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FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 19, 1888. 



fyortetqan flautist 



IN THE VALLEY OF THE SERPENTINE. 



NEW WEST M1NSTEE , B. 0.— Some communication 

 from this far distant sporting ground may be inter- 

 esting to readers of the Forest and Stream. Both for- 

 est and streams are plentiful here, extending to and even 

 within the civic limits. Finest stream of all, the Fraser 

 River, half a mile broad, flows deep and swift, laden with 

 gold dust, past the wharves, where the C. P. N. steam- 

 ships and smaller craft are moored, down to the Gulf of 

 Georgia. But more gold might lie upon its surface than 

 in suspension did our citizens but know it and the Do- 

 minion Government were patriotic enough to do their 

 duty: for if the channels were surveyed and a chart 

 properly drawn out, it would be seen that in New West- 

 minster Canada possesses the finest river port on the 

 Pacific coast. But the inhabitants lack sufficient enter- 

 prise; Ottawa is too far away, and the interests of the C. 

 P. R. just now are centered in booming Vancouver, their 

 other terminus, in whose salt waters the barnacles cling 

 yet more tenaciously to the ships' bottoms and the torredo 

 worm dieth not. 



And it is left to a greenhorn (in local parlance tender- 

 foot) to relate experience in this royal city. No phen- 

 omenal bags can he record, no harrowing accounts of 

 narrow escapes nor thrilling adventures. His sport has 

 hitherto consisted of little else than the fun of the thing. 

 A few years ago his sole knowledge of a gun was that of 

 a Rifle Volunteer at target practice in Yorkshire, extend- 

 ing from the dark ages of the muzzleloading Enfield, not 

 a very long time ago, through the partially civilized 

 Snider period, up to the enlightened days of the Martini- 

 Henry. Not a very good training for snap shots with a 

 shotgun, as many a duck or grouse has since proved to its 

 entire satisfaction. Whirry much so to the latter, and 

 the former have quacked more than ever they had need 

 to quake. 



One afternoon a party of four were observed by the 

 curious Celestials, who lined the river bank, grouped upon 

 the deck of the gallant steamship K. de K. , waiting to be 

 ferried from the salubrious precincts of Chinatown, across 

 the Fraser to Brownsville, on the Surrey side. In English 

 sporting papers it would be counted three guns; for one 

 of the party was minus that instrument of pastime. But 

 this inequality was more than counterbalanced by the 

 possession of a tail, which certainly did more execution 

 and was less dangerous to its possessor. He was a dog. 

 For the matter o ! that, more by his own good luck than 

 the good shooting of his master, he is a dog yet. 



The K. de K. is the idol of New Westminster, and is 

 unique of its class. The boys say it can be worshipped 

 without fear of sinning, for it is not made in the likeness 

 of anything that is in heaven above or in the earth be- 

 neath', or in the waters under the earth. We might have 

 been worse supplied, however, for it landed us safely at 

 Brownsville, and we soon commenced our eight-mile trip 

 to Holmroyd. in the valley of the Serpentine River. 



Soon after leaving the landing the Scott road turns off 

 at right angles, down the Fraser valley to the Delta flats. 

 It was here that a settler, not one of the flats, returning 

 home one night with his Winchester over his shoulder, 

 saw a bear's head pop up over a log. He fired and down 

 it went. Immediately it popped up again, and another 

 shot settled it. Eight times in ah did that blessed bear 

 stick up its cocoanut, like an animated jack-in-the-box, 

 and every time it was shot down, until the magazine was 

 empty. Then it rose up no more, and the settler climbed 

 the log to count the bullet holes. There he found eight 

 bears, all stone dead. He was so scared that he banged 

 down his rifle, and cut full speed to the hotel. You 

 needn't believe this tale unless you like. But if not the 

 naked truth, it's a bear story. It's a pity, however, the 

 Winchester magazine not was full, for then we might have 

 made it sixteen bears. We are not particular to a bear 

 or two in British Columbia. 



The Yale road climbs obliquely up the gravel ridge in 

 a northeast direction, and probably at a lower level the 

 projected Westminster Southern Railway, to connect the 

 C. P. R. R. with the American lines, will run in the same 

 direction, but taking a wider sweep at a considerably 

 lower gradient, round the spur of the hill. Land is 

 booming on the chances of it. The summit once gained, 

 about two miles from the city, the road runs pretty level 

 until it begins to dip into the Serpentine valley. There 

 are chances in plenty of a shot at rabbits (small haree) 

 along the road, and the dogs will be sure to put up several 

 grouse or wood-partridges in the bush. In the green, 

 timber, through which the road runs for two miles, there- 

 is a noted spot where a blue grouse may generally be 

 seen; and in summer look out for bears among the berry 

 bushes. There is always a chance, too, of coming across 

 a cougar, panther or mountain lion, all terms used here 

 for the same animals, and even a wildcat's skin is not 

 to be despLed. Our party had several shots along the 

 road, but were too noisy for better sport. Just before the 

 eight-mile post, the Coast Meridian road turns off from 

 the wagon road, due south, to the American border, 

 striking the 49th parallel at the coast, at Blaine, W. T. 

 Hence the name. 



About 500yds. down the Coast Meridian stands Holm- 

 royd, the present destination of our party. I am very 

 fond of Holmroyd. It exists chiefly as a" memorial of 

 heavy pecuniary losses, and of failures and follies in 

 management; but somehow the biggest fool in a family 

 is generally most loved. (Please note that I was not a 

 particular favorite at home.) The bears took twelve hogs 

 one season, always the best bred and fattest, thereby 

 showing their appreciation of points in stock. The 

 panthers took a whole cow, and one persevering indi- 

 vidual got away with thirty-six chickens and turkeys 

 before be was shot. As for wildcats, their musical culti- 

 vation of the muses was as little amusing as their noctur- 

 nal conceits within the mews of crowded cities. So 

 farming didn't pay at Holmroyd. At least not to its two- 

 legged occupiers. 



The ladies had preceded us two or three days, and as 

 we crossed the orchard, our olfactory nerves were tickled 

 and by no means displeased at the preparations for a 

 welcome meal. After dinner we went down to the 

 bridge, the tide being propitious to fish for trout. I am 

 no angler, and if any such expects to read of wading 



nothing of that sort on the Serpentine. You cut a long 

 willow switch, tie some small cord at the end, fasten on 

 your hook, look around for a grasshopper, fix him as 

 naturally as possible, let him feel the water, and he does 

 all the rest for you. You haul out your fish, and when 

 you have got enough, put it in your potatoe sack, or 

 whatever else you have handy, and go home and cook it. 

 That is all. The eating of it follows, as a natural con- 

 clusion. Not much romance about that. Please don't be 

 disgusted. The fish eat, or rather get eaten, just as 'en- 

 joy ably as if caught in any other way. 



My first throw was a, failure. The fish also are epi- 

 cures, and my first grasshopper was not dipped to suit 

 them. He was an old stager, a regular hardshell, and 

 they prefer them green. So I changed my convictions, 

 collared a nice juicy young jumper, and watched with 

 great interest his antics on the water. I remembered Dr. 

 Johnson's definition of an angler — "A worm at one end of 

 a fine and a fool at the other." But my line was green at 

 both ends, I lit my pipe and meditated on the capital 

 and labor question. Here was I, after a good dinner, en- 

 joying life and a smoke at my pleasure, which was capi- 

 tal. Here was a green hopper, struggling hard for his 

 life to keep his head above water: that was hard labor. 

 It needed no prophet to differentiate. Somebody under 

 the bridge was studying with interest the labor question. 

 Coming to a conclusion sooner than me, he made the first 

 grab. I nearly lost my line; and that represented risk. 

 But, like a bloated capitalist (I certainly had enjoyed a 

 good dinner), I landed my profit. It was "fishy" cer- 

 tainly; but is it not often so? As for the poor grasshop- 

 per; why the labor market is always overstocked, so I 

 hooked on* another. "Hop on, hop ever," is labor's 

 maxim, and the capitalist's hopper soon gets filled. Did 

 you ever eat trout boiled with parsley in a frying-pan? 

 No! Well, just try it, that's all. Only first catch your 

 trout, and then cook it. 



As it was dark, a heavy splash or two startled us, as a 

 muskrat crossed the stream; a few distinct quacks, not 

 New Westminster medical men, but Mr. Drake evidently 

 talking in his sleep, held out hopes of better acquaintance 

 on the morrow; a heavy crane winged his way up the 

 river; and as the twilight is very short here, of no account 

 whatever, we wended our way back to the farm, half a 

 mile away, to roost. Blessed nights of British Columbia! 

 However warm the day, every evening the wind blows 

 cool from the snow -tipped mountains; we are soon em- 

 braced in the folds of our welcome blankets; the 'squitoes 

 cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. 



A Yorkshire Haligonian. 

 [to be continued.] 



RUNNING THE BRULE. 



IT had been raining for a week, more or less, as it is 

 liable to do in this region in the spring months, and 

 all this time I had pulled out my pocket aneroid a dozen 

 times a day to discover the minutest signs of a let-up, for 

 since this trip down the Brule had been planned, Ed, the 

 leader of the expedition, the commodore, and I, continued 

 to wax impatient to a degree that need not be enlarged 

 upon. So while the barometric pressure seemed to be 

 glued to a certain point we smiled — perhaps gloomily — 

 but smiled nevertheless, and the while bethought our- 

 selves of some little necessity that had not occurred to us 

 before, calculated to make the intended trip more safe 

 and comfortable. A stout boat, built for the purpose of 

 floating down the stream or running its rapids, as the base 

 might be, and kindly lent us for the occasion, had been 

 shipped to the care of Charles Lord, at White Birch, days 

 before, and awaited our arrival there; so that when the 

 tired rain ceased to trickle or drizzle, all we had to do 

 was to dump our packs into a wagon and drive down to 

 the depot of the C, St. P. M. & Omaha and be off. 



The Brule River flows into Lake Superior, through 

 Douglas county, Wisconsin, and takes its rise within a 

 gunshot of one of the feeders of St. Croix Lake— a con- 

 tributor to the Mississippi system. It is one of the finest 

 trout streams in the Northwest, indeed its adaptability 

 for the breeding and conservation of trout, owing to the 

 remarkable springs of cold, pure, sand-filtered water 

 which continually bubble up from subterraneous depths 

 and feed it from its source to the rapids, is phenomenal; 

 and not only Wisconsin sportsmen, but sportsmen of 

 national reputation — Secretary Vilas for instance — have 

 known and fished it for years. Though not now what it 

 once was when in an inaccessible wildernesss, it is still 

 prolific, so that any one willing to submit to the inconveni- 

 ence of fishing beyond the steps of a comfortable club 

 house can yet get literally his (ill of trout. 



Arriving at White Birch we found the captain's boat 

 all right, but an unexpected impediment to our progress 

 presented itself, for the ferry we expected to find here to 

 enable us to cross the lake was on the other side, and 

 some little difficulty was experienced in convincing Mr 

 Lord that it was the proper thing to do to let us go any 

 way. Our credentials, however, from one of the mem- 

 bers of the Eau Claire Club, and a reasonable fee decided 

 the matter, and a stout sailor with one of Lord's sons 

 were dispatched for it in a small boat. Pending its ar~ 

 arrival we amused ourselves observing the great number 

 of suckers with which a little creek flowing into the lake 

 close by was alive, ou the way up to spawn. We captured 

 some of them with our hands, only to let them go again 

 however, as this was not the kind of fish we were after, 

 On the other side of the lake Lord's son showed us a 

 young fawn that had been captured and corralled. She 

 was intensely alive as she turned her startled eyes upon 

 her visitors, but her confinement had told sadly upon her, 

 for though beautiful she was exceedingly thin. 



Our nine mile drive over the sandy barrens of this 

 region was strange but not interesting. A falling bar- 

 ometer indicated wind or rain, or both, and the subject 

 of the greatest interest to us was whether we should be 

 able to reach the river and make camp before the prom 

 ised bad weather set in. This problem was solved, how 

 ever, in a very pleasant manner by the courtesy of some 

 Eau Claire gentlemen— one of them, a Mr. H. H. Davis 

 — who had lately established a club camp at the point we 

 were to put our boat in, and whom we iso opportunely 

 happened to meet here. They kindly permitted us to use 

 then- camp that night and saved us the necessity of mak- 

 ing: one of our own, which gave us plenty of time to put 

 our boat in the river, no slight task, as it had to be hauled 

 some eighty rods through a swamp impassable for teams, 



among boulders, whipping the stream and gallant execu- | and also time to catch a good mess of trout for supper— 

 tion with the landing net, he wUl got left. We have I about thirty, averaging six inches— and I will say that I 



have seldom enjoyed a meal more or spent a pleasanter 

 night in camp. The threatened bad weather passed us 

 by and the morning dawned beautifully amid the cheer- 

 ful songs and chatter of innumerable birds, fmnishing 

 an accompaniment to a breakfast (also of trout) than 

 which I know of none more pleasant or recreating. 



The trail from the camp to the landing, from where our 

 voyage commenced, opens out upon one of the spring-fed 

 bayous or lakes peculiar to this stream, and which makes 

 it such a remarkable winter resort for the Salmo fonit- 

 nalis (indeed this seems to be one of the very fountains 

 from which the little salmon takes its classic name); and 

 one of the springs that feed it was detected quite near the 

 landing, bubbling up from below. Nothing can equal 

 the beauty and transparency of the water in these lakes 

 or bays; more lucid than glass, it leaves the minutest part 

 of the bottom exposed to view, so that objects can be dis- 

 tinguished under the surface at just as great a distance 

 as on land, and but for the familiar phenomenon of re- 

 fraction just as distinctly. The next day we literally 

 chased a school of trout in one of these spring lakes, driv- 

 ing tbem here and there as one would a flock of geese; 

 but when we tried to head them off and drive tliem into 

 the river, they gave us the slip quite easily and compelled 

 us to give up the sport. While on the subject of these 

 spring lakes, I must record our great regret that we 

 missed one of the most important ones entirely, one called 

 Pequearise, in which, we were told, there were much 

 greater springs than any that we saw. The entrance to 

 it, however, bad been artificially concealed by interested 

 parties, though why it is hard to imagine, as there can be 

 no harm in seeing things that one passes by. 



We commenced to fish the stream pretty thoroughly, 

 that is as one fishes other streams, in one place until there 

 is no trout left that care to rise to bait or fly. This, by 

 degrees, we found to be impracticable here, for were we 

 to catch all we could in some one spot we would have too 

 many fish in the first place, and in the next we could not 

 move as fast as was thought necessary; hence we gradu- 

 ally adopted the plan of drif ting down with the current, 

 one or two only fishing here and there until we came to 

 a place where they were very plenty, when we would tie 

 up to bush or tree and all fish until some one cried enough. 

 In this leisurely way we had made ten or twelve mdes of 

 river, when it was four by the watch, and we were wax- 

 ing hungry, and it commenced to rain. It was either 

 that this location was particularly favorable, or, on ac- 

 count of the rain, that the fishing was unusually good 

 here, so that although the conditions were not altogether 

 what could be wished, owing to the swampy nature of 

 the banks, we concluded to camp here in order to keep 

 our traps, or what our Eastern brethern like to call 

 "duffle, ' from being thoroughly soaked. This point was 

 soon secured by pitching our tent and getting a fire blaz- 

 ing comfortably in front of it, after which we made quick 

 work of getting a plentiful supply of spruce boughs and 

 arranging them into the most approved feather bedding 

 imaginable. The trout for supper fried in pork fat with 

 onions and potatoes, proved even more relishable than in 

 the morning (we had abstained from the noonday meal 

 and were hungry), and supper being dispatched we took 

 the rest of the time to counting, cleaning and preserving 

 our catch. Net result after eating was about 3/30 trout, 

 and then we had not half fished, and had made il a point 

 to put hack all the uninjured fingerlhigs. The night 

 turned cold instead of rainy, much to our gratification, 

 as we were anxious to preserve all our trout for friends 

 at home, and this result was secured by leaving them 

 packed in the moss of the swamp during the night, re- 

 moving them carefully with as little handling as possible 

 to the fish-box of the boat next morning. 



The day, as before, dawned beautifully, giving every 

 indication of the pleasant weather which continued dur- 

 ing the day. The fishing in the morning proved just as 

 good as the day before and by noon I had put up my rod 

 with the satisfied feeling that I had never enjoyed be- 

 fore, viz. : that for once in my life I had my fill of trout. 

 We were, hi fact, in what has, in our little circle, been 

 often called "Captain McDougalTs paradise." Seventeen 

 years ago, while master of one of the Transit Line 

 steamers — the China — (if I remember right) he discovered 

 this place, and wintered in Duluth the next season as 

 much as anything for the purpose of fishing the Brule. 

 Not without great hardship he packed hiniself in here 

 and is now able to tell the biggest veritable fish story 

 that probably can be told by living man on Lake Supe- 

 rior waters. How he got to Lake Pequearise (Captain 

 Angus of old Lake Superior lore the most proficient 

 says the name is a combination of Indian and French : 

 peque for reed and arise for lake, hence Reed Lake or 

 Reed-covered Lake, perhaps this is the reason we did not 

 see it) I do not know, but here is where Captain McDougall 

 cut his biggest figure. The subterraneous springs here 

 are tmusually large and preserve a temperature so even 

 annually that like Lake Superior itself to which it con- 

 tributes, it never freezes, and hence furnishes an unri- 

 valed winter resort for the little fountain salmon. Bait 

 such as eyes, fins and pork soon became superfluous 

 where hungry trout by the dozen would jump at every 

 cast, a shred of red flannel was more than sufficient; the 

 barb on the hook soon became a useless nuisance and 

 was filed off, and by practice the fisherman got so expert 

 that the catching of a trout came to be a single maneu- 

 ver in three simple motions — the cast, the strike and the 

 disengaging, which without the barb left the rod going 

 likeamill wheel all the time the owner was willing orable 

 to turn the crank. Perhaps sportsmen will say what a use- 

 less murder of game fish; but it must be remembered that 

 the Brule then was far beyond the borders of civilization, 

 and to the victor over such obstacles I voluntarily con- 

 cede the spoil, besides let me say what a mercy to the sur- 

 vival of the fittest trout where they were all so crowded 

 and hungry, and they were not wasted, for the captain 

 brought his entire catch, something over 8,000 trout and in 

 weight over a ton (to be exact, 2,2d01bs.), to Duluth that 

 winter on sledges and disposed of them all, most of them 

 expressed away to friends here and there. This result 

 was accomplished in about a week of fishing and about 

 three weeks going in and out, and perhaps considering 

 the hardships necessarily connected with it at that time 

 was a feat as yet unequalled by any sportsman on the 

 Chain of Lakes. But that this "fish story" may seem 

 incredible to many I do not doubt. That a man should 

 be able to bear the fatigue, to say nothing more of catch- 

 ing over a thousand trout a day for six consecutive days, 

 ' does seem, I admit, more than one could be expected to 

 believe from ordinary hearsay. But then it would not be 



