IN THE WOODS WITH ROD AND CAMERA. 



101 



more hard poling, and we are once more in 

 dead water, and soon in Big Fish lake, 

 our destination, one of the most beautiful 

 lakes I have ever seen. Dotted with many 

 picturesque islands, surrounded by green 

 hills and mountains, its waters clear as 

 crystal, it furnishes a scene ever varying 

 and beautiful. From the clinging mists 

 of early morning, to the resplendent sun- 

 sets, it is always a beautiful picture. A 

 short paddle, and we are within hail of 

 our camp, "Injun Camp." The Admiral's 

 salute is not in it to the welcome accorded 

 us by those in camp, and we are soon in 

 the hands of our friends. It has been my 

 privilege to spend many vacations in the 

 woods, and I have tried tenting and living 

 in the typical log camp, but never before 

 in a spot so ideal. Three good sized tents, 

 the largest having a fly, covering the tent 

 completely and projecting 15 feet in front, 

 made a fire under the fly practical, and 

 allowed us to sit out doors, yet pro- 

 tected us from wet weather. The usual 

 bed of fir boughs was supplemented by 

 an arrangement of logs and small limbs, 

 put together as only expert guides know 

 how. Through the ingenuity of some 

 of our party tables, washstands, seats and 

 even rustic and comfortable chairs had been 

 built. With an ample larder, furnished 

 from "Pierce's best," who could refuse -to 

 be happy? There was but one drawback 

 to this paradise. We were not to enjoy its 

 beauties and comforts alone. Though so 

 far from home, and so difficult of access, 

 40 others had spied out this particular spot, 

 and located at different camps on the 

 lake. 



Then followed days of supreme delight. 

 We could be as lazy as we wished, meals 

 at any hour, and have what we ordered. 

 There were but 4 of us, all congenial, and 

 the 2 best guides in the region. We were 

 more than fortunate, but this was not all 

 due to luck. Freeman is an old cam- 

 paigner; that was one of his stamping 

 grounds, and he had tried the McGowen 

 brothers, George and Charlie, before, and 

 they were not found wanting. So much 

 is dependent on inte/ligent and willing 

 guides. It makes all the difference between 

 a successful, happy trip, and a dismal fail- 

 ure. Indeed, that whole beautiful region 

 was completely hoodooed for us, owing to 

 the experience of 2 intimate friends, who 

 went up*there and fell into the hands of the 

 Philistines. One of our pleasures this year 

 consisted in trying to get some good pic- 

 tures of game. Have you ever tried it? 

 It is as difficult as taking a picture of a 

 2 year old baby ; worse, if anything. It is 

 difficult to take a large camera from place 

 to place in the woods or even in a canoe, 

 and with the small affairs used for snap 



shots, it is almost impossible to get near 

 enough to the game to get a good picture. 

 Notwithstanding this, I had some delight- 

 ful morning and evening trips trying it. 

 Occasionally it was too early in the morn- 

 ing, sometimes too late in the evening. 

 Again, after making a snap, I would find 

 that the sun had hidden its face under a 

 cloud just at the moment of my exposure. 

 Another time the sun would persist in 

 shining directly in the face of the lens, and 

 the deer would not change their pose nor 

 allow me to move either the sun or myself. 

 Many days were cloudy, and nothing could 

 be done against a background of trees. 

 In ' only one exposure where deer were 

 included in the picture, were the conditions 

 all with me, and I have already told of my 

 discomfiture in takjng that. The old saying, 

 "you see the game when you haven't a 

 gun," applies equally well to camera hunt- 

 ing. I was particularly anxious to get a 

 picture of an old bull moose. Let me tell 

 you how near I came to it. 



We were on our way home, having been 

 up a river offering a good chance to see 

 a moose. Half way down the river, we came 

 to a loggers' camp. There we stopped for 

 lunch. Five minutes after leaving the 

 camp we noticed a peculiar reddish looking 

 branch protruding from the bushes away 

 down the river. We had converted so 

 many stumps, branches and things into 

 deer, only to find them change back into 

 plain inanimate objects as we drew nearer, 

 that we kept still. Presently the 

 seeming bush moved, and resolved itself 

 into the antlers of a large bull moose. He 

 saw us fully as soon as we did him, He 

 waited until we were within 75 yards of 

 him, then turned his head and horns away 

 from us, and sneaked into the bushes. We 

 could see his huge hind quarters as he 

 slowly moved away, but he was so con- 

 cealed by the bushes that no picture could 

 be secured of him. He would have been 

 an easy mark with a rifle, but alas, we 

 could not shoot him ; it was yet the close 

 season, and it would not do. His horns 

 were still in the velvet and it would have 

 been impossible to keep the head; besides 

 we had no gun. 



The lake on which we were encamped 

 furnishes the best of trout fishing most 

 of the season, the trout rising freely 

 to the fly. As in most of these large 

 lakes, the trout are capricious, and at 

 times, though breaking water freely all 

 around us, no fly which we could select 

 proved sufficiently seductive. While we 

 were able to take a few trout every day, it 

 was not what would be called good fishing. 

 Charlie spoke of a pond several miles 

 through the woods, where he believed we 

 could get fine fishing if we could strike 



