RAFTING ON THE ST. JOE. 



179 



grimed faces, lit their pipes in lien of break- 

 fast, and started for the St. Joe. They 

 reached our camp about 11 o'clock, just 

 in time to help empty a kettleful of bacon 

 and beans that I had prepared. 



The afternoon we spent building our 

 raft. We cut 2 dry cedar logs 18 feet long 

 and about 14 inches in diameter, split them, 

 spiked on 4 strong crossbars, built an up- 

 per deck with split cedar boards and were 

 ready to set sail. 



Late in the afternoon it cleared a little, 

 and after whipping the stream about an 

 hour Martin and George came in with 3 

 trout. This stirred Ralph and Kemp to 

 emulation, and with a willow pole, a bit 

 of line, and a white miller that I gave 

 them, they went 200 yards down stream 

 and returned in 30 minutes with 12 one- 

 pounders. Our supper that night was 

 surely immense ; in the language of the 

 Florida kid, "If I ever et anythin' that 

 good before I kaint recollect it." 



Next morning we rolled our outfit in 2 

 tarpaulins, placed them on the upper deck 

 on the raft, made both fast with * jpe, bid 

 Ralph and Kemp good bye, untied our 

 anchor line and were off. Where we 

 launched our raft, the St. Joe is about 80 

 yards wide, and there is a long stretch of 

 rapids just below. We had provided 3 

 long cedar poles for steering and 2 paddles 

 for still water. As we moved from the 

 bank toward the main channel, our light 

 raft was caught by the swift current and 

 carried along at great speed. 



A feeling of mingled awe and pleasure 

 kept us silent until we had shot the rapids 

 and were gliding placidly on smooth water. 

 Other rapids came in quick succession and 

 we soon recovered from our first nervous- 

 ness and felt at home on our raft. 



Martin rigged his split bamboo, and at 

 the first cast reeled in a big trout. This 

 was more than I could stand and I was 

 soon his first assistant. Poor George, who 

 had never caught anything but catfish, 

 back in Missouri, did not take readily to 

 trout fishing. Every time he got a strike 

 he tried to yank the fish's head off. By 

 noon we had all the trout we wanted ; so, 

 heading for shore, we were soon landed 

 and all hands busy around the camp fire. 



Late in the afternoon we went aboard 



and ran down to the mouth of South Fork, 

 or Marble creek. There we found some 

 wickiups, built by a party who had preceded 

 us, and tied up for the night. After pass- 

 ing Marble creek the trout were so plen- 

 tiful that, as Martin said, even a Missourian 

 could catch them. But when George land- 

 ed the largest fish of the lot, Martin was 

 mad. 



Our bill of fare on the trip consisted of 

 grouse, ducks and trout, with bacon and 

 beans, flapjacks, and an occasional pudding 

 on the side. 



The next few days were spent in drift- 

 ing with the current, and a royal time we 

 had. We had been cautioned about the 

 danger of going over the Flysterical, Black 

 Prince, and Hell Gate rapids. We had 

 expected to let the raft down over them 

 with a rope. But Martin had become so 

 expert with the pole, that we ran the 3 

 rapids without mishap. Our only accident 

 occurred when, as I was standing on the 

 rear end and poling in opposition to Mar- 

 tin, we ran head on a big boulder, and 

 Martin was pitched about 10 feet forward 

 into swift water. He did not say a word, 

 but the look he gave me expressed his 

 thoughts. 



The first sign of civilization we came 

 across was at Elk prairie, a few miles 

 above slack water. Just as we rounded a 

 bend in the river, we saw a tent on the 

 bank and a man emerging therefrom, who 

 hailed us with a cheery "Hey there ! come 

 over and have a jolt." The echo of his 

 voice had barely returned from the oppo- 

 site bank, when George and Martin were 

 pulling wildly for the shore. The "jolt" 

 consisted of about 2 inches of good whis- 

 ky in the bottom of a tincup. 



We learned that a man coming down the 

 river the day before in a canoe, had killed 

 a bear 2 miles above the camp ; also that 

 it was the 14th bear killed that fall be- 

 tween Marble creek and the head of navi- 

 gation, a distance of 35 miles. 



In a few days we were at St. Joe, and 

 it was like parting from a friend, when 

 we transferred our baggage from the raft 

 to the steamboat. The next day we had a 

 beautiful ride down the river and across 

 lake Cceur D'Alene to Harrison, where we 

 took the train fpr home. 



Mr. Smith (in street car) — Madam, take 

 my seat. 



Mrs. Jones (who has been standing 

 15 minutes) — No, thanks. I get off at 

 the next corner. 



Mr. Smith— That's all right. So do I.— 

 Chicago Journal. 



