402 



FOREiST AND STREAM. 



Li>EC. 17 1885. 



TO THE WALLED-IN LAKES. 



II. — "INSIDE BIG WATERS." 



T>EFORE day broke the next raorning I was awakened 

 by the rasping noise made by something scraping along 

 the canvas of the tent. The familiar sound told its own 

 story, and I was not surprised, when I arose and looked out 

 of the tent door, to see the ground covered with snow. It 

 was not cold, and the rapidly falling flakes were damp and 

 melted as they touched the clothing. Yellowfish had already 

 started out in search of the horses, which would be easily 

 tracked in the snow, and before breakfast was ready he had 

 driven them up to the wagon, where they were tied, so that 

 we might start as soon as the snow ceased falling. 



About 8 o'clock it stopped snowing, and, quickly breaking 

 camp, we moved out, Yellowfish and I in the lead and 

 Appekunny driving the team behind us. Just as we started 

 we saw a horseman, followed by a loose horse, going back 

 over the ridge down which we had come the day before. 

 At first we supposed it to be an Indian, but a little later we 

 came upon the horse tracks leading down into the basin of 

 the St. Mary's Lakes, and as no Indians were known to be 

 there, it was thought possible that some gold diggings had 

 been found in the basin and that this might be one of the 

 prospectors with a pack animal going into the settlements 

 for provisions. 



A drive of a couple of hours brought us to the top of the 

 ridge, from which we could look down into the valley of 

 the St. Mary's Lakes. 



The scene was curiously beautiful. The sky had not yet 

 cleared, and a heavy fog hung about us, so that we could 

 see but a short distance on either side. Down below in the 

 lake valley there was little mist, so that the lower end of the 

 upper, and the whole of the lower lake were visible. The 

 shores and the rounded hills, which formed the immediate 

 surroundings of the latter were seen, the ridges covered with 

 bright green quaking aspens with here and there a little 

 open park where the ripened mountain grass showed yellow 

 amid the green. Dimly through changing mist clouds we 

 could see now and then a long way up the Upper Lake, and 

 recognized, or thought we did, the stern black faces of tre- 

 mendous escarpments which rose from the water's veiy edge. 

 Now and then a soft veil of mist would drop down from the 

 overhanging clouds and float from the upper end of the lake 

 to the lower, now concealing and then revealing the beauties 

 of the scene. That the valley of the lower lake was much 

 wider than that of the upper one we coidd see, but could 

 form no idea as to the height or character of the mountains 

 by which they were surrounded. All this was hidden by 

 the fog, so that whatever of the mountains was above 1,500 

 or 2,000 feet higher than the level of the water was left to 

 the imagination. The lower lake is seven or eight miles long 

 and lies here nestled among the steep quaking aspen ridges. 

 Prom its northern end the St. Mary's River flows out to join 

 Belly River, and so the Saskatchewan, while the tremendous 

 volume of water supplied by the upper lake empties in from 

 the south. The deep blue of the waters point to a great 

 depth for the lake, and in most places there is little evidence 

 of any shoal water along the shores. On the upper lake the 

 vertical cut walls and the steep talus slopes, together with 

 the occasional gleam of permanent snow far down the 

 mountain sides, hint at a glacial origin for the lakes. 



When the wagon came up there was some question as to 

 whether it would be wise to make the descent into the basin 

 at this point. Certainly the slope was tremendously steep, 

 and the snow on Ihe ground made things so slippery that it 

 might be very difficult to control the wagon if it should 

 once get started. On the other hand, there was no load 

 worth speaking of in the wagon, and by rough locking the 

 wheels and holding back with ropes, it seemed as if we 

 ought to be able to get down. By means of a couple of 

 log-chains we prepared the wagon as well as possible for the 

 somewhat perilous descent. The mere upsetting and scatter- 

 ing of our goods and chattels over the hillside would have 

 ■been no great misfortune, but if the wagon once got away 

 from us on this very precipitous slope, it seemed likely that 

 it would not stop before the bottom of the hill was reached, 

 and in this case we should not only have the wagon to mend, 

 but very likely also a dead horse to leave behind; so with 

 one man managing the reins and brake, and two behind try- 

 ing to keep the hind end of the wagon from sliding down 

 the hill, we started very carefully and slowly. 



We had not gone very far before we wished ourselves back 

 on the top of the hill. The slope was a hard grass-covered 

 gravel and over this were two or three inches of snow and 

 ice, and the rough-locks, instead of catching, slid along over 

 the ground like the runners of a sleigh. Do the best we 

 could, Yellowfish and I were hardly able to keep the wagon 

 from swinging around and starting down the hill backward. 

 Little by little, however, we worked our way down and as 

 soon as possible edged the wagon into a grove of aspens where 

 it was impossible for it to get away. Then by cutting a path 

 with the axe we managed to safely reach the foot of the steep 

 hill. From here on our road was an easy one, leading across 

 the ridges that ran down at right angles to the shore of the 

 lake and we gradually worked down the slopes until we 

 came to a curving bay near the head of the lake where we 

 made camp. It was a pleasant spot, open and level. On 

 the one side were the hills which bounded the basin on the 

 east and on the other the lake. The camp ground was per- 

 haps fifty yards in width and on it the grass grew knee deep. 

 On the right a ridge came down to the lake shore, on the 



left was the channel of a tiny brook with its fringe of tall 

 eotton woods, in front the terraced ridges rose one above the 

 other until they melted into the steep face of the pine-clad 

 hill. Between us and the water was a dense thicket of al- 

 ders, through which ran a path, now overgrown with grass 

 and weeds, down to the shore of the lake. 



The wagon was halted near the edge of the alders, the 

 horses hobbled and turned loose, then the tent was pitched 

 facing the east and a fire started, end while Yellowfish 

 was chopping wood and beginning to get dinner ready, 

 Appekunny and I walked down to the lake shore. It is 

 indeed a lovely sheet of water. And scarcely less beauti ful 

 when seen in part, as now, than when its whole expanse is 

 spread out before one. It was now smooth and tranquil, 

 and its dark waters under the sombre sky looked as if they 

 might contain mysterious and terrible monsters, ready at any 

 moment to rise to the surface and grasp those who should 

 venture within their reach. The great hills and overtower. 

 ing mountains were scarcely reflected in the unruffled depths, 

 but seemed rather to cast shapeless shadows which now and 

 then moved slowly hither and thither in an unexplained way. 

 Across the lake the dark pine-clad hills rose until they were 

 hidden in the clouds, and down near the water the ridges 

 were brighter with the pale frondage of the aspens, which 

 even now showed here and there a touch of gold that told of 

 the approach of winter. It was all quiet and still under the 

 dull gray sky, and there was no life upon the lake or on the 

 shore. 



A few yards down the beach, hidden among the alders, 

 we found Appekunny's boat, undisturbed during the ten 

 months that had elapsed since he cached it there. Under it 

 were the oars, thole pins and gaff, and in a few moments we 

 had launched and brought it to the end of the path leading 

 from our camp to the water, where we left it to soak and 

 tighten, while we went back to camp. 



After dinner, taking rifle, rod and trolling lines, we set 

 forth to paddle up the lake to the inlet. Yellowfish was 

 loath to accompany us, for the Piegans do not like to ven- 

 ture upon the water. They know that terrible gods— the 

 underwater people — live down in the bottoms of these lakes, 

 and they fear Windmaker and the others. Similarly manj^ 

 of the west coast Indians fear to venture on the mountain 

 lakes, dreading the power of the monsters that inhabit them, 

 and in this fear we see another example of a belief that is 

 worldwide among savage people. After some persuasion he 

 was induced to come. 



Close under the beach, in the wide and shallow bay to the 

 east of where this enters the lake, we saw a great many ducks, 

 and here later in the season, I was assured, the geese rest in 

 great numbers on their journey to the south. The water is 

 shoal, and the white sandy bottom, here and there overgrown 

 with succulent water grasses, explains the attractions which 

 this spot presents to the migrants. At the head of the lake 

 we drew the boat out on the sand beach and walked for some 

 distance up the inlet. This is a broad, hurrying stream of 

 purest cold water flowing thi'ough a level valley a mile or 

 more in width. A large portion of this flat is overgrown 

 with willows, but along the inlet itself, and occasionally ex 

 tending for some distance out over the flat, there is a thick 

 growth of large ppruces and cottonwoods, and beneath these 

 a tangle of willows and alders, which is almost impenetrable. 

 It looks like a great place for white-tail deer, and as if there 

 should be some moose here. Forcing our way through the 

 underbrush we reached the high bank which overhangs the 

 water, and looking down upon what seemed the perfection 

 of a trout stream, I set up my rod. The sun was now low 

 and it was just the hour one would choose for fishing such 

 a stream, but although we patiently whipped its waters for 

 perhaps a quarter of a mile we accomplished nothing . Down 

 in the clear depths we could see the great fish lying on the 

 bottom, butr, cast as deftly as we might, they paid no heed 

 to our flies. I changed the cast several times, hoping in this 

 way to tempt them, but without success. And yet it did 

 not seem that the trout were satiated, for a vagrant young 

 whitefish which was meandering down the stream, caused 

 great excitement among the big trout, who made most 

 vigorous attempts to capture him — attempts which were 

 unsuccessful I was glad to see. We caught but a little 

 fellow weighing a quarter of a pound, and as we compared 

 him with others eight or ten times as large, which lazily 

 breasted the current at our feet, he seemed fairly con- 

 temptible. 



The capture even of this little fish did some good, how- 

 ever. When Yellowfish first saw my rod set up he asked 

 what it was for, and when told merely remarked, "No good; 

 it will break." When the fish was fast, however, and darted 

 down stream, causing the rod to bend, and then gradually 

 yielded to the strain, and came back and finally up to the 

 bank, the Indian displayed a good deal of excitement, and 

 finally after looking closely at the rod, he tapped it with his 

 finger and said, "Ehya skoon-n-t&ps" {atrong). There were 

 plenty of good trout in the water, but our best endeavors 

 failed to induce any others to come out on to the beach. A 

 few good-sized whitefish were seen lazily swimming about. 



As we could make nothing out of the trout we returned 

 to our boat, and coasting along the shore crossed the mouth 

 of the inlet, passing the sand shoals on which the geese roost 

 in November, where we saw the tracks of a small bear, and 

 a little later disturbing great flocks of teal and widgeons, 

 which noisily rose at our approach, and then, after making 

 a wide circle around the boat, settled on tliewfttepiB our 



wake. Here and there on the water, as we moved slowly 

 along, we saw the leaves and gnawed twigs of the willow, 

 showing fresh marks of the beaver's teeth, and in more than 

 one place we noticed the tracks and the wide trails where 

 these animals had gone in or out of the water. 



Almost the whole length of the lake is in view from 

 its head. Towards its lower end the valley grows 

 wider on either side, and the hills, especially to the eastward, 

 become lower, so that when the river leaves it, the tops of 

 the bluSs are only a few hundred feet above the water and 

 were now visible below the clouds. Half way down the 

 lake and close beneath the eastern shore is a beautiful island 

 half a mile in length, for the most part overgi-own with 

 spruces and aspens, and with a little circular park in the 

 middle, smooth as a lawn. Between the island and the shore 

 is a deep channel. 



It was a noteworthy fact that down by the lake shore 

 there was no snow at all, while a few hundred feet above 

 the grass on the hillside was almost covered, and the higher 

 hills and mountains were still white. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



PODUNK POND. 



PODUNK may not be considered euphonious, either as a 

 whole or in sections, but it is distinctively a name that 

 when pronounced is apt to give rise to a number of queries. 

 In fact, I think I never knew the name to be hauled in by 

 the heels before an audience of strangers and i-eceived in 

 utter silence; wild laughter awaited it, if not a rigid cross- 

 examination as to its parentage and baptism. It is, so to 

 speak, a neighbor, and my own curiosity as to its origin was 

 aroused so Fong ago that my hair has grown gray since I 

 began my excavations into its pedigree, and my labor has 

 resulted only in finding that its origin was mislaid long years 

 ago. My friend. Dr. A. W. Holden, the historian of the 

 town of Queensbury, who has genealogies dating from the 

 Paleozoic age at his finger's ends, tells me it is, probably, an 

 Indian name, but cannot tell which particular Indian bore 

 this patronymic. I think the name should be spelled Podonk, 

 for I have heard it pronounced as though the speaker 

 were trying to imitate an old gander leading a flight of wild 

 geese. The map makers have committed a burglary and 

 filched from Podunk Pond its birthright, therefore on the 

 map it will be found as "Ore Bed Pond ;" but when Podunk 

 becomes a fact in the mind of the hearer instead of a jarring 

 sound, the most natural question that arises is, where is it? 

 or, if it is mentioned that Podunk Pond contains fish, this 

 will be varied by— how do you get there? 



The pond is in the town ot Fort Ann, in Washington 

 county, N. Y., and to get there from this place one can take 

 his choice of going to Johnny cake Corners, then to the 

 "striped house," then to the "pea-green hotel," and then 

 through Beartown; or, go to Tripoli and thence to the "pea- 

 green hotel," and instead of turning to the east, through 

 Beartown, continue north through Frog Hollow and Hog- 

 town. Vivid imagination? Not a bit of it! Imagination is 

 my weak point, and I deal only in plain-featured facts. In 

 the above directions I simply quote from the local gazetteer 

 or cross roads directory. Having located the pond and given 

 plain directions for getting to it, it may be in order to state 

 what is to be found therein by an angler who embarks upon 

 a sort of Pilgrim's Progress to reach it. 



It was once the home of the speckled trout (the activity, 

 enterprise and progress of the nineteenth century make it 

 necessary, in speaking of the home of the speckled trout, to 

 use the past tense so frequently that it gets rather stereotyped) 

 and this day a few forlorn, frightened survivors haunt it, 

 looking upon the foreigners that have usurped their home 

 and rights as interlopers that occupy their ancestral halls by 

 might, not right; but the majority of the inhabitants of the 

 pond are immigrants — black bass. 



To the writer it seems the sheerest, most senseless folly to 

 stock a trout pond— or a pond that can be made into a trout 

 pond — with black bass. A small pond is not a fit place for 

 black bass if it is to be constantly and mercilessly fished, as 

 most small ponds are. A pond may be stocked with black 

 bass and guarded for a few years until the fish have taken 

 root, and then in a few years more all the larger bass are 

 caught, and thereafter the pond yields only small bass that 

 an angler should be ashamed to put into his creel. This 

 sort of stocking is going on all over the country to-day, and 

 in some instances by men who, from their positions, should 

 know better; but this subject deserves a letter by itself. 



Besides black bass, the pond contains yellow perch, some 

 of which are said to grow to three pounds and more each; 

 but the pike {E. lucius), the afliiction of so many ponds in 

 this State, is absent. In writing of the size of yellow perch 

 in this pond, I am careful not to assume any personal 

 responsibility. Very large perch are a sensitive, shrinking 

 fish, if one attempts to become familiar with them. From 

 my youth up I have been seeking to find a five or even a 

 four-pound yellow perch quietly resting in the scoop of a 

 Fairbanks scales. I know they exist or have existed off the 

 scales, because I have frequently heard of them; but I have 

 traveled miles and fished days, if not weeks, to meet such a 

 fish, and thus far in life's journey I have no greater personal 

 acquaintance with one of them than with the "philosopher's 

 stone. " Last summer I thought surely I was to be rewarded, 

 for a friend told me of a four-pound perch caught from 

 Podunk Pond, and gave all the particulars of the capture 

 down to the direction of the wind and the identical spot 

 where the fish was weighed. Half way to the pond I dis- 

 covered that the perch had shrunk two whole pounds, and 

 as they all act in the same manner upon a near approach, I 

 have put these big perch down as very retiring. 



It was early in October that my friend Mr. Cleveland, the 

 treasurer of the Texas Club, proposed to the writer, the sec- 

 retary, that we make a journey to Podunk Pond on official 

 business, October in this latitude is one of the most delight- 

 ful months of the twelve, and last October was especially 

 charming. We had really had all the fishing during the 

 summer that a reasonable angler could ask for, and perhaps 

 a surfeit of fish, consequently our trip was to be one of dis- 

 covery rather than for meat. 



The day of our start could not hare been more perfect if 

 raade to oi-dei- for the oeca«ion, and we decided by th^ 



