832 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Dec. 21, 1895. 



and landing fish, fifty or sixty bass and pickerel being tfae 

 catcb. 



So engrossed were we watching the bass springing from 

 the water after the bass flies that a fawn swam almost to. 

 our fishing lines before we saw him. He was not 25ft. 

 away. Several shots were fired in quick succession at 

 him; but for my part, I was glad to see the deer reach the 

 shore and bound unharmed into the forest. 



Now comes the most thrilling of all our experiences in. 

 Canada. 



Just below where we anchored to fish, the river bends 

 abruptly downward, causing a rapid. Long before you 

 come to it you may hear the rush and roar of the water. 

 Our canoe glides toward this tumbling mass of spray and' 

 foam, but our guide seems undismayed. All his life has 

 been spent on turbulent waters. This boiling rapid is 

 nothing to him. 



In a moment more we are in the whirlpool of the rap- 

 ids, where no eye is quick enough to take in the import 

 of the maddened waters. You feel as though you were in. 

 a descending elevator. All around vou the waters are 

 rushing along in whirling eddies. The rocks beat them 

 into a spray that is as white as the driven snow. 



In an instant a side current caught our boat and hurled 

 us on toward an angry rock, and it seemed no human 

 power could save us; but the angry waters split upon the. 

 rock and we are hurled from its smooth sides with re- 

 doubled speed, and in another instant we shot out into the > 

 calm waters below. All this is wildly romantic and excit- 

 ing; but how insipid and bare the telling compared to the 

 actual realization in the swanlike birch bark canoe. The 

 danger over, we set out for the Cherry Creek lumber camp, 

 some four miles below the rapids. 



As we lazily paddle down I drop my trolling spoon into 

 the dark waters of the river and paddle off shore, and was 

 soon wrestling with a maskinonge that could not have 

 weighed less than 251bs. You may imagine my chagrin to 

 see him unhook himself just as I had him almost within 

 the boat. Presently I struck another. I thought I had 

 snagged a small log that was floating to our left, but soon 

 discovered I, was battling with a 151bs. pike, which I suc- 

 ceeded in landing, Three other large ones were booked 

 within a mile. Further down we met a party of Kania 

 Indians who greatly outnumbered us; yet we we» not. 

 alarmed, for as Longfellow in his "Hiawatha" says: 



"Buried is the bloody hatchet, 



Buried are all the warlike weapons, 



And the war cry is forgotten. 



There is peace among the nations. 



Unmolested rove the hunters, 



Build the birch canoe for sailing, 



Caught the fish in lake and river, 



Shot the deer and trapped the beaver; 



Unmolested worked the women, 



Made the sugar from the maple. 



Gathered wild rice in the meadow. 11 



To me there were deep traces of sadness in the coun- 

 tenances of those Indians. Their faces seem to be turned 

 backward to the not far distant times of a most glorious 

 past. They have no future that gives promises o£ any 

 better days to come. They are being carried 

 "Down the pathway of the dead men; 



On the swinging bridge they cross it. 



To the island of the blessed. 



To the land of ghosts and shadows, 



Unseen hands do seem to beckon them." 



Wednesday we stayed at the Cherry Creek Lumber 

 Camp. The ' 'wood ranger" and the camp cook regaled 

 us with many strange stories of the region. Shortly prior' 

 to our sojourn there a big black bear had paid a visit to 

 their pig-sty with sundry intentions on fresh pork. 



This unwelcome guest started the porkers on a run.. 

 They made a bee line for the camp. Bang up against 

 the door came pigs and bear. The wooden door latch 

 broke. The lone lumberman had made his bed just by 

 the door, and in came pigs and bear in one promiscuous; 

 heap on top of the startled sleeper. Unless very angry 

 or hungry, the bear is a very timid animal, and when the 

 scream of a human voice was heard the shaggy form of 

 that bear was seen ambling off to the forest. In the 

 morning the keeper took us out and showed us the 



Sjrkers. They were considerably the worse for the wear, 

 ne showed a broken leg and the other came up minus a 

 few pounds of flesh from his left shoulder. 



In the evening we went out and stood upon the 

 shoulder of an immense rock that overhangs the waters 

 of the bay, and as we bathe our spirits in the lovely star- 

 light of this northern latitude a long low howl arose 

 over the lapping of the waters. 



"It is the wolves," said the wood ranger. The weird 

 melancholy of that howling brought a sense of utter 

 loneliness and desolation as the sounds reverberate back- 

 ward and forward over the bay until they die away in 

 silence. The loneliness of your isolation becomes deep 

 enough to feel. However, "tired nature's sweet restorer,'* 

 sleep, soon takes hold, and our rest at Cherry Creek 

 Lumber Camp is "the sleep of the just." 



Next morning finds us on our way down to view the 

 chief wonder of the Severn, "The Big Chute." On our 

 way we halt at Cape Rock to fish. We push our boats 

 over the boom chains, stretched across the bay to prevent 

 the logs set afloat by the lumbermen from entering, and 

 row nearly to the head of the bay. We cast our lines 

 from a ponderous rock that had, in bygone days, fallen 

 from the cliffs above. 



Here the jocularity began. Channel cats in multitudes, 

 and biting like mad dogs, pickerel plenty and bass abun- 

 dant. In a couple of hours forty-eight channel cats, and 

 an abundance of pike, pickerel, bass and red finned 

 suckers were taken. 



All were thrown back but the bass and pickerel, and 

 as they had not been caught long they lazily swam away. 



On down the river we paddle. The region down below 

 Cherry Creek is wildly picturesque and grand. The shore 

 is a succession of rocky crags of granite and gneiss. 



The river alternately widens to a bay and narrows to a 

 gorge, and when these gorges precipitously take the water 

 from a higher to a lower level they call them chutes, and 

 past these all boats must be portaged. 



When the big floods come it must be a grand sight to 

 see the waters dash themselves down these chutes. 



We reach the big chute by noon, finding it a repetition 

 of the others, only longer and steeper, its rocks, more 

 craggy and its waters more foamy. At the Big Chute 

 Lumber Camp we had dinner. On our return we pass a 



very pretty island in the Lower Severn, and it becomes 

 clothed with a new beauty when the guide explains that 

 it is the property and camping site of the Buckskin 

 Club, of Pittsburg, an organization of well-known and 

 wealthy gentlemen, many of whom I recall with pride as 

 among my acquaintances. 



Atsunsetwe again re^ch Cherry Creek Camp on our 

 l'eturn. 



The genial Harry Hopkins, who presides over the affairs 

 of the camp, gives us a royal welcome. We relish be- 

 yond measure his splendid blackberry pie and sweet bis- 

 cuits. Early next morning we are on our way home. As 

 we pass one of the many bays a large bald eagle takes 

 fright and slowly flapping his ponderous pinions he bears 

 southward a large bird in his talons for his waiting 

 children down the Lower Severn. 



The last five miles of our journey we made in a blind- 

 ing rainstorm, reaching home at 7 P. M. We were 

 soaked to the hide; but this was not our saddest thought. 

 It was this:. On the morrow we were to leave the land 

 that had afforded us a very prodigality of pleasure, and 

 come home to the daily treadmill of toil. 



At 7:30 A. M. next day finds us aboard the Toronto 

 express hurrying homeward. We sweep down past the 

 pretty Lake Couchiching, and on to the pretty cities of 

 Allandale and Barrie, the latter named in honor of the 

 illustrious Commodore Barrie, so conspicuous in the war 

 of 1812. 



The view from Allandale down to Barrie is splendid. 



The long reach of the circular Kempfield Bay, the 

 ^wooded shores on either side, softly receding into the 

 bosom of old "Father Sincoe," the biggest lake of the 

 region, is one of the most perfect pieces of scenery I saw 

 in the province. 



Of the pleasures of the trip across Lake Ontario on the 

 steamer Chicora and the conspicuous grandeur of the 

 Brock monument we need hardly speak, for we hasten on 

 to the glories of Niagara. 



Driving up on the Canadian side, it was glorious to watch 

 the waters in their first bend over the rocks. They came 

 down green and beautiful as a bank of emeralds, but with 

 a fitful landing showing the white feather as conscious 

 that in a moment more they would be dashed iuto spray, 

 and rise into the air white and pale as the driven snow. 

 Although viewing God's greatest wonders and hearing 

 the very thunder of his voice, my mind instinctively 

 went back to the scenes on the noble Severn. I heard 

 above the dash of the mighty waters the plunk of the 

 falling sinker and the sharp hum of the reel as the line 

 paid out. 



My sojourn in Canada is ended, but I daily live over 

 in fancy the pleasures I there experienced, its delights 

 still linger around me like the memory of a pleasant 

 dream. 



HOW FUR IS CAUGHT.— IV. 



Soft 



Shoeing-. 



On the morning of our second day at the trappers' main 

 -camp, on Turtle Lake, the weather remained soft, thaw- 

 ing. The snow hung heavy in the trees and lay deep and 

 soft on the levels. It was not a prospect to make glad the 

 hearts of men who had in view a long snowshoe tramp 

 with heavy packs, for a thaw was imminent, and a thaw- 

 ing snow and softened webbing are the dread of the web 

 shoe man. To cover the trail around to the main camp 

 meant fifty miles or so of travel and two nights lying out, 

 with only such food and blankets as we could pack along. 

 Norris shrunk from this prospect, and wished to be left 

 alone at the main camp, or allowed to find his way back 

 alone to the railroad. It was only by alternated ridicule 

 and bullying that we got his promise to finish the trip, for 

 his first day's experience had frightened him. He did go, 

 however, and got through all right, hardening up and 

 finishing in good shape and without any difficulty after 

 the first day's tramp, although he carried no pack, thanks 

 to Frank Brandis's broad shoulders. After making our 

 decision and arranging our packs with such scanty neces- 

 sities by way of blankets and provisions as we deemed 

 indispensable, we started late in the morning for our 

 journey across the watershed, our trail leading directly 

 across the divide separating Turtle and Presque Isle 

 waters, and making the natural division line between the 

 States of Wisconsin and Michigan. 



As we had about two or three miles of lake trail at the 

 start, I clung to the skis, and slid along easily, while my 

 companions were clumping away laboriously in soft snow 

 which let them down a foot and a half at every step. I 

 was sorry to reach the place where the skis had to be left 

 behind for the remainder of the trip. We cached them by 

 sticking them up straight in a snow drift, so the porcupines 

 could not get at the straps. Then I put on my webs, and 

 followed after in a style which I soon found far more diffi- 

 cult in snow such as we were having. 



"If you can make it in to-night, you're all right," said 

 Brandis, "for you won't often find worse snow than this. 

 In half an hour more the stringing of the shoes will be 

 soft as paper." 



It was as he said. By the time we had reached the lit- 

 tle lake which was the last of the Turtle chain the shoeing 

 was awful. Balls of ice formed under the heel and under 

 the ball of the foot, so that the position of the foot was 

 unnatural and strained. The webbing, softened by the 

 moist snow, allowed the foot to sink down deep into the 

 snow, leaving a deep, pointed hole instead of an oval shoe 

 print. Each step was made by sheer muscular strength, 

 and to hold the gait meant something of an effort. Fay, 

 restless and silent as usual, pushed on ahead and broke 

 most of the trail. It being his branch of the trapping 

 line, Fay attended and baited the traps. The trail led 

 over ridges, over valleys, through willow thickets, tam- 

 arack swamps and tall pine woods. There were hills, but 

 they were not high. All that pine woods country is 

 monotonous in the regularity of its low, rolling bills, cov- 

 ered with blackened or dark green pines. 



The Trapper's Line.; 



To the novice two questions might arise. First, he 

 might wish to know how many traps were set on the 

 line, and second, he might wonder how the trapper found 

 them all. Answering the first question, I would say that 

 the trapper does not have any regular rule for putting 

 out traps, but sets them where he sees sign or where he • 

 thinks the locality exceptionally favorable. When he 

 once has his line laid, he does not change it capriciously 

 whenever he happens to see a few tracks of fur elsewhere, 

 for he knows hie game will travel and may find his traps. 



Once having located his traps, he must be woodsman 

 enough to remember the stump, the hollow log, the old 

 windfall or other landmark which he notes for each. On 

 this day's run, which was only about twelve miles or so, 

 I hardly think the line averaged a trap to each three- 

 quarters of a mile. Fay found each trap without hesita- 

 tion, though once, on a little lake where a pile of beaver 

 carcasses had been poisoned and put out for our pack of 

 wolves, we all hunted for a long time trying to find the 

 bait, which was buried deep under the heavy mask of 

 newly fallen snow. 



A Beaver Dam. 

 We crossed a beaver meadow and a beaver dam about 

 150yds, long, lying in a little hollow hid deep in the 

 heart of the pine forest, where one would think the cun- 

 ning animals should have been safe even from remorse- 

 less man. But the dam was white and silent, and the 

 houses were tenantless now. This family of beaver had 

 been taken some weeks earlier. A beaver has Bmall 

 chance in those woods now. I brought home with me 

 the skull of one of the inhabitants of this forest village. 

 Their skins have long since gone their way into the 

 whirling marts for which the silent and sinewy trappers 

 labor in the wild, cold country of the pines. 



The Divide. 

 This beaver meadow, I think, must have been near the 

 head of the divide. All around it lay the wildest part of 

 our Northern wilderness. We crossed over some beauti- 

 ful lakes, flo wing into both of the water systems. Many of 

 these have never been fished, and many have no name 

 to-day and are not known on any map. To reach them 

 in the summer time would be harder even than in the 

 winter, for a boat is harder to portage than a pack, and 

 cedar roots are worse in bareness than when covered 

 under 3ft. of snow. As to the "divide" itself, it was 

 nothing, being crossed without one's knowing it. All at 

 once Brandis told me we were on Presque Isle waters. After 

 that the pines were thicker and the hills were a little 

 sharper, and I thought the country looked better for 

 game. We saw a great deal of deer sign, and crossed 

 two great yards, where one could have killed (illegal) deer 

 to any extent he liked. Our trail was now blazed through 

 the thick forest, and the thought of this gave one a good, 

 wildish feeling. All around the woods were very white 

 and silent. The air was like a tonic in its sweet freshness. 

 It was a rare and keen pleasure for a city dweller to be 

 amid such surroundings. 



The Trapper's Luck. 

 Fay worked hard and faithfully over his traps, going on 

 ahead of the rest of us, who went more at ease. Luck 

 was not brilliantly favorable. A few jaybirds, a rabbit or 

 two and a weasel — this was discouraging enough. To off- 

 set this, however, two pine marten were taken, one a 

 rusty yellowish one, worth only about a dollar and a half, 

 but the other a prime dark one, worth at least $3.50, Fay 

 thought, as prices then were. So at least we did not come 

 in empty-handed. The marten is a long, slim creature, 

 heavier and larger than a mink, but reminding one of 

 that animal. The head, ears and feet are delicate and 

 beautiful, the teeth very long, fine and needle-like. The 

 cleaned skull of the marten has the outline of an otter 

 skull, but is more slender. The bones seem thin as paper, 

 and the effect is of a savage but delicate little creature, 

 warlike, but easily preyed upon. 



How to Set a Steel Trap. 

 The traps put out for the marten were the same "natural 

 sets" mentioned earlier. Usually the trap was set under a 

 root or in the mouth of a hollow log, where it would be 

 protected from the snow. Sometimes a piece of bark was 

 leaned up to guide the animal over the trap. The bait 

 was usually a piece of rabbit (or beaver) and was thrown 

 carelessly into the hollow back of the trap (never on or 

 near the pan of the trap), The trap was covered up care- 

 fully by the powder of rotten wood. A handful of this 

 was thrown over the trap and smoothed by a stroke or 

 two of a bough. Fay would set and bait a trap quicker than 

 any one I ever saw. Expedition is necessary when one 

 has to cover twenty miles a day. The trap was not trouble- 

 some to set in his powerful and skillful hands. He never 

 put his foot on a spring, but simply compressed the springs 

 with the grip of his left hand, and" arranged the jaws with 

 his right. Sometimes his fingers were caught. "You 

 have to get used to that," he said. 



In the Jaws of 



Bear 



Trap. 



I asked Fay what he would do if he should be caught 

 in a bear trap, which accident may happen in the woods. 

 He said that once he was cnught by the wrist in a bear 

 trap he was setting, but only one end spring was on, and 

 the teeth did not strike his wrist, but met and did not 

 pass, the jaws being rolled with burlap. His wrist was 

 not injured. Both he and Brandis agreed that it might 

 be possible to break the spring of a bear trap by shooting 

 it with a rifle at the bend of the spring on the end. They 

 had heard of an Arkansas trapper who once freed him- 

 self in this way. 



Along the Blazed Trail. 

 At an hour and a half before dark we were still following 

 along the blazed trail. The novice often reads of the 

 blazing of a trail. Perhaps he would think it plain and 

 broad, with every other tree showing the mark of an axe. 

 This is not the case. The blazes of the trapper's trail 

 occur only at such intervals as are naturally covered by 

 the eye as one travels along. Sometimes there may be no 

 mark for 100yds, , if the country be such that the trapper 

 knows where the trail naturally ought to go by virtue of 

 the lay of the land. Then a white chip may be seen, taken 

 from a sapling by a careless swing of the axe as the 

 bearer walked on. Then on ahead, just at the place 

 where one is on the point of losing the trail, there appears 

 a white spot, or a yellow spot, or a nearly faded spot on 

 some tree trunk which tells him where the pathmaker 

 went. Very often the trapper leaves the main trail with 

 side trails out to some point where he has thought it best 

 to put out a trap. These side trails are blazed also if the 

 country be difficult. In some conditions of weather it is 

 not difficult for ever a woodsman to go astray in the 

 monotonous pine woods. 



^3 The Porcupine Camp. ; — 



We traveled that day in all about ten or twelve miles, 

 but the going was so bad that I should rathex have 



