., Bangor is 

 comfortably reached at 5 a. m. An hour 

 for breakfast and a cigar, and we are again 

 whizzing along, over a route well worth 

 enjoying by daylight, our objective point 

 being Ashland, the terminus of one branch 

 of the Bangor and Aroostook Railroad. 

 Through a virgin forest, for much of the 

 distance, but little disfigured by fire or de- 

 pleted by the woodman's ax, Ashland is 

 reached at 12 130 p. m. A good dinner, and 

 we are once more pressing into the wilder- 

 ness, in a comfortable buggy, behind a 

 good horse and over a good road. Portage 

 lake is reached after a 10 mile drive. 

 There our guide met us with canoe, hav- 

 ing come down the river for that purpose. 

 We then had a canoe trip up Portage lake 

 5 miles, and up Fish river 15 miles. Ine 

 wind was blowing great guns on the lake, 

 and dead ahead. We must get there, how- 

 ever, and we make the start. I have not 

 been in a canoe nor touched a paddle for 

 about a year, but that is ignored, and I 

 strain every nerve in the effort to keep up 

 my end. It proves the fiercest wind 

 against which I ever paddled, and much of 

 the time we are able to hold our own only 

 by the greatest effort. Two hours of hard 

 work take us to Orcutt's camp, a short 

 3 miles on our way. Discretion seems the 

 better part of valor, and we decide to stay 

 over night with Orcutt, who has a beauti- 

 ful set of camps, and makes us comfort- 

 able. Up and on the water at 4 o'clock 

 next morning. Eighteen miles ordinarily 

 would not be much of a paddle, but when 

 13 of it is up a swift and shallow stream, 

 it means a great deal of hard work. But, 

 oh ! the joy of it. 



It was Sunday, August 12, the Sunday 

 following that terrible Saturday when Bos- 

 ton sweltered at 98 deg. Was it hot here ? 

 Decidedly no. We slept cold under 2 blan- 

 kets and a quilt. The sun was welcomed 

 gladly as it crept above the trees. The sky 

 was never so blue, ' the water never so 

 clear, and with deep, full breaths we drank 

 in the pure, delightful air, only dispensed 

 in God's country. The gulls saluted us 

 shrilly, as we sped along. A flock of black 

 ducks rose with whir and splutter, circling 

 to our left to let us pass. Soon we entered 

 the river, deep, silent, its banks shaded by 

 beautiful trees of almost every variety, all 

 fresh and green and casting their perfect 

 shadows into the quiet water at their feet. 

 At every turn, a new, beautiful picture. 

 My paddle is cast down, and I surrender 



myself entirely to the panorama. The 

 guide is an expert canoeman, and we pro- 

 ceed almost noiselessly. Sweeping around 

 a sudden turn, we come on 2 deer, standing 

 on a sand point, one drinking, the other 

 watching. They see us, but we are abso- 

 lutely quiet, and they show no fear. The 

 instinct of the hunter is strong on me, and 

 I reach for my gun. Ah, I remember I 

 brought no gun this year, but a camera. 

 It is one of the late folding contraptions; 

 it does not spring open as it should, but 

 is pried open finally. In pulling out the 

 bellows to get the proper focus, the cam- 

 era being new to me, I pull too hard 

 and off goes the bellows from its trolley. 

 No time to fix this. A glance is taken 

 at the deer. Charlie has simply held 

 the canoe steady, making no sound, and 

 the deer are standing quietly, not^ much 

 over 50 feet away, waiting to be "took." 

 Steadying the thing as well as possible, I 

 press the button. At the sharp click, their 

 flags go up, and with a startled whisk, 

 they 1 are off. By no means a novice with 

 the camera, I have ample time now to re- 

 flect, and realize that my photograph may 

 turn out well as a landscape, but it will 

 never draw a prize as a picture of game. 

 Never mind. ; the picture impressed on my 

 retina is perfect. Nothing can spoil that. 

 Now we are in quick water, and now for 

 13 miles it is all poling; rather hard work 

 for Charlie, but more or less exciting 

 for me. 



Hugh's brook, a clear, cold stream, flow- 

 ing into the river, offers a convenient spot 

 for breakfast, and a chance for a few 

 trout. It is not easy to get at my rods, so 

 I cut a pole. Charlie has a short line and 

 hook in his pocket; a nail serves for sink- 

 er, and we start in. Fortunately, we 

 begged Vi dozen worms last night, or we 

 could not eat trout for breakfast. The hot-, 

 torn is hardly reached, when a tug is felt, 

 and a ^-pounder is pulled in. Once more, 

 this time a ^-pounder gets there first, and 

 pays the penalty. In 5 minutes we have 

 enough for breakfast. Charlie proceeds to" 

 get it ready while I continue fishing. This 

 is the best I have had in a year or more, 

 and although the method is deplorable, we 

 must have fish, and how do I know that the 

 fellows have trout in camp; so I keep on 

 fishing till we have 25 nice ones; in other 

 words, till my worms give out. When 

 2-3 of our way up stream, we are obliged 

 to carry our boat and luggage around a 

 fall, but not a long or hard carry. A little 



