FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 7, 1887. 



and camped there for the night with the othersi Of course it 

 rained nearly all night, and the next morning the foliage was 

 pronounced too wet. for the stern work of "sacking" camp furni- 

 ture. But it was not too wet to go fishing. Mell and Blaker went 

 hack to visit Carry Pond again; The two others wandered else- 

 where, while 1 spent the forenoon smudging mosquitoes, reading 

 "Last of the Mohicans," cooking oatmeal, and varying these pur- 

 suits with some mild theological sparring with the guide, who 

 was deep in culinary mysteries close by. That afternoon we 

 moved everything to the toot of the carry und camped there that 

 night. The Chronicler used the waning light of that evening to 

 put a patch on the seat of his pantaloons, which had approached 

 a state of alarming tenuity a tie was not the only one of the six 

 haunted hy a terrible fear of reaching civilization in a new style 

 Of undress uniform A huge slice had to be cut from an under-- 

 shirt to furnish the patch in question. The one who planted it 

 Was interrupted more or less by mosquitoes during the operation, 

 hut he got it hitched solidly, it conduced much to after peace of 

 tniud to be able to sit down without dread of consequences. 



The next morning all hands started off down river, a fleet of 

 three oaiioes. Passing through two miles of quick water, leading 

 hy one pitch, we came to Gulliver's Pitch, or, if you want an easy 

 name, Ainbajcniackenius Palls, as they sometimes call it for 

 Short. Here we had to carry a hundred yards or so. At the foot 

 of this fall begins what is called the "horse race," two miles of 

 rushing water. It is a hard stretch to run, especially for amateurs. 

 The bed of the river is filled with boulders of all sizes, some push- 

 ing above the surface, others lifting their backs almost in sight- 

 lying in wait to catch the unwary canoeman. It is nerve-trying 

 work dodging all these and spots of tumbled water, when very 

 likely sheering off from one difficulty leads into a whole school of 

 others. It is not easy to decide in three-quarters of a second 

 Which one of six different things to do, any one hard enough. Wo 

 had been told that a setting pole would not work here. We did 

 not see why, for it was plain the river had a bottom, and it was 

 not far down. We soon learned why. The guide with Garland 

 led, Blaker and Mudgett followed, and wc brought up in the rear 

 at the start. I took the paddle and Mell stood up in the bow with 

 the pole. He did not stand long. After a few rods his pole caught 

 between two rocks and refused to let go. The onward sweep of 

 the canoe seated him very abruptly and emphatically. As my end 

 struck the pole it struck me an ungentle blow in the jaw, and we 

 rushed on, leaving it standing stiffly up in mid-channel, a moment 

 of misplaced confidence in self. We did not long keep the order 

 of our going as inaugurated. Blaker and Mudgett deposited the 

 middle of their canoe on the top of a rock, and whirled 

 round and round, giving themselves a rapid and comprehensive 

 survey of the scenery at every point of the compass. Then a rock 

 reached up and called halt to Mell and me, and we too paused 

 and gyrated for a little space. Again a huge boulder lifted itself 

 high in the air so suddenly we could not in the time given us de- 

 termine which side to go, and making a splendid header we took 

 it plumb in the center. We did not hurt the rock any and at once 

 decided without debate that we could not go that wav, so backed 

 up and went round. But to cut this part of the storv short we ran 

 the race without damage to man or canoe and without shipping 

 any water worth noting, as good a record and possibly a little bet- 

 ter than is averaged in this undeniably had water. 



At the foot of the "horse race" begins a three-mile course of 

 quiet water called Sourduahunk Deadwater. This is one of the 

 most beautiful parts of the river. The clear air bright with fall- 

 ing sunshine, the smooth, limpid water reflecting the wooded 

 banks, Hoard uahunk and Katahden mountains in the perspec tive, 

 filled all tins three miles with ever-varying charm. This dead- 

 water is suddenly broken by Sourduahunk Falls. Here ia a carry 

 of forty rods, with a good spring and plenty of blueberries. We 

 ate dinner before carrying as our morning's trying work had given 

 us all an early appetite. Half a mile below these falls the Sour- 

 duahunk stream empties in the Penobscot. We camped here one 

 night. A few rods up the stream at the foot of some falls we took 

 some very fine trout, larger than any we had caught yet. We 

 found no pleasanter camping ground on the whole trip than this. 

 The water of the stream was cool and drinkable, the scenerv al- 

 together r-atisfiying, blueberries were abundant, and there were 

 trout. We should stop longer there another time if possible. We 

 had all the blueberries we wanted most of the way, a valuable 

 contribution to the larder, and indeed to health, since vegetables 

 are too bulky and heavy to carry. 



The next forenoon we dropped easily down river three miles 

 with a strong and for most of the way still current to the mouth 

 of Sand or Aboljackarmegassic Stream. As we had our choice of 

 these names we always used the first and so had more time for 

 fishing. From here we were to make the ascent of Mount Katah- 

 din and from this point the finest view of the mountain is ob- 

 tained. When the air was clear it bulked itself so hugely and 

 clearly as to seem right in our dooryard, so to speak, when in 

 reality it was five miles away. A few rods above Sandy Stream 

 is the mouth of Aboljackarmegas Stream. We were glad to 

 find this name already abbreviated for us. They call it Abo], as 

 also some falls just below, hence we were not delayed by anv 

 struggle with its pronunciation. 



It was Friday, Aug. 11 when we pitched tents and all six started 

 for the mountain. The usual plan which we followed is to leave 

 the tent by the river, rramp to the foot of the mountain in the 

 afternoon, sleep there that night, make the ascent next morning 

 and return to camp in the afternoon. The trail is hardly more 

 than a spotted line, though some of the way a faint path has been 

 worn. So special incident occurred on the march. Once a covey 

 of partridges created a little diversion. One of these birds took 

 position on a knoll ami looked and listened with apparently serene 

 satisfaction while two of our party emptied their revolvers in its 

 direction, the other members of the crowd soothing and encour- 

 aging them with such remarks as "Heave a club at the bird," 

 "Kick him over," "Lay a- rock on him." The partridge seemed 

 ever so interested, probably thinking it was some show brought in 

 for its special entertainment. It finally hopped leisurely a way as 

 some or the others began to look for stones. We wonder why so 

 many men and boys spend money for revolvers; hardlv ever is 

 anything hit with one, save by accident. 



We reached the foot of the west slide about 5 o'clock. These 

 "slides," of which there are several, are the light up and down 

 streaks one sees upon the mountain in summer when viewing it 

 from a distance. It is where the surface has given wav and rocks 

 and gravel have slid down. After supper the ambition of Mell 

 and myself took fire, and we determined to try the ascent that 

 night and sleep on top, a laudable ambition enough perhaps but 

 one not based on a very intelligent idea of the situation. Night 

 shut down when we were yet quite a long climb from the edge of 

 the table-land, where we would still have been a mile from the 

 highest point. The ground was tilted up at so sharp an angle it 

 was hard rinding a spot level enough for a bed. We finally found 

 a shelf about 2ft. wide, half under a rock, and behind another big 

 one which kindly fenced off the scron? cold wind. I hooked my 

 neck over a crooked root to prevent rolling down the mountain. 



On the lower levels the eye could cover but short distances and 

 then see indistinctly. But up there, as I lay looking out, ponds 

 glistened clearly, seemingly so near that I should roll into some 

 one of them If I fell out of bed and got well going, when in reality 

 they were some six, eight, ten miles away, We rested well until 

 half-past four, when we rose and scrambled to the top. All tree 

 growth ceased at the line near where we slept. As we rose over 

 the steep, a plain a mile in extent was before us, Bloping gradually 

 upward to West Peak, the highest point. This plain is covered 

 with moss, sprinkled here and there with three or four varieties 

 of hardy little flowers. In a depression we found springs of good 

 water. As we crossed this plateau clouds dashed upon and envel- 

 oped us from time to time, though when we reached the peak 

 we were above most of them. It was a novel and exhilarating 

 sensation to be skylarking with the clouds in this free and easy 

 way. As tne sun came up the air cleared and we drank in the 

 wide magnificence of the view, a happy mingling of forest, lakes 

 and mountains. W e will give a specimen of the ease with which 

 the eye devoured distance. We had been told of a place f urth er 

 on m our route in lakes Ambajejus and Pamedomcook, where we 

 were liable to become confused and lose our course. Prom Katah- 

 din, though twenty miles distant, we saw plainly the wav wo 

 should go, took mental note of certain landmarks, and three days 

 after went along there by aid of those signs without the slightest 

 uncertainty. 



As we sat sheltered from 1 he wind behind a cairn of rocks built 

 ? n r ' ea ^, we could look straight down half a mile into the 



Great .Basin. The mountain curves about this huge well or crater 

 in which lies a pond nearly a quarter of a mile long, but from our 

 aerie it appeared but a few rods in extent. For years this was one 

 of those fabulous ponds without a bottom; but not long ago some 

 one took the trouble to drop a line into it, and found a reliah]."- 

 bottom a few score of feet clown. We crept across the sharp- 

 backed path to Last Peak, a dangerous peak when the wind blows 

 nard. Mere we also found a monument of stones, and in emptied 

 meat and fruit cans quite a list ot names left bv visitors, amrm- 

 tbem several signatures of ladies. One pathetic record told a storv 

 we knew how to interpret before we- reached camp. Some one— of 



use a man-had written this outburst of anguished feeling: 

 h I hadn t went!" Well he might wish that if he was plas 



out at the top, for the descent is harder on toes and knees than 

 the ascent; We did not feel like that, but were glad we "had 

 went." It was worth more than it cost, and very reluctantly we 

 turned our steps downward. The others of our party were going 

 up as we went down, so without waiting for them we proceeded at 

 once to the camp on Sandy Stream, arriving about 1 o'clock, tired 

 and footsore, but well satisfied. The others joined us toward 

 night. 



Next day our four companions went on, but we were content to 

 wait and rest. We went back three miles to the last camp to look 

 for a coat I had left, and spent the remainder of the day reading, 

 restiug, cooking and eating, congenial pursuits all, especially the 

 last; 



Monday morning we were up at half-past 4 and got away before 

 6. Half a mile took us to Abol Falls, where was a short carry on 

 the right, A mile through Abol Deadwater took us to Pockwock- 

 amus Falls. The carry, about oOyds,, is on the right. At the foot 

 of these falls begins Pockwockamus Deadwater, three miles long, 

 containing numerous islands. Along here, and, in fact, all dav, 

 the course was most interesting, the scenerv charming, Another 

 time we should move more slowly through this very pleasant and 

 beautiful part of the river. Fine views of Katahdin were obtained 

 all day, tbough the old mountain grew dim as we proceeded. 



At the foot of this deadwater are Dehsconeak Falls, where we 

 had again to carry nearly half a mile on the right. Then came 

 Katepsconegan Lake, merely an enlargement of the river. There 

 are about four miles of this. In the course of it the river changes 

 direction, and is so broken up with islands there is some difficulty 

 in finding the way. Ducks were plenty. If it had not been against 

 the law we should probably ha -ye pit some. At the end of this 

 stretch we found Passamagamock Falls, and another carry on the 

 left about, a hundred rods long. Here we took dinner and should 

 have stopped for a long rest, but the mosquitoes and black flies 

 drove us to the canoe again. Two miles more brought us to Am- 

 bajejus Falls, with a half mile portage on the left. This was our 

 last carry, and we began to think it time for the last one. That 

 sort, of thing had become somewhat monotonous. You grow too 

 well acquainted with pieces of property you have picked up, 

 lugged and laid down about four hundred times. Half a mile of 

 quick water from these last falls took us into Ambajejus Lake. 

 This lake is in two parts, connected bv a thoroughfare, the first 

 part long and narrow, the latter broader. Some of the way across 

 we had a stiff breeze and a disagreeable sea against us. Ambaje- 

 jus lets into Pamedomcook through a chain of islands. The way 

 looks blind, no passage presenting until close to these islands. 

 Pamedomcook Lake is quite a body of water, eight miles long and 

 five or six wide. We only crossed its lower eud, and camped on a 

 sandy point near the outlet. We were ready to camp. We had 

 done a big day s work and had come twenty-five miles, with the 

 extra delay and labor of the five carries. This account of the 

 day's run may seem too statistical to be interesting. I give details 

 and distances for the benefit of those who may possibly make the 

 trip some time. We could tell by the roar when we were approach- 

 ing the falls, and had no difficulty in finding the entrances to the 

 carries. 



We made no haste to leave in the morning, as we had a pleasant 

 camping place, where the mosquito ceased from troubling. I have 

 not told yet how we secured sleep all these nights when the mos- 

 quito was omnipresent. We laid rocks round the edges of the 

 tent so they could not crawl under; then, driving them all out, we 

 pulled the flaps of the tent open enough for ventilation and fast- 

 ened screen cloth over this opening. They would cover this out- 

 side, glare iu upon us, and blow their horns the livelong night. 

 Bui how they did go for us when we went out to cook breakfast! 

 Here, at the foot of Pamedomcook Lake, we found no mosquitoes, 

 and yet we were not loneseme. 



A half-mile passage leads from this lake into North Twin Lake. 

 Four miles of paddling through this brought us to the outlet at 

 its foot. We did not call on the other twin, South Twin Lake, 

 which lay at our right as we went through the former. We took 

 it for granted that it was a likely pair of twins, judging from the 

 one we saw. We had to grope a while before finding the river and 

 the way out. Once in it-and a mile of distance covered, we were 

 at North Twin Dam. With this dam, before the West Branch 

 drive passes, an enormous quantity of water is held back in Am- 

 bajejus, Pamedomcook and the TwinlLakesjto float the logs as they 

 take the river below. Ot course it was running free now, as the 

 drive had passed. Below the dam We found some of the liveliest 

 perch fishing we ever enjoyed. We would sit on the pier, let the 

 line run down with the current just at the edge, of the eddy, and 

 about as soon as it was out 50ft. or so a fish would strike, and* strike 

 hard, for they were large. We fished about an hour and caught 

 so many we were almost, ashamed, it seemed so like slaughter. 



Did you ever see a cat try to go along and up an icy roof, slip- 

 ping nearer the eaves all the time 1 Then you know about how 

 we looked as we worked across the river below the dam, after we 

 started again on our travels. There was about a hundred yards 

 of comparatively smooth but swift water, then a fall and danger- 

 ous running unless we got well over to the shore, where we could 

 get along with reasonable ease. Of course everybody knows with- 

 out my telling that we shoveled water with tremendous diligence 

 while we clawed across, every second sliding nearer the bad 

 drop-Off. But we made it. and shaved by the bad water without 

 dipping up any. We would not have gone that wav, onlv that the 

 man stationed at the dam said that was the way he always did, 

 and it was easy enough. It would never do to show that we were 

 afraid of what was so easy to him. From the dam a mile of rapid 

 water took us into Quakish Lake, a swell of the river filled with 

 islands. Two miles of this and a mile of swift water and we were 

 at what, is called Fowler's Carry, though Fowler does not live 

 there now. Instead of going down the river several miles through 

 very rough water, and by Grand Falls, canoeists cross here, two 

 miles, into Millinoket Stream, go down that and come into the 

 Penobscot by a nearer and much easier route. We walked across 

 to the house, had the man haul our traps to the bank of the 

 Millinoket, paddled a mile down that beautiful stream to Shad 

 Pond, the last bulge in the Penobscot, then up river a little to an 

 opening near the foot of Grand Falls, where we overtook the 

 other party and camped there with them. The falls are 15ft. or so 

 in height, and are well worth turning back to see. 



Our friends went on next morning, but as we cared only r to 

 reach Bangor Saturday, we stopped another day resting, luxuriat- 

 ing in blueberries, and fishing with indifferent 'success. We were 

 twelve miles above Medway, and our minds dwelt upon that 

 twelve miles with some nervousness. The man back at the carry 

 had comforted us with the intelligence that we should find ahead 

 of us worse water than we had come through. We were sorry to 

 have him tal k so, for we had already passed over some quite 

 hubbly places and hoped the rest would be smoother. We found 

 the whole reach to Medway sharp-running water, with five dis- 

 tinct falls, requiring all our skill and strength to run safelv. 

 Think of sliding down a hill twelve miles long with five very jolty 

 places and you have a pretty good description. But we had been 

 learning and went over it all without any disaster. Now and 

 then in the falls a little water would come over into the canoe, but 

 we sponged it out as we passed the quieter spots. At Medway the 

 east and west brauches unite to form the main river Penobscot. 

 We reached Mattawamkeag, eleven miles below, a little after 

 noon, where we posted letters aud found some from friends. Here 

 tourists on a trip like ours usually take the cars for Bangor, fifty- 

 eight miles distant, but as we had more time than money, we 

 decided to go by water all the way, though this would keep us out 

 two nights longer. We should have chosen to do this anyhow, 

 regardless of any bearing of the money question. This night we 

 camped on an island just above Lincoln Center, the next night, 

 Friday, on the left bank of the river, near Olanion. We reached 

 the water works, Bangor, about i o'clock P. M. Saturday. 



PlTTSFIELD. 



Among the Northern Lakes of Wisconsin, Minnesota and 

 Iowa are hundreds of delightful places where one can pass the 

 summer months in quiet rest and enjoyment, and return home at 

 the end of the heated term completely rejuvenated. Each recur- 

 ring season brings to Oconomowoc, Waukesha, Beaver Dam 

 Frontenac. Okohoji, Minnetonka, White Bear, and innumerable 

 other charming localities with romantic names, thousands of our 

 best people whose winter homes are on either side of Mason and 

 Dixon's line. Elegance and comfort at a moderate cost can be 

 readily obtained. A list of summer homes with all necessary in- 

 formation pertaining thereto is being distributed by the Chicago, 

 Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway, and will be sent free upon appli- 

 cation by letter to A. V. H. Carpenter, General Passenger Agent, 

 Milwaukee, Wis.— Adv. 



New York City, May 18, 1887. 

 Tfie U. S. Cartridge Co., Lowe?/, Mass.: 



Gentlemen— I wish to thank you for the very excellent shell 

 you are putting on the market. I refer to the "Climax." I sivear 

 by it, not at it, as I have had to do with other makes. It has given 

 me unqualified satisfaction ever since I first began to use it, and 

 that is since its introduction. Don't allow it to deteriorate, and 

 _ sportsmen will call you "blessed." Very truly yours, 

 played ' — Adv. (Signed) 0. W. Cdshier 



tatrn[ttl ]§mtorg. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Puh. Co. 



THE RATTLE. 



IN Mr. Hay's very interesting paper on the massasauga, 

 in the March number of the American Naturalist, his 

 speculations on the use of the Crotalus rattle attracted my 

 special attention; hoping he would add a few words on 

 the growth of the rattle as well; very few authorities 

 having, so far as I know, afforded us much information 

 on that subject. I cannot credit a Crotalus with sufficient 

 intelligence to designedly warn or alarm an enemy by 

 sounding its rattle, though it may have that effect. It 

 seems simply indicative, of fear or anger as other snakes 

 —other reptiles one may say— and all" other animals who 

 possess a tail, express emotions in the action of it. The 

 long-tailed lizards and newts are particularly eloquent in 

 the action of this appendage, lashing or curling it, as may 

 be, when alarmed or displeased. Most snakes vibrate 

 their tail in expressing fear or anger, and would also 

 sound it had they a sounding apparatus, and, indeed, do 

 sometimes sound it, when by accident it is in contact 

 with loose and light rubbish, dead leaves, etc., so that it 

 has been mistaken for the Crotalus rattle. As other 

 snakes hiss, so, as Dumeril explains, the Crotalus is able 

 to produce continued and prolonged sounds by the aid of 

 a special organ that supplies the office of the voice, which 

 in these serpents is lacking. 



Regarding its development also, the rattle has given rise 

 to various opinions. Dr. Elliot Coues supposes it to have 

 "possibly resulted in the course of time from the con- 

 tinual agitation of the caudal extremity of these highly 

 nervous and irritable creatures." 



Among the many theories that have obtained regarding 

 the growth of the Crotalus rattle, the most popular ap- 

 pears to be that the length of it, that is, the number of 

 links it contains, indicates the age of the snake, an addi- 

 tional link having been developed each year. The next 

 most popular belief— and a far more rational one— is that 

 a new link appears each time the snake sheds its skin, an 

 idea not wholly inconsistent with the previous one, if, as 

 is often stated, the snake casts its cuticle only once a year. 

 But a regular annual change can by no means be estab- 

 lished as a fact, so far as observation of snakes in confine- 

 ment leads us to decide. The casting of the epidermis 

 depends very much on the condition of the reptile, its 

 health and its habitation. The old coat, when soiled or 

 uncomfortable, is discarded for a new one, which is ready 

 for the emergency, a sanitary arrangement that some 

 superior animals might very well like to adopt if equally 

 practicable. Granted, therefore, that a new link to the 

 rattle is developed with each change of garment, and 

 that a Crotalus changes twice or thrice a year, which it 

 often does, we perceive that the length of the rattle deter- 

 mining the age of the snake is a fallacious theory that 

 may be dismissed at once. The rattlesnake may or may 

 not change once a year and once only. In our London 

 Reptilium we have known them to change as often as 

 three or four times a year; generally, but not invariably, 

 developing a new link to the rattle on that occurrence^ 

 There was one Crotalus that for many years developed no 

 rattle at all worth calling such, although it cast its skin 

 at irregular intervals like the rest. An abnormal, de- 

 formed sort of "button," just one terminal link (Fig. 1 ) was 

 all that it ever boasted, although sometimes this single 

 link seemed to give indication of increasing, there was 

 never a second joint to produce the slightest sound when 

 the tail vibrated. A young snake of 15in. long it was 

 when brought to the Zoological Gardens; it lived ten 

 years, attaining a length of fully 5ft., and was to all ap- 

 pearance in good health, but this is all the "rattle" it had 

 with which to express its emotions. The tail was eloquent 

 in action, as usual, but inaudible. 



Indeed, when we reflect on the exceedingly fragile 

 nature of Crotalus rattles— a mere arrangement of loose 

 links easily separated or broken off, it is surprising tltat 

 the idea of length, as indicative of age, should ever have, 

 prevailed, and should even continue to prevail. It is an 

 every day occurrence to hear persons when visiting a, 

 reptilium, speculating on the age of the Crotalus by care- 

 fully counting the joints of its rattle. An amusing 

 instance of this occurred quite recently. We have in the> 

 London Zoological Gardens at the present time a full- 

 grown Crotalus durissus that has been in the collection 

 about two years. Until lately it boasted a splendid rattle 

 of twenty-three links, attracting the attention of the: 

 majority of visitors. "Oh, there's an old snake! A fine, 

 old fellow," some one would say. "One, two, three," and 

 the gentleman would make repeated attempts to count, 

 the links of the rattle, which did not always please his 

 snakeship to hold quite still for the purpose. "Why. that 

 snake must be more than twenty years old!" continued 

 the patient reckoner, after many not quite satisfactory 

 efforts to count accurately and wait for the "bothering 

 thing" to keep still. A few days after this the keeper 

 found the boasted appendage lying in the cage and the 

 quondam possessor with now only three remaining links 

 wherewith to announce his presence. Probably one of 

 the other snakes in the same cage was lying upon* it when 

 the owner moved away, or it might have got wedged 

 under the edge of the water pan. and being so easily 

 separable, was thus left behind; accidents that may so 

 easily occur in the woods and wilds as well as in a 

 cage, and all helping to exemplify the fallacy of deciding 

 on the age of a snake by the length of its* rattle. But 

 that very day along came another visitor who evidently 

 thought he knew all about rattlesnakes. 



"Now there's a young snake, but big for his age," ex- 

 claimed the observer. "One, two — why that fellow can't 

 be more than three or four years old." 



"If you goby the length of the rattle," quietly remarked 

 the keeper, "he was twenty -three years old yesterday." 



And then ensued a series of astonished, though some- 

 what crestfallen and incredulous inquiries, until the 

 keeper produced the portion actually detached, and 

 showed the visitor that even that had previously lost the 

 earlier links (Pig. 2). 



By measurement as well as careful copy this is the 

 exact size and length of the rattle broken off. That it is 

 a rattle developed since the snake had attained its full 

 growth may be seen in the fact that the links are all of 

 the same size, except in those slight variations which, in 

 common with nails, claws, horns and hair— the substance 



