202 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
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[Oor, 0, 188d. 
Che Sportsman Tourist. 
LOG OF THE BUCKTAIL.--II1. 
OOKING over my brief notes of the present season, I 
find the following entries: 
“June 17.—Picked up the canoe at Tiadaghton for a 
week’s cruise down the river. Worst racket I ever got. 
Overboard a dozen times. Arrived at Blackwell’s pretty 
well used up. Staid all night at Gregory's Blackwell House; 
clean, square meals; $1 per day. 
“78th.—Paddled out early. Fine scenery; lovely weather 
and better water. Only got out twice to ease her over the 
riffies, Beautiful camping grounds every mile; camped on 
an island above Slate Run, for no reason only it was such 
a sweet place | hated to pass 16. 
“19th.—Spent the day loafing about the island and trying 
my hand at making a mode] one-horse camp. Caught a 
couple of white chubs, but fishing poor. Racket with a 
spake in the night; snake got away. 
*20th.—Spent the day on the green, shady island, with a 
visit to a farmhouse for milk and eggs. Inthe nighta 
couple of hounds made the hills ring, tracking a *coon up 
and down the banks, and finally treeing him up a heavy- 
topped yellow birch.” * * They kept the concert up till 
daylight, and when I went to the foot of the island where they 
were whooping it up, they nuzzled around my legs, jumped 
their paws on my breast and begged of me, in most piteous 
dog language, to shoot that ring-tailed rascal or rattle him 
out of the tree, whither it had taken them half the night to 
drive him; but I declined. Hugging himself in the topmost 
branches of the birch, a soft bundle of gray fur, with a 
ringed tail at one end and a sharp, cute face at the other, I 
thought he just rounded out the landscape, and was a much 
pleasanter sight than he would be with a couple of frantic 
hounds tearing the life out of him. This I explained to the 
dogs, who referred me, by knowing looks, to a cornfield 
just across the river, where they had first found his tracks; 
but [ruled the corn question out, and the two dogs went 
home to breakfast, fecling: desolate and dispersed. 
The snake incident hinted at above was nearly an adven- 
ture and may be worth relating, comprising, as I believe it 
does, a mild lesson for any future outer who may find him- 
self in close quarter with a rattler. It happened in this wist: 
On the second night in camp 1 had spent several hours mak- 
ing the camp snug and comfortable, and had taken special 
pains with the bunk, which was a simple frame a little less 
-than 6 feet long by 2 feet in width, and about 4 inches deep. 
The frame was ,made of such slabs and edgings as I could 
pick up handily, and it did happen that the slab on the right 
was some three inches thick just opposite my breast as I lay, 
and level on its upper edge as it came from the saw, while 
the slab on the other side had a slivery, feather edge, I 
mention these trifles because they turned out to be of import 
in what followed. 
The 19th of June was a broiling day, followed by a sultry 
night, The crib was filled high and even with fine, fragrant 
browse, and the fire burned brightly, But it happened that 
the weather was too hot or I was too Jazy to get substantial 
night-wood, wherefore the fire was made of chips, bark, and 
the hewing left by men who squared timber for the railroad. 
There was enough of it for all summer, but such a fire does 
not Jast. I was about 10 P. M. when I lay down, with the 
blanket under me and a coat drawn over me just high enough 
to leave my arms free, flat on my back, fingers locked on my 
breast, and right elbow resting easily on the thick slab, over 
which it projected at the turn of the joint. And so I fell 
asleep. 1 must have slept nearly three hours, when I awoke 
in the same position to find the fire burned to a few embers 
and the air decidedly damp and chilly. 
I was sleepy, tired, and withal indolent, but a fire must 
be made, so L inaugurated a move, And a very slight move 
it was. For, at the very first rustle as I unclasped my 
fingers, just at my right elbow, there came the quick, sharp 
danger signal of a rattlesnake. It was startling. I suppose 
nine men in ten would have sprung to their feet, helping 
themselves with their hands of course, in which case the 
snake would be certain to strike, and pretty apt to hit. 
I froze right down to immoyable silence at the first spring 
of the rattles. I dared not mceve a finger. I had not touched 
the reptile, and there was liitle danger so long as 1 reinained 
perfectly still. But it was trying to the nerves. The loud, 
shrill, rattling, like the scape pipe of a steam engine, denoted 
a very large snake, and he was so near that I could detect 
the vibration of his quivering tail on the loose shirtsleeve 
that hung over the slab. J am not afraid of snakes. Two 
or three times during the last fifty years I have had a rattler 
spring his alarm so close to my feet that I dared not stir 
until [ had looked the situation over so as to make the first 
move in the right direction for safety, 
But I had never been caught in such an awkward, help- 
less position before; and—vwell, I was a little demoralized, 
and a trifle scared, he seemed so near. For a minute, per- 
haps, he kept the thrilling music up to concert pitch, and 
then it began to subside, so evenly and gradually that one 
could scarcely tell when it ceased. Then ensued a faint, 
continuous rustle, just audible, as though he were convolut- 
ing himself into comfortable position, D— him; did ke in- 
tend to stay with me all night? Soon all was silent inside the 
tent, A heayy fog was on the river, which the cool night 
wind swept into camp, making me so chilly that it was with 
difficulty I refrained from shivering and aheiny 
The situation was becoming unbearable. Talk about time 
hanging heavy on one’s hands! Was it an hour or two 
hours? Or had he gone away altogether, leaving me to 
imagine him still coiled up at my elbow? Jt would do no 
hurt to try it. So I made one sharp scratch on the port side 
of the bunk, and whiz-z-z, whir-r-r-r, there he was; and this 
time I plainly felt the slight, gliding motion of his folds as 
he got himself into line of battle. Iresigned at once, and 
inwardly swore not to stir till daylight. But he was fairly 
roused, and evidently suspicious of his neighbors. He did 
not settle down again, but kept collin’ around among the 
leaves and crisp grass, and I soon heard—blessed sound—the 
husky rattle of his tail as he glided under the tent-cloth and 
out into the darkness, 
‘And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath flerce."’ 
I sprang to my feet, scrambled the embers together, hastily 
made a torch of dry splinters and shavings, and in less time 
than it takes to write it was on the warpath in my stocking 
feet, with the poking stick for aclub. I expected to find 
him just outside the tent, but he had gone further. 1 hunted 
in and around the tent, in the débris back of camp, among 
the piles of flood trash, and in every clump of weeds and 
bushes near by; but he was not to be had. At daylight T 
yas eut again, and hunted the island faithfully for two 
hours, but in vain, He had probably crawled back to the 
mountain. Iwas sorry. I wanted him for a specimen— 
wanted to ‘‘mount” him and send him to Formst AND 
STREAM. 
_ Thirty years ago it was not unusual for a rattler to crawl 
Into an Open camp in warm weather. But there were ten of 
the reptiles then where there is one at present. Forest fires 
have pretty well thinned them out, i 3 
Another long, warm June day spent in lounging on the 
fresh, green island, with a little fly-fishing for bass late 
in the day—for there is good bass fishing from Cedar Run 
to the mouth of the Tiadatton—and on the next morning I 
acked up and tied in for a short, pleasant cruise to Slate 
un. 
Slate Run station is an old-time lumber camp, and the 
stream from which it takes its name has long been noted as 
an excellent trout stream. There is still good trouting to be 
had early in the season, but, like all Pennsylvania trout 
streams, it is oyerfished. It is located between high, wooded 
mountain spurs, and the scenery is really fine, with excel- 
lent springs and fine camping spots. Bear and deer are 
fairly plenty on the mountains, and the bass fishing is fairly 
good. There isa modest hotel where plain, well-cooked 
meals may be had for twenty-five cents, a good, clean bed 
for the same; and there are several trout streams in easy 
reach, where plenty of small trout may be taken. As for 
myself, I do not care to make a tiresome trip through brush, 
brambles and treetops to get on the head of a stream where 
the trout will hardly average five inches long. 
It is Saturday, and as I am cruising the river by install- 
ments, I may as well lay up the Bucktail in safe quarters 
and go home. The railroad makes this quite feasible, and 
the landlord gives the canoe a good berth in a cool cellar 
without charge. In two hours I amatmy own door, Rather 
a lazy, civilized way of cruising, but pleasant withal. 
NESSMUK. 
A VOYAGE BETWEEN THE LAKES. 
BY D, D. BANTA, 
ert 
To pass away the time, I'll tell your grace 
A dream I had Jast night. —John Webster, 
N Wednesday, the 7th day of August, 1884, at precisely 
5 o'clock P. M. central time, the Judge and Brother 
Scott sailed from Seney to see what they could of the Manis. 
tique Lake region. The Judge has had an introduction to the 
FoREsT AND STREAM family already, I believe, but Brother 
Scott is a stranger. 
I say ‘Brother Scott,” because the Greek Professor, whom 
they left in his tent at Jeromeville picking berries and catch- 
ing trout, always says so, Both are preachers and have 
preachers’ ways with them, and one of these ways, so far at 
least as the Greek Professor is concerned, is to ignore the 
Scott Christian name for that of Brother; with him it is 
‘*Brother Scott” this and ‘Brother Scott” that. ‘‘Brother Scott, 
turn the fish!” ‘Brother Scott, peel the potatoes!” or ‘‘Brother 
Scott, hang up the dish cloth!” inthe same perfunctory tone 
and style we would expect to hear him say, ‘‘Brother Scott, 
lead in prayer!” and I, not Knowing any other name, fall 
into line and say ‘Brother Scott,’’ too. 
The attentive reader will observe that [am exact in my 
statement as to the time of their departure from Seney, and 
perbaps it is well enough for me to say here at the outset 
and once for all, that thisis a true history, and being such, 
exactness must be expected. ' 
The attentive reader will doubtless note many instances 
similar to the forgoing, before we get through with this 
journey, but I promise him that I shall not again break the 
current of this narrative to call the attention of inattentive 
readers to them. 
Seney, it may be wellto say, is in the Upper Michigan 
Peninsula, on the Detroit, Mackinac & Marquette Railroad, 
seventy-five miles from St. Ignace, at the Straits, and a like 
distance from Marquette, on Superior, and is also situated 
on the Fox River, a branch of the Manistique. The Fox, the 
stream our voyagers set sail on, is a small stream, when 
thought of as a river, by those who live in the great interior 
of our country, but it was large enough to float millions of 
feet of logs every year from the great pineries north of Seney, 
down to Manistique, not to mention the Wawa and its cargo 
and crew on this oceasion. On the old maps the stream 
bore the name of Neenah, an Indian name worthy of perpet- 
uation, but the iconoclast came along, and behold, the Fox! 
While there is no s ping worthy of the name to be found 
in the immediate vicinity of Seney, it is nevertheless a fairly 
good place to start from to reach sporting grounds and 
waters. North of Seney, in the headwaters of the Manis- 
tique system, the speckled trout ‘‘live, move and have their 
being,” while southward flows the Fox, soon discharging into 
the Manistique itself; and by way of the Fox to its mouth and 
thence down the Manistique a short distance to the mouth of 
the Outlet, and thence up that a couple of miles, is the water 
route from the railroad to the Manistique Lake system, con- 
sisting of three charmingly beautiful sheets of fresh water 
lying amid hard woods over against the Niagara limestone 
outcrop and abounding in all the inland lake fish peculiar to 
the region, 
It was this route to the Manistique Lakes, that the Judge 
and Brother Scott are now going to take. 
There is a class of so-called sportsmen, who find the at- 
tractions at Seuey sufficiently strong to hold them at the 
place sometimes for many days. Seney has its hotels, and 
what is more, its saloons; and that class of sportsmen who 
cannot subsist in comfort outside of a hotel nor get along 
without their nightly dtations, find Seney an attractive 
center, One such an his headquarters at the hostelry 
where the Judge and Brother Scott made theirs while mak- 
ing their final preparations for their voyage. He was a suc 
cessful Chicago tradesman, whose purse was weigbtier than 
his stock of sporting knowledge, and whose loye ot Seney 
whisky was weightiest of all. His hunting and fishing out- 
fit had been gotten up without sense and at great expense. 
He had three rods and a small trunkful of reels, creels, 
flies, lines and other fishing gear. The number of his guns 
had not been ascertained when the Judge and Brother Scott 
left the town, but as he had mentioned two rifics and one 
shotgun by manufacturers’ names, it was surmised that three 
was the number of his armament, not counting a pistol he 
carried conspicuously in a hip pocket. De - 
The fourth day of this Chicago man was drawing to its 
close at the very hour when the Judge and Brother Scott set 
out on their voyage. The first day he had industriously con- 
sumed in making acquaintance with the various Seney bar- 
tenders and their bars, and by nightfall he wasin such a 
maudlin condition that he did not know whether he was in 
Chicago or Seney. 
The morning of the second day he was so far recovered 
that he was able to go a-fishing, With his guide, a strapping 
big lumberman, whom he had picked up in the saloon the 
day before, he drove out to a once fair trout stream, where 
he donned his fishing suit and began hissport. But with the 
log-driving of the lumbermen ane the netting and the trap- 
ping of the law-breakers, not to mention the honest fishing, 
the once goodly trout stream was next to tenantless, and so 
the ignorance of both sportsman and guide as to the habits 
of trout and the methods of trout fishers mattered not. The 
Chicago man was an energetic, plucky fellow, however, and 
he went tramping along the brush-bordered stream at a rate 
of speed and with a noise that would have greatly astonished 
a better fisherman. And he pulled at his flask with like 
energy ; but, not mixing his drinks, he returned to his hotel 
in time for his evening meal, only good-humoredly and talk- 
atively drunk. He had not taken a single trout, but he 
chronicled a nibble; nay, it was « “bite,” a “plunger,” a 
“regular sockdolager,” for by all these terms be character- 
ized it. Ah! how proudly he walked the floor that evening 
between drinks and descanted upon the magnitude of the 
fish that had made the ‘‘savage grab” at his hook; and with 
what confidence he predicted the overthrow of that fish on 
the morrow. Having instructed his guide to be ready ‘‘by 
times” the next morning, he made the final round of the 
saloons, after which he went. to bed to snore and perchance 
to dream of speckled trout, if 2 drunken man can dream so 
sweet a dream, 
Next morning his guide was on hand at an early hour, 
but it was alate one ere the Chicago man could be roused 
from his maudlin slumber—so late that the habitues of the 
hotel winked with their wicked eyes and made significant 
nods with their empty heads, But they had either over- 
rated the power of Seney whisky or underrated the capacity 
of the Chicago man, for he did at last arouse himself, and, 
after making a hasty round of the saloons and as hasty a 
breakfast, he mounted the wagon and was driven away, 
On his return that night he was wet, oozy and hedrageled, 
but he had a trout. Victory had crowned his efforts, He 
had caught one, and, notwithstanding by reason of its being 
under six inches in length it came within the prohibiting 
letter of the law, he risked the vengeance of outraged justice 
and exhibited his wretched little trout with as much pride 
as a congressional candidate would a batile scar. While the 
lite had yet been in it it was a sorry little fish, but now that 
it had been dead and tumbling around alone in a capacious 
basket for many hours, it had lost all semblance to a brook 
trout. But its captor was happy; nay more, jubilant. As 
he paced the floors of the hotel and exhibited the triumph 
of his skill to the grinning lookers on, he reminded each of 
what he boastfully called his ‘‘improyement in trout fishing,” 
“Yesterday,” said he, ‘I had a bite, but to-day I caught the 
rascal.” And as he held the dried specimen up to the crowd 
he gazed at it with watery eyes and enthusiastically ex- 
claimed, ‘‘You speckled beauty, you!” 
After his ecstacy had somewhat subsided, somebody ad- 
verted to the muddy condition ot his clothes, and in expla- 
nation he said he had ‘‘stepped upon a smooth bit of a black 
sand bar, or what looked like one,” and had sunk into the 
mud and muck so deep, that with all his Chicago pluck and 
vim he could not pull himself out. And so he called for help, 
but his ‘‘dummed guide” was slumbering between drinks in 
the wagon, and ere that worthy could be roused the black 
and oleaginous ooze had insinuated its way in little black 
streams over the rim of his fishing trousers, and run clean 
down to the soles of his feet. ‘‘When the drunken loafer 
got to me,” he said, ‘“‘my fishen britches was chuck full of 
the nasty stuff.” But what seemed to roil him most was the 
humorous view which the ‘‘dummed loafer” had evidently 
taken-of his mishap. He had actually proposed standin 
the Chicago man on his head till the mud and water coul 
run out, a proposition the narrator was careful to say he 
treated with al! the scorn it deservecl. 
The trout and the muddy plunge ended the Chicagoan’s 
fishing career for that time. The one satisfied his ambition, 
while the other disgusted him with trout streams so much 
that he pronounced a malediction on all of them. ‘‘l have 
had glory enough for one day in that way,” he said, and 
after changing his clothes he set out for the round of the 
saloons to drink and recount his exploits of the day. To 
admiring and appreciative crowds he set up the drinks, and 
late in the evening he presented to the bar-tender who passed 
the highest encomium on his day’s work his best fly-rod, 
assuring the grateful recipient that he was ‘‘quite welcome 
to it, for I’ve had all the fishen [ want this time. I’m going 
to pumpen lead next.” To the bar-tender who scaled the 
next highest in praise of his piscatorial skill he presented his 
second best rod, and to the next highest his remaining rod— 
a Henshall bass rod, 
It is needless to say that while these dealers in drinks were 
thus handsomely rewarded for their good opinions, the ad- 
miring lumbermen and other saloon habitués who thronged 
the saw-dusted floors drank freely and often at his expense, 
and it was whispered around that after a day or two his 
guns would go the way of his rods. 
It was alate hour of the night, or to speak rather with 
that accuracy characteristic of this history, an early hour in 
the morning when the Chicago man was carried screaming 
drunk to his hotel, Nor did he leaye his room till 5 P, M., 
central time, the very hour that the Judge and Brother Scott 
slipped the Wawa’s painter and floated out upon the dark 
waters of the Fox, for the journey which this history is 
designed to record. 
That Wednesday was a memorable day in the Upper Pen- 
insula; memorable not so much because it was the day that 
the Chicago sporisman slept off his big drunk, or that the 
Judge and Brother Scott set forth on their journey, as from 
the fact that Jupiter Pluvius had on that day unrolled his — 
clouds and deluged the thirsty land with fruitful showers. 
During the previous night a long gathering storm had broken, 
and all the forenoon of that Wednesday and till a late hour 
in the afternoon there had been a steady down-pour. As the 
eastward-bound train, which carried our trayelers from 
Jeromeyille to Seney, thundered through the woods, the 
fleecy fogs from Lake Superior were seen creeping south- 
ward through the forest aisles, and our travelers knew by 
that sign that the wind was ‘‘hauling round” to the north- 
west, and that what would make a gale out on the great lake 
would make delightfully cool and clear weather in the 
woods. And so notwithstanding that at the hour of their 
departure from Seney. the sky was overcast with leaden 
clouds, and the elms that lined the winding Fox were drip- 
ping showers with every puff of the rising wind, and the 
rank fern brakes were limp and soaked, they boldly slipped 
the painter and floated away. ' 
But they went forth with dampened ardor. No one knows 
so well how depressing to the wilderness traveler is a. pro 
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