Ao«. 18, 1887.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



63 



f erred to the black fly, he spoke truly. This little pest 

 attacks on sight and forces the combat, and is supported 

 by unnumbered legions of his fellows. He goes up your 

 sleeves and down your shirt collar. He gets iuto your 

 hair and beard; and wherever he goes he bites, and a 

 purple, bloodshot mark reminds you of him for days. No 

 wonder the deer come out of the woods and take to the 

 water in fly time. Various preparations are made for 

 protection against black flies, but the Scribe's experieuce 

 has been that the most efficacious is a compound of oil of 

 tar, oil of pennyroyal, glycerine and gum camphor. 



The flies were unusually thick this year, owing very 

 likely to the height of the water, which has left many 

 stagnant pools in the woods. Former visitors to Moose- 

 head will realize the height of the water in June, 1887, 

 when I say that that favorite fishing place, Table Rock, 

 in Kineo Bay, was entirely under water, and the group of 

 pines known as the Three Sisters were washed by the 

 waves. 



Sunday we spent quietly about the house. It was one 

 of those calm, sensuous, dreamy summer days, which in- 

 vite one to a prolonged siesta,; and we were* willing that 

 for that day our motto should be Dolce for niente. The 

 Boft summer haze hung over the distant mountains, and 

 on the surface of the lake not a ripple disturbed the 

 mirrorlike expanse. Peace and quietness reigned su- 

 preme, and the whole day was a perfect prelude to the 

 more active ones which were to follow. William and 

 Lloyd were coming on the boat Monday afternoon. Our 

 guides were all ready and our preparations all made for 

 an early stall Tuesday morning. 



To nil in the day Monday, Harry and the Scribe took 

 the rods and camera and went down on the morning boat 

 to the East Outlet dam, instructing the captain to call 

 there on his return trip in the afternoon. Before trying 

 the fish we went down the left bank of the river and took 

 two pictures of the dam. A collection of tents, compris- 

 ing a river drivers' camp, were pitched near by and the 

 crew formed a carious and admiring audience as we got 

 the focus and exposed the plates. A general invitation to 

 "take a look under the cloth," which we extended, was 

 accepted by a few, but the unanimous verdict was, ''I 

 don't see nawthin'." We then packed the camera and 

 went out on to the dam, crossing on the timbers which 

 stretch between the piers, and were soon casting our flies 

 in the swift water. 



Above us was the placid expanse of Moosehead Lake 

 with the dim, blue mountains in the distance ; below us 

 the Kennebec River rushed and foamed over its rocky 

 bed, while beneath our feet the water roared over the 

 dam. The logs were running and as they plunged over 

 into the abyss of seething water, we likened them to huge 

 water monsters fleeing from some even greater enemy. 

 But instead of escaping, they were approaching their fate 

 in the form of sawmills far down the river, in whose 

 insatiable embrace they would be converted into a com- 

 mercial commodity — lumber. Some half dozen fisher- 

 men were trying their luck, but a glance at their 

 baskets showed that their success was not phenomenal. 

 We cast om- flies for some time without a rise, and 

 then decided to try bait as the others were doing. 

 We hired a small boy, to procure us some worms, 

 and when he returned with them we started for the 

 further side of the stream, where the water ran around 

 the end of the dam, forming a hole which looked like a 

 good place for trout. We could croBs most of the way 

 on the timbers, but between the last pier and the shore 

 the only way was along the sloping edge of the dam, 

 which here projected about a foot above the water. Some 

 logs which had lodged there afforded a precarious foot- 

 ing, however, and Harry, crossing first, leaped safely 

 from the end of the last log to the edge of the dam and 

 thence to a log which served as a foot bridge across the 

 hole. But the Scribe, who carries more avoirdupois and 

 whose legs are shorter, made an inglorious failure of the 

 leap, or rather of the alighting part of it, for his feet 

 struck the sloping surface of the planks and he slid gently 

 into the water to his armpits, while his companion ex- 

 ecuted a war dance and was convulsed with throes of 

 laughter. He seemed to have an insane idea that some- 

 thing funny had occurred. The Scribe pulled himself 

 out and soon stood on the foot bridge. The performer of 

 the war dance remarked, "I should judge that this water 

 was rather wet." This sarcasm the Scribe haughtily 

 ignored, and proceeded to impale a worm on his hook, 

 which he cast into the pool below. It had hardly disap- 

 peared under the water before there was a flash, a jerk 

 and the reel began to click. Little the Scribe cared then 

 whether he was wet or dry, and to Harry's credit be it 

 said, that he ceased his bantering and seized the landing 

 net. The lancewood bent and swayed under the strain, 

 the captive at the other end of the line darted to and fro 

 and leaped from the water, the sunlight glistening on his 

 sparkling sides, but in a few minutes the net slid under 

 him and our first trout was safe in the creel. A beauty 

 he was, too, and he soon had plenty of company, for we 

 had good sport there and might have caught more than 

 we did, but we stopped when we thought we had enough. 

 What exhilaration we experienced as we stood there with 

 the forest at our back and the rushing river before us; the 

 swiftly moving logs and the foam and spray and dashing 

 water below the dam, om baskets becoming heavier the 

 while, only a lover of the rod can know. 



But we began to feel that it was dinner time, and the 

 flies were finding out that the tar oil on our faces had not 

 been renewed, so after once more besmearing ourselves 

 we retraced our way over the dam and ate lunch. We 

 ■went up to Wilson's, who keeps the house at the outlet, 

 and had only a short time to wait for the boat. The flies 

 had improved their opportunities while we were busy 

 with the trout, to get up the sleeves of my shirt, and evi- 

 dently had found my arms to their liking. Harry's 

 closely clipped head also showed the results of their 

 depredations under - the rim of his hat, but when we 

 glanced at om - creels we felt that we might, perhaps, 

 even forgive the black fly. The sun had dried my cloth- 

 ing, so that before the arrival of the boat I was myself 

 again. As the steamboat approached the pier William 

 and Lloyd were seen waving then hats from the bow, and 

 we were soon on our return to Kineo, greetings having 

 been exchanged and the contents of our baskets inspected. 



We were now fairly launched on om outing. 

 There was time before supper to walk over to Pebble 

 Beach on Kineo Bay and expose several plates, which 

 resulted in some good pictures of the cliff and beach. 

 Our programme was to go the next morning to the North- 

 west Carry, try the fishing in that part of the lake, then 



paddle around to the Northeast Carry and cross to the 

 west branch of the Penobscot. We had chartered a small 

 steamer to transport us and the canoes to the head of the 

 lake, thus avoiding a long paddle of twenty miles. Our 

 guides, Bill and Cy, were stalwart young backwoodsmen, 

 experts in canoe navigation and forest craft. The canoes 

 | were of canvas, that material having in a great measure 

 superseded birch bark in their manufacture, though the 

 genuine birch is not yet numbered among the things that 

 were. Several of these craft, so associated with the 

 romance and poetry of the wilderness, were among those 

 drawn up on the beach, and how much more fitted to the 

 surroundings they seemed than their canvas companions. 

 The birches, with the pitch exuding from then seams, 

 were as if to the manor born; begotten of the woods and 

 wedded to the lonely northern waters. They were a link 

 between us and the red race whose ancient hunting 

 grounds were around us. They were aboriginal and 

 traditional. Specimens of the savage skill and woodcraft 

 of the native race, while the boats of canvas betokened 

 the white man, and were unmistakably his handiwork. 

 The "canvas canoe wears longer, however, and will stand 

 more hard usage; it is more easily taken care of and is 

 cleaner to handle. The birch has to be pitched often to 

 keep it water tight, and when turned bottom up in the 

 sun the pitch exudes, making it sticky and disagreeable 

 to handle. 



The next morning a small steamer left Kineo, and 

 rounding the peninsula, headed for the Northwest Carry. 

 Two canoes were lashed to her sides, and six healthy 

 specimens of the genus homo, with rods, guns and came- 

 ras, formed her passenger list and cargo! The summer 

 wind fanned our faces and the lake glistened and 

 sparkled under the morning sun; over by the mouth of 

 Moose River a steamer was slowly toiling along with a 

 great raft of logs in tow; ahead of us two loons were 

 sporting and diving in then element, and the shifting 

 scenery of the shores was a panorama of which we never 

 tired. As we sailed by Kineo we took two instantaneous 

 pictures of the great flint rock. The climax was reached 

 when we saw, away off to the east, towering grandly 

 above the intervening hills, its sides seamed and furrowed 

 Avith the tracks of slides and avalanches and its summit 

 crowned with snow, the great bulk of Ktaadn. Between 

 us and it were miles of trackless forest, yet it dominated 

 the whole landscape. Majestic, massive, imposing, the 

 sovereign of the mountains of Maine. Looking in the 

 opposite direction, we saw the Russell Mountains and 

 Bald Mountain over by the Canada line. 



In due time we arrived at our destination, and old Joe 

 Morris, who lives at the carry, came down to the shore 

 to welcome us. We lowered the canoes gently into the 

 water, paddled ashore and prepared for dinner. Joe's 

 house stands in a small clearing and is a typical log 

 structure, one story, long and low. We had to stoop as 

 we entered the door. Behind the cabin were the hovels 

 which served as bam and stable. The room which we 

 entered was chamber and living room combined. On the 

 side opposite the door was a huge bunk, six feet in width 

 and running the whole length of the apartment. There 

 was room in it for a dozen men, and across the end of the 

 room were two other bunks, one over the other, which 

 would accommodate four more. A large box stove stood 

 in the middle of the floor, and a long bench, a couple of 

 chairs and a table completed the f urnishing of this oack- 

 woods boudoir. A rifle stood in the corner, and antlers of 

 two caribou and a deer himg on the wall. 



While we sat there waiting for dinner we noticed that 

 William got up several times and went outside, returning 

 in a short time with a look of satisfaction lighting up his 

 handsome face. (William was the good-looking man of 

 the party.) At last the Scribe's curiosity was aroused, 

 and he went out, too, just in time to see William turning 

 the tap of a keg which stood beside the door. He held a 

 tin cup into which a stream of amber liquid was running 

 from the keg. He looked up and proffered the cup to the 

 Scribe, saying, "Just try that; it's prime." The Scribe 

 took it, and before he returned it he had imbibed some of 

 the best birch beer he ever saw, and which, as William 

 said, "went to the right spot." We could always trust 

 William to discover anything in the beer line. By this 

 time Joe's wife announced, in a mixture of broken Eng- 

 lish and French patois, that dinner was ready, and six 

 hungry mortals filed into the salle-d-manger. The room 

 in which we ate was smaller than the living room, and 

 was sheathed with slabs, split and shaved by hand. On 

 the home-made table was a repast of fried trout and pork, 

 eggs, bread and butter, the latter excellent and made by 

 madame herself. Our dessert was of wild strawberries 

 and delicious cream. Joe's sugar had given out, so we 

 sweetened our coffee with molasses. Madame Joe, evi- 

 dently thinking that William and Scribe were beings of a 

 higher degree of civilization than the others, had placed 

 beside their plates clean handkerchiefs to serve in lieu of 

 napkins, and at one end of the table a tumbler held a 

 bunch of purple iris. This little touch of feminine taste 

 was unexpected in this out-of-the-way place, and the bit 

 of color really reemed to light up the dim apartment. 

 On the floor near the table stood an iron pot containing a 

 smudge or smouldering fire, intended to keep the mos- 

 quitoes from being too demonstrative in their attentions. 

 A number of these birds of prey hovered over the table 

 notwithstanding the smoke. They were so large that 

 Wilham thought they were humming birds; but then 

 William had been lowering the high-water mark in Uncle 

 Joe's keg of beer. 



Dinner disposed of, we went out to catch trout for sup- 

 per and breakfast. It was a bright sunshiny afternoon 

 with not a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind to stir 

 the leaves. The canoes appeared to rest on, not in the 

 water, and they made scarcely a ripple as they moved 

 over the glassy surface. The trout did not seem inclined 

 to bite, and we had gone a mile or more down the lake 

 before a fish was struck. The Scribe was the lucky man 

 and reeled in trout weighing about a pound, which had 

 taken the second fly on his leader. Soon afterward Lloyd 

 got one and then Harry captured a three-pound laker. 

 During the afternoon we had fair luck, but as usually is 

 the case, the biggest fish was the one we didn't catch. 

 Harry, who was trolling, struck a big fish, and after con- 

 siderable work got him near enough to the canoe so that 

 we could get a good look at him, but with a sudden leap 

 he shook himself free from the hook and departed for 

 parts unknown. 



As the sun began to disappear behind the treetops on 

 the western shore, we paddled homeward. How that 

 little word "home" clings to us, no matter where fate or 



caprice may lead one's wandering footsteps. "Home" is 

 perhaps the most expressive word of the English tongue 

 and suggestive of the most endearing memories. As the 

 canoesglided noiselessly along past the silent shores, where 

 the shadows were already deepening in the forest, the 

 Scribe's thoughts reverted to a happy home which once 

 was his, but from which the life and light went out when 

 its young mistress went to her other home up there above 

 the blue sky. 



After Cy and Bill had cleaned the fish we had supper 

 and then sat on the bench outside the door and smoked 

 our cigars. Behind us and on either side of the clearing, 

 the woods formed a dense black wall. In front was the 

 lake and over the water came the wild demoniac calling 

 of a loon, a sound so strange and weird and thrilling, 

 as if the evil spirit of the wilds was aboad in the night. 

 The shrill quavering laughter seemed to intensify the 

 stillness instead of breaking it and made the solitude of 

 this lonely spot only more complete. W. A. B. 



MAINE FISH AND GAME. 



THE height of the dull season for trout is upon us. 

 Perhaps it would be better to say the depth of the 

 dull season. August is a poor month for trout in New 

 England, and yet it is curious to note the number of fish- 

 ing rods that go out on every train that leaves Boston for 

 the North and the East. In one case an old and a very 

 respectable tea merchant went down to the farm last 

 week. This going down to the farm means a visit to 

 several small farms way up among the mountains in 

 Maine, which farms have fallen into the hands of the 

 merchant, for the reason that from the kindness of his 

 heart he could not help lending the poor owners money, 

 till at length the whole have come gradually to be his 

 own. This gentleman takes Ms fishing rods with him. 

 But the chances are that he will get but few trout, for 

 the country urchin, with his piece of string, his pin hook 

 and worm, has had all summer to angle. The brooks in 

 that part of Maine are badly depleted. They are capable 

 of sustaining a good supply of large trout, but they are 

 taken when mere fingerbngs. 



At the great lakes in that State the season just now is 

 excessively dull. A couple of letters now at hand. Both 

 speak of no sportsmen and very warm weather. At the 

 hotels in the region about Rangeley and Phillips there are 

 reported to be a full showing of guests, but they are of 

 the summer tourist order, rather than sportsmen with the 

 rod and line. Their time is taken up — judging from the 

 reports— in junketing and excursions about the lakes 

 rather than in fishing for trout. Occasionally a party 

 visits a far-off stream in the Avoods, and then come tales 

 of the slaughter of hundreds of trout. If these vacation- 

 ists are indulging, as on former seasons, in jacking deer, 

 they are doing it more on the sly than ever before, for 

 the accounts fail to reach the ears of those who would 

 like to see these poachers punished. 



But the fall season will open before many weeks have 

 passed, and a lively one it promises to be. The sportsmen 

 who visited the Maine lakes in the spring, some of them 

 for the first time, have become enthusiasts^ and they long 

 for September days. It certainly looks as though the 

 exodus of sportsmen to the Maine waters this fall would 

 be greater than ever. They will drink their fill of the 

 glories of autumn in the woods by the borders of the lake, 

 but what the prospects of sport are. it is hard to tell. 

 There has been a great abundance of rain in nearly all 

 New England this summer, but there is still time enough 

 to make a very dry autumn. An abundance of water 

 usually means an abundance of trout, but at the same 

 time the July and August fishing this year have been 

 rather poor. It may, however, all be in store for Sep- 

 tember. 



Among those who will take to the Maine woods this 

 fall the desire to shoot is also very strong. But all must 

 remember that the open season 'on deer, caribou and 

 moose does not begin till the first of October. The gen- 

 erous proposition of the Maine Fish and Game Commis- 

 sion to add September to the open months on this game, 

 was defeated at the last moment in the Legislature of 

 the State last winter It is claimed that the lumber 

 interest did it, and it is certain that the speech of a 

 " Down East Lumber Head '•' had much to do with the 

 defeat of the bill. He argued that the lumber interest of 

 Maine could ill afford to open up another month to the 

 dangers of the hunter's fires in their beloved forests. But 

 the wise ones said at the time that his object was rather 

 to save the moose and deer from the hunters in legal 

 season, hi order that they might be killed by his men in 

 the winter close season. Deer and moose thus obtained 

 came cheaper to him than beef. But enough of this just 

 now. The lumber interest of Maine that allows deer and 

 moose to be killed in the winter season in violation of law 

 is yet to be shown up in Forest and Stream. 



. Special. 



Not one of theleast important items in the attractions and 

 advantages Louisana offers to tourists and immigrants is its 

 rich resources of game for the gun and rod of the sportsman. 

 A writer from Shreveport to the Dallas (Tex.) News, enlarg- 

 ing on the charms of the lake region of Caddo and adjoining 

 parishes on the upper Red River, says: "In winter ducks 

 and fish are so plentiful that the margins of the lakes have 

 become the scene of shameful slaughter, when sportsmen, 

 unable to control their instincts, degenerate into killers. To 

 the Northern seeker after amusement, who is not drawn to 

 Florida in search of the springs of perennial youth which 

 Ponce de Leon immortalized in fable, the quietness and balm 

 which hang over those lakes when Jack Frost has closed the 

 gates of the North offer an irresistible charm, and the fact of 

 those lakes not having been more generally advertised ac- 

 counts for their not being the most frequented winter resorts 

 in the United States. The shooting lasts from the middle 

 of October until April, during which time boats of suitable 

 size and model can be hired at a trivial cost. Ducts of every 

 variety and in numbers that almost obscure the sun, when 

 the quacking tribe rise between it and the observer, frequent 

 those lakes and can be shot at either en masse or in line, as 

 the hunter may elect. There is the canvasback duck — with- 

 out question the finest that flies as well as the largest and 

 gamest— the redhead, but little inferior to the canvasback; 

 the mallard; blue and green-winged teals; the wood duck, 

 deliriously tender; the pintail, which feeds on the chincapin, 

 and any other number of ducks from the rarest to the tough- 

 est and most hardened. Of other birds adjacent to the lakes 

 there are snipe, plover, curlews, killdees, sandpipers, and 

 other select varieties. Here, unlike in Florida, the hunter 

 has not to go miles to find an egg to make his eggnog. 

 Darkies' cabins are everywhere on hand in Caddo parish, 

 and there is no darky's cabin without a supply of eggs. 



