March 30, 1888.] 



■ertain whether the slide would end against the rough 

 jocks below or in a soft snowbank, they had no inclina- 

 p©n to smile. Happily nothing serious resulted. After 

 ioing about a hundred yards at a high rate of speed, 

 itppekunny ran into some snow that was soft, and 

 fcopped, and thence making his way cautiously back to 

 ■ ho edge of the rocks, took the safe but longer road fol- 

 ded by his companions. 



The way led over snowbanks and ice fields, and over 

 norainal ridges which some large animals, either sheep or 

 £jats, bad passed but a short time before. The tracks, 

 ftdeed, were so fresh that extreme caution was used in 

 iBBsing over each ridge and the ground in sight carefully 

 canned, before the men exposed themselves to view. 

 Nothing was seen, however, and at length, since it was 

 iasl noon, they sat down under the lee of one of the 

 idges and with good appetite ate their lunch of bread and 

 iheese, and smoked. There let us leave them. Yo. 



he ^arkn\Hti ^onmt 



Every person who is sufficiently interested in the National 

 fbrk to do his share toward securing protection for it, is in- 

 tited to send for one of the Forest and Stream's petition 

 danks. They are sent free. 



FOUR DAYS ON THE UPPER KENNEBEC. 



THEKE is in the make-up of most human beings a 

 trace of the savage. 

 I It may be latent or active, but every one has it in a 

 .reater or less degree, and it is this strain of the old, wild 

 jfeoriginal blood , which makes us tire of the city and its 

 jShventionalities, and long for the freedom of the woods 

 ►snd fields or the boundless waters of the blue sea. The 

 jares and duties of business and social life become irk- 

 lome and we chafe under tire bonds which etiquette im- 

 poses; the machinery of body and brain moves sluggishly, 

 and the wheels need the lubrication which only recre- 

 ation will give. Then the savage asserts itself and there 

 ooines a desire to get close to nature's heart and revel in 

 her bounties, the choicest of which are to be acquired 

 from what we are pleased to term civilization. To 

 the writer, those persons seem very unfortunate from 

 whom the savage has been wholly eliminated or so far 

 Irobdued that they find no pleasure except in the gay life 

 lof the towns or' fashionable watering places. Their 

 ■existence is in. a measure narrowed and superficial, for 

 |to them nature makes no direct appeal and on them her 

 I best offerings are lost. 



I They go on stereotyped excursions because it is "the 

 ■thing" to have been there, but they never leave the 

 I beaten paths or penetrate to the out-of-the-way places 

 I where some of the most fascinating pages of the great 

 I book, which is free to all, stand open. 



I have had applied to me at times by some of my 

 friends — and good, friends, too— that much abused epithet 

 "crank" because of my enthusiasm for the woods and 

 streams, and affection for the rod and gun. They cannot 

 understand or appreciate the taking long journeys, or 

 tramping for miles and subjecting ones self to the discom- 

 forts of wet and cold and fatigue all for the sake, as 

 they say, of a few fish, which, if the Scribe is so fond of 

 them, he might have purchased at a market. 



In an honored place on my bookshelves are several 

 volumes which contain within their cover's the very 

 essence of the great world out of doors. They are 

 musical with the songs of birds and redolent of the odor 

 Of wild flowers and pure sweet air, and in one of the 

 delightful essays the author speaks of the "legend which 

 is written on the back of the wary trout." 



I confess myself a subject of this great cosmic king- 

 dom of "out of doors" of which Divine Nature is the 

 gracious sovereign. Do you also acknowledge her rule? 

 [ Are you a lover of the country and the open air? Have 

 | you read the magic writing on the trout's back? Your 

 I answer is "Yes," and we know — you and I — that when 

 [ we go a-fishing there is much to be caught besides trout, 

 I and that our creels carry but a small part of what we go 

 for or what we attain. We know that the legend on the 

 trout's back, rightly interpreted, means health, vigor and 

 happiness, a broader philosophy and a kindlier feeling 

 toward our fellow man. "We go to the woods with weary 

 brains and tired bodies, but under the subtle influence 

 of the forest, the aroma 'of the evergreens and the pure 

 element of the mountain streams, the healthful fatigue 

 and dreamless sleep, 



Our cares drop from us 

 Like the needles shaken 

 From out the gusty pine. 



' There is, indeed, "a pleasure in the pathless woods" 

 and "a society where none intrude," no less by the trout 

 stream than "by the deep sea." How the clear, cold 

 water which the speckled fish loves so well will wash the 

 sediment out of a man's brain, leaving it calm and cool 

 itself, till he feels capable of coping with the most diffi- 

 cult problems of life. If Ponce de Leon had sought the 

 fountain of youth at the source of one of our Northern 

 mountain streams, his quest would have stood a better 

 chance of fulfilment than under the enervating sun of the 

 land of flowers. 



And then, as one reclines at night by the camp-fire, 

 what music is there so sweet and soothing as the soft 

 whispering of the night wind through the pines and the 

 bubbling of the brook that goes tumbling by, while the 



I silver moon floats serenely overhead among the stars? 

 How the best part of a man's nature comes to the surface 

 at such a. time as he feels the softening influence of his 



' surroundings. Is there any other time when he so desires 

 universal "peace on earth and good will to men?" A 

 French writer has sung: 



L'absence est d Vamow; 



Ce qu'est aufeu, 1c vc/n t 

 11 iteint le petite 



Mais rallumc le grand. 



The poet, no doubt, was thinking of his lady love, 

 but his stanza is no less applicable to the love some of us 

 have for le chasse et p$ehe. 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



Do you not sometimes sit before your open fire with 

 your feet stretched toward the grateful blaze, while the 

 wintry blast screams down the chimney and around the 

 corner and the snow swirls and eddies down to the frozen 

 earth, and dream of the days you have spent with rod 

 and gun? That day when you were caught in the storm 

 miles from home, and got drenched to the skin, does not 

 seem to have been so very bad after all, and when you 

 think of the big fish which you lost after he was all but 

 in your hands, the disappointment you experienced does 

 not affect your reverie, but you feel the ghost of the thrill 

 which ran through you when you struck him, and you 

 decide to try for him again some time. You realize that 

 the day when you had such poor success and hardly got 

 a nibble was not wasted: that was the time when you 

 caught something else. Perhaps you found a rare flower, 

 or made the acquaintance of a bird new to you, or dis- 

 covered the nest of some species for the first time. You 

 recall how you followed a stream amid new scenes, and 

 how the sun gilded the summits of the distant mountains, 

 and how cool and shady were the spots where you stopped 

 to rest, and that the mere fact of being there was pleas- 

 ure enough. You didn't care much that day whether the 

 fish bit or not. 



Oh! yes, it all comes back vividly, and perhaps you get 

 out your tackle and look it over fondly, and the wife on 

 the other side of the table laughs at you and says she be- 

 lieves you think as much of that old fish pole as you do of 

 her. You smile back and tell her she knows better, but 

 that there is no denying that you loved it long before you 

 knew her. 



You think of the little boy up-stairs asleep, whose am- 

 bition it is to go fishing with papa when he gets big 

 enough, and you say to yourself that some day you will 

 teach him the secret of the magic writing as your father 

 taught it to you years ago. 



Then your mind goes back to those early days when you 

 derived as much pleasure from your primitive tackle 

 and the willow pole, which you cut with the jack-knife 

 you had for a birthday present, as you have had since 

 with the best of lancewood or split-bamboo. 



Yes, we like to "bring the old time back," and perhaps 

 we are "cranks" after all. Some one defined this word as 

 meaning a person who thinks differently from what we 

 do ourselves, and this definition may not be far wrong. 



As I write 1 am in a cosy hotel, "way down East," with 

 my table drawn up before the fire-place, in which several 

 large birch sticks are bmning merrily. All the afternoon 

 the train skirted the snowy banks of the ice-bound Ken- 

 nebec, and as I looked through the windows of the com- 

 fortable Pullman at the noble stream in its winter fetters, 

 the very contrast brought to mind its head waters as I 

 had seen them under summer skies with the sunlight 

 sparkling on the dancing water of rips and rapids. 



A very essential thing for the angler to have on bis ex- 

 pedition is a friend on whom he can depend for cheerful 

 and congenial company, and I have just such an one. 

 The readers of Forest and Stream have already been in- 

 troduced to William, who is the beau ideal of a companion. 

 He is an enthusiastic admirer of all that is lovely in 

 nature, a patient fisherman, tireless on a tramp, always 

 in good spirits, genial and kind, and when away he gives 

 himself up to the full enjoyment of the journey. It is 

 needless to say that no cloud has ever cast a shadow on 

 the trips which William and I have taken together. Our 

 last pxcursion was made from the same hostelry where I 

 am now writing. One day as we sat sipping our after- 

 dinner coffee in a Boston hotel, just before the closing of 

 the open season for trout, the arrangements were made, 

 and a few days latter found us with a third friend, Wil- 

 lard, ready to start from this hospitable door. 



Immediately after dinner a roomy carriage, drawn by 

 a span of black horses, was driven up, and we stowed 

 away cameras, fishing tackle, guns and "grips," and then 

 piled in ourselves. 



Our destination was the "Forks" of the Kennebec, and 

 we planned to cover half the distance that afternoon. 

 Before we had gone half a mile our troubles commenced. 

 The "nigh boss" began to exhibit traits of character 

 which warned us that we should take little comfort in 

 the way of stopping to take views of the scenery, and 

 that whoever held the office of Jehu would have his 

 hands full. The "critter" had an idea that the proper 

 place for his tail was over the reins, and when the driver 

 endeavored to pull them out he evinced a desire to try 

 the consistency of the dashboard with his hoofs. He also 

 thought that the proper time to back was when his mate 

 was trying to pull, and that it was just as well to go side- 

 ways as any other way. It was concluded that if we 

 wanted to have any comfort, we must go back and change 

 this nag for one that was a little more civilized. So we 

 turned about, and an hour later made a second start and 

 went merrily on our way. Once out of the town, we 

 bowled along at a. good pace, our intention being to stop 

 that night at "Carney's," thirty miles distant. 



We were on the Canada road, and there were only two 

 villages for us to pass through. At the second one a fair 

 was in progress, but the prize heifer and the mammoth 

 pumpkin had no charms for us, and we kept on, followed 

 by the curious glances of the assembled grangers. After 

 leaving the second village the houses became few and far 

 between, and the road followed the river and in places 

 was close under the shadow of the mountains. We had 

 the unique pleasure of seeing the moon rise twice, as 

 after the first time we lost it behind the range, and then 

 beheld it once more, showing its silver disc above the ser- 

 rated treetops far above us. 



In due tune we drew up at a two-story white house 

 which stood on a flat piece of meadow land between the 

 hills and the river. This was "Carney's," and we had 

 accomplished the first stage of the journey. After seeing 

 that the horses were well cared for we ate our own sup- 

 per. The evening was chilly, and we stretched our legs 

 before a blazing birch fire, and under the soothing influ- 

 ence of a pipe discussed the plans for our short holiday, 

 which was to end our expeditions for the year. In the 

 morning, while the others were waiting for the team, I 

 took the gun and strolled on ahead, hoping to flush a 

 partridge. 



It was a typical autumn morning with just enough 

 tingle to the ozone-laden air to send the blood coursing 

 through one's veins at a quicker rate than usual, and life 

 seemed well worth living. The roadsides were royal 

 with the purple and gold of asters and golden rod, and 

 that prettiest of wayside flowers, the blue harebell, swayed 

 in the gentle breeze. There were birds enough, but not 

 of the particular species which I sought. 



183 



Flocks of sparrows and cedar birds flew nervously from 

 bush to bush, as if preparing for their annual migration, 

 a large hawk sailed in great circles overhead , and a flock 

 of garrulous crows were breakfasting in a field across the 

 river. Down by the stream a big blue kingfisher sat on 

 a dead branch over the water, watching for his finny 

 prey, but the prospect of partridge for dinner was rather 

 dubious. Our objective point for that day was Pleasant 

 Pond, and after driving a few miles along the river road 

 we turned to the right into a ranch road which leads to 

 the pond. 



This was up-hill most of the way, and followed the 

 course of a brawling brook. This stream was filled with 

 boulders and looked like a good place for trout, but we 

 did not stop to fish, though William took several pictures 

 at different points. At length we came in sight of the 

 waters of PI easant Pond, and drove up to a small house 

 which stood in a sterile field; the man was away and the 

 sight of half a dozen small children, who evidently be- 

 longed to the ranks of the great unwashed, decided us to 

 try the other and neater appearing place across the lake. 

 We drove arouud and the people said they would get us 

 dinner and sent for the hired man to get the boat for us. 



We took our rods and followed him across a pasture 

 and through a grove of second growth white pine to the 

 pond. Two flat-bottomed bateaux, half full of water, 

 comprised the fleet, and our guide, who was a good speci- 

 men of the Down East Yankee, proceeded to bail out the 

 large one. The clumsy craft was a poor substitute for 

 the light and graceful canoes of the Moosehead waters, 

 but we had not far to go and soon made fast to a buoy in 

 40 or 50ft. of water. 



The watar of Pleasant Pond is remarkably clear and 

 one can gaze deep down into its translucent depths. 

 Rocks and boulders on the bottom can be seen where they 

 are 25 or 30ft. below the surface. A slight breeze which 

 ruffled the surface prevented this in a measure, but still 

 we had the feeling of not floating on water, but on some 

 purer and less tangible element. On the eastern shore 

 were low rolling hills, on which are a few farms, but the 

 land seemed sterile and unproductive. Rising from the 

 western shore is a range of high rugged mountains, 

 which on this day were partially obscured by fog. The 

 shores were rocky, and the constant lapping of the water 

 against the stones, combined with the rustling of the 

 foliage, made music which was welcome to our ears. 



As we prepared our tackle for use the Yankee watched 

 us with much interest. My rod especially seemed to 

 strike his fancy, and when it was fully put "together he 

 looked at it admiringly and remarked, "That's a daisy, 

 haint it?" and then with true Yankee niquisitiveness. 

 "How much did she cost?" This information being im- 

 parted, he got out his own line which he used without a 

 rod, and we all extended an invitation to the trout to 

 come in out of the wet. We baited with salt pork and 

 let the hooks sink deep down toward the bottom, but 

 after trying in vain for half an hour we transferred our 

 base of operations to another place some distance away. 



The author before mentioned has fished in this same 

 lake and says of the trout, "They were to be taken only 

 in deep water and on a hook baited with salt pork. And 

 then you needed a letter of introduction to them. They 

 were not to be tempted or cajoled by strangers. We did 

 not succeed in raising a fish, although instructed how it 

 was to be done, until one of the natives came and lent 

 his countenance to the. enterprise. I sat in one end of the 

 boat and he in the other, my pork was the same as his 

 and I maneuvered it as directed, and yet those fish knew 

 his hook from mine in sixty feet of water, and preferred 

 it four times out of five. Evidently they did not bite 

 because they were hungry, but solely for old acquaint- 

 ance's sake." We began to think tha,t our credentials 

 were not to be received by these dainty patricians of the 

 genus Salmo, and that the famous sil ver trout of Pleasant 

 Pond would not form the piece de resistance of our dinner 

 that day. But suddenly Willard became animated and 

 his face became lighted ud with a look of eager anticipa- 

 tion, and the writer following with his aye his com- 

 panion's line, saw a dim, shadowy form hovering around 

 the piece of wliite pork.' Then there was a sudden rush 

 and Willard began to reel in, and as he did so something 

 which shone and glittered like polished silver came in a 

 waving line nearer and nearer to the surface, till our 

 comrade lifted into the boat a most beautiful fish. It 

 was unlike any other trout that we had ever seen and we 

 all stopped to examine it. It was about ten inches long 

 and bright and silvery in color and plump and fat. The 

 spots and the lateral line were very faintly marked, the 

 former being barely visible. Its captor was congratulated 

 and then with our hopes raised we sought to inveigle 

 some of its brethren, but for some time without avail. 



Then I felt a shiver run up my line, and soon a trout, 

 which was the exact counterpart of the first one, was 

 safe in the boat. This second one completed the catch, 

 for though we fished for some time afterward, and with 

 all the skill we could command, we could not get a nibble. 

 We wished that the photographer might at least have got 

 one to keep us company, but we had the satisfaction of 

 having beaten the native. We returned to the shore and 

 cleaned the two trout, which, if they were silver outside, 

 proved to be gold inside. The flesh, instead of being 

 pink, was of a reddish golden color, and withal, outside 

 and in, these fish were the handsomest we had ever seen, 

 and they were delicious eating; much more dainty and 

 rich in flavor than usual. Our author says those whieh 

 he caught were uniformly ten to twelve inches in length, 

 as were our two. They appear to be a species peculiar to 

 these waters. 



We got back to the house only to find that our dinner 

 was not ready; so while waiting, William, in whom the 

 ruling passion was strong even in hunger, got out his 

 cqmera and cast about for something picturesque. The 

 clouds which hung over the mountains across the lake 

 prevented getting a view in that direction, and the out- 

 look in other quarters did not appeal to the fastidious 

 taste of our artistic member, who was about to repack his 

 apparatus when Willard called our attention to the five 

 youthful offspring of our host. These scions of the house, 

 who looked to be, as Willard said, "all of an age." were 

 standing by — barefooted and bareheaded — watching us 

 with interested curiosity; they furnished a motif for a 

 genre subject which William was quick to appreciate. I 

 prepared to focus on the group, while my companions 

 arranged and posed them, but the mother, seeing what 

 we were doing, insisted on combing then- hair and add- 

 ing shoes, stockings and lace collars to them scanty ap- 

 parel, thereby spoiling the effect of the picture. At last, 



