102 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



|March (J, 1884. 



BETWEEN THE LAKES. 

 Sixth Paper. 



WHERE TO GO A-FISJIINU. 



THE summer wanderer who finds himself in the Upper 

 Peninsula, will hardly be willing to return to his home 

 without first visiting the city of Marquette, the chief city of 

 the region, between the lakes. Most persons will, doubtless, 

 go a hundred miles by rail or steamer further up and take a 

 look at the great copper mining" interests ou the Kewena 

 Peninsula, and mayhap some will take a run along the coast 

 up toward the Ontonagon Lighthouse and Union Bay. 

 where there is, I am assured, little difficulty in striking first- 

 class trout streams that have seldom or never been fished. I 

 do not speak by the card, however, having never been there 

 myself; but ere another summer's sun runs its annual course 

 I hope to see and know something of that region, for I have 

 faith in what 1 have heard of it. 



If the visitor does not go up to the copper region, he will 

 be quite sure to take a run out to the iron mines, an hour's 

 ride from Mai quette— mines that, in some respects, have not 

 their equal in the world. 



At any rate, he will go to Marquette. This is a city of 

 nearly five thousand inhabitants, beautifully situated on the 

 igneous rocks that crop out along the head of the Marquette 

 Bay. The town is fast coining into notice as a summer re- 

 sort. During the hot months it is so delightfully cool, and 

 the lake views are so charming, and the fishing in the vicin- 

 ity has been and is so good, that those who try the doe-days 

 there once are sure to try them again. Marquette'is the 

 western terminus of the Detroit, Mackinac & Marquette 

 Railroad and the eastern of the Marquette, Negaunee & 

 Houghton which taps the Northwestern leading to Chicago. 

 Besides its railroad connections, lake steamers stop at its 

 wharves at stated intervals, and so it is plain to be seen that 

 Marquette is a town easy to go to aud easy to got away 

 from. 



I did not go a-fishing while stopping in Marquette. I 

 spent my time looking at the houses of the iron aristocracy, 

 some of which are rather tawdry-looking; I went through 

 the sawmill where lumber retails for about the same it does 

 after being shipped by water and rail five hundred miles 

 southward. 1 saw long trains of hopper-built ore cars 

 thundering out upon the stilted piers where they dumped 

 their loads into barges and vessels anchored to receive them. 

 I enjoyed the lake breezes and the clear, cool-looking waters ; 

 I mentally inventoried the contents in the show windows— 

 the specimens of iron and copper ores, the toy bark canoes, 

 and other supposed evidences of Indian handicraft — and I 

 looked at the people as they tramped cheerfully and busily 

 up and down their principal street— and so T did not g'o 

 a-fishing. 



Fifteen to thirty miles up the fake shore, 1 am told, there 

 is good fishing to be had in the Garlic, Yellow Dog aud 

 Salmon Trout and other streams. Sportsmen row or sail up 

 the shore, and not only visit the streams, but fish off the 

 rocks, and capital times they occasionally have. 



But one need not go so far. Tw t o mile's south of town the 

 Carp River enters the lake, and at favorable seasons the 

 trout fisherman who knows the. pools, the sunken logs and 

 shelving rocks wherein and underneath which the trout love 

 to lurk, may take them in such size and numbers as in some 

 reputed trout regions of our country would claim the ad- 

 miration of all who saw them. 



But a member of the Forest and Stream family Avill 

 hardly stop at the Carp. He will go further, and if he will 

 follow me 1 will lead him to some places along the fine of 

 the D., M. & M. Railroad, where he will not fare worse. 



Going from Marquette the railroad track curves around 

 the bay, and for thirty miles occasional views of bay and 

 lake may be had, so near to the shore does the road run. 

 The first trout stream after passing the Carp is the Choco- 

 late, four miles from Marquette. Here is a station, but we 

 will not stop. It is Curious to note, however, that the Choco- 

 late runs parallel with the lake shore for a distance of four 

 miles, and the engineers took advantage of the sand ridge 

 piled up between and laid their track upon it, and at no 

 point within the four miles is the road over half a mile from 

 the creek, or river, as ail creeks discharging their waters into 

 the lake are here called. 



Eleven miles further on and we come to Sand River, which 

 we cross -within a few rods of the lake shore. Here is a sta- 

 tion and here trout may be taken, but it would hardly be wise 

 in usto stop for them, and so we go on four miles* further 

 to Wkitefish Station on the Sable River, as it is named on the 

 map. As Sable means sand, and we have so recently crossed 

 a Sand River, we conclude that we must be in a sandy region, 

 and so we are. Thus far we have been running over ridges 

 of sand that have been piled up in some distant bygone age 

 when the Lake Superior level stood at an altitude of from 

 forty to sixty feet higher than it does now. But we will 

 pass the Sable River by, although trout may be caught in 

 its waters. 



Two miles further, which is twenty -ono miles fiom Mar- 

 quette, brings us to Onota, and a mile therefrom is Deer Lake. 

 Now, I never fished in that lake, but a Mr. vV ardle, an Ohio 

 man, and an intelligent Ohio man at that, and one who has 

 evidently done a good deal of fishing during his time, visited 

 us at our camp at Jeromeville and he told us of two visits he 

 had made to Deer Lake. On the first he and his brother 

 sportsman met with marvelous success. Notwithstanding 

 the boat they found on the lake was leaky and unwieldy, 

 they caught with a spoon more bass than they could con- 

 veniently handle, besides two or three mascalonge. These 

 bass, Mr. VV. said, rose to the fly, and one gallant fellow 

 wrecked the gentleman's trout rod badly. Shortly alter 

 that Mr. W. returned to Deer Lake, but not a fish did he 

 take. 



Right here it may not be amiss to say that the sportsman 

 who expects inland lake fishing in the Upper Peninsula had 

 better provide himself with a boat. He may occasionally 

 find boats kept for hire, as at Au Train, but generally he 

 must either have his own boat, or put up with a vessel so old 

 and worthless that it is not worth owning. 



But let us move along. Three miles east of Onota we 

 come to Rock River, so named because of the numerous and 

 immense rocks lying at its mouth in the lake, and which 

 afford capital fishing in season. Here trout running from 

 two to three pounds are taken. From the railroad crossing 

 to the mouth of the river is almost one mile, and the lower 

 half gives good stream fishing. The eveniug we went up to 

 Marquette, a couple of elderly gentlemen boarded the train at 

 the Hock River station, who had been stream-fishing below, 



and each had a nice basket of trout. The top ones weighed 

 not less than three-quarters of a pound; the under ones I did 

 not see, but it would have been in accord with an ancient 

 angler's custom to have had the little ones at the bottom. 



Au Train is the next place to be mentioned. The railroad 

 skirts the Au Train Bay for four miles, aud at the end of 

 three-quarters of the way, as we go eastward, the Au Train 

 River discharges its waters. The" railroad crosses this little 

 river within a sling-stone's throw of the bay, where there is 

 a station. A little over a mile from the river's mouth, as the 

 crow flies, is the Au Train Lake, a reservoir left, doubtless, 

 by the receding waters of the great lake in the remote past; 

 but by the river (which runs through the lake) the distance 

 is all of four miles. The Au Train River, between the two 

 lakes, makes a marvelously big bend, and from this circum- 

 stance the name Au Train springs. John Clark, an educated 

 Indian, told me that the name was suggested by the long, 

 sleigh -run ner-like bend in the stream. It is French. - 



Be this as it may, Au Train enjoys quite a celebrity as a 

 camping, hunting and fishing post. A beautiful grove of 

 pine saplings grows on a high level parcel of land a few rods 

 from the station, in the edge of which an enterprising land- 

 lord has erected a frame hotel. The wonder is that some, 

 vandal has not cut down every sapliugof the grove, and one's 

 respect for the place grows 'in consequence of this uncom- 

 mon evidence of the existence of a little common sense. The 

 grove actually seems to be cared for, and While campers are 

 permitted to set their tents amid the saplings, chopping them 

 is prohibited. 



Au- Train Lake is famed as a deer resort during the sum- 

 mer mouths, and large numbers have been killed here regard- 

 less of the law. I have heard some marvelous stories told of 

 deer shooting on this lake. "Tenderfeet," who can't kill 

 deer elsewhere, come to Au Train, and by the aid of a light 

 and a boatman, find it an easy job. I heard one man 

 say that at certain seasons the ah was so offensive along the 

 lake shore from the carcasses of slaughtered deer that hunt- 

 ers were often incommoded thereby. No doubt the state- 

 ment was highly colored, but it was a significant one never- 

 theless. The fact is, summer shooting on the Au Train has 

 been extensively practiced. 



Beyond the lake, within a reasonable walking distance, is 

 the Au Train Falls, which is said to be well worth a visit. 

 Below the falls is good trout fishing. 



But let us leave Au Train. A run of fourteen miles, much 

 of which is up grade, brings us to. Munising Station, 316 

 feet above the level of the great lake, and forty miles from 

 Marquette. Here is where one leaves the cars to go and see 

 the Pictured Rocks and get a taste of the lake and stream fish- 

 ing in their neighborhood. A short distance west of the 

 station the railroad crosses a narrow, rapid, log-filled stream 

 with high banks, known as Anna, River, and so named after 

 the first white woman to settle in its near neighborhood. The 

 Anna is no inconsiderable trout stream, but it is so easily 

 reached by the Indians and other Munising people, that one 

 would scarcely expect much success fishing in its waters. 

 Still, if one should from any cause have to stop over at Mu- 

 nising, it would be well to try it ; and there are worse places 

 in which to be left than in Munising. Alice lives there, and 

 her cookery is famed the region over. Alice cannot be said 

 to keep a hotel, for her establishment is the veriest shanty, 

 so I can't be charged with writing this as a hotel puff; but if 

 the angler, hunter, camper, traveler, be hungry for a first- 

 class dinner, let him signify the same to Alice, and if she is 

 well enough to undertake it, he will, when he reluctantly 

 turns from her shanty, go away sounding her praise. He 

 will no doubt see old Charley, Alice's husband, hobbling 

 around while there. Old Charley is an oily-looking old gray- 

 beard, and if the guest's wife or daughter is with him, she 

 must not be shocked if old Charley swears a, little in her pres- 

 ence ; but the apology of Alice, should she hear him — and she 

 generally does — will make all amends, "lam surprised at 

 you, Charley!" she will say, "to think that a gentleman of 

 your excellent sense should swear in the presence of a lady! 

 It is unaccountable!" And turning to the lady she will say, 

 "Really! you must excuse him. He always would swear 

 before ladies, but it is the only fault lie has," 



The Anna is the last stream flowing into Lake Superior 

 that we cross. Munising is on the comb of the great sand- 

 stone roof lying between the two great lakes. The Anna 

 River flows north into Lake Superior, and south of the sta- 

 tion less than a mile may be found the headwaters of the 

 West Branch or Sluch's Creek, a tributary of IheManistiquc. 

 From Munising on, the streams run southward into Lake 

 Michigan until we have passed beyond the Mauistique 

 slope. 



South and southwest of Munising is an extensive area 

 containing many small lakes, some of which are laud- 

 locked, but most are not. All as far as visited have been 

 found to be well stocked with bass, and some with pike and 

 occasionally one with trout, and all are accessible to a deter- 

 mined sportsman with a guide. 



About six miles south of Munising a chain of small lakes 

 is met with, leading out into the west branch of the Mauis- 

 tique, or Indian River. An old lumber road leads into the 

 lakes, and boats can be lugged over the portages and the 

 descent of the Indian River be made ; but the trip would not 

 be a holiday affair. 1 talked with one who made the trip as 

 guide, and he told an extravagant story of the trout fishing 

 enjoyed by the party on the way. Mr. William Gunton, a 

 land-looker and lumberman, who has wet his line iu nearly 

 every trout stream of importance in that region, assured me 

 that the trout ran larger in the Indian River than in any 

 other stream he had fished. Another year the writer hopes 

 to make his w r ay into the upper waters'of the Indian River 

 and settle for himself the question of its trout-bearing quali- 

 ties. He will carry rod, shotgun and camera. As he de- 

 scends he will expect the scenery to become quite rugged 

 and picturesque, and around the shores of Indian Lake, a 

 sheet of water covering fifteen or twenty square miles, he 

 will see hills and rocks that will give quite an assortment of 

 photographic views. 



But we must go ou. It is eight miles to Jeromeville, and 

 there we will go into camp. As we thunder along through 

 a sylvan canon, a hundred feet in width, with wads as high 

 as the tall, compactly growing trees, the Judge suddenly 

 thrusts his head out of awiudow, and yells at the top of his 

 voice. His conduct seems so extraordinary that for a 

 moment we think something is wrong with him. Some of 

 the passengers evidenty think so too. Listen at that fish- 

 eyed chap who works his jaws languidly over an enormous 

 quid of tobacco. "I say," says he to the Greek Professor, 

 "that 'ere feller's seen a bear or else he has 'enil" But the 

 Greek Professor does not comprehend. He knows when a 

 fish is biting at his hook as well as any man, but what is 

 meant by the Judge ' 'having 'em" passethhis comprehension. 

 He does not understand the language of slang. 



"I saw Oscar," said the Judge, as he settled back into his 

 seat. 



Now, Oscar is one of the young men who was with the 

 Judge last year in these very woods, and this year Oscar had 

 stopped in the Lower Peninsula. But not long since we got 

 a letter from him, and he wanted to join us. and as he was 

 a good fellow we. wrote, "Meet us in Jeromeville." Oscar 

 must be trying to meet us. 



Bad news! Bad news! On our arrival at Jeromeville, 

 Louis, a young man belonging to the section boss's family, 

 tells us that "two tileegrams had been sint down for the 

 Jiclge, one of which said how one of his factories was burnt 

 up, so it was, and the other how some one was sick." 



But Mr. Oscar had taken them and was gone no one knew 

 where. We know, however. He is off to meet us with the 

 telegrams— to meet us at Munising. Lucky the Judge hap- 

 pened to look out and make himself known to Oscar." Oscar 

 will soon come back. But in the meantime, how T must the 

 Judge feel? He has no factory to burn, but he has a home, 

 and more than that— he has ' loved ones at home to grow 

 sick. "This is my eleventh year, " says he, as he paces up 

 and down the railroad in front of the Jeromeville station, 

 "and never did I receive a word of bad news from home 

 before." 



At last Oscar comes and produces the two messages, 

 one states that a certain educational institution (not the 

 Greek Professor's) with which the Judge held some sort of 

 official connection, had been destroyed by fire. This, then, 

 was Louis's "factory," and but for the other message much 

 laughter would Louis's "factory" have occasioned. But, 

 alas! the other; "The doctor says that neither Lillie nor 

 the baby can last long," and the Judge must go. These be- 

 long to his household— daughter-in-law and grandchild— 

 and the next train he leaves for home, nearly six hundred 

 miles southward, and I go, too, while the Greek Professor 

 and Oscar stay behind. 



When we left we did not expect to return, but w r e did 

 nevertheless. Poor Lillie! After a valiant struggle for her 

 life she had rapidly declined, and within a few days after 

 our arrival she succumbed to the inevitable, as must we all 

 sooner or later; but the baby recovered and, the grand- 

 mother being across the sea, he was put out to nurse. 

 George and Mabel, worn out with watchiug and care and 

 toil, could ill-endure the depressing heats of the Indiana dog 

 days, and the doctor advised a change of climate, and so the 

 Judge resolved to go back to his camp in the woods and 

 take the tired ones with him, and I returned also. 



D. D. Banta. 



THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST DEER. 



THE Tenderfoot had been with us just one week. It was 

 quiet times at the ranch, for the round-ups were over, 

 the winter's wood had been hauled and split, the cattle had 

 drifted with the early November storms toward the South 

 and none remained on the range save here and there bunches 

 of a dozen or more which were trying to rustle through the 

 winter by loafing around the meadow fence or at the corrals 

 and picking up stray morsels which were pitched from the 

 stables, seldom going out on the flats where the feed was good 

 except when they were driven there. 



The boys hugged the great box stove in the bunk-house, 

 some busy day after clay making quirls, others plaiting raw- 

 hide reatas or making hackamores, varying their labors with 

 an occasional game of California Jack or Blue Pete. 



Tenderfoot was, in relation to actual experience^on a cow 

 ranch, of the tenderfeet a superlative specimen, but he was 

 endowed with a great deal of tact which covered a. multitude 

 of harmless errors. He was a man who had had a great, deal 

 of experieuce iu both town and country, and had always 

 managed to be at peace with every one, and yet he had the 

 outward appearance of being a man who did not care to have 

 his toes trampled upon without demanding satisfactory ex- 

 planations. He only looked this as we "sized him up" when 

 he first came among us. He was a modest looking fellow and 

 pleasant spoken, and in the week he had been with us had 

 easily glided into our ways, grown well acquainted and be- 

 come thoroughly at home. He acknowledged his ignorance 

 of everything connected with his new life, asked questions 

 when lie wauted any information i£ such a way that the 

 boys were all glad to post him or help him, and in the week 

 he was making good quirls and good friends, for the old 

 hands always take kindly to the tenderfoot who gives him- 

 self no airs. Nothing they hold in such utter contempt as 

 pretense. 



The eighth day came pleasant, and Nervous, who was so 

 nicknamed because he was neither nervous nor fidgety, who 

 had been waiting for the right kind of day, prepared early 

 in the morniug for a deer hunt among the canyons below 

 the ranch on the north side of the creek. It w r as a pleasant 

 morning, though the snow was several inches deep, a twelve- 

 mile breeze blowing from the northwest and the thermom- 

 eter at least 15° below zero, 



Nervous was about ready to start when Tenderfoot asked 

 to accompany him, a request readily granted with the offer 

 to loan him the only spare rifle on the ranch, an old govern- 

 ment needle gun. Nervous carried a repeating rifle. Down 

 the creek and across the lower meadow, through the dense 

 boxelder woods covering the flats through which ran the 

 creek, they went, the crisp, frosty snow sounding beneath 

 their tramping feet — well, sounding, eh — eh — well, sounding 

 like the noise made by an awkward man eating hot soup. 

 "Rather too much noise forsuccessful deer hunting," thought 

 and said Nervous, "but as soon as we cross the creek and get 

 into the cany uns and commence climbing among the rocks 

 and around the hillsides we will have to more more care- 

 fully, but there is not so much snow there aud we can get 

 along quietly enough with a little extra car*. This wind is 

 a great help to us hunting this direction." 



Tenderfoot had never dropped a deer; in fact, had never, 

 seen one running wild. He had heard of buck ague, but 

 believed he was in no immediate danger of contracting the 

 disease and, indeed, he looked like a man who could and 

 would keep cool as an iceberg under any deer hunting con- 

 ditions. He was, aud no wonder, anxious to put hi3 nerves 

 to the test to decide which would display the most fear, 

 he or some black-tailed buck. 



In the canyons the force of the wind was not felt so much, 

 but above, on top of the ragged bluffs, it played its cool 

 tricks on the loose snow, which it lifted and carried across 

 country or packed away, in. every gulch and gully, and 

 dropped on the hunters' heads in' showers the frosty flakes. 

 Not, a sound but the whistling of the fierce, cold wind, which 

 was evidently trying to keep itself warm by spinning at a 

 twelve-knot gait. It was a cool proceeding but very thin 

 withal. With searching eyes and careful steps they slowly 

 climbed among the hills, now crawling on hands aud knees 



