22 



RECREATION. 



roads. I had not previously realized the 

 importance of the movement, but the sub- 

 ject was coming home to me. Joe said there 

 were 3 kinds of roads in Maine — roads, 

 buckboard roads, and tote roads. The va- 

 riety which was engaging our attention was 

 a buckboard road. 



You take a buckboard road lengthways. 

 The trees by its side keep you in the one 

 narrow way. It is not a case of shake well 

 before taking. You are well shaken while 

 you are taken, and the effects of the treat- 

 ment last even unto the third day. A buck- 

 board road has not been brought to a defin- 

 ite grade, yet it has a general level, usually 

 the level of the mud and water which fill 

 it. Above this level rise the rocks as high 

 as the axle tree. Below this level extends 

 the mud to the depth of the hub. An occa- 

 sional log is thrown in for good measure. 

 By some curious process of nature the rocks 

 and mud holes have been so arranged that, 

 when the fore wheel on one side of the buck- 

 board is on top of a rock, the opposite hind 

 wheel is deep in the mud. In the space of 

 2 seconds this situation is reversed. The 

 fore wheel drops violently, and the hind 

 wheel, with a scrape and a slip or 2, reaches 

 the top of the next rock. It is a continu- 

 ous performance, rocks and mud, then mud 

 and rocks. For variety there is now and then 

 a swamp or the swampy margin of some 

 lake. There the corduroy road prevails. 

 It is made of straight logs laid side by side 

 in the mud. This road also has not been 

 brought to a definite grade. Both front 

 wheels pass over a log at the same time. 

 When they are well over, the back wheels 

 together pass over a log. If the planks of 

 the ' buckboard are springy, you realize 

 whence the buckboard took its name and 

 think of the bucking bronco of the plains. 

 Often the logs get out of place and bunch 

 together. The horses jump the vacant- 

 places and the wheels bring up on the pile 

 of logs and then quickly go over them. In 

 this case you hang on and take the bump- 

 ing which you are sure to get. The driver 

 advises you to sit loose, and you are nearly 

 thrown out of the buckboard. Then you 

 get your feet braced and sit tight and are 

 soon wearied by the jar. You can not get 

 rid of the buckboard road, for like the poor 

 it is always with you ; yet it is not so bad 

 as you might think, and there are some mit- 

 igating features. 



After 9 miles we came to Deer lake, where 

 we saw our first log camp. The proprietor 

 soon had dinner ready for us, trout fresh 

 from the lake, and for dessert, mince pie. 

 Mince pie in midsummer! Mince pie 1,000 

 miles from Chicago and the stock yards! 

 Mince pie 9 miles from Bemis and over a 

 buckboard road ! Shades of last fall's deer 

 and moose! How can these things be? 



While the horses rested we walked on. 



It was a clear August dav, with the cus- 

 tomary heat tempered delightfully by a cool 

 Northwest breeze ; a day with here and 

 there a fleecy, fair weather cloud, giving its 

 delicate hint of beautiful October. The sides 

 of the road were lined with bushes loaded 

 with blueberries and red raspberries. We 

 lingered for a second dessert. Occasion- 

 ally there were large beds of trailing arbu- 

 tus with a richness of green foliage which 

 excited our admiration. Everywhere scar- 

 let bunchberries shone amid the green 

 ground pine which trailed artistically over 

 the decaying logs. The soft leaves of the 

 moose maple brushed us in the face. Here 

 and there we passed through the deep shade 

 of primeval trees which had escaped the axe 

 of the woodman. The air was redolent of 

 spruce and balsam. In the quiet and peace 

 we rested and invited our souls. Time 

 passed unconsciously. The spell was bro- 

 ken when my wife said, pointing to a brown 

 spot on the hill side, "What's that?" I did 

 not know, and we sat and watched it. It 

 moved. Its head appeared. It was a deer. 

 It looked about for a few seconds and then 

 moved away, unconscious that its human 

 enemy was at hand. We had seen our first 

 deer without the aid of a guide, and noth- 

 ing more seemed necessary to complete our 

 first day in the woods. 



However, the aspect of nature was rap- 

 idly changing. Dark clouds were gathering 

 about the top of a mountain to the North- 

 ward. The wind was rising and the woods 

 were growing dark. A low, far-away 

 grumble .of thunder reached our ears. A 

 storm would soon be upon us. We looked 

 for Joe and the buckboard and then lis- 

 tened for the rumble of the wheels. He 

 came none too soon, with the wraps and 

 rubber blankets. We must endure what- 

 ever nature had in store for us, and pre- 

 pared to face in the open whatever might 

 come, for roof there was none. Just as 

 the shower reached us, we came to a river. 

 The wind-driven storm made the surface 

 of the water smoke. The blinding sheets 

 of rain curled around the horses, and they 

 stopped midstream, but the whip compelled 

 them to go on. We crossed a triangular 

 piece of land and came to a second river, 

 which was running swiftly into the first. 

 Again the poor horses were exposed to the 

 wind and rain ; but we were soon across 

 and sheltered under a grouo of spruces, 

 where we sat out the storm. 



When it was over, we resumed our jour- 

 ney over the buckboard road. Darkness 

 came on. We crossed the river twice and 

 drove half a mile in the bed of the stream. 

 We toiled slowly up a long grade. At last 

 we saw the welcome lights of the camp ; 

 and cold, wet and hungry we pulled up. 

 Joe was out before us and with match in 

 hand ran in, while we slowly followed. 



