102 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 1, 1887. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co 



A TWO WEEKS' OUTING.-I. 



"Great spaces yet untraveled, great lakes whose mystic shores 

 The Saxon rifle never heard, nor dip of Saxon oars." 

 ' £r TVHE Northern Wilderness." It is indeed difficult for 

 X the most of us fully to take in all that is implied 

 in this familiar phrase. Unlike the great tracts to the 

 westward of the Mississippi, whose agricultural and 

 grazing capabilities have, in connection with their 

 mineral resources, invited such vast immigration that 

 a generation has seen the practical subjugation, by an 

 army of settlers, of the great Northwest; the cold 'and 

 comparatively sterile regions of the North, though 

 traversed for centuries by priest and soldier, trapper, 

 miner and lumberman, have to a great extent maintained 

 their distinctive characteristics ; and. the fostering care 

 and liberal promises of* Government have been needed to 

 induce settlement and permanent occupation of the 

 frozen North. 



There is a Kttle strip of land, forming part of this wil- 

 derness, and lying south of Lake Superior, which is 

 called the Northern Peninsula of Michigan. This region 

 is visited by many people, but few of them seem to go 

 far from the railroads, or other well-known routes of 

 travel and resorts of tourists; and strange it is how many 

 difficulties lie in the way of attaining an accurate knowl- 

 edge of any portion of this territory which does not lie 

 along or near these routes. 



I had some years before made a visit or two to the 

 western portion of this "neck of timber," and a conver- 

 sation, which I chanced to overhear between two lumber- 

 men of my acquaintance, reminded me that there was a 

 goodly portion of the peninsula which I had not yet seen. 



I said as much to Konan the Tall, and we agreed that 

 the tract of country under consideration had not been 

 thoroughly explored . Said h e : 



"I reckon we'd orter go up there 'n' look around a little. 

 Bill B. and Jack M., they was a tellin' inter my place 

 how 't they see a most an all-fired lot o' trout inter a kind 

 o' deadwater crick, when they was up there in the fall a 

 loo kin' fer a loggin' job. They hadn't nothin' ter ketch 

 'em with, tell Bill he sairched his pockets, 'n he found a 

 hook, 'n Jack he rousted out a twine string some way, 'n 

 'fore they got through they ketcht thirteen — reg'lar old 

 sockers." 



"Do you believe the story?" 



| 'Well, I d'no; guess so though. They ain't much at 

 lyin', neither on 'em, 'n everybody 't 's been there says 

 the 's trout 'nuf in them woods 'f you c'n only fin d out 

 where they be. Yes, I guess they ketched 'em fast 

 enough." 



"If we took a cruise up that way about deer time we 

 ought to have meat in camp, enough to keep the thing 

 going." 



"Well, we'd orter." 



This was the first of a series of confabulations which 

 led me at last to say to the good genius who rules over 

 my family circle, "What shall we call the new boat?" 



"Shall you build a new boat?" said she. 



"I think so. The Kelpie is too small, and I've put a 

 keel on the oomiak and converted her into a sharpie. 

 She wouldn't do to run a rapid. This may likely prove a 

 rough old trip, and, as I have not been quite well this 

 summer, I want to have everything in good shape for a 

 comfortable cruise." 



"Suppose you call it the Outer — no— people might 

 think that you meant 'Otter,' and didn't know how to 

 spell. Better call it Otter at first, I think." 



"All right," said I, "Otter it shall be;" and it was. 



Then followed grave consultations and much researcb 

 of Konan and myself among the various receptacles of 

 our implements of forest warfare, for, although we were 

 going less to get shooting or fishing than to have a look at 

 the country, we are each in a manner lost when we find 

 ourse ves "under the boughs" without the means at hand 

 of "living off the country." "Hunting without a gun" 

 was never a favorite pastime of my own, and certain ex- 

 periences have confirmed me in the feeling that when 

 roused in a midnight camp by a strange sound, there- is 

 comfort in the ability to lay hand on rifle. 



True it is that the forest is safer than the town, but at 

 times each has its dangers. So far well; but when it 

 comes about that two old fellows who for years have 

 mainly devoted themselves to the elucidation of the vari- 

 ous intricate problems connected with the bread-and-but- 

 ter question, set about collecting their camping tools to 

 prepare for a few weeks' outing, there is apt to be a de- 

 gree of mistiness concerning the whereabouts of the said 

 tools and their fitness for active service, which is the re- 

 verse of encouraging. 



There are different ways of getting ready for a cruise, 

 of which the most striking is the Lord Ipsden method: 



"Saunders, take books and clothes and violins and 

 things, and meet me at the station in an horn*." 



Similarly my lord might say to Squires or Conroy, or 

 other of those wonderful fellows who make ready the 

 multitude for lake or forest: 



"Please have at the station a complete outfit for the 

 Michigan woods. Five o'clock train." And the things 

 would be there on time — too many of them, perhaps, for 

 old campers, but not for tenderfeet. 



How Konan managed I do not know, but for myself I 

 can say that when I had collected such of the debris of 

 my hunting traps and fishing gear as remained to me 

 after the onslaughts of my posterity, the room looked like 

 an old junk shop. The collection would have edified 

 those who never handled gun, save of a modern pattern. 



Breechloaders, muzzleloaders, knives, rods, reels and 

 creels; packs, floats, hackles and haversacks; fly-books, 

 spurs, quirts and chaparejos; gaffs, landing nets, squids, 

 shells, wrenches, jiggers and killdevils; with a few flints 

 and a priming wire and brush brought to the surface 

 at the last desperate dip into the dubious depths of an 

 illusive past. An antiquary might there have found 

 abundant material illustrative of the many changes in 

 sporting implements since I whipped the Rangeleys 

 thirty years ago. 



Well, I went at it, selected and oiled the best of the 

 reels, overhauled rod and. fly-book, loaded ten shells and 

 wiped my gun. My favorite hunting knife had disap- 

 peared—mislaid, doubtless, in some of the "corridors of 



time," and as it is not easy to find a good one ready made, 

 I looked out a thin old blade, stamped with a crown, and 

 of the reign of William IV. With the butt of an antler 

 suitably attached, I soon l^ad a "mutclika" meeting all 

 requirements. 



Konan, who seldom uses shotguns, was to take his rifle; 

 I a double fowling piece, and, thus prepared for the ex- 

 termination of birds or beasts, as we might see occasion, 

 we proceeded to put the finishing touches to the Otter, 

 which had meanwhile been constructed under our super- 

 vision. She was 17ft. long, of thin cedar boards, and in 

 two detachable sections, with a bottom of fill. pine. She 

 was 3ft. wide amidships, and sharp at bow and stern, and 

 for obvious reasons was painted a foliage green. We 

 carried both oars and paddles. 



If there was one thing more than another which Konan 

 wished to meet on the trip, it was a bear. During the 

 last few decades he had slain pretty much all sorts of 

 game which can be killed with a rifle this side Pike's 

 Peak; but the bears had always missed hiin, and as he 

 gave his Winchester a last rub and drew a bead on a 

 slumbering tomcat lying under a piazza about eighty 

 yards off, he expressed his conviction that it would just 

 suit his complaint to have an "old he" show up in some 

 blackberry patch along the river, within easy range of 

 his weapon. "But," said he, "I reckon the shotgun '11 git 

 the most game." 



Well, one Saturday evening at about 6 o'clock we— that 

 is, Konan, the Otter and myself— were safely deposited 

 near the end of a long lumber dock which projects for 

 some distance into the pellucid waters of Grand Traverse 

 Bay. 



We had come by appointment to take passage on an 

 excursion steamer to Mackinaw, and as the daily trips of 

 this craft were made on another route, she had to return 

 to her anchorage on the following Monday morning. 



She was expected at our dock at about 7 P. M., and a 

 motley crowd of excursionists had collected in anticipa- 

 tion of her coming. 



There might be seen the farmer with his wife and 

 buxom daughters, the newly married couple, pervaded by 

 an atmosphere of affectionate endearments, not too care- 

 fully concealed from view when the shades of evening 

 had settled over the bay; the never-failing lumberman, 

 red-shirt<?d and brawny, and bent on receiving with 

 serenest satisfaction whatever good the gods might send; 

 and a variety of faces and costumes such as are seldom 

 seen except under similar circumstances. 



Most of these prospective voyagers bore baskets, as the 

 steamer furnished no provisions. The cabin being of 

 small ex-tent. I was puzzled to see how the large number 

 of ladies present was to be accommodated; but this was 

 not our affair, and spreading my blanket on the dock, the 

 wash of the waves soon lulled me to repose. 



I was aroused about half -past 12 by a steam whistle, 

 and perceived the expected craft coming alongside the 

 dock. It was a sleepy-looking company which boarded 

 her, and the little cabin was filled with girls before you 

 could say Jack Robinson. 



Cots were ranged along the decks, and occupied as fast 

 as placed; and after prospecting in the hold I deposited 

 myself and Wanket on the deck, under the lee of a coil of 

 rope, and as far astem as possible, and once more courted 

 the drowsy god. 



By a singular good fortune I was stepped upon but four 

 or five times during the night, and the morning found 

 our craft rapidly nearing Waugoshanee Light. There is 

 said to be a ghost of unusual activity hovering about the 

 reef at this point, but we didn't see it, and in due time 

 arrived at Mackinaw. 



Knowing the place of old, I left Konan to look about 

 for sights and at once proceeded to escort our boat and 

 sundries to St. Ignace, and being a stranger at this place, 

 I went to the first hotel I saw — the Bay View House. 

 The place was clean, the fare sufficiently good, the charges 

 $2 per day. 



The weather was rainy, which was to me very satis- 

 factory, as the recent drought had filled the newspapers 

 with reports of forest fires. I have had a good deal of 

 experience both in forest and prairie with this sort of 

 thing and am free to say that I do not like it. 



The worst scrape of the kind that I was ever in was in 

 the woods of northern Wisconsin in October, 1871, when, 

 with my family, I was surrounded by fire, and single- 

 handed fought it through one night. This was about 

 fifteen miles from the village of Peshtigo, which at the 

 same time was completely destroyed and many lives lost. 

 And I remember that on one occasion some years before, 

 I started with a friend from Sarcoxie, in southwestern 

 Missouri, to drive about twenty miles to Diamond Prairie. 

 Our way led through an extensive belt of woodland, 

 and we saw that there was a good deal of fire in the 

 forest, but not appreciating the danger therefrom, trusted 

 to luck and drove on. 



When about half way through the wood we observed 

 that the south wind had freshened and was sending the 

 flames before it too rapidly to suit our convenience. 

 Fast as we went the fire came faster still. • It so chanced 

 that I had purchased a five-pound keg of powder, which 

 was under the wagon seat, while my friend had a pound 

 of the same lively explosive wrapped in brown paper and 

 deposited on the south side of his army blouse. 



On came the flames, their long tongues flickering left 

 and right through the smoky haze, and their line advanc- 

 ing through the brushwood "with fearful speed. Fortu- 

 nately, the team was good, the harness new, and the 

 wagon staunch and strong. The horses knew their peril, 

 and the stout wheels bounded from root and rock as they 

 swept the ground in their tearing trot, faster and faster, 

 and the pace became terrific. 



In advance the wind was hurling the sheets of fire like 

 rockets through the trees, and beneath, the lurid line of 

 flame at one point reached the road, and this point Ave 

 must pass. With the long whip whistling through the 

 smoke, I gave what must have been a most unearthly 

 yell, and dashed the horses straight against a broad 

 banner of flame, that sent its fierce breath in my face, as 

 I lashed the flying steeds. 



"Tech 'n' go, that was," said John, when, five minutes 

 after, the pace of the panting horses had subsided into a 

 walk, and through the trees in advance we could see the 

 welcome shimmer of the sunlight over the beautiful 

 Diamond Prairie. 



"I think so," said I, "with six pounds of powder in the 

 wagon." 



Up to that moment neither of us had thought of the 

 perilous nature of the load we carried, though, most 



fortunately, we had escaped with but a general scorch- 

 ing. The side of the coat in which the powder had 

 been placed was completely singed, as were our hair and 

 beards, and the coats of the horses. The woods behind 

 us were a mass of flame when last we looked that .way, 

 and had anything about our outfit parted at the wrong 

 moment we should never have left those woods. 



I learned at St. Ignace that but little danger was to be 

 apprehended from fires in the peninsula, though had the 

 drought been two months later, the conflagration would 

 have been far more extensive. 



Monday morning, at 6:50, found us in one of the cars 

 of the D., M. & M. Railroad, and on our way to Munising, 

 which is nearly across the peninsula, being about one 

 hundred miles from St. Ignace, and four from " Old 

 Munising," on the shore of Lake Superior. This was 

 formerly a point of importance both to Indians and 

 whites. From it once led the great trail across the 

 peninsula, by way of Indian River to Manistique, one 

 of the principal thoroughfares used by the natives in 

 their day of occupation. 



While the train was thundering on, I was enabled to 

 note the fact that when a man has seen five miles of the 

 country along the line of tliis railroad, he has for most 

 purposes of observation seen it all. A dreary flat, flame- 

 scarred, tamarck-tufted, its monotonous horizontality 

 stretches away on either side, unbroken for the most part 

 by any object which might relieve eye or soul from the 

 effect of this unending sameness. 



Weary indeed must be the work of those who, like the 

 pioneer surveyors of this railroad, are first to trace lines 

 of travel in torpid swamps like these, thus to blaze the 

 future path of empire through the land. 



The man of merchandise approached as usual, and 

 sought to sell his wares. He had fancy jack-knives, with 

 a variety of cork-screws and things attached, and he had 

 cheap pocket compasses and dandy match boxes, and 

 many similar articles of "bigotry and virtue," wherewith 

 the tenderfoot is persuaded to burden himself, before 

 trusting his future to the mercies of the forest deities, as 

 represented by his guide. 



At this merchantman I queried, had he that which 

 cures a cold, for I had brought from home an affliction 

 of this sort; to which he made answer that a sovereign 

 remedy therefor was what he called "lemon drops," ex- 

 hibiting at the same time a sample thereof, contained in 

 a small wooden barrel which, however, I did not pur- 

 chase. 



Having been able to learn but little about the streams 

 of this region, I pictured them to myself as likely, before 

 we had traced any one of them across the peninsula, to 

 give us a lively cruise, such as elsewhere I have many a 

 time enjoyed. Among the more notable among my 

 recollections of these was that of the time when Ferrand 

 and I ran the Bristol Rapids on the Pemigewasset River. 



In the summer of 1864 we one day launched our boat 

 above Squam Falls, N. H. , at a point where, four years 

 before, I had taken out our canvas canoe and portaged 

 into Squam Lake, after having traced the. stream from 

 near its source under old Moosehillock (I prefer the 

 ancient way of spelling the name of this mountain). 



This time we had carried over from Squam , to which 

 lake we had come from Winnipesaukee, where we had 

 lived on trout aud tested the quality of the waters of the 

 springs, from Red Hill to the Gunstock Mountains. We 

 now proposed to run down the Pemigewasset until we 

 reached a point whence we could ship our boat by rail. 



In getting our craft around the falls we attempted to 

 take advantage of a sort of side issue in the river, and 

 thus let the water do part of our work. It did, and at the 

 same time managed to get some of its own well in. It 

 poured over the stern for about three seconds only, but in 

 that space of time effectually cleaned and cleared it of 

 sundry movables, which, being of light weight, we had 

 incautiously left therein. 



That night the river gods smoked our pipes, read our 

 books and wore our dusters, complacently sitting the 

 while upon the slippery rocks and waiting the arrival of 

 the next victim. They may have waited long, for, except 

 one birch, my canoe was in those days the sole represen- 

 tative of this class of craft which I saw at any time upon 

 the Merrimac or any of its tributary waters. 



Concerning the river below Squam Falls, we had only 

 been able to learn that logs were floated down its channel 

 in the spring. All of whom we inquired concerning the 

 feasibility of our proposed trip agreed that, so far as they 

 knew, no boat had ever attempted to brave the force of 

 the foaming stream. 



We decided, however, to try it; and, having breakfasted 

 on a trout taken near the mouth of a little brook and a 

 wood duck which had incautiously ventured too near 

 our camp, we "tied in" and floated down the river. 



The cruise from Squam to Bristol Falls remains in my 

 mind as one of the very toughtest pieces of river naviga- 

 tion within my experience. 



Our boat, the Juanita, was a wherry about 15ft. long, 

 and though staunch and well-built, a little too heavy for 

 this sort of work. We could not always sheer in time to 

 clear the points of rock which often showed their heads 

 above the stream, but managed nevertheless to avoid a 

 capsize, though Ferrand's setting pole was in frequent 

 requisition to fend off, and the copper at the stem showed 

 unmistakable signs of collision with the rough granite 

 boulders strewn so liberally along our watery path. 



At noon we lunched by a bright clear spring at the 

 river's side, and pushing onward came, toward evening, 

 to the head of a rapid, smooth and glassy enough in 

 places, but elsewhere flecked with foam and so steep 

 that the tops of the tall "first growth" trees near the 

 river, where some distance ahead it curved to the south- 

 ward, Avere far below our level, and in advance, through 

 waving boughs, we saw a gleam like the ominous glance 

 of a f oeman's eyes through steel-barred aventaille. For now 

 the mighty Kuhleborn. weird ruler of the rushing streams, 

 had lowered visor and laid lance in rest and summoned 

 all his water sprites to repel this rash intrusion within 

 the precincts of his ancient realm. His hosts w r ere mus- 

 tering fast, and the thundering tramp of their battle-steeds 

 arose in muffled volume from the gorge. 



We had that day met and passed so many perils that 

 we would not stay our course, and paddle in hand, I 

 braced myself in the stern, while Ferrand gripped by the 

 midst his setting-pole and sat astride the prow. "A jolly 

 good figurehead you make, my boy," said I. He looked 

 around for an instant and nodded, his fine face flushed 

 with excitement, and down we went in our headlong 

 course, whatever might betide. 



