222 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 14, 1895. 



THE EVENING OF AUG. 1, 1895, 



An Indian, a salmon, a syenite rock. The salmon 

 lies upon the grizzly slope of syenite, and the Indian, fit- 

 ting his wet moccasins to the rough foothold, rests one 

 end of my gaff against the silvery scales of the hig sal- 

 mon to prevent him from sliding back into his roaring 

 home. 



The sun is setting, and for a brief moment the rays 

 seem to warm the bleak hills of white caribou moss and 

 the dark gullies of stunted black spruce, but the warmth 

 is in the color. The steel-gray clouds come westward 

 from the ice-blocked straits of Belle Isle with a fine brac- 

 ing air, but there is no suggestion of real midsummer. A 

 white- throated sparrow among the wild peas pipes loudly 

 to a neighbor up among the chicoutai berries and then 

 sweetly and clearly the spiritual notes of a hermit thrush 

 ring out farewells to the day that is passing. 



The salmon has never known any other river but this 

 one. His mother hid the egg securely under a heap of 

 clean sparkling sand in a shallow tributary of the river 

 away up on the great Labrador plateau one day in Octo- 

 ber, and then hurried back to the sea before the ice caught 

 her. The sheldrakes and wild geese had returned in the 

 springtime before the little salmon had worked his way 

 out of the egg and up through the sand into the clear- 

 water of the brook. Two years he spent in the river as a 

 gay parr, splashing out after the ephemeridte on the sur- 

 face, scooting after the dodging sticklebacks and slyly 

 waiting for the small eels to venture away from their pro- 

 tecting stones. Then he lost his scarlet spots, and coming 

 down the river in smolt colors went out among the rocky 

 islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence where sea plants make 

 red and yellow thickets at the bottom. At first he caught 

 snappy crustaceans and tender sandlaunces, and found 

 such an abundance of food that he soon grew to propor- 

 tions which enabled him to grapple with a capelin or 

 smelt. By the end of his third year he dared to rush into 

 a scattering school of herrings and select the fattest one 

 for himself, and in his fourth year, as a trim grilse, he 

 appeared again in the river, earning up with his older 

 anadromous relatives on their migration. He did not 

 have to keep an eye on the voracious sea trout now, and 

 he escaped the seals easily because they chased the larger 

 salmon and did not give him much attention. He felt 

 the pride of a mature fish, however, and a superiority 

 over his sisters who needed to wait in the sea a longer 

 time before they were ready to accompany him up to the 

 old homestead in summer. 



In six or seven years he became a wonderfully strong 

 salmon, making annual trips up the river and fearing 

 nothing but the otters and the bears when he lay in shal- 

 low currents at rest. The osprey and the golden eagle 

 occasionally dropped down at him from out of the sky, 

 but they stopped when they were near enough to see how 

 swift the water was in which he rested with such appar- 

 ent ease. The onset of the hissing chute and the smoth- 

 ering white water of the exploding falls were to him 

 nothing more than a challenge to try his strength. He 

 would first leap into the air below the falls and take a 

 good look at them, for they could kill him stone dead in 

 an instant if he were to allow it. After looking at the 

 falls he would run up more closely and hold his head out 

 of the confusing, boiling foam for an inspection of the 

 easiest-looking place. Then he would spring 6ft. or 8ft. 

 into the thunder, and hurled back violently with injury 

 to his dignity he would gather his powers for a mighty 

 effort, and in one clear parabola of 12ft. or 14ft. would 

 sail through the air over the flying water at the foot of 

 the falls and force himself up through the awful current 

 to a resting-place in the eddy above. 



This he would do when the day was bright and clear; 

 but through the night and on dark days he would remain 

 quietly in favorite places where the water ran 3ft. or 4ft. 

 deep at the rate of about two miles per hour, over pebbles 

 and cobblestones. It looked as though he remained in the 

 open current without a motion, but on close observation 

 one could see that his nose was behind a cobblestone 

 large enough to make a little sunken eddy, and that his 

 tail curved a bit from side to side. After mounting the 

 first rapid near the sea he usually spent two weeks in the 

 pool above, and then on ascending the second fall he 

 remained for a week in the next pool, and in that way he 

 proceeded like any experienced traveler who has learned 

 how to enjoy himself and find comfort on the road. 

 When he first went into the fresh water every year his 

 colors were startlingly silvery, gleaming in the light that 

 winnowed down through the crinkles of swift water. 

 Ten days later his back and gill covers and fins began to 

 become blackish, and his sides were a trifle less silvery. 

 Two months later, at the headwaters of the river, his col- 

 ors were distinctly black and reddish. From the first day 

 of his entrance into the river the kipper hook on his under 

 jaw began to grow, and his rounded sides became flatter, 

 because he did not eat while in the river. He would 

 often jump at a fluttering miller or a little shiner at the 

 surface just to keep his mouth in working order, but that 

 would not be called eating. 



Last year while passing through the estuary from the 

 sea he was gilled in Monsieur Jules's net, but he soon 

 thrashed himself out of that predicament, leaving a ring 

 mark around his neck where the net had torn away the 

 scales. Two years ago he chose the wrong spot for a 

 leap— at the falls— and was thrown back over the rocks 

 so quickly that his side was badly torn and one pectoral 

 fin was split lengthwise. So back he went down river 

 and into the sea until the wounds were healed, knowing 

 that if he remained in fresh water saprolegnia would 

 grow in the injured tissues and make him an invalid. 

 He returned to the upper waters of the river in time to 

 find a mate who did not object to his scars any more than 

 the German maiden objects to the duel marks on the 

 cheeks of her lover; but it was necessary for him to drive 

 away a ridiculous little parr and two or three rivals, one 

 of which locked jaws with him and did not let go until 

 he had damaged his kipper hook. 



This year the Bcarred old veteran came up from the 

 Gulf three weeks ago, but he waited in brackish water 

 below the first rapid for a week until the temperature of 

 the river had risen to.50°, and then in the first pool he did 

 not feel much like jumping for exercise or at passing 

 flies until the water was 5 U or 6° warmer yet. It is hard 

 for a salmon to keep quiet for a very long time though, 



and one need not stand by a pool many minutes to learn 

 if salmon are there or not. 



I did not care particularly to catch this fine old fish 

 just now because we had had sport enough for one day. 

 First I had hooked an enormous salmon that sulked at 

 the bottom for two hours, in spite of all my efforts to 

 move him: and then when he was beginning to tire the 

 hook came away all at once, and so easily that one won- 

 dered at it having held so long. Another salmon had 

 given me a violent chase down the rapids and I had torn 

 my clothes, lost my hat and scratched my hands in leap- 

 ing over rocks while trying to follow him; but he finally 

 ran out all of 120yds. of line, whacked my rod straight 

 under water and broke away. After that I landed two 

 large salmon and a sea trout. No one would crave any 

 more physical exertion after that sort of work and so J,o- 

 mul and I had gone back to camp. 



We were sitting at the edge of the rocks in front of 

 of camp making the smelt jump at a cast of small flies, 

 while Caribou Charley cooked the young murres that he 

 had condescended to collect for supper, along with a pail- 

 ful of cloudberries and hairy currants. Several smelt 

 would dart at the flies at once, and I told Jo-mul of the 

 common saying among white men that salmon fishing 

 spoiled a man for any other sort of sport with the rod, 

 and asked him if we had not many and many a time 

 rigged up a light rod and gone to fishing for smelt, fork- 

 tail charrs, whitefish, sea trout or brook trout while a 

 dozen leaping salmon were in sight. Then again, after a 

 fine salmon had been brought to gaff, we have gone down 

 the bay and had no end of fun digging clams and pulling 

 lobsters out from under the rocks, or we have gone up to 

 deep water and fished on the bottom for lake trout with 

 a plain vulgar hook and sinker, when salmon would have 

 risen to almost any "cast of the fly in the pools. No! I am 

 suspicious of the color of the blood of a sportsman who is 

 ruined by salmon fishing. Nevertheless, a salmon is the 

 greatest prize that is obtained by the fisherman. 



While we sat waiting for supper an hour ago and 

 were catching the smelts in order to fill in all chinks 

 of time, two or three fish that looked like ouananiche 

 began to leap and play a few yards out in the stream, 

 so I got the salmon rod out again in order to catch one 

 of them for identification. The Jock Scott fly was cast 

 gently into the smooth gliding rapid water at the head of a 

 short but noisy chute, and when the fly rounded up and 

 rippled the water at the end of a straightened line this 

 great salmon unexpectedly appeared. He advanced close 

 up to the fly, almost touched it with his blunt nose, stood 

 poised for a moment in the current and then turned 

 away, making a swirl that boiled the water up in a 

 smooth, round dome at the place where he had been an 

 instant before. He was given time to settle back to his 

 resting-place, and then the fly went out to search 

 for him again. This time he came with a rush, and 

 opening a great mouth that shut the fly in completely, 

 he turned to disappear again; but feeling the hook and 

 the tightening line he leaped 8ft. into the air, shook his 

 head savagely, and bending his body into a bow struck at 

 the line with his tail while high in air. The water 

 splashed to the shore and splattered the rocks as he 

 splurged under again, and then with the speed of an ex- 

 press train he rushed 50yds. out into the river and made a 

 graceful broad jump of 15ft. over the surface. Turning 

 sharply down stream, he shot instantly through the chute, 

 stopping to whirl once in the broken water, and then took 

 out 100yds. of fine so swiftly that it fairly took my breath 

 away before I could jump over the rocks and follow him 

 along the shore. Up he went into the air again and then 

 back into the current, yanking his head furiously back 

 and forth with measured strokes. His next move was to 

 march up behind a rock in deep water, where he sulked, 

 remaining in the same place for ten minutes, and giving 

 little nervous twitches on the line, which was drawn so 

 tightly in the water that it hummed a tune in G minor, 

 and cut the water so that a little transparent sheet an inch 

 high stood straight up. 



In twenty or thirty minutes the salmon had become 

 sufficiently tired to allow me to guide him into shallow 

 water near Jo-mul, who struck him fairly with the gaff 

 and lifted him out upon the rock at his feet. A beautiful 

 fish it is, and one that required a pretty good knowledge 

 of his habits in order to take him out of the element in 

 which he was well equipped for methods of escape. 



As for Jo-mul, who stands there so erect and solemn 

 upon the rock holding the salmon with the gaff, he too 

 has habits and a life history. His long black hair is cut 

 evenly around at the level of his shoulders, anl his 

 straight thin nose, high cheekbones and dark skin mark 

 the man whose ancestors were perhaps here with the 

 indigenous animals. He is not at all like a white man, 

 although he says that he can speak English. I asked him 

 if he had ever seen a moose so far north and he replied, 

 ' 'Seen um be markin on de paper." That was an unusually 

 good and long answer for him. As a rule it is necessary 

 to ask him a question several times before he makes any 

 kind of an answer in Cree„ lumberman French or English. 

 He is not morose, but like others of his race he has failed 

 to develop the bump of language. I do not remember 

 to have seen him laugh but once, and that was when I 

 asked him to cut enough fire-wood to last for several days. 

 It was a good joke. Nothing appeals to an Indian's sense 

 of the ludicrous like the idea of laying up anything in 

 advance. He tries to imitate Caribou Charley and me in 

 some things and I do not dare to leave my toothbrush 

 out or he surely would try it. He still prefers to lean over 

 the river Narcissus like when parting his hair in the 

 morning instead of using our more civilized mirror, 

 which is made by sinking a rubber coat tail in a pan of 

 water. 



Every year in July Jo-mul comes down to the coast 

 and disposes of his canoe load of furs to some trader. A 

 fine black mink skin is worth two dollars, so for that the 

 trader gives him a five cent pipe on which he has placed 

 t'ae value of two dollars. His skins of beaver, otter, fox, 

 marten, lynx, fisher, wolverine and bear are traded off for 

 pickles, Florida water, gunpowder, tobacco and the 

 simplest necessaries in the way of clothing and provisions, 

 but usually to pay the last year's debt; and the things that 

 he wants are advanced to him, for he is known as an 

 honest Indian. That means that he has learned that ad- 

 vances will not be made unless debts are paid. An 

 Indian is apt to be relatively honest. Jo-mul would 

 probably not steal a gold watch because he does not know 

 what it is good for, but it would not be safe to leave a 

 pound of pork near him. He would cross himself with 

 one hand while purloining the pork with the other, for 



the missions have not been without their influence in this 

 region. 



Jo-mul has a wife and two children, but his ideas of 

 family are not troublesome, and he would not feel so very 

 badly if some young brave were to run off with his 

 comely daughter before marriage, especially if the young 

 brave could furnish food enough and would give the 

 daughter a bright red ribbon or two. After Jo-mul has 

 traded off his furs and has lain about camp for four or 

 five weeks the family start off on their annual trip into 

 the interior, to come down the river in the following 

 year just as the salmon are going up. Jo-mul has few 

 motives or ambitions beyond those of any of the large 

 animals of this latitude. He would never think of mak- 

 ing a pet of any wild animal. He would not live a 

 moral life for its own reward because there would be 

 great difficulty in explaining to him the nature of that 

 reward. He would not be content with four meals a day 

 if he could get eight, and he does not feel like working 

 when he is full of food and wants to sleep. 



He seems to live for the purpose of completing a round 

 of life. One round begins with the water bacteria which 

 are eaten by infusoria, which are eaten by mollusks, which 

 are eaten by fish, which are eaten by Jo-mul, who will be 

 eaten by bacteria in turn if he is not careful in shooting 

 the rapids. Another round begins with the land plants, 

 which are eaten by the caribou, which are eaten by 

 Jo-mul, who will be eaten by the bacteria and turned 

 over to the land plants again if he is careful about shoot- 

 ing the rapids. Thus will Jo-mul fill his place in the 

 economy of nature, and apparently there is no other 

 mission for him on earth. 



The syenite rock is about the only thing near camp 

 which has no habits. It lies there partly submerged 

 beneath the sullen current. It is waiting. m 



Robert T. Morris. 



AN OUTING IN THE SIERRAS.— I. 



Man Island, Cal., Aug. 25.— Editor Forest and Stream: 

 I have but lately returned from an outing in the Sierras, 

 and I have a fancy that a few lines from Piseco, giving 

 some events of the same, will not be unwelcome to some 

 of the old-time Forest and Stream readers. 



Of course, my object was trout fishing, and my object- 

 ive point Webber Lake, where I was assured that the 

 fishing was all that could be desired. 



Leaving Sacramento at 10 P. M., the sunrise next 

 morning found me taking an ante-breakfast constitution- 

 al on the railway platform at Summit; and not wonder- 

 ing — for there was a good sharp frost in my vicinity — 

 that the surrounding peaks were not capped but trimmed 

 with snow. By the way, isn't that well-worn expression, 

 "snow-capped peaks," very generally out of place, how- 

 ever poetic? My experience in summer time is that the 

 peaks are bare, the winds having Bwept the snow into the 

 canons and gulches, except in case of very high ones— 

 Shasta, Ranier, St. Elias, etc. 



An hour after I landed at Truckee, and after a lot 

 more exercise with a tough steak and unpalatable break- 

 fast at the station hotel, watched first with interest the 

 loading up and starting for Lake Tahoe of two large six- 

 horse stages; then took the front seat of the smaller four- 

 horser alongside of Al. Richardson, the driver, bound for 

 Webber Lake, some twenty- six miles away. 



On the accompanying chart you wouldn't find Webber 

 Lake if I had not put it in myself; for it is a railway 

 map, and the lake is too small for notice. But little as it 

 is, it's a good place for a lone fisherman at the proper 

 time. 



The morning grew rapidly warm, and the first part of 

 the drive, through an alkali plains looking country, was 

 anything but pleasant. Sage brush and dock are not in- 

 teresting, but the dust was abundant and attracted a 

 great deal of my attention. At Sage Hen, ten miles— a 

 city composed of one house, the station and a couple of 

 barns — we changed horses; and at Curry, six miles fur- 

 ther on, I was transferred to a spring wagon with double 

 team for the further drive of ten miles, the stage going 

 on to Sierra City. This part of the route was delightful, 

 being mostly through brush land; and at noon I reached 

 Webber Lake Hotel, where I was assigned to a most com- 

 fortable room and supplied with a most excellent dinner, 

 most pleasantly served; and here I tried for the first time 

 the virtues of the rainbow trout, and found them good. 



Through the courtesy of Judge John Hunt, of San 

 Francisco, I was soon after dinner outfitted with good 

 boat and boatman, Mr. O'Rear, and joined the procession, 

 which, soon distributing itself around the lake, was vigor- 

 ously and persistently whipping the surface. 



About four hours of that work without a strike, while 

 it sunburned and tired my unaccustomed wrists, satisfied 

 me; and I laid off until evening, when, after another 

 good try, I accomplished the same results. 



I had arrived too late. Up to within a day or two the 

 fishing had been excellent, with many good trout taken; 

 but then had come a hot wave and all of the trout had 

 sought refuge in the deep water, from which no fly could 

 seduce them, I was not alone in my ill luck. Several 

 gentlemen, better casters than I, and with much expe- 

 rience of the lake, tied my score, and but very few much 

 exceeded it. The lake is a small one, not over a mile, I 

 should think, in diameter. It is nearly circular and 

 suggests a crater. Around the edges there is a circular 

 bank, deepening from two or three to ten or twelve feet; 

 then comes the blue water and a depth of over 80ft. In 

 June and July, and again in September, the trout disport 

 themselves on this shelf and take a well-cast fly with 

 avidity, and many good scores of good fish are made, in 

 proportion almost though with the skill and power of the 

 fisherman. It's the longest cast (from a boat) that hooks 

 the trout, for the water is so wonderfully clear that no 

 bungling pays. The trout are mostly rainbow, although 

 a few eastern trout are beginning to respond; about 200 

 of these were put as fry into this lake about three years 

 ago. 



That evening I had about made up my mind to wander 

 along, but found the company of guests so pleasant that 

 I thought better of it, and the next morning tried it 

 again, my score tieing that of everybody else and my 

 own of the day before. 



Mr. O'Rear was disconsolate, and suggested that if I 

 didn't mind a hard climb, and would take the chances of 

 getting no trout at all, he would insure me. if I got any, 

 a big one, if I would try the Lake of the Woods. I was 

 in just the frame of mind to take chances, for at Webber 

 I was satisfied that I had nothing to lose. So after lunch 



