206 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April 13, 1882. 



CRUISE OF THE NIPPER. 



TV.— SHE COMES OUT. 



TXf HOEYER makes a lone cruise in a light canoe through 



t T the Adirondacks will be nearly certain to lake in Long 

 Lake, lie can hardly avoid it. He will do well to give to 

 it as much time and attention as he can afford. No one 

 tourist can even approximately go over what I may call the 

 Long Lake region in a three months' cruise. There are more 

 Than fifty snug nooks and camping spots on the shores of the 

 lake proper. There are twelve small lakes and ponds easily 

 reached by easy curries from the main lake. The quiet, 

 shady, peaceful, lonely retreats that may he picked up and 

 occupied by the way-wise tourist are beyond computation. 

 It is true there is a settlement, a hotel and a post office on the 

 west shore of the lake. Also, a road. But an hour's pad- 

 dling takes you quite away from civilization. You can 

 choose your ground where to camp, and be utterly alone for 

 a month, or an entire season, if you choose. 



Paddling across the lake from Kellogg's, one-half mile 

 brings you to the inlet of Clear Pond. About the mouth is 

 grand fishing for pickerel A little more than a half mile 

 below is the mouth of Big Brook, also an excellent fishing 

 ground ftir pickerel, and you may take the much despised 

 . but toothsome bullhead, or catty," in plenty. You may go 

 up either of these streams, with a few carries, to Little Trip- 

 per Lake, going through Mud Pond, Little Slim and Slim 

 Pond, with Stony Pond at last. And all the way you may 

 select camping grounds that ought to more, than'satisfy any 

 man who is seeking healthful rest and sylvan life. 



I had formed an adverse opinion of Long Lake. I had 

 thousht it too civilized. Too many guides. Too much 

 landlordism. Too much cost for the accommodations. 

 Every day that I was on Long Lake, the hotel detailed em- 

 ployes to 'go around the village with guests, to quarter them 

 in private houses. Why so few of them found quarters at the 

 old and time-honored house of Sabattis, was because the 

 house of Sabattis was too prolific of young half-breeds. 

 There were nine of them when I was there. One little blur- 

 eyed fiend, as white as a Saxon, ran altogether to tight. 

 He would pitch into his half-brother — a fine, pleasant, bright- 

 eyed half-breed— with teeth, nails and fists, without a sign 

 or provocation. I got tired of seeing it. I said to the 

 strong, muscular, dusky, dark-eyed descendant of the house 

 of Sabattis, "Cuff him up to a peak and knock the peak 

 off." And he did it. Auntie Sabattis came around and I 

 explained. She gathered a yearling plum sprout, and I hope 

 the lacing that vicious little imp got then and there will last 

 him awhile. 



It was on a bright August morning that I paddled across 

 the lake from Kellogg's, with a notion of going to Little 

 Tupper, via Clear Pond, etc. I had heard all the guides' 

 stories about the introduction of pickerel to Long Lake. 

 How Ly sander Hall, and a guide by the name of Shaw, had 

 been prosecuted for crusting deer, and in revenge, had 

 brought pickerel from the "eastern side." If so — and I 

 think it is — they "builded better than they knew." At that 

 time the lake trout were almost a myth. To-day I can take 

 more pickerel and other toothsome fish than a camp of six 

 hearty men can eat from day to day. 



Now, my sporting friends, will you heed a little logic from 

 the standpoint of fifty years' experience? You work eleven 

 months in the twelve at desk or bench. All through the 

 year you are looking to an outing; a chance to get away for 

 one, two or three weeks' vacation. You know r ,"and I know, 

 and we all know, that you need it and deserve it. But why 

 in the name of all sense and reason should you boast of 

 "bags" and "baskets?" About how much, on an average, 

 do you require as animal food? Say, in twenty-four hours? 

 If y T ou kill more, why and wherefore? The man who brags 

 to me of "bags" and "baskets" just tempts me to "shoot him 

 on the spot." 



With my hand on my mouth, and my mouth in the dust, 

 _ I admit that I shot thirty-six deer in a season. I deserved to 

 ' he hung for it. Again, in Eaton county, Mich. , I killed 

 seventeen deer. With these exceptions, I have never killed 

 more than ten or twelve yearly. And yet my conscience 

 squirms. Why should I ever have killed* a deer that I did 

 not. need for immediate use? Why, in the name of heaven, 

 was I looking for market prices and quotations? Well, I 

 was young. I knew no better. To-day, the mother doe or 

 the spotted fawn can pass me on a runway as safely as my 

 own mother. 



Last summer, among the duffle that I took into the North 

 Woods was my favorite single-barreled hair-triggered rifle. 

 With it I have driven the nail five times in succession at the 

 distance of one hundred feet. At one hundred yards the 

 deer would be lucky that got away from me with a standing 

 shot. Now, when the season opened, I could have had an 

 open standing shot any morning when I chose to seek it. 



I took in just twelve bullets. 



f. brought the entire twelve home again. I did not load 

 the rifle once last summer. There was no occasion. At Mr. 

 Lamberton's camp, at Ed. Arnold's, at the Pratt camp, at 

 Sam Dunakin's, and other places, I could get a piece of 

 ison when I needed it. What earthly excuse had I for 

 sending a bullet crashing through the bones and quivering 

 flesh of a bright-eyed, graceful denizen of the woods? And 

 so the old rifle rests by the ingle-lug, and I only take it out 

 once a month to keep my shooting up in offhand practice, 

 which is, after all, the. only rifle practice worth talkingabout. 



And just here and now I want to put in my oar on offhand 

 shooting. Off hand shooting is not done by'sticking a hick- 

 ory wiping-rod in your left pocket, extending (he other end, 

 and gripping rod and barrel together to steady the hand. It 

 is not done by twisting your body out of all grace and come- 

 liness to get a "hip-rest." It is done by taking a firm, free 

 stand on both feet, drawing the rifle to a graceful and 

 natural position, with both elbows fiee of the body, getting 

 the best bead you can, and cutting loose at the right instant. 

 That is offhand shooting. As for all rests, they are well 

 enough in sighting a gun, but once sure that your sights are 

 plum centre, take no more resting shots. It may be good 

 civil engineering, but is unworthy the notice ol American 

 rifleman." Tins by way of digression. 



At the mouth of Big Brook I tried the pickerel, with light 

 tackle and an 8oz. rod. With a two-oared skiff and strong 

 tackle I w r ould have lain just inside the lily pads, and cast 

 outside into clear water. With a 161b. canoe and a light 

 trout rig I thought it wiser to he off about 40ft. in clear 

 water, and cast toward the thick mass of lily pads, hoping 

 to stop any fellow I might hook before he could get into a 

 bad tangle" among the lUy stems. It worked very well at the 

 start. A lively bright-sided little fellow of a pound and a 

 half took the lure handsomely, almost at the first cast, and 

 got the canoe to the friuge of lily leaves that covered the 

 water like a carpet before I could get him in. I laid off 



again and soon had the mate to Mm. The sport was fine. 

 I began to wake up, Paddling up a few rods, off the 

 deepest part of the inlet, I began to cast with a bigger bait 

 and deeper trolling. And then and there I saw a huge 

 pickerel driving straight at the lure, and in the morning 

 light showing distinctly as though lying on the beach. I 

 might easily have jerked the hook's away and saved my rod; 

 but 1 was in the humor for a racket, so let him snap his 

 huge, sharky jaws over hooks, bait, and more than half the 

 strong wire suell, which he did, and turned with a heavy 

 swirl for his mysterious cavern among the lily roots. I gave 

 him the butt, (I think that is the correct term) and the brave 

 old rod took the form of a loop for a few seconds, then the 

 top joint broke down to a right angle, the canoe commenced 

 a lively waltz into the lily pads, and the next minute I was 

 sitting in the canoe holding a line in my hand that ran to 

 the bottom — straight up and down — the broken rod dragging 

 overboard, and a wratliy angler trying to raise a big pickerel 

 by the handline dodge. " It didn't "work well. Somehow T he 

 seemed to have collateral security on the heavy toad-lily 

 roots at the bottom. First he would creep slowly away 

 with a yard or two of line, then I would as slowly get, it 

 back inch by inch. I gathered loose line, got a long bight, 

 and passed' it under a rib of the canoe, hauling taut and 

 making all fast. Took in the old rod, filled a pipe, and 

 made a "dead set" at patience. 



Once, under similar conditions, I saved a twenty-two 

 pound maskalongc in High Bank Lake, Michigan, I thought 

 I might tire out this fellow, hut he was not to lie had." I 

 spoke of light tackle. The rod was light, made by Heyling 

 of Rochester. It was a beauty in '60; in '82 it may have 

 been a little dull and dead. The line was the taper, water- 

 proof, in common use at present. The wire snell and hooks 

 had been tested at forty-four pounds. For two mortal hours 

 I sat in that eggshell, trying all sorts of dodges to start my 

 customer. Then my patience went by the board. I seized 

 the line and got down on muscle. Something gave way. It 

 was the line. What wotdd he weigh? Perhaps twelve 

 pounds; certainly more than eight, lie weighed enough to 

 wreck my tackle and rod. 



I gathered and stowed the wreck of rod and line. I was 

 not so very sorry. It was quite an experience, and a partial 

 excuse for backing down from a trip I was physically unfit 

 for. I paddled across the placid lake to Kellogg's, and asked 

 for mail. There was none. I was glad of it. No news is 

 good news. I had a set of tin dishes, that 1 think can hardly 

 be beaten. They were made without handles, or wire in the 

 rims, nesting together, and filling all requirements of bo ilin g, 

 frying, and baking. The old shanty tent, that bad often 

 sheltered me and a "couple of friends through a rainy night, 

 and only weighed four and one-cmarter pounds, that could 



be put up on t 

 foot pole ; this 

 in which to mi 

 Once, I wc 

 Head, " withou 



ergency as quickly as I could cut a twelve 

 ' gave away, reserving a single dish 



it have believed I could pass "Owl's 

 iding it to the uttermost peak. Now, I 

 said, the view of a mountain-top from the bosom of a placid 

 lake, is much finer than a view of many lakes from the top 

 of a cold, windy, cheerless mountain. 



I was getting weak— demoralized, may be. I paddled up 

 Long Lake, took the carries slowly and wearily, and brought 

 up at Leaviti's. late in the afternoon of a model August day. 

 Even as I went over the carries, Charles Parker, with liis 

 wife and boat, was lurking near the trail; and his Nemesis, 

 in the person of Warren Cole, was also on his very heels. 

 When Parker launched his boat at the second carry, Cole 

 was there, and ordered a halt. Parker dodged behind his 

 wife, and tried to get off. Cole shot him. The public know 

 the rest. Going up the carries, 1 was passed by two guides, 

 with their boats and parties. One of them carried a boat 

 that struck me as being the best guide-boat of the Long Lake 

 model I had seen in the North Woods. It would canty 

 three persons with baggage, was finished in oil and varnish", 

 and weighed forty-eight pounds. Had it been put together 

 with white cedar strips instead of pine, and oval, red elm 

 ribs one and a half inches apart, instead of clumsy spruce 

 knees six or seven inches apart, it would have been nearly 

 perfection as a guide boat. * * * There was a crowd at 

 Leavitt's. on Forked Lake, and, crossing Eaquette Lake to 

 Ed. Bennett's, I found the hotel full to overflowing, the 

 overflow finding sleeping-quarters in open bark camps. It 

 suited me. The table was excellent, as I have always found 

 it. And an open camp with a fire in front is breezier, freer, 

 healthier than any indoor arrangement for sleeping. 



I pre-empted a 'comer of the "guide's camp," mended the 

 old rod. and spent days paddling around the rocky shores of 

 mainland and island", fly-fishing for bass. They nearly al- 

 ways rose to a red ibis "or brown hackle, though here, in 

 Pennsylvania, we can hardly coax the small-mouth to notice 

 a fly. ' With us. he runs entirely to crayfish and dobsons. I 

 shall come to understand his various ways in various waters — 

 about as soon as I solve the grouse problem. 



It was on a bright morning in August that I let go, and 

 started for Third Lake, leaving my dunnage, save a light 

 knapsack, to be taken charge ol' by " Slim Jim, " who had 

 gone across to the Saranaes. The' morning, the lake, the 

 scenery, all would justify a younger man in a little enthusi- 

 astic description ; and it 'was not altogether lost on me. Bass 

 were jumping all along the rocky shores, a brace of hounds 

 — although it* as out tit season—were sending the deer along 

 the high ridge to the southward at a killingpaee, and 1 met two 

 guide boats with parties who had been out all uight. floating. 

 Each party had a deer, and I was pleased to see that they 

 were both bucks. I reached Brown's Tract inlet before the 

 west wind commenced to blow — as it does about every fair day 

 — and. going up that very crooked stream, again saw the dis- 

 appeaiiuu risk among the lily pads ; the same that had puz- 

 zled me before. But I was 'too weak and listless to try them 

 without bait or fly. 



Half way up the inlet I came near getting cut dowu by a 

 seventeen kex. She was coming down at a rapid 



rate, and just as I was rounding one of the numerous short 

 bends, her "sharp iron prow came in sight at steamboat speed, 

 pointing directly at my midships. The old whaling instincts 

 came to the surface at 'once. I yelled ' ' starn-all, " dropped the 

 paddle, seized the cutwater of the threatening boat, and held 

 her off with all my strength. The guide behaved finely. At 

 the first sound of my voice be flipped his oars deep, and 

 backed for all the ash "was worth. But she was a Ifl 

 coming down-stream under strong headway, with three men 

 and baggage, and not to be stopped instantly. But her head- 

 way was 3he came on until her stem 

 heavily on the side of the frail canoe, bending it inboard. I 

 Yeas pressed and crowded as hare among march grass and 

 bushy tangles of muddy vegetation; then she stopped, receded ; 

 the guide dipped his oars and dashed away. 1 was faint, but 

 the canoe was safe No word was spoken. But that guide 



has impressed me as a cool capable fellow. Getting your 

 canoe crushed in a lonely forest is quite as bad as being 

 "put a-foot" on the Western plains, through losing your 

 broncho. 



Though my entire load — canoe and knapsack — was less 

 than 26lbs. ; the carry from the inlet to Eighth Lake was 

 trying, in my weak state. 



Alva Dunning had loaned me the key of his camp on the 

 Eighth, and I rested there a couple of hours, taking a lunch 

 from his stores, and leaving the key hidden at the root of a 

 stump as agreed on. The Eighth was a beauty on that bright, 

 warm day. There w T as not a human being save myself about 

 the lake. The water, lying as nature made it, was ruffled 

 into breezy waves, capped with white. But for the quaver- 

 ing cry of a solitary loon and the gentle lapping of the wa- 

 ter on the island shore, there was no sound, and the next re- 

 lay would take me to Seventh and Sixth, with backwater and 

 dead timber lines, decaying vegetation, nauseous smells, and 

 all the curses that come of destroying forest lakes and 

 streams for man's selfish greed. [N. B. Does it ever occur 

 to the average guide that he has a better moral right to ex- 

 plode a can of dynamite under one of these dams, than a 

 selfish monopolist lias to poison the air that men, women, 

 and helpless children are forced to breathe and drink?] To 

 say nothing of the destruction of fish, the converting of a 

 beautiful sheet of water into a scene of desolation that will 

 last long after the porcine instigator has rotted in his grave, 

 and his ill-gotten gains are scattered by his pampered worth- 

 less offspring. "The evil that men "do, fives after them." 

 As it ought." 



Let me pass quickly over the desolate Seventh and Sixth. 

 They were of course worse than when I cruised up the "Chain." 

 The air at the foot of Sixth was sickening. One year before 

 the Sixth would have been a pleasant location for an till 

 summer camp. At the foot of Sixth the gate was up, and 

 abroad sheet of white, foamy water was rushing 

 arrow r toward the Fifth. Of course this affected the five 

 lower lakes. 



I found the camp at the foot of Fifth lowered by the rush 

 of water, for which I was sorry, for there was heavy thun- 

 der and an ominous looking cloud in the southwest. But 

 the distance is short between Fifthandthe "Stormy Fourth," 

 as C'olvin calls it. And the outlet was rushing like a mill- 

 tail. I jumped the canoe, and the only use I had for the 

 paddle was in holding back and dodging" dangerous obstruc- 

 tions. In less than five minutes I was on Fourth Lake; and 

 as I saw the black, whirling cloud and listened to the heavy, 

 stunning peals, I thought it as well to put on a little extra 

 muscle for the Pratt, camp, half a mile below. As 1 rounded 

 the point on which the camp is located, I saw Tom Jones 

 and another gentleman — stranger to me — with Dick Cragoe, 

 their guide, sitting on the porch, watching the coming storm. 

 Dick, in accordance with North Woods etiquette, came 

 down to "land" me, and it struck him as a good idea to 

 also house his own boat. And hardly had we made all snug 

 when the tornado swooped down on the lake. It was sublime. 

 I have been in a white squall in the tropics, in a 'paffupero off 

 the Argentine coast, and have seen the terrific electric storms 

 of the West. But I never saw so heavy a sea kicked up on 

 an inland lake at such short notice, in two minutes the 

 water w T as dashing up the sloping landing to the door of the 

 boat-house; sharp, steep, white-crested waves were chasing 

 each other like racehorses; the gale tore their spumy tops off 

 and sent them whirling to leeward in a white mist" of blind- 

 ing spray; tall trees a century old were seized by the hair of 

 the head and dashed to earth," while the zig-zagging of light- 

 ning and the heavy bellowing of thunder were just the ad- 

 juncts to make the scene perfect. When the storm was 

 at its fiercest Dick Cragoe had his hands full to free, with 

 mop and broom, the sitting-room from water that drove 

 in under the door. 



La twenty minutes the storm had howled and whirled itself 

 awayto the northeast, the sun came out warmand mellow, the 

 air was a delight, and the lake subsided to a placid, sleepy 

 roll, as quickly as it had risen. It was a model evening for 

 a cruise, and the Pratt camp organized for a thirteen mile 

 row down to the Forge House, (foot of First Lake.) I pad- 

 dled out for Third Lake, and was soon passed by the strong 

 pull of Dick with his party. Fred Hess, another guide, came 

 out from the Fifth, where in a thicket he had been dodging 

 the stonn. Two other guides, "Slim Jim" and Fred Itivett 

 overhauled me soon after. They too had been dodging under 

 their boats in the wood, between Fifth and Fourth Lakes. 

 It was nearly dark when I halted at Ed. Arnold's. His 

 hostelry was" crowded to its utmost, and his grounds were jubi- 

 lant with lively parties and well-paid guides. It was pitch 

 dark when I arrived at Perrie's on Third Lake. The camp 

 was overrun with boarders, parties, and guides. There was 

 not spare sleeping room for a cat. He assured me that he 

 had been sleeping for a week on tables, chairs, trunks, any 

 place where he could get a few hours' nightly rest. A. G. 

 Buell, who owns the Third Lake House, had "a newly made 

 fragrant bark camp, and was alone. He invited me to stay l 

 with him during my sojourn on the lake, and divide any 

 sport or work that might' turn up. As I like cooking and 

 he detests it, we managed to make the arrangement very 

 satisfactory, For a few days I fished, froggeil 

 picked berries, climbed bills, "paddled and doctored. Allin 

 vain. I grew weaker day by day. 1 was getting to the point 

 where the grasshopper becomes a burden. I had sought the 

 wilderness 1'or health. I had 1- igaining. I had 



found many others with a similar record, and also many who 

 claimed to "have been decidedly benefited. 



I had planned a cruise of 1000 miles. The log showed206, 

 besides some short trips not noted. I was listless, easily tired 

 and slow to rest. I lacked strength and spirit for a 

 able cruise. It was time to go home; and so on & bright 

 August morning I paddled down to the Forge House, hung 

 the canoe up in Barrett's boathouse, and the cruise of the 

 Nipper was ended, for one season at least. 



Perhaps at some time in the near future, I will have a 

 word io say regarding the cost, healthfulness and pleasure of 

 a trip to the North Woods, as compared to a tour among the 

 mountains of the Upper Susquehanna. 



Nessmi h 



Nova Scotia Lnfoiluation Wasted- New York.— 

 Forehand Stream: Please inform me as to the prob- 

 able cost of a trip of three weeks' duration to the best hunting 

 and fishing grounds of Nova Scotia. Is any license re 

 quired'' Are guides necessary, and where procured? What 

 kind of game and fish generally found? Which is the best 

 way to go by water? Where can I get a descriptive guide? 

 —A Co>-sta_st Reader. [We should be pleased to have 

 the information asked for supplied by some of our many Nuva 

 Scotia readers. J 



