33* 



RECREATION 



were enjoying that fun all the time, keeping 

 our boat abreast of theirs, and were glad as 

 they of the well-won victory. Truly, it is a 

 victory to capture a mascalonge of size, as 

 all lunge fishermen know. Sometimes the 

 fish come rapidly toward the boat without 

 resistance, but one quick glance at the boat 

 and occupants is enough, and out of the 

 water they leap, two or three feet in the air, 

 it may be, shaking the hooks with rage of 

 desperation, or down deep they plunge, 

 sailing away for Georgian Bay, if only fate 

 gives them the advantage. It was our 

 pleasure to behold the capture of one of 

 these big fellows in Deep Bay. For two 

 hundred yards he towed an Indian guide 

 and white man in their canoe, but the strong 

 cotton hand line would not break, and the 

 Indian, with his red cedar club, upon which 

 were engraved the mystic symbols of his 

 Chippewa tribe, finally clubbed the fish in- 

 sensible as he lay struggling on the surface 

 of the water. This beautiful fish was forty- 

 two inches in length and weighed twenty- 

 two pounds. 



And now I approach an amusing experi- 

 ence in which the chief actor of the little 

 drama was Tony. Tony Miller, of whom I 

 have spoken before, kept the little cottages 

 down in a grove on the prettiest point of the 

 lake. With Mrs. Miller, Tony furnished 

 the nicest meals and most comfortable 

 accommodations. He also was a first-class 

 guide and a hail-fellow-well-met, carrying 

 with him the cordial, genial hospitality of 

 the typical Canadian. But, to return to the 

 one-act drama unwritten and unexpected, 

 but no less of thrilling interest while it 

 lasted. My wife had just lost a big fish, 

 whose tail was actually ten inches in width 

 to the vision of us all in the boat (I will not 

 retract an inch); she, Tony and I were 

 lamenting the loss when another lunge took 

 hold of her minnow. This time we intended 

 to make no mistake. When the fish was 

 reeled in Tony stood up; I stood up while 

 my wife calmly pulled the fish around to the 

 end of the boat. Tony made a stab at him 

 with his gaff; the fish lunged; I lunged as 

 the prong of Tony's gaff missed his majesty 

 and came up within half an inch of my 

 spinal column. Well, in the process of time, 

 Tony gaffed the fish. He was thirty-three 

 inches in length and weighed nine pounds. 



But the fishing is only a part of the enjoy- 

 ments of Sparrow Lake. It was not a fish- 

 ing day, the wind was blowing hard from 

 the east with that perversity of having its 

 own way that is so rare in July. But the 

 balmy air invites one into the open, now 

 caressing with a dainty touch, now blowing 

 a broken limb far to the west. Yet, the cot- 

 tage door was open, near the friendly water, 

 and the birds were singing merrily high in 

 the pines that send their incense down. 

 On the porch my wife was reading, with the 

 house dog by her side. A sudden dry 

 crackling in the "bush" attracted her at- 

 tention. The dog barked once and slunk 

 away afraid, as a large deer bounded close 

 to the cottage and charged back into the 

 woods, his curiosity about human kind 

 having been satisfied, and his instinct for 

 self-preservation aroused. Such is the charm 

 about Sparrow Lake with the wild life 

 reaching out for civilization with half- 

 accord. 



We passed the cool evenings most de- 

 lightfully this summer. Lighting camp 

 fires on the rocks of drifted logs surmounted 

 by dead branches and roots of trees, which 

 nature has twisted into inconceivable shapes, 

 we would linger on through the evening 

 shadows and watch the sparkle and dance 

 of the flames as they shot up into pure 

 space. Over the tall pines across the lake 

 the ducks would silently file, while the 

 glowing streaks of a declining sun would 

 touch the whole stretch of lake and shore. 

 And then the "Admiral" would recite 

 poetry from Byron to Kipling, and the 

 "Captain" would tell his wonderful stories 

 of real life. The "Admiral" and the " Cap- 

 tain," by the way, were our friends, Mr. 

 W. A. Chadwick and Mr. Slawson, from 

 Sharon, Pa. Both gentlemen were adepts 

 with rod and reel, catching large strings of 

 lunge, pickerel and bass in their two weeks' 

 outing. 



I remarked before of the hospitality of 

 the Canadian people. Though making the 

 most of a summer season in a financial way, 

 they are not exorbitant in their charges, 

 nor are they loath to give you all their farms 

 and houses afford. I recall that a pack 

 peddler called at Tony's one day and asked 

 for a dinner. He was not refused. No bar- 

 gain was struck, but the peddler, leaving, in- 



