322 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[May 22, 1884 



rartmtjHn f£omi$L 



CAMPS OF THE KINGFISHERS. 



Black Lake, Michigan.— II. 



LEAVING Mancelona, a run of forty miles brought us to 

 Petoskey, getting a sight on the way at the sleepy 

 hamlet of Boyne Falls, of the famed Boyne River, which, 

 flows into the head of Pine Lake, six inilesfrom the railroad. 

 This stream was, a few years ago, noted for the numbers and 

 size of its trout, but much fishing and the lumbermen have 

 produced the inevitable result, and to get the good ones, the 

 angler will have to follow it up some 'distance into the tan- 

 gles where the waters have been little disturbed. The train 

 stopped lialf an hoar at Petoskey, and we had a glorious 

 first view of Little Traverse Bay, a sheet of water that rivals 

 in beauty its big brother, Grand Traverse Bay, further south. 

 Here all was life and bustle. The depot platform was 

 crowded with people, representing perhaps half the States in 

 the Union; some going further north, many looking eagerly 

 for friends on the train, and others looking on from idle 

 curiosity— the latter a class that every country town is af- 

 flicted with— idlers that consider it a religious duty to be on 

 hand, schedule time, to see the ''ears come in," 



As Ben said, "there's a good deal o' human natur' layin' 

 'rouud loose at Petoskey," and during the thirty minutes' 

 stop, we amused ourselves standing on the car platform, by 

 taking in a few of its different phases. Of course, there 

 were the pests of the earth, the howling hackman, and the 

 hotel runner, boiling over with impudence and lies about the 

 merits of the respective hotels they had the honor to repre- 

 sent. There was the timid passenger with his gripsack, loek- 

 ing furtively around for a means of escape from these vul- 

 tures, who were making life a burden to him. By the bag- 

 gage truck was the anxious-about-his-trunk passenger, care- 

 fully looking it over to see if it had been tampered with, or a 

 speck of the varnish scraped off. 



Over there by the corner of the building was a Mossback, 

 pure and simple, standing at rest, with both hands clasped 

 around a long "gad" that looked as if it had done service as 

 a persuader for a pair of sleepy oxen in surmounting a vexa- 

 tious sandhill. He was taking in the whole show for noth- 

 ing, and from his fixed attitude and down-hanging lower 

 jaw, seemed to be enjoying it rather more than the expendi- 

 ture would warrant. Old Ben nudged me gently, and said 

 in his emphatic way, "That ole feller don't wear very high- 

 toned clothes, but sich as him is jest the salt o' this livin' 

 earth" — and Ben was right — a big truth expressed in a terse, 

 homely phrase. 



Further along the platform, was a bevy of chattering, 

 laughing girls, bright and rosy as a summer morning, evi- 

 dently on their way to the bay shore just below after sunflsh, 

 as two of them had fishing rods, and another held somethiug 

 wrapped in a paper that was certainly an old oyster can con- 

 taining "wums." They had no doubt arranged among them- 

 selves lo take turns with the rods, while two were fishing the 

 others would do the screaming, and add their mite to the 

 chattering when a fish was landed. They were just of an 

 age when girls will laugh at anything and everything, and 

 have more fun at a funeral than the average boy at a circus. 



But after all, their happy laughter was good to hear, and 

 as my thoughts wandered back to a certain "Kingfishei's 

 daughter" left at home, I felt younger, and said to myself as 

 the infectious melody rippled from their lips, blessed is pure 

 and happy girlhood. 



Here come three quiet, sensible looking men, each with a 

 rod, minnow bucket and landing net, and as they file into 

 the coach next to us we catch "Crooked Lake," and we 

 know, without asking, that they belong to the brotherhood, 

 and that they are going a-fisbing. 



"Look yander!" whispered Ben," what kind of a thing is 

 that? A dude fisherman, by the big bear of the Sierras," he 

 added, nudging me violently in the ribs. [Benspent several 

 years in California, hence the big bear.] "Hey, Dan! get 

 your eye on that, and then go inside and break up yerrods," 

 with another nudge that nearly sent Dan off the platform of 

 the car. 



Making his way through the crowd, we saw a fellow 

 heading for the forward coach, that old Ben said was "jest 

 too sweet lookin' to live another solitary second." 



He was decked out in a brand new suit of corduroy knee 

 breeches, brown woolen stockings and a pair of laced up 

 walking shoes. In one hand he carried an ash and lance- 

 wood rod, and in the other the indispensable landing net, 

 while out of one of the numerous pockets of his coat we 

 caught a glimpse of what we supposed was a fly-book, or, it 

 might have been a cigar case. Evidently a trout killer. His 

 head was surmounted by what Ben termed "one o' them new 

 fangled cork lined hats, as if," he growled, "his head wasn't 

 light enough without cork," and to finish up the outfit he 

 wore eye-glasses, gorgeous necktie, and sported ' 'leg o' mut- 

 ton" whiskers, as Dan made them out to bo. Last, Ben 

 called our attention to a diminutive gripsack slung over his 

 shoulder by a strap, which he remarked was, "like as not as 

 empty as his head." 



1 felt a twinge of compassion for the poor devil as he 

 passed into the car, but on a reconsideration the feeling 

 changed into a mild form of wrath, that the gentle art should 

 have discredit cast on it in the eyes of sensible people by 

 such infernal idiots as this ass in knee breeches and leg o' 

 mutton whiskers. Fortunately, however, the insect is rare, 

 and harmless to man and fish as well. As we took our seats 



Why, I'll bet he haint got the sand in him to tackle a hoss- 

 fly, and ef he'd git into these woods five rod he wouldn't 

 have sense enough to find his way out agin. Trout fisher I" 

 — with supreme disgust— "put a trout and a mud turkel in a 

 tub o' water an' he couldn't tell which from t'other, 'less the 

 turkel would get him by the finger;" and this appearing to 

 settle the matter in his mind, he scraped a match, and light- 

 ing the inseparable briar root, settled back in his seat in sat- 

 isfied serenity. Winding around the base of the hill we 

 passed the camp-meeting grounds, and were soon flying 

 through a dismal-looking cedar swamp, over a narrow strip 

 of clean sand filled in for a road bed, and after a run of six 

 miles to Conway Springs, at the head of Crooked Lake, the 

 train stopped two or three minutes to let off a few passen- 

 gers, among the rest our three anglers and the dude. We 

 mentally wished the brethren "good luck," and Ben echoed, 

 I am sure, a kindred sentiment in old Dm and ine when he 

 said, iu his dry way, "1 hope that dude '11 get a duckin' an' 

 lose them specs before he ketches a solitary fish," which 

 rather uncharitable wish caused a laugh and restored, as 

 Pick would have said, the "cquibilerum" of the party, 



Our original purpose had been to take the little steamer at 

 this point and go through to Cheboygan via the "Inland 

 Route," through Crooked, Burt and Mullctt lakes, but as 

 the boys would be waiting for us on that particular morning, 

 the plan was changed to go on to Mackinaw City and down 

 the M. OR. R., in order to make our camping place the 

 same evening, if possible. Afterward we regretted we had 

 not made the run through by water, as Knots and Jim, who 

 had once made the trip, were warm in their praise of the 

 beauties and scenery of these three lakes and the rivers con- 

 necting them, but life is short, and our fingers were itching 

 to grasp a rod and measure strength and cunning with some 

 monarch bass or mascalonge of the lake of the dark waters, 

 and we promised ourselves this trip "some other time." 



From Conway Springs on to Mackinaw City, the road runs 

 through as wild and utterly lonely a strip of country as ever 

 a crow flew over. Woods, woods, and swamp and tangle so 

 thick in places, that it looked a matter of impossibility for 

 even a mink to make its way through the green walls that 

 here and there line botn sides; of the road. And yet in this 

 very wildness and solitude is one of the greatest charms of 

 these evergreen and odorous north woods. To one who had 

 gazed on nothing more enchanting than brick walls and the 

 unsurpassed (?) forest scenery around the "Esplanade" for a 

 year, all this wealth of wood and stream and lake, of dismal 

 swamp and lonely tangle, of fern, and brake, and clinging 

 mosses, was a rare treat that I thoroughly enjoyed until a 

 prolonged whistle from the engine warned us we were ap- 

 proaching near to the City of the Straits. 



Our traps were soon transferred to the M. C. train just 

 across the wide platform, Frank and I carrying the "me- 

 nagerie" across under a fire of questions and giggles from 

 the idlers and loungers infesting the place. One Wanted to 

 know, "Goin' a-fishin'?" "Yes," said Frank. "What ye 

 goin' to do with them frogs— eat em?" "No," said old Ben, 

 as he lent a hand to hoist his camp box into the car, "takin' 

 'em along to keep the muskeeters off; best thing on the face 

 o' this livin' earth fur muskeeters, black flies an' sich; eat 

 their weight o' them insecks every day — ef you ketch 'em 

 fur 'em." 



This was said with a gravity, accompanied by an inim- 

 itable wink at Frank and me, that nearly caused us to drop 

 the whole show, and a broad sun grin to overspread the 

 countenance of the chump, who walked away with a new 

 "pointer" on the use of speckled frogs for a fishing party. 

 We were beginning to find out that Ben was a character in 

 his way, full of dry humor and quaint sayings that made 

 him a favorite before we were in camp a day; but more of 

 old Ben as we go along. 



We had several minutes left before the train started, which 

 we improved in walking out toward the pier, where the ferry 

 steamer had just left for St. Ignace, six miles across the 

 Straits. This steamer connects with the Detroit, Mackinaw 

 & Marquette Railroad, which runs through 150 miles of the 

 wildest portion of the North Peninsula, a region abounding 

 in game, and trout in nearly all the streams flowing north 

 into Lake Superior, clear around to Duluth. 



Many of the streams flowing south from the "divide" into 

 Lake Michigan are also famous for the abundance and size 

 of the trout in them, notably two emptying in at Gilchrist, 

 some thirty miles west of St. Ignace. This point and many 

 other streams along the south shore may be reached semi- 

 weekly by steamer during the season from Mackinaw City. 



I write this not from personal knowledge of the region, 

 but from information imparted by little Charley Pike, who 

 spent his vacation near Gilchrist two years ago, and from 

 fish talks with "Old Bill" Hess, who, in the course of his 

 meanderings, has kindled his camp-fire and "fit muskeeters" 

 on half the trout streams, perhaps, of the State. 



Through the misty, blue haze of this glorious July morn- 

 ing, we could see the dim and indistinct outlines of Bois 

 Blanc Island off to the right, and further north loomed up 

 out of the soft mists the grim, storm-beaten old sentinel of 

 the Straits, the historic island of Mackinac. Here and there 

 a sail dotted the blue waters, every stitch of canvas set and 

 drawing, but so light was the breeze they seemed to us 

 entirely motionless. Wrapt in silent admiration of the. 

 dreamy picture before us, hours of enjoyment were crowded 

 into as many minutes. We took no note of time, but pres- 

 ently a shriek from the locomotive at the depot brought us 

 feack to the realities of life, reminding us that railroad trains 

 wait not on individuals, and hurrying back we were soon on 

 our way to Cheboygan and the boys. From Mackinaw City 

 clown to Cheboygan, sixteen miles, the road runs through a 

 flat, dreary looking country, relieved only by occasional 

 glimpses on the left of the blue waters of Lake Huron in the 

 distance, and we were not sorry when the brakeman notified 

 us in the musical and intelligible tone usual with brakemen 

 that we had arrived at our destination, at least as far as the 

 comforts of the rail were concerned. 



We were heartily welcomed by the boys, who were at the 

 depot waiting for us with the wagon loaded ready to start, 

 and after a short stop at t he Spencer House to get the grip- 

 sacks and re-arrange the loads to accommodate the additional 

 baggage, we were off a little after 10 A. M. for Black Lake 

 and camp. 



While yet in town, we crossed the Cheboygan River, the 

 outlet at this point into Lake Huron of all the waters west as 

 far as Crooked Lake near Petoskey, north to the Douglass 

 Lake reaion, and south for 75 miles or more, except a few 

 small streams flowing into Lake Huron on the east. It dranis 

 the waters of Crooked, Pickerel, Douglass, Burt, Mullett, 

 Long and Black lakes, and all the streams flowing into them, 

 among which are the famous Pigeon and Maple rivers— the 

 former noted for its grayling— the little Black and Rainy 

 rivers, and scores of smaller streams that ai*e nameless on the 

 maps. 



These lakes and streams float annually millions of feet of 

 logs to Cheboygan, giving employment to hundreds of hardy 

 lumbermen in the woods, and quite a little village of work- 

 men in and around the great sawmills at Duncan City, a 

 mile and a half down the coast from the mouth of Cheboy- 

 gan River. 



But "we digress." Out of town along a pleasant road, 

 down through the little village, past the busy mills and great 

 piles of lumber, we shortly turned off to the right into alow, 

 swampy country, through which, however, a good road had 

 been built, and were fairly on our way. Eighty rods, or 

 such a matter, into the swamp, we stopped to get a drink out 

 of a little cold trout stream winding through the tangle, as 

 one of our drivers said it would be our last chance to take a 

 square drink for several miles, volunteering, at tlie same 

 time, the information that the waters of the brook were full 

 of trout, a hatchery being located a skort distance below, 

 and for "two shillin 5 " a day permission could be had to fish 

 the stream. Before climbing back on the wagons the Scribe, 

 the Deacon, Mrs. Partington, our culinary artist and the 



three drivers proceeded to fortify themselves against a possi- 

 ble attack of skeeters, numerous signs of which they ap- 

 peared to have discovered in the adjacent bresh, the others of 

 us taking our chances on clear water without the addition of 

 a qualifier. This is mentioned merely to illustrate the pres- 

 ence of mind possessed by the Scribe and Deacon in case of 

 emergency, and the promptitude they display in detecting 

 the approach of these ferocious insects and devising measures 

 for their extinguishment. 



A short distance further on we struck the "plank road," 

 used at some time as a tramway on which to truck logs out 

 of the woods to the water near the mills, but now falling 

 into decay. It is made of heavy planks, a couple of feet 

 wide and five or six inches thick, bedded level with the 

 ground end to end, with room for a couple of horses or cattle 

 to walk between. This led off up a low sandhill and out 

 into the "plains" for perhaps three miles, at the end of 

 which we dropped again into the heavier pull of a plain 

 North Michigan country road, sand and roots and jolts, with 

 an occasional mud hole after we got into the hard-wood for- 

 est, by way of variety. Why they are called "plains" is not 

 quite plain to any one who has crossed the plains of the far 

 West, where a hundred miles may be traveled without see- 

 ing a tree or bush, but they are plains, as every Michigan 

 man you meet will tell you. As a matter of information, 

 and to explain, they are simply tracts of country that have 

 been ravaged by forest fires, leaving a few charred and 

 blackened trunks and stumps of trees standing where once 

 was a pathless wilderness. Here and there a grove of shiver- 

 ing, quaking aspens, a second growth of young pines and 

 hemlocks scattered sparsely over the waste, and patches of 

 bushes are the only evidences of life to relieve the desolation 

 of the scene. 



Some of these tracts are miles in area and are of little value 

 only as a feeding ground for the grouse and bears in ' 'huckle- 

 berry time." Acres and acres of this juicy and insipid fruit 

 grow on these burnt tracts, on bushes from three to twelve 

 inches high, so thick in many places that one may not take 

 a step for rods without trampling them under foot. They 

 are the large blue June berry, called blue berry by the 

 country people, and are a source of some revenue to the lazy 

 Indians that infest the villages and towns of this upper part 

 of the State. They are fed to the "resorters" by the bushel; 

 breakfast, dinner and supper, there's your huckleberry. 

 Stop at any hostelry in the land during the season, and 

 there is the inevitable dish of huckleberries staring you in 

 the face, or they may be lurking at your elbow in the shape 

 of a pie, or that breeder of night sweats, a huckleberry roll. 

 They seem to think this particular berry a necessity to diges- 

 tion, or that every tourist and angler that stops at a hotel 

 came up there for the especial and sole purpose of eating 

 huckleberries, and the only way to get rid of them and pre- 

 serve amicable relations with the fair nymph that waits on 

 you at table is to eat 'em (the berries) and hold your peace. 



Leaving the plains, the road led into a dark shady wood 

 of maple, beech, asb and a hemlock or pine occasionally, 

 with here and there a wild cherry and iron wood to remind 

 some of us of woods we had hunted squirTels iu when we 

 had more sap in our bones than now. 



The change from the hot sandy plain to the cool shadows 

 of the overhanging branches was so grateful that all but Dan 

 and the drivers got out to walk a couple of miles and work 

 the kinks out of our legs. Everybody was in high good 

 humor, and many a joke and laugh and shout, smothered 

 and pent up for a year, waked the solitudes of the old woods 

 that day for miles around, and had our years been gauged by 

 "how good we felt," any railroad company would have 

 carried us at half fare rates, for verity we were as a party 

 of boys turned loose to go a-fisbing. 



Even brave old Dan seemed to forget his limp and useless 

 right arm and feeble right leg, and although unable to walk 

 well enough to keep pace with the party, laughed and 

 "hollered" from his perch on the wagon with the best of us. 



"Wonder how fur it is to that spring one o' them drivers 

 was talkin' about?" said Ben, as he made a pass at a deer fly 

 hovering around his nose, "I'm so dry I feel like I could 

 drink up a whole trout stream, trout an' all." 



Two or three miles further on we unhitched to feed the 

 horses and take a lunch, and following a path a few yards 

 down a low hill to the left, found the promised spring, the 

 first water we had seen since leaving the trout stream. The 

 water was poor in quality, tasting of the marsh surrounding 

 it, but as the Scribe said, "it served to keep us and the 

 horses from perishing." 



Here, he and the Deacon found more skeeter sign, but long 

 practice in their peculiar line of warfare against these pests 

 prevailed, and with the assistance of Dick, Frank and the 

 drivers, another emergency was passed in safety. 



When we returned from the spring we found Dan had 

 established himself with the lunch basket in the shade of 

 some bushes by the roadside, and as we approached a pair 

 of bright-eyed little ground squirrels darted away into the 

 thick underbrush, but soon returned, peering cautiously at 

 us to see if we meant them harm. While we were at the 

 spiiug, Dan said they had come timidly out of the woods 

 and creeping gradually nearer had stopped within a foot of 

 him and asked as plainly as they could with their eyes for a 

 share of his lunch. Reaching out his hand he dropped two 

 small pieces of bread near them, which they snatched up 

 and, scampering back to the edge of the bushes, sat up on 

 their haunches and ate with avidity. This was repeated 

 two or three times, and so tame were they and such trust did 

 they seem to place in the old Pelican's goodness of heart 

 that had we not appeared on the scene and scared them 

 away, Dan said he had no doubt they would have soon ex- 

 plored the lunch basket to see if he was not cheating them 

 out of some of the choicest morsels, As we came up and 

 took possession of the basket they skurried back into_ the 

 woods and were not seen again, but it was a pleasing little 

 incident that I am sure will not soon be forgotten by those 

 who witnessed it, Kingfisher. 



[to be continued.] 



Shore Birds.— Philadelphia, Pa., May 1?.— There are 

 many golden plover and grass plover in our Phi lade] phia 

 markets. While the law allows the shooting of all the wad- 

 ing birds during their migratory visit to us in the spring, the 

 first mentioned, which are of a more upland habit, are in 

 like manner unprotected. It is a great shame that the grass 

 plover at least cannot be allowed a short stay iu May unmo- 

 lested, as they are seldom, if ever, in the fine condition we 

 find them in August on their return with their young, Thete 

 birds, not long since, nested in considerable numbers in the 

 tablelands in the elevated portions of our State wherever a 

 meadow exists, but of late years have greatly decreased, and 

 should not he shot before the 15th of August.— Homo, 



