490 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 18, 1888. 



r M Stgottmian jurist 



IN CAMP. 



A BOVE the pines I Bee the starlit dome, 

 The mystic silver moon serenly shines, 

 Tbe fire burns low; my thoughts in fancy roam 

 Above tbe pines. 



The pale rays cross the lake in shimmering lines, 

 While on the beach the wavelets break in foam, 

 And gentle night winds stir t he trees and vines. 



The pictures in the firelight go and come, 



My heart, dear hive, your fair, sweet face enshrines. 

 In castles in tbe air we are at home 



Above the pinc^. W. A. B. 



Mooseheao, June 10. 



IN THE LAU RENTI AN WILDERNESS. 



SOME time ago a friend sent me a copy of the Boston 

 Herald containing one of Mr. Murray's letters from 

 this region. Mr. Murray speaks of the death of animal 

 life in these woods, and so I was prompted to write my 

 Mend an account of a journey I took last summer. Hav- 

 ing kept a rough draft of the letter I rewrite and send it 

 to you. 



In my many tramps through part of the country north 

 of Quebec I have noticed always this apparent scarcity of 

 animals, but now 1 have t ome to the conclusion that the 

 rarity is apparent rather than real, and that there is a 

 great deal of life that does not show itself, and that only 

 the experienced chasseur would note. 



In company with two friends from the vicinity of Bos- 

 ton, in the month of August last, I started out for a trip 

 among the Laurention Hills. We had two bark canoes 

 and three guides. One was the faithful Nazaire, who has 



Eiloted me through these forests for many a summer and 

 roken out snowshoe paths for me for many a winter, a 

 woodsman to the last hair on his gray head, but no 

 hunter. Then Damase, Nazaire's friend and crony, woods- 

 man and hunter both. Strong as to his shoulders and 

 sturdy as to his legs, if you are not a good walker it is 

 not safe to trust to Damase's ideas of distances. They 

 are too much like those of the Indian, who, when asked 

 how far it was to the settlement, answered, "&est tout 

 proche, on wit le bocagne; rien que quinze lieues." (It is 

 quite near, you can see the smoke; only fifteen leagues.) 

 This rien que as pronouncod by a French Canadian is a 

 puzzler by the way. Y-a-n-k comes as near to it as any- 

 thing I can think of. You soon learn what is meant by 

 the expression, but you might try in vain to make it out 

 by your dictionary. 



With the other two came Narcisse, hunter and canoe- 

 ist, but not an expert woodsman. Thirty pounds lighter 

 than Nazaire, he was all muscle. Not a pound of extra 

 Hesh on him. He could go as far and carry his load as 

 easily as either of the others. 



The Professor and the Doctor with Damase and Nazaire 

 in the big canoe, and Narcisse and myself in the other, we 

 started out. I confess we were heavily loaded. We car- 

 ried a full fortnight's provisions, for we should be abso- 

 lutely beyond the reach of further supplies, and could 

 not tell how long our journey might last. Then we had 

 tents, blankets and comforts! We had no intention of 

 making ourselves miserable for the sake of a little pleas- 

 ure. I will camp under a tree when it is necessary, but I 

 much prefer a tent and plenty of boughs, especially 

 when it rains. And so do the Professor and the Doctor. 



And that reminds me. Mr. Murray mentions cedar 

 boughs. Now I don't like cedar, and never met a woods- 

 man who did. Give me the sweet-smelling sapin (fir) 

 every time. I have had a good many beds made for me 

 in the Laurentian bush, but no man ever offered me 

 cedar. 



I must say we did not go far the first day. though we 

 started early. There were trout in shady pools and trout 

 in the rapids and trout under the falls. We wanted 

 some of them. Then there were three rather stiff port- 

 ages, and it required three trips of the men to get the 

 canoes and all our impedimenta over each of them. The 

 bourgeois is not expected to carry anything. I concerned 

 myself with nothing but my little hand bag and my fish- 

 ing tackle. Nazaire says in winter that little satchel will 

 hold almost everything, only that when we put the stove 

 into it we cannot get in the snowshoes. In reality it barely 

 holds a change of flannels and a tooth brush*. A hair 

 brush sometimes — but, indeed, my hair brush has so little 

 work to do of late years that I almost reckon it a super- 

 fluity. 



We camped quite early, and I sent Narcisse back for 

 the latest letters or telegrams that could possibly reach 

 us. We felt some uneasiness about going so far beyond 

 reach of communications, for a very dear relative* was 

 lying very ill. 



Flies? Yes, there were flies, and ravenous ones. The 

 I -aurentian mosquito is a voracious creature, and the little 

 sand fly is a most pestiferous beast. He gets behind 

 your ears and down your neck and into your beard, and 

 though he is so small you don't see him, the first thing 

 you know you feel as if you were being touched up with 

 red hot needles. But we were prepared for them. We 

 had "Fly Fluid" from Hubbard, of Cambridge, and "Fly 

 Poison" from McLeod, of Quebec, both very good. Upon 

 occasion we "doped" exposed surfaces with one of these, 

 and our annoying enemies made themselves scarce. 

 Another preparation we had that was better than either, 

 an experimental concoction got up by the Doctor and 

 Professor together, It was sweet smelling and clean , 

 lasting and efficacious. We christened it chasse-moudie 

 at the first trial. Unfortunately we had not enotigh of 

 it to go round. 



A very neat and even elegant protection for hands and 

 wrists when fishing is to take a pair of old stockings— 

 perhaps new ones would do as well— cut off the toes to 

 let the fingers through, and snip holes in the heels to let 

 the thumbs out; draw the legs of the stockings up over 

 your arms, and those parts are secure and your hands 

 are at liberty. My informant told me to take a pair of 

 my wife's stockings, but I found that others would answer, 

 so that even an unmarried man may use this device. 

 What with our fly fluids and our camp-fires the flies did 

 not trouble, us. The fire clears them out pretty well. 

 They cannot stand the heat, "ef Men mains le bocagne" 

 (and much less the smoke), says Nazaire, 



Early next morning Narcisse was back with good news 

 for us, having made his seven miles of walking and pad- 

 dling without breakfast. We saw him eat, and made 

 mental calculations w ith some uneasiness regarding our 

 supplies. Afterward Nazaire took me aside and expressed 

 his doubts. He already knew Damase to have un gros 

 appetit, and Narcisse seemed likely to be a match for 

 him. He wished we had four more loaves of bread and 

 ten pounds more of pork. 



So we packed up and went on. It was one long portage 

 to our next camp ground with only a few yards of canoe 

 water. Down, down, down. Fierce rapids and falls in 

 quick succession. We knew there were trout in every 

 eddy, but the hunters' road we were following made short 

 cuts and took us mostly away from the river until quite 

 at its mouth. And there were trout again, but we got no 

 very large ones, and the sun was hot. So we took only 

 enough for supper and breakfast, and then built a smudge, 

 supplied our various ointments, smoked, talked and 

 loafed, while the men got over our baggage and set up 

 our tents once more. 



Next day was up the river into which the one we had 

 been following down discharges. A broad and rapid 

 stream. Regular up-river canoe work in a time of low 

 water was this. Alternate paddling and poling, lifting 

 canoes over sh;iilows and holding on to rocks, made more 

 interesting by frequent heavy thunder showers. The 

 sight of the great black clouds gathering and rolling 

 down over the mountains was superb, and we enjoyed 

 the day. Getting wet is not nice, but once you are wet 

 a little rain more or less does not much matter. 



While the men were setting up camp again we fished, 

 but the weather was too unsettled for trout. We fished 

 in deep water; and here I made the acquaintance of a 

 fish I had never found before, though he is well known to 

 most fishers in these waters. I could not undertake to 

 spell the name the men gave him, and I have had no op- 

 portunity to make inquiries since. The small ones rose 

 to bits of minnow, but the large ones only took near the 

 bottom. The largest we got would weigh about two 

 pounds, and they were as strong as a trout and very 

 gamy, though not quite as lively as trout. They were 

 capital eating. Damase said they are the same as the 

 landlocked salmon of the Lake St. John region, and are 

 called salmon there, but I am almost certain he was mis- 

 taken. The weather was of the kind said to be good for 

 ducks, but was not pleasant for fishing. That night we 

 had thunder, lightning and rain , and the next day was 

 not much better. The men went out to explore and clear 

 out our path, while the rest of us fished spasmodically 

 without much success. It was one of the regular rainy 

 days in camp, familiar to all campers out as of the sort 

 to be passed in smoking, lounging and reading novels. 

 We were on a little river called the Bostonais, and there 

 is another river and a lake of the same name not very far 

 away. I supposed the name to be a corruption from 

 some Indian name, but find it is not so. The land about 

 belongs to Americans, and among the old habitants and 

 chasseurs all the Americans used to be known as Bos- 

 tonians — Bostonais. The origin of this is connected with 

 the early expeditions — military and naval — that, starting 

 from Boston, came to invade Canada. 



The region had not been visited for many years by any 

 but an occasional hunter or fisherman. We were beyond 

 the lines of civilization. Between us and the Arctic Circle 

 not a dwelling of civilized man, unless about James's or 

 Hudson's bays some isolated post of the old Hudson Bay Co. 

 should be stumbled on. All a wilderness. Forests, lakes, 

 rivers, water courses, swamps and granite hills every- 

 where, but not a farm or a homestead, hardly an acre of 

 land fit for one. 



But here we found the evidence of animal life that 

 prompted me to write this letter. It was in the home of 

 fur-bearing animals, creatures that do not show them- 

 selves but are all about us. The woods are full of them. 

 Damase's sharp eyes were constantly on the watch for 

 signs of them. Crossing a small lake he calls softly to us: 

 " Un castor .' un castor .'" (a beaver, a beaver), and away 

 ahead of us we see a little black head just out of the water. 

 It is gone long before we are near it, for a party of six is 

 not likely to get within gunshot of much game. If Da- 

 mase were alone he would steal quietly round with his 

 ever-ready rifle and make no soivnd till that nose came 

 within its range. On one lake we sa w three beavers, and 

 there were beaver dams, meadows and cabins all about. 

 One cabin stood almost in our track, and we visited it. 

 The family were not at home. The cabin was of about 

 the size and shape of an ordinary haycock and made of 

 sticks, of from half an inch to some two inches in diam- 

 eter, not interlaced but laid across each other at all possi- 

 ble angles, and plastered thickly with mud. As the 

 entrance to it was under water we declined to examine 

 the inside. 



Every now and then we passed a glissette de loutre 

 (otter slide), some of them quite fresh. These animals 

 have a habit of choosing a spot where a smooth bank 

 slopes rapidly to the water, and there amusing themselves 

 with sliding on their bellies into the stream and coming 

 up and sliding again. They seem to do this as purely 

 for sport as a boy slides down lull. Nazaire says he has 

 seen as many as a hundred of these slides on one hill, 

 Nazaire is as truthful a Canadian as I ever knew, but a 

 hundred otter slides seems to me to be a good many. 



Caribou tracks we found in plenty in marshy ground 

 near the streams and lakes. In one place was a perfectly 

 well trodden path, as if dozens had passed in single tile. 

 The tracks were quite fresh. We got sight of three of 

 the creatures. It was the close season, but I am afraid 

 that if Damase had got a shot at one we should have 

 eaten him. We often heard the crashing of bushes in 

 the woods. We would not really hurt them in summer, 

 but they did well not to tempt us too much. 



All along our portage paths we found mink and marten 

 traps, scores of them, left by a couple of hunters who 

 have spent several winters in that region. The traps 

 were the common wooden dead falls. Many of them 

 were gnawed and eaten on the inside by the hapless 

 creatures taken in them. We passed and visited the de- 

 serted camp of these two hunters. It was stocked with 

 boards on which otter, beaver, marten and mink skins 

 had been streched. Muskrat also appeared to have been 

 very plenty. 



Bear tracks were not uncommon though not as plenty 

 as we had found them nearer the settlements. We came 

 across two spruce trees that had been torn by the claws 

 and teeth of an especially hungry one. I would not have 

 liked to meet that fellow at that time. Bark and wood 



were gone to the depth of two inches or more. Marks of 

 claws and teeth were plainly visible. Near the settle- 

 ment from which we had started on our trip, a few days 

 afterward Nazaire and I had occasion to walk along a 

 new road through the woods some five or six miles from 

 the nearest houses. We constantly came across fresh 

 spoor of bears, and only three days ago I was sitting in a 

 cabin at that same settlement when I heard one woman 

 say to another, "Ilparait que les ours rodent pas mal" 

 which, freely translated, would mean that the bears 

 were going round lively. She went on to tell how, the 

 evening before, she had been visiting a neighbor and 

 when she was coming out of the neighbor's house with 

 her baby in her arms to go home she saw a bear coming 

 away from the spot at the river bank where she was in 

 the habit of going for water. It seems curious that some 

 people should be so desperately afraid of bears and others 

 not mind them at all. As a fact the instances of their 

 attacking peoj)le are rare in the extreme. Damase and 

 Nazaire both say there is no creature more afraid of man. 

 Nazaire tells with great unction — for Nazaire is as loqua- 

 cious as Damase is quiet and taciturn — a story of how he 

 was once eating wild cherries in an opening in the woods, 

 when he saw a bear a little way off engaged in the same 

 occupation. The bear kept coming nearer until he was 

 about 30ft. away, when Nazaire called out, "Tu es assez 

 proche. Va-t-en!" (you are near enough, clear out), and 

 the bear turned tail and went away. 



I know of so many other wild animals in those woods, 

 that are never seen by the ordinary traveler, and so 

 many of them are carnivorous, that I believe there must 

 be a great deal of life that makes but little show or sound 

 but carefully avoids either. I see squirrels oftener than 

 I hear them. A noisy chatterer would be liable to come 

 to grief through his deadly enemy the martin, and I sus- 

 pect he has learned to keep quiet. 



We saw a good many ducks and some partridges, but 

 the latter, like the bear, as a rule prefers the neighbor- 

 hood of settlements. As they say in New England, 

 "the law was on" and we are scrupulous about the 

 killing of any game out of season. We were not in the 

 season for any kind of game, and as we went on we no- 

 ticed with dismay that the further into the mountains 

 we went the warmer was the water and the scarcer and 

 smaller the trout. We were bound for a lake that we 

 knew from many reports teemed with the Salmo fontina- 

 lis of three and four pounds and upward. We found 

 the lake at last and found the water almost lukewarm. 

 Away at the top of the watershed dividing two of the 

 great river systems of this part of Canada, with no very 

 considerable rain for weeks and exposed to the blaze of 

 the August sun the water was low and heated and the 

 trout, as Damase expressedit, were sick. No wonder. We 

 knew the season of the year was unfavorable but, it was 

 the only time my professional friends could spare, and to 

 tell the truth I expect we all cared as much for the 

 woods as we did for fish. Trout are an expensive fish to 

 the sportsman, whatever may be their value in city 

 markets. I have heard it said that sportsmen's trout 

 cost them ten dollars a pound. Perhaps this is an under 

 estimate, I am inclined to think it is, but they are cheap 

 at the price if you take into account the air and sunshine, 

 the trees, the brooks, the smells, the sounds and all the 

 delights of the woods. My two friends I am sure dou- 

 bled the capital of health, strength and freshness of 

 mind and body with which they expect to do business 

 for the year to come. 



We fished all round the lake, in deep water and shal- 

 low, off the points and in the coves, with flies and with 

 bait, but not the fin of a trout did we see. But if I do 

 not get to that lake again about the time the ice breaks 

 up next spring I am mistaken. It is a beauty, the pretti- 

 est of all the forty or more lakes that I wander about, 

 except my special pet and favorite, Lake Clair. It is 

 rather hard to reach in summer. I could get there easily 

 in winter, but there is no sport in winter trout fishing. 

 Nazaire and I go anywhere in winter, with our good tent 

 and little sheet-iron stove, making ourselves happy and 

 comfortable wherever approaching night tells us to'make 

 oiu- camp. 



So we packed up and turned back, making in a day 

 and a half the distance it had taken us seven days to 

 make going up. We had made two caches of provisions, 

 etc., to say nothing of all we had consumed. Nazaire 

 set his teeth together and doubled every man's load. 

 Each of us took something, and we made great time to 

 the main river. There we abandoned fishing, and down 

 this noble stream we paddled to its junction with the St. 

 Lawrence. 



It was pure poetry, though there were few very excit- 

 ing rapids to be run. There were eleven portages to be 

 made, but all short except the last, a smooth, strong, 

 rapid current all the way, except where broken by steep 

 falls. At one place where we stopped for a day, we saw 

 on the opposite side of the river a small dog sitting 

 motionless for a long time. Damase went over and 

 brought him to us. He was not frightened uor very 

 hungry, but after sniffing about for awhile he went a 

 little way down below the rapids, swam back and re- 

 sumed his watch. How came he there and what was he 

 there for? Down the river on that side there are no 

 houses for miles; above, on either side, none anywhere. 

 Had his master been drowned in the rapids? and was the 

 faithful creature still waiting for him? We made in- 

 quiries at the first houses we came to, but no one knew 

 anything about him. We left him the next morning still 

 waiting and watching, sitting on his haunches, just where 

 we had found him. 



We had no adventures on the way down, but simply 

 w r ere lazy and enjoved ourselves. The demands of the 

 inner man required us to travel on Sunday, and we 

 arrived at a considerable village, just as mass was over. 

 The number of people that came out of church and the 

 neat and tidy appearance of the men and the good looks 

 of the younger women, equipped in all the next but one 

 to the latest inventions in "dress improvers" and general 

 fixings surprised us. The Professor's knickerbockers and 

 Damase's legs surprised them equally. Damase's bag- 

 gage consisted of what he stood in, and his only ti-ousers 

 had given out above the knees some days before. I had 

 lent him a pair of my longest winter stockings, surrepti- 

 tiously packed among my belongings by a woman who 

 thinks it her duty to provide me with such matters. He 

 sewed them on the remnants of his trousers, well up his 

 thighs. His legs are shorter, if much stouter, than mine, 

 and the stockings were a tight fit. He looked fine and I 

 wished I had his photograph. 



