XXVI 



RECREATION. 



CANOEING DOWN THE KENTUCKY. 



HENRY J. BROWN. 



"Have you seen 2 tramps pushing an In- 

 jun canoe down this river painted green?" 



"No," said the bridge watchman ; and I 

 knew he knew, though I think the paint 

 puzzled him. 



This was at Frankfort-on-the-Kentucky, 

 and I said tramps, because that was my 

 guess. When they left Louisville for 

 Beattyville both were spick and span in 

 ducks and blazers, the ducks being white 

 and beautifully creased. 



When you are waiting to meet friends 

 who, some 5 days before, have started from 

 200 miles upstream to meet you at a des- 

 ignated spot, and you find them not, yon 

 want something to amuse you while you 

 wait. I went to the express office, took 

 out my canvasback canoe and found a 

 dozen holes punched in her skin. 



A big lump of pitch, some light canvas, 

 a tinner's firepot, his soldering iron, a quan- 

 tity of patience, a stock of perseverance, a 

 guard on the tongue when skin of hand 

 and skin of canoe graft together in the 

 ironing process, and lo ! time flies. 



I said to the accommodating bridgeman, 

 "Please inform those folks, when they 

 come, that the person they expected to meet 

 here has dropped down the river and will 

 wait for them at the first good camp ground 

 below the locks. If they should not rec- 

 ognize a good camp ground, that is their 

 misfortune and they will get over it. They 

 are out cruising and must learn these little 

 things. The parties are of disreputable ap- 

 pearance and it has rained on them a week. 

 Their whiskers have that much of a start. 

 By these signs you shall know them." 



He said he would, and dingy but beauti- 

 fully situated Frankfort receded behind one 

 of the lovely hills that surround her. At 

 the locks I found darkness and a roar of 

 waters over the dam which so appealed to 

 my imagination and charity that I did not 

 disturb the lockman. In the morning, when 

 I had straightened out the kinks in a lanky 

 anatomy, I determined not again to bivouac 

 in the canoe. This first camp was named 

 Camp Cramp. 



Being new to locks and keepers, though 

 old to cruising, I asked a boy if they would 

 open to such a small craft as mine. 



"Yes," said the boy, "they've got to open 



even to a d chunk" ; and I was left 



with a doubt as to whether he should be 

 chastised by the lockman or me. 



Between the locks I did what every nov- 

 ice is likely to do: tied up to the ladder and 

 climbed out to help the keeper open the 

 sluices. It was due to his thoughtful 

 warning that I saved my dufiie from drop- 

 ping into the canal from the canoe suspend- 

 ed 15 feet from the water. At his word I 

 reached ship just in time to cast off and 

 drop with the sinking water. One is not 

 likely to forget the first locking through. 



"Steamboat Holler" the natives call it. 

 The river sweeps in a graceful curve with- 



in the crescent of a high wooded ridge. 

 There I camped and decided to await my 

 friends. Hummingbird camp it became, 

 because I stopped to watch one of the little 

 fellows, a rubythroat, as he dangled about 

 a trumpet vine. I found other amusements 

 besides watching Rubythroat, for the rocks 

 made nice, soft pillows, and bolstered up 

 the bed and fitted cosily into the semblance 

 of a Dutch oven. Also they served to tie 

 the canoe to ; also to bark the shins on. 

 A passing fisherman called, 



"Looks like rain. Reckon you'll get wet, 

 stranger, if you stay in that washout. 

 That's where the water comes down from 

 the mountain. Them rocks in your house 

 comes down with the water." 



Happily it did not rain, and I waited for 

 the long-deferred meeting with the voy- 

 agers from upriver. Here is how they de- 

 scribe it : 



"We saw a white patch away off at the 

 foot of the mountain and wondered if that 

 was he. We paddled and paddled and pad- 

 dled. After so long a time the white patch 

 grew, and at a long last it became a tent. 

 The blue streak at the water's edge became 

 a canoe ; and after some more paddling we 

 saw him, lying at ease under the fly of his 

 tent, smoking his pipe and reading a maga- 

 zine, b'gosh ! We forgave him when we 

 saw the steam of his kettle and smelt the 

 contents of the same, for we had paddled 

 and wearied since daylight and it was now 

 high noon." 



Here is the way I saw it : 



I was enjoying myself, ever and anon 

 gazing out to the horizon, for it was high 

 time a vessel should show in the offing. 

 At last a speck was discerned on the 

 waters, which became after a time animated 

 and appeared a tiny scissors, upright and 

 snipping away at the surface of the river 

 with regular, steady motion. The scissors 

 grew gradually into 2 veritable Indians in 

 a birch bark canoe. I wondered if I were 

 not Simon Kenton or Daniel Boone, and 

 Was reaching for my trusty rifle when I 

 remembered it was only a modern breech 

 loading scatter gun. The Indians then re- 

 solved themselves into 2 of the toughest 

 looking pirates that ever sailed the Spanish 

 main ; but as they neared my encampment 

 I learned by certain familiar signs and ges- 

 tures and language that they were of my 

 race, and indeed of my own kindred; 

 whereupon we foregathered. 



Duck shooting in this neighborhood is 

 in the hands of a gun club that controls 

 the preserves. There are plenty of market 

 hunters and game hogs here, too. Geese 

 are much scarcer and more wary than they 

 were 10 years ago. Trout fishing in the 

 mountains of the Sacramento valley is an 

 uncertain proposition, while deer are 

 scarcer than hen's teeth except far back 

 in the Coast range. We need more pro- 

 tection here. You are doing good work 

 and I wish you all possible success. 



Frank G. Smith, Chico, Cal 



