PLATTE, THE WONDER-HORN 



OF ANGLING 



A Michigan River That, with the Lakes It Connects, Affords 

 the Best of Trout, Bass and Mascalonge Fishing 



BY L. F. BROWN 



F, AS Ruskin declares, 

 "no good or lovely 

 thing exists in the 

 world without its cor- 

 respondent darkness," 

 how dark some other 

 region must be on ac- 

 count of Platte Lake 

 and the rivers and 

 trout - streams winding 

 through that wilder- 

 ness of woods and 

 summer flowers ! Memories of them loose 

 a flood of longings, adding their spell to the 

 lent enchantment of distance. Blue wood- 

 violets in their nodding multitude and un- 

 measured treasures of fair freedom, and not 

 merely starring, but blanketing , the long point 

 above the junction of two streams — the 

 Wonder-Horn of Flowers 1 Endless moods of 

 lights arid shades, subdued afternoon sun- 

 shine, grave tenderness of far-away vistas 

 through leafy tunnels above the floor of clear 

 streams, and pale cloisters of lowland forest 

 guarding an infinity of shadows enveloping 

 shadows, forever brooding along and in 

 lagoons formed by overflows from the Platte ! 

 There the twin Sisters of Silence and Twi- 

 light keep their noonday watch, and "all the 

 cheated hours sing vespers." Reeds whis- 

 per to pools; pools murmur back to reeds 

 where the water-lilies gleam; and tiny for- 

 ests of mosses and lichens cover "in strange 

 and tender honor" the dun ochres and 

 siennas, browns and silvery grays of decay- 

 ing logs lying in still and scarred ruins. 

 * * * 



A level country with streams and lakes is 

 more lovely than mountains, because the 

 environment does not recede from and 

 bring a sense of loss to the beholder. Study 



the illustrations herein and realize this truth. 

 No more marvelous delicacy of perfect 

 bloom lives in the edelweiss of the Alps 

 than in the windflowers and violets of level 

 Platte. Best fantasy and grace of motion 

 do not live in mountain torrents clothed with 

 rainbows; their roar is not music. Platte 

 waters have calm space and quietness 

 through whose translucence golden flashes 

 of light fall like autumn leaves. 



Trees with foliage tossing free on hills 

 too often struggle for existence — gnarled, 

 pinched, buffeted, and with scanty food 

 from earth and water. Along Platte they 

 come down to the water to drink and re- 

 main. Hill trees are more visible in detail 

 than the mystic redundance of forested 

 plains and valleys; but that mystery has 

 the hypnotism of the unknown. The man 

 in the canoe is a part of lowland nature, and 

 revels in it. 



Mountain beauty is made secondary by 



the best Greek poets. A level country with 



poplars in leaf was their ideal of loveliness 



in nature. Homer and Virgil constantly 



verify this. Shakespeare never takes the 



slightest joy in hills. The murmuring Avon, 



with level woods that seem set to show the 



brightness of the stream flowing between, 



was what he loved. The Arden forest of his 



"Midsummer Night's Dream," where the 



fairies quarreled, was the very opposite of 



mountainous. Enough. Platte- is an ideal 



region for camping and fishing; and to the 



writer no words are rich enough to tell of its 



charms. 



* * * 



After a day's ride, we left the train 

 at Beulah Station, well named, for this is 

 Beulah Land! 



Far-reaching, solemn, joyful, exquisite 



