Portable Boats. 



265 



log, watching for deer, permitting us to come within a rod 

 or two ere he retreated, leaving us surprised and forgetful of 

 our revolvers, I cannot here expatiate upon. 



Nor can I tell you of our more dangerous experience on 

 the Lower Saranac lake, in cold and storm. A stormy, 

 rainy day found us on the beach of Cold brook, an affluent 

 of the Saranac river. Here we designed reconstructing 

 our boat frame, the old one having been thrown away at 

 the last camp. In a short space the guides had cut a young 

 tamarack for the keelson, a couple of stout poles served 

 as gunwales, while two dozen boughs, cut among the bushes 

 at the brook side, formed the ribs. A couple of paddles 

 were hewn from a white cedar nearby. While one guide 

 cooked dinner, another, with my aid, tied in the ribs of 

 boughs, slipped in the keelson, and bound on the gunwales 

 and cross pieces, and in an hour and a half from the time 

 we struck the brook we were gliding down stream, three 

 men, two hundred pounds of baggage and instruments, 

 and the huge hound sedately standing toward the prow. 



The navigation of the stream was easy. Out in the 

 broader river the violent cold wind made our craft veer a 

 little, and when, an hour later, we struck out into the broad 

 Saranac lake, the white caps in the distance proclaimed a 

 heavy sea. It was a wintry day. Snow lay upon the 

 mountain tops, and when another hour passed, wild, black, 

 foam-crested billows swept around us, and our craft rode 

 safely, now high on the crest, now low in the trough, 

 we felt, though chilled and shivering, when we floated up 

 at Martin's in safety, that it was a triumph. 



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