274 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[OCT. 27, 1887. 



THROUGH THE WYOMING VALLEY. 



CANOEING, although a sport that is still young— in its infancy, 

 in fact— is making rapid strides forward. There is a charm 

 about these dainty little boats that no other craft possesses. They 

 are so light and graceful. The slightest touch of the paddle, seems 

 to endow them with life and send them flying over the water. It 

 is a fascinating sport, and those who enjoy it are not few. The 

 approach of summer heralds the opening of the canoeing season 

 and witnesses the departure of many canoe clubs on their annual 

 tour. The St. Lawrence, with its tempting rapids and thousand 

 isles, is a favorite resort, while the lakes and rivers of northern 

 Maine possess charms for some. But there are numerous other 

 beautiful streams which present to the canoeist attractions almost 

 as great. 



In the summer of 1886 three of us came down the north branch 

 of the Susquehanna. "We each had a canvas canoe and carried a 

 complete outfit. We started in at Towanda, which point we 

 reached by rail. Onr first camp was on an island a mile below, 

 where we pitched our tent heside a canoe club from Philadelphia. 

 They had started at Cooperstown on the lake which gives birth to 

 the Susquehanna. 



Our experience the first night was rather trying. A violent 

 storm came up about 10 o'clock, and, after excavating a small 

 canal under our tent, the rain loosened the stakes and down came 

 tent and all. We crawled out into the black darkness and pouring 

 raiu. Our new acquaintances, who with wisdom aforethought 

 had made themselves secure, were powerless to help us, as their 

 tent was already packed to its utmost capacity. The prospect; of 

 spending six hours in the rain stared us gloomily in the face, and 

 there seemed to be no other alternative. 



Our courage was at its lowest ebb. when some one called out 

 from the tent: "Why don't you fellows go over to that old house?" 

 Our spirits rose on the instant. We had noticed on landing a de- 

 serted house across the island, but had never given it another 

 thought. 



With difficulty we lighted a lantern, and after splashing through 

 small lakes and wading ankle deep rn mud, we were fortunate 

 euough to strike the house. An inspection of its one room brought 

 to light an old bedstead, two or three broken chairB, and a large 

 seine. The place was evidently frequented by fi6bing parties. 

 With the aid of an old box we soon had a roaring blaze on the fire- 

 place, and in the course of an hour we were fairly dry again. 



At dawn the clouds broke, and with the promise of fait- weather 

 before us we left our retreat and prepared breakfast. We found 

 our canoes all right, with the exception of a little rain which had 

 penetrated the canvas covering. The other partv intended to re- 

 main in camp here a few days. They gathered on the bank to see 

 us off, and amid a chorus of good wishes we paddled out into the 

 stream. We struck a strong current and were soon carried out of 

 sight of our first camp. 



For the first eighty miles of our trip the river flowed in a ser- 

 pentine course through Bradford county, thence into Wyoming 

 county and through the whole length of the lovely Wyoming 

 Valley, which Campbell has gifted with more than historical in- 

 terest, by his beautiful poem "Gertrude of Wyoming." 



The scenery was grand and of such a varied nature as to excite 

 our highest admiration. Wild and rugged mountains gave place 

 to gently sloping fields and forest, dotted here and there with farm 

 houses or perhaps some pretty village nestling in among the hills. 

 Frequently a thicker cluster of trees than usual, and the distant, 

 sound of falling water, marked the spot where some mountain 

 .st reani mingled with the river. Sometimes the resonant peal of 

 the ferryman's bell, which called him to his post, awoke the 

 echoes. We ran across these sleepy old boats everv few miles. 

 Some of them were in the last stages of decay, and appeared ready 

 to sink at any moment. One day, while paddling backward 

 watching a trolling spoon I had thrown out. 1 ran into one broad- 

 side. I was considerably shaken up, but the copper plate bow 

 saved the canoe from injury. 



Every place we stopped seemed to be connected in some wav 

 with the early history of the country. "Here was the spot," one 

 old farmer told us, "where Sullivan's army had encamped." 

 Another pointed out the place where a battle had been fought, 

 and showed us a couple of old skulls and tomahawks he had 

 ploughed up at different times. Nor are the present occupants of 

 the Wyoming valley ignorant of the horrible scenes of bloodshed 

 and cruelty which were enacted there in 1778. Many of them arc 

 household traditions to which we listened with great interest, and 

 at night when we had pitched our tent along the mountain and 

 gathered around the camp-fire, our imaginations used to run riot 

 with us until we fancied we could hear the shriek of the savage 

 echoing through the valley. 



The first day from Towanda we lunched a,t Standing Stone, not 

 the so-called village, but the stone itself, two miles below, which 

 at a, distance presents a very striking appearance. It is a huge 

 slab, rising thirty or forty feet in the air. It stands just at tile 

 foot of a steep mountain, partly on land and partly in the water, 

 and has stood there for centuries. One side of it reflects in rude 

 carving and paint the names of many who have paid it a visit. 

 The dates run back many years. One ambitious person, filled per- 

 haps with the spirit of George Washington, has outstripped all his 

 competitors, and placed his name three feet above them all. 



The river pursues a very crooked course, and is wide and sluggish 

 at some places, at others swift and narrow. You paddle idly along 

 through deep, calm water. The river is wide and you'hardlv 

 realize that you are moving. But almost imperceptibly the cur- 

 rent has become swifter, and a distant roar strikes your* ear. And 

 now away below you a line of white foam appears, glittering iu 

 the sunlight. The river is getting narrow and the shores seem to 

 be closing in. You are moving so rapidly that the bottom appears 

 to be flying from under you, and suddenly you dash into a mass of 

 foam and spray, splashing waves and black rocks, that rise up 

 around you like grim spectres. You dart recklessly on, just miss- 

 ing that sharp rock, scraping your keel on another, and cleaving a 

 path through waves that threaten to submerge you. The worst is 

 over, and before you realize that you are safely through, the swift 

 current has whirled you round a bend, the river widens again, and 

 you are floating calmly along, with the distant roar of the falls 

 still ringing in your ears. A few miles further and you repeat 

 the experience. The rapids are numerous, but, as a rule, are not 

 dangerous. We were very fortunate in meeting with few mis- 

 haps, though we had some very narrow escapes. On approaching 

 rapids no opportunity was afforded us of picking a channel, as the 

 swift current always carried us right into them at breakneck 

 speed. 



We usually avoided the heat of the day by making an early 

 start, paddling until the sun was well up, and stopping off until 

 the afternoon. 



At daybreak the river seemed to be alive with bass, leaping out 

 of water and dashing themselves almost on shore in reckless pur- 

 suit; of small fish. We caught a great many by trolling as we 

 floated along. Black bass and yellow perch were very plentiful 

 and once in a while we were fortunate enough to get a salmon. 

 Yellow perch are very gamy fish, and we had a great deal of 

 sport catching them. They frequent deep spots along shore where 

 patches of grass and weeds grow in the water. They bit vor- 

 aciously and struggled so hard that we invariably thought we had 

 hooked much larger fish. Most of them were about the size of 

 large sunfish, but we caught a couple of splendid fellows that 

 must have weighed a pound and a half apiece. After leaving the 

 Wyoming Valley they disappeared, and we did not catch another 

 one. 



Starting out early in the afternoon we would travel until 5 or 6 

 o'clock, and then camp for the night, picking out some grassy 

 spot with a spring close by if possible. 



One night darkness overtook us before we could find a suitable 

 camping place. On one side the mountain sloped abruptly into 

 the water. The other shore was simply a gravel bed extending 

 from the river some yards back to a tangled thicket of young 

 trees and dense undergrowth. We chose the gravel bed, and as it 

 was impossible to drive stakes through the rocky soil, we stretched 

 our tent over two canoes and slept oh the pebbles. Our dreams 

 that night rather resembled nightmare, and morning found us 

 fully convinced that some of the pebbles had penetrated us, an 

 impression which a plunge in the cool depths ot the river could 

 scarce eradicate. We were very careful after that to avoid a 

 similar experience. 



We would have remained longer in the lovely Wyoming Valley, 

 but tne greater part of our journey still lay before us. We had 

 spent a few days at Skinner's Eddy where we found the fishing 

 the best along the river, and had camped a while near Tunkhau- 

 nock, and now we were near the end of the Valley. Late one 

 afternoon, we rounded a bend in the river and saw below us 

 Pittston with its smokestacks and huge coal breakers. We did 

 not stop, but passed by the city and camped that night on an 

 island a mile below. 



The following day we made an early start, and stopped at the 

 Wyoming monument which marks the scone of the dreadful 

 massacre. Many of the victims are buried under it though some 

 lie in Forty Fort cemetery, which is about two miles below. Near 

 the cemetery, and right on the bank of the river, a flagstaff marks 

 the site of old Forty Fort. The last trace of the fortification dis- 

 appeared a few years ago. We wandered over the ground, and 

 after diligent search picked up a couple of flint arrow heads and 

 part of a tomahawk. At noon we reached Wilkosbarre. 



We stayed here until late in the afternoon, and then to avoid 



the nine miles of back water from the Nanticoke dam, we put our 

 canoes on the deck of a steamboat and went down to Nanticoke. 

 The boat touched half way at Plymouth, which was still suffering 

 from the epidemic. We were very careful to drink no river water 

 in that vicinity. That night we camped along the river near 

 Nanticoke. 



A regular vendett a appears to exist between canal boatmen and 

 the miners here. We went into the town a while but our stay 

 was short. The English language acluallv seemed to be at a, dis- 

 count here. The streets were thronged with Poles, Russians, 

 Hungarians, Italians, and various other nationalities. Every 

 other house appeared to be a saloon. On our way back to camp 

 wo got sandwiched in between a number of boatmen and a pursu- 

 ing party of miners. As neutrals we were allowed to withdraw, 

 and we had hardly reached camp when we heard the sounds of 

 conflict behind us. The next day we took our canoes around the 

 dam via the canal, as the chute was closed. 



We had a stiff up-stream breeze that day which prevent ed us 

 from getting any further than Shickshinnv. The following day, 

 which was Saturday, we reached Berwick about 12 o'clock. 



The river just below seemed to be a mass of rapids. We were 

 warned not to attempt to go through them. Several persons told 

 us they were impassable and advised us to carry our canoes 

 around. But with recklessness born of self-confidence we deter- 

 mined to trust to our usual good fortune to carry us through in 

 safety. 



At the very beginning my canoe struck a rock and was instantly 

 turned broadside and whirled over and over. I was hurled out, 

 and grasping the canoe I with difficulty succeeded in reaching 

 shore, half swimming, half wading through the furious water. 

 My companions seeing what lay before them had jumped out and 

 reached the shore as best they could. I found the keel torn nearly 

 off of my canoe, and the afternoon was consumed in drying off 

 and making repairs. We finally got off about 4 o'clock, and with 

 the aid of a swift current we soon paddled down five miles and 

 stopped to spend Sunday near Crecy. We were fortunate in find- 

 ing a beautiful spot to camp with a spring of ice cold water pour- 

 ing out of the ground right beside our tent. 



We left here Monday morning, and passing Bloomsburg and 

 Rupert, we soon reached Catawissa. Toward evening we passed 

 Danville and camped a mile below. 



The next day was the hottest of the season. The extreme heat 

 combined with an up wind so retarded our progress that it was 

 nearly sundown when we reached Sunbury and paddled out into 

 the waters of the main river. We struck across and pitched our 

 camp at Shamokin Dam. While preparing supper we were sur- 

 prised by a visit from a friend who was spending a few days here 

 for the fishing. ' He dropped down on us with a box of cigars and 

 a package of papers containing home news. He was as welcome 

 as the flowers in spring, for his was the first, familiar face we had 

 seen. 



This was Tuesday night; we pushed straight on all day Wednes- 

 day, passing through a great deal of rough water, but fortunately 

 without any serious accident. At noon on Thursday we passed 

 through the beautiful Kittatinny Gap at Rockville, and entered 

 on familiar water again. We stopped on an island where we had 

 often camped, for general repairs, throwing away our useless 

 articles, and packing up all our baggage. 



About 4 o'clock we floated round a bend and Harrisburg lay be- 

 fore us, the dome of the Capitol glittering in the rays of the setting 

 sun, as if bidding us a welcome back to the trammels of civilized 

 life again. 



We had derived an immense amount of enjoyment from our 

 trip, and, with a view to the future, had made ourselves well ac- 

 quainted with the river. The approach of summer will no doubt 

 find us preparing for another canoe trip, and inclined to exclaim 

 with the poet: 



Bring us the air of hills and forests, 



Tne sweet aroma of birch and pine: 

 Give us a waft of the north wind, laden 



With sweetbrier odors and breath of kine. 



W. M. Ghaydon. 



A SNEAKBOX ON THE POTOMAC. 



I HAVE just finished reading "Seneca's" article in the Forest 

 and Stream of this date (Oct. 20), and aside from the pleasure 

 it gives me to read one of the dear old fellow's breezy articles, I 

 appreciated it more because a recent experience of mine in 

 another fellow's "box" has verified to my mind nearly everything 

 he says about, the comfort and convenience of the style of boat he 

 advocates. 



1 have long thought that it was about the sort of craft that would 

 suit me, but as I had never seen one 1 hesitated about buying, fear- 

 ful that after all I might get something that 1 wouldn't like. You 

 see I'm a Benedict, and wish to share, my pleasures with my wife 

 and babies, and a canoe can hardly be considered just the thing for 

 that purpose. Besides, when j T ou've piled all the stuff that 

 "Seneca" mentions into a canoe of the A C. A. dimensions, you 

 are inclined to the opinion that you had better take along another 

 canoe for yourself. 



Canoes are jolly things for a race or a paddle, but when it comes 

 to a cruise you will generally find some big-hearted and big-boated 

 fellow taking along a good deal of the duffle necessary to the com- 

 fort of the boys in the smaller boats. At least that has been mv 

 experience and observation on the few cruises that I've made. On 

 the 3d of this month our club inaugurated a week's meet some 

 fifteen miles down the river, at a beautiful spot near the homo of 

 the immortal George. On the morning of that day six boats wi th 

 a man in each left the club house at Georgetown for the chosen 

 spot. One of them was a large canoe, almost a yawl. Another 

 was a racing machine, with room in her cockpit for an immense 

 centerboard trunk and a small portion of the anatomy of her 

 skipper. Three others were canoes of the conventional type, and 

 the remaining one was a sneakbox. 



It Is safe to say that the "Sneaky" as the boys called her, carried 

 as much of a load as any three of the others put together. Added 

 to that she was soon forced to take on hoard the occupant of one 

 of the canoes, who couldn't sail, and to tow his heavily laden boat 

 in the bargain. The consequence was that she reached camp 

 about an hour after the others, but during the trip her crew were 

 able to move about, stretch out, prepare for a meet, and do divers 

 and sundry other things that couldn't have- been accomplished in 

 a canoe without imminent risk of a bath. 



We were in camp a week, during which time the Sneaky was in 

 almost constant requisition by the boys who would go ducking, or 

 rowing, or sailing, or take out some visitors or something else for 

 which their canoes were unsuited. During that week I was never 

 once worried about her getting bumped or scratched or left ashore 

 with the tide, or anything else, while the others were constantly 

 going down to the landing at all times of the night and day to see 

 about their boats. 



One day after returning after an early ducking trip, and while I 

 was at breakfast, three of the boys quietly sneaked down to the 

 Sneaky, and went out for a sail. After finishing my breakfast T 

 started down to the landing when I found oneof the liveliest little 

 southeast gales " a-biowin' " that I ever met with. I was told 

 about the boys and the Sneaky, and must confess to a little appre- 

 hension, for I didn't know what she could stand. There were 

 only two sails in sight and they were both under double reef, and 

 were too large at that for the sneakbox. 



For an hour I scanned the river without seeing anything of her, 

 but at the end of that, time I saw her coming around Mt. Vernon 

 wharf under a "spruce breeze." The boys came in jolly and wet, 

 said that they had found a heavy sea on outside in the channel, 

 and while all three were seated on the weather deck holding on to 

 the boom (just to try her), the boom snapped and they came near 

 going over. For a moment I wished they had. Thmk of three 

 stout young fellows holding a small spar not Sin. in diameter. No 

 wonder it snapped. However, they came off with no worse damage 

 than a broken boom and the loss of the rudder, which became un- 

 shipped in the heavy sea. They had a wholesome regard for Old 

 Sneaky after that, as not one of their boats could have stood up in 

 that blow. 



Well, to make a long story short, she was the most useful boat 

 at the meet during the entire week, and at the end of it I rowed 

 her thirteen miles (I sailed two when the wind died out) heavily 

 loaded, and with a loaded canoe astern, and felt no ill effects from 

 it afterward. She was as easy a rowing boat as I want to handle 

 for a long pull, and barring one other canoeist who paddled light, 

 I was the only one of those who started that day to reach our boat 

 house that night. 



I shall be glad to once more follow in the footsteps of the father 

 of canoeing in these waters, "Seneca," who can do anything but 

 roast a pig, and if I don't have a cruiser by next summer, it won't 

 be for lack of determination. Skipper. 



W ASHINGTON, D. C. 



IANTHE C. C— On election day many of the Passaic River 

 canoeists will gather in the neighborhood of the Ianthc C. C. 

 house to take part in a series of scrub races for prizes offered by 

 different members of the club.— Idlemere. 



r achting. 



VOLUNTEER AND THISTLE. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



It was evident, as the result of the first race between the Vol- 

 unteer and the Thistle, that the former out-pointed and out-sailed 

 the latter. It was different with the second race, and many of 

 those who were capable of judging were of the opinion that' the 

 cutter, although she did not point as high as the sloop, actually 

 went as fast or even faster through the water. It would seem as 

 if this belief was well founded. 



Let us suppose that the Volunteer wasable to point only point 

 higher than the Thistle. The best that Volunteer would probably 

 do would be 3J^ points from the wind. This is good pointing from 

 even the best of boats and was probably not surpassed on this 

 occasion, when the sea was disproportionately high for the wind. 

 This would make the Thistle point 4 points from the wind. 



The shortest distance over which the Thistle could pass in goiDg 

 20 miles to windward would be, at 4 points, 28.3 miles, while the 

 Volunteer, by pointing 14 point higher, would only have to sail 

 26.1 miles or nearly 2)4 miles less than the Thistle. This will be 

 made clearer by a glance at the accompanying diagram, in which 

 for simplicity we will suppose that the boats each make but a 

 single tack. This is all the more allowable, since each boat did in 

 fact tack within two or three minutes of each other except just 

 at the stakeboat, thus getting about the same slant of wind. 



A 



Let A be the starting point, and B the stakeboat to he turned 

 twenty miles dead to windward. These miles may be denoted by 

 the intervals on the line 1, 2, 3, etc. Let A T be the course of the 

 Thistle at i points, and A "V that or Volunteer at 3>£. As one point 

 of the compass is 11.25", four points will be 15°, and the line A T is 

 45° with the line A B, the direction of the wind, while the line A V 

 is one-half point less or 39.38°. It will be seen at a glance how 

 much greater distance the Thistle will have to pass over than the 

 Volunteer, amounting, as said above, to 2.2 miles. Now the time 

 which the Volunteer took to do her 20.1 miles to windward was 3b. 

 and 16m., or at the rate of 8.0m. per mile. The Thistle took to do 

 her 28.3 miles 4h. and some odd seconds or 8.5m. per mile. If for 

 the sake of the argument we allow that the Volunteer pointed as 

 high as 8J4 points, which is phenomenally high, and the Thistle f& 

 point less, then the Volunteer would sail only 25.1 miles while the 

 Thistle would have to sail 20.87 miles. The rate of the Volunteer 

 would then be one mile in 9m. and that of the Thistle 8.93m. per 

 mile, so that the rate of speed of the two in going through the 

 water is about as equal as possible. No allowance is made in this 

 calculation for leeway, but as the Thistle would sag more to lee- 

 ward than the Volunteer, she would have proportionately a 

 greater distance to sail. It may then be assumed safely that the 

 cutter did sail as fast as the sloop; going down the wind she 

 actually beat her 2m. 54s. 



This brings up for discussion an opinion which seems universal 

 abroad and very prevalent here and that is, that a shallow center- 

 board boat will sail faster down the wind thana narrow keel boat. 

 The reverse is true; that is to say, a well modeled keel boat of moder- 

 ate beam, so as to get the requisite sail power, will beat a beamy 

 centerboard before the wind. There are individual exceptions to 

 this rule, but nevertheless it is a ride, as all intelligent, yachtsmen 

 on this side of the water, who have had much experience with 

 both kinds of boats know. The Gencsta beat the Puritan down 

 the wind and the Thistle has twice beaten the Volunteer, and 

 would always do so, in the writer's opinion. This idea that a 

 centerboard must necessarily beat a keel boat going free, arises 

 from the fact that the board could be elevated, and that a large 

 amount of friction, or "skin resistance." be avoided. This scien- 

 tific dogma of "skin resistance" has done more to ruin the proper 

 shape of a boat on the other side of the water than all the other 

 scientific contributions have done to improve it. If a centerboard 

 boat beats, to any considerable degree, a keel boat going before 

 the wind it is because she is a better modeled boat , or because she. 

 can carry a disproportionate amount of sail, and in ei ther case she 

 would have beaten her, board or no board. 



It would seem to follow from the above demonstration that it 

 was the board, and the board alone, which enabled the Volunteer 

 to beat the Thistle in going to windward, and thus win the race; 

 and it would certainly seem as if nothing had been discovered so 

 far in naval architecture which can possibly give so largo an 

 amount of lateral resistance, with so little impediment to pro- 

 gress in close sailing, as a deep-reaching, thin and blade-like sur- 

 face. For this reason the belief is very prevalent that all the 

 skill and all the money in the world will not enable the best de- 

 signed keel boat to go to windward with the best designed center- 

 board, aud that so long as the contest is a windward one, so long 

 it will be a waste of time and money for the keel to tiy to beat 

 the sloop. 



There are many who think differently, however, and these, 

 especially the English, point to the undoubted fact that time and 

 again the centerboards have been beaten by the cutters, and they 

 furnish as a most notable example of this the career of Clara. 

 This has certainly been phenomenal, and the Clara is, in the esti- 

 mation of the writer, the most, perfect specimen of modeling ne 

 has ever seen. She is as beautiful as she is fast. But the question 

 comes up whether she has ever met a boat which is on the same 

 plane with her. The Clara is the result of an evolution of a large 

 number of boats of about her size, to produce which everything 

 which skill could devise or money procure was employed. This is 

 by no means the case with her competitors. The CindereUa is the 

 only boat that pretends to represent the modern element of de- 

 signing in a first-class sloop, and she is certainly far from a per- 

 fect specimen. She is too broad and too shallow, and does not 

 carry her sail as she ought, or rather this was her condition when 

 she met the Clara in the first year of her existence. She has been 

 very much improved since then and is much faster, so that on one 

 occasion she was beaten by the Clara when it blew hard only a 

 couple of minutes. - It has not been shown yet what the pick of a 

 lot of Burgess boats of the same waterline would do against the 

 Clara; and it is precisely the same thing with the Pappoose. No 

 fair judgment can he formed until a larger number of modern 

 centerboard boats have been built in this class and a larger num- 

 ber of races sailed. 



Now, as to the size of the boats for the Cup races. When the 

 competitor was chosen a few years ago by our English friends, the 

 Genesta, a large-sized cutter, was selected, and as we did not pos- 

 sess anj r sloops large enough to contend against her we were com- 

 pelled to build one. The following year a still larger boat was 

 sent, and we were forced to build again to meet this increased 

 size. Since the defeat of the Thistle, however, our English friends 

 think, and have expressed the opinion in their journals, that the 

 larger sloops do comparatively better against the larger cutters 

 than the smaller sloops against the smaller cutters. It has there- 

 fore been suggested by them that the smallest boat allowable 

 under the deed of gift should be built. This would be a boat of 

 thirty tons, and their writers seem to be convinced of the fact 

 that the regatta committee would follow their inclinations in this 

 matter aU through the scale of boat building, from the lowest to 

 the highest. It is not at all sure, however, tha,t the committeo 

 would do that. They might justly say that as the Cup races have 

 assumed a national aspect it is only right and proper that the 

 contestants should be of the first class, and should be the fastest 

 and best examples of naval architecture, and this is best repre- 

 sented by the larger class of vessels. All the more would this 



