272 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[00T. 23, 1890, 



A JULY IN WISCONSIN. 



SEVEN men, in varied lines of professional and busi- 

 ntss life, rationally concluded that it would be good 

 to spend a few weeks in the woods. Our objective point 

 ■was the Turtle waters of northern Wisconsin. These are 

 best reached by the Milwaukee, Late Shore & Western 

 Railroad, whose genial officers and trainmen must like to 

 go fishing themselves, for they all showed the keenest 

 interest in our welfare and success. Fortunate is the 

 angler who falls into their hands. 



We left Chicago at 7:30 P. M. on the 7th of July, and 

 before noon the next day the last clearing was south of 

 us, a straggling little village of tough cabins would start 

 up beside, the track now and then, and every few miles a 

 gem of a, lake would flash out among the dense timber — 

 a turquoise in an emerald setting. Jim Lawson, a former 

 guide of ours, boarded the train at Lac de Flambeau, and 

 we were soon deep in the question of the best camping 

 and fishing points. At 4 P. M. on Tuesday we left the 

 train at Mercer. This is a flag station just outside and 

 north of the Chippewa Reservation. As we passed 

 through the Reservation we saw some of the Indians, 

 sorry specimens of the noble red man. We were re- 

 minded of an experience we had a year before at Mud 

 Lake, on the southern border of this same Reservation. 

 Four of us, with two guides, Lawson and Card, had 

 tramped over from Minocqua, seven miles, taking a 

 couple of boats on a wagon. Putting the boats into the 

 water late in the afternoon we had a half dozen fish by 

 dusk. The best fish had. been lost. The boats were ap- 

 proaching each other, creeping along the edge of the 

 weeds with trolls whirling. Now," said I, "Lou, if we 

 could have a strike just here we would show the others 

 how to land a 'lunge." As if in response to the sugges- 

 tion, a lOlbs. fish, he was that at least, struck my No. 8 

 skinner as the other boat came within oar's length of us, 

 and going out of the water seemingly 6ft. with the beau- 

 tiful rainbow leap. But that fish had evidently started 

 out to give my pride a tumble. After a stubborn fight 

 he was at the boat's side, and Lou was ready to rap him 

 over thp head, the best method, if properly used, to get a 

 rnuscalunge ready to he lifted into the boat. But I held 

 his nose too high with the line, the smart blow only re- 

 leasing him from the hooks, and he went away to medi- 

 tate upon the folly of trying to eat barbed steel. There 

 was something saddening in the loss under the circum- 

 stances. It was not the moment of triumph anticipated. 



As night came on we went to our camp. Supper was 

 eaten and we were about to crawl into our tent for a 

 welcome rest. Back of us was the somber forest. 

 Imagination pictured the uncanny things it might contain. 

 Two squaws in a birch canoe had run one of the boats a 

 race for the tent, which stood where an Indian trail ended 

 at the water's edge. The squaws had beaten, and disap- 

 peared in the forest, leaving the canoe on the shore. We 

 soon found where they had gone, evidently to meet a half- 

 dozen bucks, who, full of bad whisky and curses, came 

 whooping upon our camp just as we were ready to go into 

 our tent for the night. They were bent on making trouble. 

 The squaws had told them that Ave were catching their 

 fish. One of them could speak fair English, and spoke 

 for the chief, who was one of the gang. They insisted on 

 our taking our hosts and leaving the Reservation at once. 

 It was ten o'clock at night. The team had gone. The 

 "noble red men" were evidently on the war path, so far 

 as we were concerned. The situation looked squally. 

 We had a fighting chance, but were not looking longingly 

 for any chance of that kind. We invited Lo to supper, as 

 a pacifying measure, and lo he accepted. His appetite is 

 always active. Six of him nearly cleaned out our pro- 

 visions. Card dickered an hour for the birch-bark canoe, 

 a beauty, which the squaws bad used, and got it from the 

 old chief for $8. By the next morning they were at the 

 nearest saloon spending that money. Their consent that 

 we should stay until daylight quite satisfied us. We 

 fished the lake until the next night, as long as we had in- 

 tended to, and then returned to Minocqua. But some of 

 our party confessed afterward that they did not get much 

 sleep, and that the note of a screech owl toward morning 

 sounded painfully like the yell of a savage. 



But to return to Mercer. This town consists of Jim's 

 house, a tent, and a store with $20 worth of goods in it. 

 Within seven miles of it, however, are forty lakes, and 

 that is more to the point. These cluster in what is prac- 

 tically an unbroken wilderness, and around them in every 

 direction are— more lakes. They have not been fished 

 very much as yet, and they would supply splendid sport 

 for years to come if the netter could be kept from getting 

 in his deadly work. But we saw at the mouth of every 

 creek connecting one lake with another the stakes which 

 marked the spots where nets had been placed last spring. 

 A few years will see these superb lakes stripped of all 

 their attractions for fishermen, save those offered by the 

 scenery. When the lakes now accessible in north Wis- 

 consin are fished out, that will be the end for every one 

 bat the rich men, who can buy the lakes and restock 

 them as private preserves. There will be no virgin 

 waters for the masses of sportsmen, for beyond those now 

 within reach lies Lake Superior. 



We were not long in getting our duffle into boats. We 

 went up a narrow creek a quarter of a mile and found 

 ourselves in a beautiful little lake, on whose shores we 

 pitched our tents where, at a time more or less remote, 

 the timber had been cleared away by the Indians, possibly 

 for a village or a bit of garden. 



If when these Indians left the spot they had taken the 

 mosquitoes with them there would have been nothing to 

 mar our happiness. But the pests were there in multi- 

 tudes. They swarmed out of the brakes, which grew 

 thick and tall all about us. They pounced upon us as 

 though they knew we were fresh from civilization. 

 Doses of evry sort were useless. Even "Nessmuk's" vile 

 decoction smeared on and left on until we were glazed 

 like patent leather and smelled like tar barrels, was no 

 good. The pestiferous mosquitoes never paused in their 

 repast. These creatures have a scent like a sleuth hound, 

 for they will find the smallest crack in a tent front, and 

 worm their way in for a nip at your neck. The Wiscon- 

 sin variety can bore a well in a man's epidermis and 

 start his pumping works to running full blast with won- 

 derful quickness. He does not go prospecting about for 

 a juicy spot, but stakes out his claim instantly, and at 

 once sinks a shaft. The first few nights were torture. 

 The pack of pests were in full cry all night. Head nets 

 were of no avail. One sufferer vowed to get even with 

 the tireless torments. Dirt was thrown up around the 



bottom of the tent so that no insect could crawl under, the 

 opening at the front was pinned so closely that nothing 

 could squeeze through there, and then the Parson, with 

 blood in his eye, began a grand hunt which would last 

 some nights for a couple of hours, but when it waB over 

 his July Century was streaked with red marks where he 

 had slapped the mosquitoes against the tent, and there 

 was peace and quietness for the rest of the night. To 

 build a smudge in the back of a tent does no good. The 

 mosquitoes drop down among the bedding and simply 

 wait for the air to clear. Seal up the tent and then kill 

 all inside. There is no patent on this plan and I com mend 

 it most heartily to all campers. 



Our first fishing was done on a lake about half a mile 

 from the one on which we were camped. We had to 

 push through a narrow creek just wide and deep enough 

 to float our boats. John N. finally concluded we were 

 going too slowly. After making some decided changes 

 in his toilet he took to the water. After a heroic strug- 

 gle with the boat and the mosquitoes he got us through 

 into the next lake. It was a beautiful sheet of water, 

 opening out to the right and the left into half hidden 

 coves which looked exceedingly fishy. It was late in the 

 afternoon and not much time for fishing. Skirting the 

 shore opposite the point of our entrance Lawrence had 

 the first strike. It was the first fish of any size he had 

 ever hooked on a light rod, but he played him skillfully, 

 a 3£ib. small-mouth bass, and after a splendid fight the 

 panting fish was lying in the bottom of the boat. To say 

 that Lawrence looked happy would be putting it mildly. 

 He looked ecstatic. There are not many moments in life 

 like that to a man. There is not much sense of triumph 

 in fighting a fish out of the water with a line that would 

 do for a clothes line and a pole that might serve as a flag- 

 staff. The fisherman using such tackle enjoys the pleas- 

 ure of asquisition when he captures a fish. But he has 

 no feeling of triumph. The fish has had no chance to 

 escape. He has been lifted by superior brute force out 

 of the cool shadows of his native haunts, and flung help- 

 less at his captor's feet. But take a rod that bends double 

 with the fish's weight and a line that would snap if the 

 fish could put the full strain of his marvellous muscles 

 upon it, then the cunning of the angler must be added to 

 the strength of his arm to get the lithe swimmer, and it 

 becomes a battle royal. Under these conditions success 

 brings to the sportsman the joy of conquering, as well as 

 the delight of getting. Well, I saw both these kinds of 

 happiness written on the face of my young friend as he 

 sat with the bronze warrior floundering at his feet. It 

 was a fine picture. We were in a cove of the lake that 

 was unruffled by a breath of breeze. The sun was too 

 far down the west to do more than flood the place with 

 soft radiance on the burnished surface of the lake, light- 

 ing but not warming the cool spaces of the quiet woods, 

 penciling the fringe of rushes along the shore in the 

 water below till no one could tell where the green stems 

 ended and the green shadows began, while the whole 

 emerald glory of the woods seemed to reach as far down 

 into the motionless waters as it did up into the motionless 

 air. All this we saw and more as the boat floated quietly 

 on the lake in the few minutes of peaceful content which 

 naturally follows the angler's victory. 



In a few minutes more John N. had the first muscalunge, 

 a 4lb. fish, which made a good fight. Two 31b. big-mouth 

 bass completed the catch, and we returned to camp not 

 overloaded but with enough fish to make us happy. It is 

 not what you get the first day, but what you are going to 

 get the next, which fills your cup of content to over- 

 flowing. 



Several trips to the same lake resulted each time in 

 about the same catch, four or five fish. This hardly suited 

 our ambition, and we began to talk of moving our camp. 

 Stanley caught his first Tunge within a hundred yards of 

 the camp, the only fish we caught in that lake, but not 

 Stanley's only 'lunge. Some one had brought a pie from 

 Jim's house, and it had been carefully put away for 

 supper— that is, had been set in the shade of the cook tent. 

 While we were, discussing the first course of beans and 

 bacon, lying around the table, which consisted of a little 

 ridge, on the ground, Stanley's foot struck the pie abaft 

 the wheel-house, swept away smoke stacks, masts, all the 

 contents of the hold, everything except the hull. The 

 camp put on crape and mourned for the lost pie. 



We struck camp after a week's stay and portaged over 

 into Echo Lake, a distance of half a mile, then went up 

 the creek which connects Echo Lake with Ox Bow, 

 Spider, Fisher, Cedar and Turtle lakes above, in the order 

 named. John L., not Sullivan, but a man as big in heart 

 as the pugilist is in muscle, was compelled to leave our 

 first camp after a single night's stay, being to ill to re- 

 main. We were sorry enough to lose so genial a com- 

 panion and enthusiastic a sportsman. We went as far- as 

 Spider Lake, and well named that beautiful sheet of 

 water is, the bays and coves sprawling out from the main 

 body of water in a dozen directions, densely wooded at 

 every point. This is true of all these lakes. The virgin 

 forest crowds down to the very water's edge everywhere. 

 We camped on an ideal spot. A narrow point of land 

 200yds. long, 15yds. wide and perhaps 20ft. high, along 

 the middle, juts out into the lake. A score of noble pines 

 stand well out on this point and give just shade enough 

 to rob the sun of fierceness at noonday, but are far 

 enough apart so that the breeze was never shut off. The 

 voices of these giants, low and sweet, were never still. 

 All day they whispered, and at night sang the weird 

 lullaby which they have chanted through uncounted 

 summers. Far up among their branches the little red 

 squirrels barked at us for invading their domain. We 

 made a table by nailing cro^s pieces on two of the pines 

 and then laying side by side a dozen birch saplings. 

 Among the empty tins on this table the little squirrels 

 made a wonderful clatter some mornings, and they grew 

 so tame that twice we got near enough to touch them. 

 But of all the strange sounds to be heard in the northern 

 wilderness, what is more weird than the loon's cry? Who 

 ever can grow used to it? A laugh some people call it. 

 It sounds more like the cry of a lost spirit wailing 

 through some unsunned cavern of the underworld. In 

 almost every lake we found a pair or two of these birds, 

 and often the stillness of the night would be pierced by 

 their strangely beseeching, lonely cry. 



There are comparatively few birds in the Northern 

 wilderness. They seem to like open country and to be near 

 the haunts of men. The solemn, silent aisles of the un- 

 broken forests are too lonely for them. We saw a number 

 of porcupines— ungainly, ugly creatures that they are. A 

 few miles south of us Gov. Fifer and his party saw a sol- 



itary bear. We were not so fortunate. Two or three 

 deer were sighted in the dim distance. We came upon 

 one spot on a lake margin where the tender grass had 

 been cropped short by them. In the open season that 

 country would be good for deer. 



Not only did we have a good camping spot at Spider 

 Lake, but we had a well-made camp; Tom, a royal 

 camper out, gave the directions which the rest of us 

 carried out, and the result was an increase of comfort over 

 our first camp. A cook tent for storing provisions, good 

 side logs for the open fire, well-made beds of hemlock 

 browse and a well- filled ice pit, were among the luxuries. 

 We all appreciated the skill and thoughtfulness of our 

 camp captain. 



A favorite fishing place was at the Narrows. The 

 shores draw together until they are not more than 15yds. 

 apart. Here, earlier in the season, many small-mouth 

 bass were caught. We seldom failed to catch from ten to 

 fifteen wall-eyed pike when fishing here in the afternoon. 

 After a stubborn battle Tom got the biggest one into the 

 boat — a thick-set fellow weighing about 51bs. — not the 

 biggest in the lake, perhaps, but the largest we saw. 



Indeed, the fish we caught were not as large as they 

 had been in our dreams before we left home. This will 

 not be surprising to any old fisherman. Undoubtedly we 

 chose the wrong season for successful fishing. May and 

 September are much better months than July and August. 

 There are several ways of accounting for this. I do not 

 think the bloom on the lakes has anything to do with it. 

 But just when the bloom is on the lakes the young tad- 

 poles are to be seen everywhere, dodging away as one's 

 boat runs through the water. They lie near the surface, 

 and the muscalunge have only to open their mouths and 

 gobble all they want. The pollywog's tail disappears 

 about the time the bloom of the lake vegetation does, and 

 the young frog hops up on a log where the fish cannot 

 get him. A glittering spoon looks much more interesting 

 to a hungry fish than when he has a full stomach. Here, 

 I think, is the real reason for the dullness of midsummer 

 as a fishing season in the north lakes. 



However, we caught all we needed for our own use and 

 enough to make many of our f rienns happy. I P we fished 

 a while without getting a strike we appreciated one all 

 the more when we got it. Such was Stanley's experi- 

 ence. He was not the last to catch his first muscalunge, 

 but he had been out several times before he hooked one 

 of the little warriors. When he did, the fun was furious 

 for a while. The surface of the lake was like glass. As 

 we skirted the shore there was a green forest beneath us 

 as well as above us. As the spoons swept past an old tree 

 top Stanley's rod dipped with the tug of a fish, and it 

 was a gamy youngster. He made the most of his six 

 pounds. Three or four times he went out of the water. 

 But it was a cool hand at the butt of the rod, and the 

 emerald-mailed fighter was brought safely to gaff. The 

 boys insisted that I got excited: in fact, they said this 

 each time a fiah was caught. I denied it, but have a 

 vague suspicion it was trite. What's the use of catching 

 fish if you don't get fun out of it? And I never could 

 take my fun in profound silence, like a clam. 



Stanley and John N. went home sooner than we hoped, 

 but we were partly consoled by the arrival of Ira, who 

 was inexperienced in roughing it, but who took bravely 

 to the discomforts of camp life. 



It was after his arrival that the four of us took the two 

 boats and went up to Fisher Lake. We had to go up a 

 winding creek where sometimes there was scarcely 

 water enough to float the boats. Now and then a deep 

 pool would give us a small-mouth bass weighing 2 or 3lba 

 We did not meet with much luck at the lake. The only 

 thing that broke the monotony of the day was Lawrence's 

 good fortune in hooking a fish that would have weighed 

 about 151bs. We were casting when the fish seized the 

 spoon and at once leaped frantically into the air, Then 

 he went to work as though he knew all about Keeley's 

 motor, and was using it to drive himself about through 

 the water. Several times he was at the boat side, but 

 would dash away at sight of the gaff. At last, with the 

 line wrapped twice about his body, he gave a sudden, un- 

 expected plunge which snapped both line and tip. If he 

 was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth he cer- 

 tainly went away with one there that day. On the way 

 back to camp Tom and Ira met with a mishap. In shoot- 

 ing one of the rapids their boat struck a submerged 

 boulder. Tom was standing up. As we swept around, 

 the bend we heard him shout "Hello, here!" and looking 

 back, saw him pitching head first into the water. It 

 was ludicrous enough. Ira was caught and drenched 

 by the flood that poured over the side of the boat. We 

 whistled and called, but there was an ominous silence. 

 It was a great relief to u=, physically, when the boys came 

 into sight after their ducking, and looking cheerful enough 

 to make it safe for us to laugh as loud as we wanted to. 

 The boys themselves enjoyed the episode— after they got 

 dry. Who can tell why it is that the most uncomfortable 

 experiences of camp life are the very ones you get the 

 most fun out of in "talking matters over?" I suppose it 

 to be according to the law of compensation. 



It was a day for regrets when we pulled down our 

 tents and started for the railroad. We talked of the time 

 when we would return. Whoever left a pleasant camp- 

 ing place without laying some such plan? But when we 

 go back it shall be in the spring or fall. Then the fishing 

 in this region is superb. Our hope is that we shall wet 

 our lines in those waters when bass and muscalunge have 

 the vim of cooler days and emptier stomachs. Lawrence 

 and I lingered at Jim's house and fished in the nearby 

 lakes for a few days after the others were gone. The 

 queerest part of our catch during these days was a 'lunge, 

 that would ordinarily weigh about 5 lbs. He was heavier 

 when we got him, for he had recently swallowed a 2^1bs. 

 bass. I couldn't see how he ever got the bass down his 

 throat or kept him from kicking a hole in his stomach. 

 And who can account for his dashing at the trolling 

 spoon when he already had a whole commissary depart- 

 ment inside of him? 



We were well uared for by Jim's wife and her pretty 

 daughter Polly, who accounted for her immunity from 

 mosquito bites by saying she "guessed she was too hate- 

 ful for 'em to bite her," Jim is a queer old woodsman. 

 He has a couple of big black hounds which he hitches to 

 a sled in winter, and drawn by them explores the country 

 for new lakes against the time when outers begin to 

 arrive. When John L. was sick and we were debating 

 where we would better send for a doctor, Jim thought 

 the one at Minocqua was the man because he had a 

 "philosophy." 



