-— ^s^ 



THE 



journal: 



Terms. Four Itollniw " Vcnr. { 

 T*-n Cent* n Copy, t 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1877- 



/ Volume 9.— No. 15. 

 tNo. Ill Fulton St., N. Y. 



For Forest and Stream and Rod and Gun. 

 STEVE. 



BY J. C. BURNETT.* 



fc w tit hat do I call the mule ? His name is Steve, 

 ' ' » And you may hunt the country round 

 For ol e thas's got his sense. I don't believe 

 A smarter beast's on top oE ground. 



'• Out on the plains, or over in the hills 

 He's ri jbt at hom?, on any trail, 

 Aid in the work that other cattle kills, 

 To Win there's no such word as fail. 

 " For five years now we've roughed it, Steve and I— 

 lie was a gift from Mountain Jim— 

 And ever since that time, through wet and dry. 

 He'* stood by me, and I by him. 

 ■ We've ha 1 some hard old times, and that is so. 

 In cold and rain and snow and heat ; 

 We've known exactly what it was to go 

 For days without a bite to eat, 



11 And yet the old boy never said a word ; 

 fie moseyed right along the same, 

 And rose a hill as lively as a bird, 

 To show me that he was game 

 ;i You see those scars there, five or six in all 1 

 He got them over on James Peak ; 

 For once he missed his hold and got a fall 

 That laid him up for many a week, 

 ■■ The way it came' was this : somehow, he hears. 

 Or smells an Indian more'n a mile, 

 And when there's any near he shakes his ears. 

 Or twists them round in curious style. 



" He does that, 100, whenever his saddle slides, 

 Or when his siuch is getting slack— 

 A dangerous thing up on the mountain sides, 

 Two hundred pounds strapped on Ms back 



" That day we climbed the Peak and started down 

 Where first you see the river Grand ; 

 Just as we turned the mountain's snowy crown, 

 Steve shook his ears and made a stand. 



" ' Aha !' said I, ' there's something he has spied ; 

 I'll go ahead and note the signs.' 

 And so I left the mule securely tied, 

 And went alone down to the pines. 

 "And that is where I made a big mistake, 

 Because I feared some Indian ruse, 

 For Steven, by the signs he'd learned to make, 

 Meant only that his pack was loose. 



" The trail was narrow there, and very steep ; 

 The wind blew like a hurricane ; 

 In places snow was piled up awful deep, 

 And clouds were threatening hail and rain. 



" You may believe it was a lonely tramp ; 

 At last— the storm was getting nigher— 

 I turned about to bring the mule to camp, 

 At timber line, and make a fire. 

 " 'Twas tiresome work, a-elimbingthat old Peak, 

 It tries your nerve, as a general rule ; 

 And when I reached the spot, I couldn't speak, 

 There wasn't a sigu of any mule ! 



" Juet how he came to fall is hard to tell ; 

 He likely turned to face the sleet, 

 And missed his hold outside the trail, and fell, 

 And down he went two hundred feet. 



"Of course, I gave him up as dead enough, 

 And -went again the lonely tramp, 

 Then struck a lire and thought it mighty rough, 

 Steve out there dead, and me in camp. 



"For hours I sat before the fire awake, 

 With troubles piled up rather steep. 

 Until at last, just as it came daybreak, 

 I turaed them loose, and fell asleep. 



•' I slept about an hour, and that was all ; 

 And when the sun began to gleam, 

 I could hav« sworn I heard my old Steve call, 

 Or else it was a curious dream. 



"Straight op I sat, and then I couldn't stir, 

 But listened while 1 held my breath ; 

 A little breeze was brushing through a fir— 

 Excepting that, 'twas still as death. 



• Mr. Editoe : Washington, Oct. 31, 1877. 



I cannot agree entirely with Mr. Ingersoll in what he says of the 

 total depravity of the mule. Mj experience has shown me that when 

 they are well treated", and not abused, one can get a good deal of serv- 

 ice out of them, J - c - *?• 



" At last I heard the welcome call again— 

 No dream this time, you'd better believe— 

 And darn me if I didn't say Amen ! 

 As on the trail I met old Steve. 



" The pack was goae, but that had saved his neck 

 The ugly scars are there to tell 

 How near he came to being a total wreck, 

 And how I nursed the old boy well. 



" Sell him ? Well now, I rather reckon not, 

 Not if I know myself, you see ; 

 To speak it all out plain, you haven't got 

 The stamps to get that mule from me." 



JPu» fjike Region off Jginlmul. 



(V St. Petersburg, Russia, Oct. 11, 1877. 



Editor or Forest and Stream and Rod and Gun:— About 

 one hundred and thirty miles northwest of St. Petersburg lies 

 the lake region of Finland, if such a name can be applied to a 

 syetem of water which covers about one-half of the country. 

 The water is deep, clear and coltl, and tbe bottom is of rocks 

 and gravel. These lakes have many outlets into the Gulf of 

 Bothnia, hut one of the largest outlets is by the Jniotra River 

 with Lake Tadaga, and so by the Neva into the Gulf of Fin- 

 land. At the outlet of Lake Saima, where the Imotra begins 

 its rapid and broken course, beautifully situated on a wooded 

 knoll overlooking the rapids, stands an English club house, 

 the "Naraka Club," composed of a few English gentlemen 

 residing at St. Petersburg, who love the "gentle art." It was 

 the writer's good fortune last month to be invited by Dr. — — , 

 one of the leading members and founders of the club, and one of 

 its best fishermen, to pass the closing week of the season at 

 Naraka. For, owing to the unwearied efforts of the club, 

 there is a close season in that country of forest and lake, and 

 the 15th of September sees all fishing, whether with rod or 

 net, summarily stopped, and the fish left undisturbed during 

 the five months of the spawning season. 



Almost every peasant in Finland is a landed proprietor — 

 rough and poor land generally, yielding a few stalks of oats or 

 barley. Long before the. sun can ripen the grain come the 

 autumn rains, and then if must be cut and kiln-dried. Of 

 course it is unsaleable, but it answers for the food of the 

 family, and supports them through the long and trying winter. 

 When the land of these peasant-proprietors adjoins the water 

 they own to the middle of the stream, or to a certain distance 

 into the lake. These riparian rights the Naraka Club hires 

 from the peasants, paying what to us seems a trifle, hut is a 

 very large sum to the Finns. They thus become keepers for 

 the club without wages, and make excellent guardians of the 

 water. The owners are permitted to fish with hook and line, 

 but not with nets. During the summer months they easily 

 avail themselves of this privilege, for they are hired as boat- 

 men by members of the club and by their guests, at about 75 

 cents a day — far more than they can make by Ashing. 



Leaving St. Petersburg by the Finland railroad at ten o'clock 

 one evening early in September, dawn found us landed at a 

 wayside station in the woods not far from Wiberg. There we 

 were detained two hours, for the posthorses which ought to 

 have been in their stables, were grazing or rather brousing in 

 the woods, each with a bell hung to his neck to keep away 

 the wolves. About five o'clock, however, five little two- 

 wheeled carts, each drawn by a spirited Finnish pony, driven 

 by its peasant proprietor, drew up at the station. The post- 

 ing S3 r stem in Finland is peculiar. Each proprietor must f ur- 

 nish so many horses with their drivers per annum, and have 

 them always ready. They do it very willingly, for in that 

 poor country they are very well paid for the work at three 

 cents a mile. One passeDger, with his traps and the driver, 

 was allotted to each cart, so off we started. They are very 

 tough and active those little ponies, and wonderfully sure- 

 footed. The regulation speed is ten verots, about seven miles 

 an hour, but civil words and a judicious "backsheesh" will 

 easily raise the speed to nine or even to ten miles. But I do 

 not recommend this mode of traveling to the fastidious. The 

 carts have no springs, and as you jolt through the ruts you 

 must hold on with both hands or be thrown out. My back 

 was bruised for three days after my drive- 



The roads in Finland are generally excellent, well graveled 

 and well drained. The cross road we were on was an excep- 

 tion. A drive of two hours and a half brought us to Lake 

 Saima. There we took a steamer— stea unch would be a 



belter name for her. We coasted in an d ut among the 

 islands in a channel as intricate as that through the Thames 

 and Islands of the St. Lawrence, till two o'clock brought ua 

 to the landing near the club house. There two members who 

 had preceded us, met us with the startling intelligence that 

 one of them had just caught a true salmon. Then arose a dis- 

 ! cussion. For whether the the true salmon is found in Lake 

 Saima is as much a questio verata, as whether it is found in 

 Australia. It is generally conceded that it is impossible for 

 the fish to ascend the Imotra Rapids. ' There are reaches of a 

 hundred yards or more, where there is not an eddy or a pool, 

 where he may rest his weary tail — in unbroken rush of waters 

 between rocky perpendicular banks. The Imotra Falls, by 

 the way, are one of the sights of the country. People come 

 from St. Petersburg to see them. 



But, argued the pro-salmon party, the fish can come into 

 the lakes by the Gulf of Bothnia, and so through the water 

 system till they reach Lake Saima. This explanation, how- 

 ever, the opposition would not accept, contending that salmon 

 did not run up the Gulf of Bothnia. So we left the subject 

 where we found it. Each party perfectly satisfied with its 

 own views, the usual result of all discussions. 



Of course our first care after our arrival was for the inner 

 man, which had been somewhat neglected en route. The 

 question of food at Naraka is considerably involved. The 

 country furnishes milk and excellent butter, and eggs of 

 dubious character, for the Finns like them a little high. It 

 furnishes good potatoes, too ; and if you are on friendly terms 

 with an adjoining proprietor, and compliment him with an 

 occasional fish, he will compliment your in return with an oc- 

 casional quarter when he kills. But he kills so rarely ! Your 

 principal articles of food, therefore, including corn bread, you 

 must bring from the city. 



After lunch a boat was asigned to each sportsman, and we 

 paddled into the lake. You may fish with a fly or troll with 

 artificial bait. I tried both. With a fly you are' quite sure of 

 a nice mess of small trout, but if you go in for the big ones 

 you must troll. On the edge of the rapids, just before the 

 water breaks, lie the trout. Your boatman takes you as near 

 as is safe, and you let your line drift with the current into the 

 rapids. A jerk ! and you reel in. You think from the strain 

 on your rod that you have hooked a monster, but you soon 

 find that it is the current that gives weight to the fish, and 

 when you have reeled him well out of the rapids you discover 

 that you have a little fellow of one or two pounds only. After 

 taking five or six of these gentlemen, you pull further up to 

 the point where the lake narrows into the river. There are 

 the big ones. "Lochies"the natives call them, no matter 

 what species they may belong to Lake and brook trout, 

 grayling, salmon, all are "Lochies" if they rise over six 

 pounds in weight. There you let out more line, twenty or 

 thirty yards, and await the result. Your boatman pulls 

 gently, and wets or greases from time to time the plaintive 

 oar-lock. A bite ! and you quickly throw up the end of your 

 rod. For a moment you are in doubt whether he is a big or a 

 little one. For a moment, too, the fish pauses as if amazed, 

 then off he goes like a shot. And now the sport begins. You 

 are seated in the Btern of the boat, you drop upon your knees, 

 so as to face the enemy, your reel hums, your pliant rod— and 

 you need a pliant one— bends as if it would break. But you 

 keep the end well up that he may not rub "his nose against the 

 bottom, and if you feel that he is securely hooked you even 

 check him a little lest he should reach the rapids. ' ' There he 

 is," as he leaps from the water in a vain effort to free himself 

 from the hook— a brook trout of at least fifteen pounds ! ' 'Leap 

 again, old fellow ; the more you do of that the sooner yoa 

 will tire yourself out." " There he goes again!" And now 

 your line suddenly slacks, and you cannot help feeling some 

 painful misgivings. You reel in as if your life depended upon 

 your speed, when suddenly there is another rush, and off he 

 goes again. 



In the meantime your boatman, it he is a good one, has 

 been quietly aiding you as you play your fish. Turning the 

 boat so as always to keep your face to the enemy, pulling 

 quietly when the fish is pulling hard, and rapidly when the 

 line is^lack, but all the time gradually approaching some well 

 known spot on the shore where the water is deep and free 

 from those harows, snags and rocks. At last you feel the 

 keel grate under you, and you land. And now the fish is get- 

 ing tired, and you reel him slowly and carefully in, looking 



