286 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



TOOT. 30, 1890. 



MOOSE RIVER AND THE WEST BRANCH. 



IX. 



TOWARD morning I was awakened by the cold. The 

 fire was nearly out and a little brown rabbit lay 

 crouched by the embers, so near that I could almost touch 

 him with my hand. "When I arose to put on some wood 

 he scampered away. Rabbits often do this, seeming to 

 enjoy the warmth. 



Day was just breaking, and as we were all cold the 

 camp was soon astir. A new fire and a cup of coffee put 

 us to rights; and while tbe others were engaged in pre- 

 paring breakfast I took my rod to see if I could not add 

 some trout to our larder. I thought the fish had been 

 frightened the night before by the entrance of the canoes 

 into the pool, so I went around through the woods till I 

 came out on the brook above it and then fished down. 



A few small fish rewarded me, but I looked for better 

 sport in the pool. I stood in the water just above the 

 little fall and cast my flies into the edge of the foam. I 

 made a few casts and another small fish was added to 

 those in the creel. Then I tried to drop my leader in 

 under some bushes where the current set in under the 

 bank. It was a hard place to get at, but looked as if there 

 ought to be some fish there. Some old patriarch of the 

 trout tribe ought to make his headquarters there, I 

 thought. My first cast landed my flies in the overhanging 

 bushes, and one of them is there now, for ought I know 

 to the contrary, but my fly-book supplied a duplicate. At 

 the next few trials, in my efforts to avoid a similar acci- 

 dent, I did not reach the desired spot. Auother cast, how- 

 ever, and the three flies floated lightly down on the riffle 

 under the bushes. Scarcely had they touched the water 

 when a noble trout threw himself out bodily and seized 

 the white-miller. I struck hard and the reel clicked as 

 he shot across the pool. I reeled in gently and the rod 

 bent under the strain. My footing on the slippery stones 

 of the brook was precarious, and I had not brought the 

 landing net. As my captive darted this way and that in 

 his efforts to escape, I thought it was about an even 

 chance whether I landed him or he capsized me. But at 

 last he began to tire, and I drew him toward me wonder- 

 ing how I should get him, for I did not dare lift him out 

 by the leader. Finally when his strength and courage 

 were about gone I led him carefully into shallow water 

 and to the shore. Not till I had him safely in the basket 

 did I draw a long breath. His weight was a trifle over 

 2lbs.: and I caught another which weighed a pound. I 

 heard my companions calling me to breakfast and re- 

 turned to them. We made short work of breaking camp, 

 and at an hour which would be called early in the city 

 we had left Lod g Pond behin d us and were again voyaging 

 down Moose River. 



The woods were vocal with the song of the white- 

 throated sparrow, whose beautiful, clear notes were those 

 most often heard as we traveled, and at all of our camps 

 we were serenaded by this little musician, sometimes 

 hearing it in the middle of the night. The drumming of 

 the woodpeckers resounded from the dead trees, and a 

 kingfisher skimmed like a streak of blue light along the 

 stream. The harsh screams of bluejays and the cawing 

 of cro ws were other expressions of bird life, and once we 

 saw a bald eagle sail majestically over and disappear 

 beyond the treetops. 



As we rounded a bend we saw some distance ahead an 

 old wing dam, and heard the sound of rapids, the swash 

 of the water over the shallow, stony bottom becoming 

 mere distinct as we approached it. As we left the dead 

 water and entered the rapids, the guides stood erect, the 

 better to look ahead and choose a safe course for the fra- 

 gile canoes, and the paddles were exchanged for the set- 

 ting poles. 



The running of the rapids in a cauoe is the most thrill- 

 ing experience incidental to a journey through the wilder- 

 ness. The canoeman stands erect, with one foot in ad- 

 vance of the other, and with his long iron-tipped setting 

 pole controls the movements of the birch. He does not 

 allow the canoe to go down as swiftly as a novice would 

 suppose she would have to, but "snubs" her along slowly, 

 now and again givinga few vigorous pushes to reach a bet- 

 ter channel. Submerged rocks show their location by the 

 appearance of the water which rises over them in a smooth 

 mound, which ends in a wave of snowy foam on the lower 

 edge, as the water sets off from the sides. A canoe if handled 

 skillfully will clear them by a hand's breadth "in safety. 

 Sometimes, finding the water shoaling, it is impossible to 

 proceed and then the canoe is backed across the stream 

 to a point from which a channel may be selected. At 

 times a bump against a rock is unavoidable, but unless a 

 sharp, jagged point or edge cuts the birch she usually 

 sustains no serious injury. The responsibility of the 

 management rests upon the man in the stern, though the 

 bowman may render assistance with his paddle. One 

 danger, though it is rather an unlikely accident, is the 

 chance of the setting pole catching between two stones 

 or in a cleft in a ledge, and being wrenched from a canoe- 

 man's hands. In that case, unless he is quick to seize 

 his paddle, the stern will swing around broadside to the 

 current and a capsize is then unavoidable. This accident 

 did happen once to me, but not being in a bad place a 

 few vigorous strokes of the paddle brought the little craft 

 to a place of safety and the pole was recovered. There is 

 danger too of the pole slipping off a smooth rock and 

 causing the canoeman to lose his 'aquilibrium, It may be 

 said that the act of shooting rapids is never unattended.by 

 some degree of danger, but when one finds himself in the 

 midst of foaming, tossing water, beneath which he gets 

 on all sides glimpses of submerged rocks and ledges, be- 

 tween which and his own precious body there is only the 

 frail shell of a birch, it is most exciting and exhilarating. 

 The light canoe tosses like a cork, and receives slap after 

 slap from the waves which wash its sides and dash their 

 spray in the faces of the voyagers, but with a skillful 

 man in the stern one is ever ready to repeat the adven- 

 ture. It is true, however, that running rapids is not as 

 many a romancer and artist has written or pictured it; 

 , the experience as it is often depicted by both pen and 

 pencil would never be undertaken by the most expert of 

 panoemen, unless with suicidal intent. 



These rapids were not difficult to navigate— -J have 

 been through stiffer water — and we went on down until 

 we came to the head of Burnt Dam Pitch. Here we had 

 to make a portage. The canoes were lifted out and shouh 

 dered by the guides, who carried them around the fall, 



over a rough path abounding in slippery stones and logs, 

 between which were many dangerous holes. The lug- 

 gage was transported in like manner. The water was 

 bad for a mile or more below the pitch, and as there 

 was a path along the top of the bank we walked ahead, 

 leaving the guides to bring the canoes. We enjoyed the 

 walk along the narrow footpath, which we followed m 

 Indian file through thick woods till we came to a dilapi- 

 dated log cabin, where there had once been a farm. A 

 woodchuck had established himself in, or rather under, 

 the old house, and he scuttled into his burrow at our ap- 

 proach. 



We kept on through more woods, and came out on a 

 high, steep bank, which sloped to the river. We were in 

 a sort of a clearing, but on the other side the trees grew 

 down to the water's edge. Away in the distance we 

 could see the blue outline of a mountain, which we 

 recognized as Kakadjo, and rising behind it was its 

 neighbor, Sabotawan. We sat on the bank, taking in the 

 wild view of the rushing water and listening to its sub- 

 dued roar, while we watched for the canoes. Since 

 morning the sky had been obscured by a thick haze, 

 through which the sun shone with a dull glare, and this 

 atmospheric condition produced a curious, but beatitiful, 

 phenomenon. Whenever the water flowed smoothly over 

 a rock, large or small, it glowed with a brilliant metallic 

 lustre of rich coppery bronze, and as this splendor had 

 the appearance of being under the surface the river was 

 as a stream of liquid fire. 



As we looked at this dazzling sight, the canoes suddenly 

 shot around the bend with the stalwart form of Bill taking 

 the lead . There was almost as much excitemen tin watch- 

 in g as if we had been with them, for we could see and 

 admire their skill. Every movement was the acme of 

 grace as they flew along; the water was very strong, and 

 being too deep for the use of setting-poles, they were ply- 

 ing the paddles; now wielding them with quick, firm 

 strokes, their bodies rising and falling rhythmically with 

 the motion; then as the canoes shot along some stretch of 

 close current, poising ready for the next stroke, their feet 

 planted as firmly as if they stood on shore. Again, the 

 paddles were held firmly against the gunwales and used 

 as rudders, only to be once more flashed in the air while 

 the crystal drops fell sparkling from them. The men had 

 to think quickly and act quickly, yet every motion was 

 made with that deliberation which indicates a clear head 

 in time of emergency. After they had passed we went 

 on along the path and again into the woods. We crossed 

 Stony Brook, and some distance below came out on the 

 bank at the foot of the rapids. The guides came out at 

 about the same time, for, though they had passed us, 

 there were places where the canoes had to be lifted out and 

 this had delayed them. In one bad pitch three of them 

 broke their setting-poles, but they came through safe, 

 and as Bill expressed it, "right side up." We embarked 

 and sailed on as far as another fall, the Rolling Dam 

 Pitch, where we went ashore for dinner. At this place 

 a ledge extends the width of the river, over which the 

 -water rolls as over an artificial dam, whence the name. 

 Canoes have to be lifted around this pitch , but there is no 

 long carry to make. We took out three of the canoes 

 and then Dennis, after emptying his, gave an exhibition 

 of his skill by going over the fall. We had previously 

 arranged the camera and as he went over the crest, the 

 drop-shutter and a quick plate made a picture of the 

 scene. Another exposure gave us Francis and Cy as they 

 were busily engaged preparing our meal. 



Before we left the Rolling Dam we interviewed the 

 trout with such success that fifteen handsome spotted 

 fish, ranging from 1 to 31bs. in weight, concluded to 

 accompany us. They were all taken with artificial flies 

 from the seething white water below the fall. Harry, 

 who was casting from his canoe in midstream, struck one 

 which carried away his whole leader with its three flies. 

 This fish was on the hook a quarter of an hour, during 

 which he broke water three times. He was an immense 

 trout, larger than any we landed, and in the raging water 

 where he took the fly he succeeded in breaking the tender 

 tackle. But this is always the angler's experience; the 

 fish which isn't landed is invariably a giant of his species. 

 We divided the honors about equally. Harry struck the 

 largest fish, William landed the heaviest fish and I cap- 

 tured the greatest number. We had to exercise a little of 

 that moral courage which the conscientious angler has to 

 use on occasions in leaving this trout pool while they were 



jays or moose birds, which were hovering about the- 

 camp. This species (Perisoreus canadensis) is ten or- 

 eleven inches in length, of a dark brownish color, with' 

 white neck and breast, and is not generally so well* 

 known as its cousin, the bluejay. To the camper in the' 

 forest, however, it is a familiar object, for one of its- 

 peculiarities, and an interesting trait of its nature, is the 

 familiar manner in which it fraternizes with man in the 1 

 woods. They are often seen around a camp picking at' 

 the crumbs and scraps which may be strewn about, and 

 they will sometimes even investigate the contents of 

 packages. 



As the twilight deepened into night we sat on the 

 : deacon seats," enjoying our rest after a day which had 

 been Crowded with many different phases of backwoods 

 life, and to which this quiet hour seemed a fit ending. 

 In the valley of the river the shadows had blended into 

 impenetrable darkness, from which arose on the still 

 night air the ceaseless refrain of the rapids. Beyond was 

 the great black wall of the Blue Ridge, and all around us 

 the silent forest. Swosh,swo3h; swosh, swosh — sang the 

 river — swosh, swosh — the same song it has chanted for* 

 untold ages — swosh, swosh— the same music which it 

 will sing long after we who have heard it have passed* 

 away — swosh, swosh; swosh, swosh — and the soft, sweet* 

 threnody was the last sound we heard as we fell asleep, 

 William Austin Brooks. 



A RAINY DAY. 



THE rain has poured down incessantly all day, mak- 

 ing it impossible to attend to any business out of 

 doors, so I have been looking over back numbers of 

 Forest and Stream. I venture the assertion that no 

 where else can be found such a delightful collection of 

 pleasure-giving articles. Each number breathes out the 

 aroma of the pine woods, of spruce and balsam thickets, 

 of tamerack and cypress swamps, of the prairie and the 

 woods, of the mountain top and the seashore. After 

 reading its pages I can close my eyes and lean back in 

 my chair, and I hear the sighing of the breeze through 

 the treetops, the hiss and whistle of the blizzard, the 

 ripple and babble of the brook, the dash and roar of the 

 mountain torrent, and the surging of the waves on the 

 beach. From the dark forests and mountains of British 

 Columbia to the everglades of Florida, and from the hill» 

 of New Brunswick to the sunny slopes of Mexico, every 

 section of our broad land contributes its share to interest 

 and please the reader. 



And what a host of friends I have made by reading its 

 pages. Friends whom I dearly love but whose faces I 

 never saw. I seem to know them so well through their 

 writings, that I can hardly realize that I have no other 

 acquaintance with them, I have a mental photograph 

 of every one, and imagine that I should know them in- 

 stinctively if we should chance to meet. How I should 

 like to climb the mountains with "Yo" and "Dulog," 

 navigate the waters with "Tarpon," share the camp with 

 "Kelpie," thread the mazes of the canebrake with "Coa- 

 homa," try my skill with the rifle with "Iron Ramrod" 

 after squirrels, follow the quail with "Wells," or ducks 

 with "Chasseur," or lure the finny denizens of the waters 

 with the "Kingfishers." But why try to enumerate them. 

 I think I should not have to travel far in any direction 

 without finding some friend already known to share my 

 sports. Who ever had the privilege of sitting around 

 camp-fire with such a host of congenial spirits, congre- 

 gated from every clime, experienced in every variety of 

 sports, possessed of intelligence, refinement and educa- 

 tion, and hear each one tell of the pleasures of the chase, 

 the triumphs and. disappointments that have fallen to his 

 share, of his favorite dog, or gun or rod ? But all of these 

 gather round me when I sit down to read a number of 

 Forest and Stream. "Long may it wave," and "may 

 its shadow never be less," is the wish of Lew Willow. 

 Arkansas. ___ _____ 



A GROUSE COMBAT. 



ONE day about the 1st of June, while walking along a 

 country road, I was somewhat startled by a strange 



giving us noble sport; but we had all we could use, and j and weird sound that issued from the depths of a very 

 we made it a point never to waste any. I, for one, could ( large woods adjacent. I stopped and listened. The 

 never see what glory there is in making a score; in catch- > sound was repeated at intervals of perhaps a minute or 

 ing such and such a number of trout in so many hours' or j so. Not knowing what to make of it, never having heard 

 days' fishing. This seems to me a prostitution of the i such sounds, I got over the fence and proceeded as cau- 

 gentle art. "Willful waste" has made "woeful want" in [ tiously and silently as possible toward the place whence 



many a stream and pond. 



Down the river we paddled, through more rapids, and 

 then along beautiful reaches of dead water where the 

 glassy surface mirrored the wooded banks and reflected 

 the clouds and sky in its dark depths. We stopped at a 

 headworks on Little Brassua Pond, which is a "bulge" 

 in the river, and then had two miles more of smooth 

 deep water before we reached Brassua Lake. Our course 

 lay for three miles across Brassua to the outlet, which is 

 also Moose River, and out in the open lake we had a 

 heavier sea to breast than we had on Long Pond. The 

 wind was not strong, but the lake still felt the influence 

 of the gale of the previous day and night, and we 

 realized that there was some hard paddling to be done. 

 We struck across in a bee line for the outlet, and once 

 away from the shelter of the shore, we looked upon a 

 scene of wild and romantic beauty. We were surrounded 

 by miles of heaving water, spangled by breaking white 

 caps, which rose and fell between us and the forest which 

 frames this lake of the wilderness. Looming up beyond 

 the dark line of the timber were the familiar outlines of 

 various mountains, to the east Kineo and Kokadjo, in 

 the - southwest the Miseree group, and in the far north- 

 west the massive bulk of Eskweskwewadjo, or Bald 

 Mountain, which is the most striking feature of the land- 

 scape from Brassua. Straight ahead we saw the Blue 

 Ridge, at the base of which Moose River flows for four 

 miles to its mouth at Moosehead Lake. Two miles below 

 Brassua are some rapids known as Sam's Pitch, and just 

 below them a wing dam. There is a logging camp there 

 where we proposed to spend the night. The camp, a 

 substantial low-roofed log: structure, contained an old 

 Btove and a rude table, which we soon had in use. We 

 shared our bread with two red squirrels which had their 

 nest hidden somewhere in the roof, and the refuse which 

 we threw outside was. sfeiged upon by a pair of Canada 



the sound seemed to come. After I had gone about 

 50yds., screening myself as much as possible behind trees, 

 I came up to about 20yds. of a large dead log, upon which 

 stood two ruffed grouse in battle array. They stood 

 something like 6ft. from each other, with tbe black feath- 

 ers around their necks (called the ruff) raised till thej 

 almost pointed toward their heads, which were lowered 

 and which they were shaking at each other in defiance. 

 In a few moments they gradually approached each other 

 and when about 2ft. apart they rushed together, tht 

 momentum and their wings carrying them into the aid 

 about a foot from the log. While there they struck re 

 peated blows and then fell back to the log, where a shon, 

 tussle took place, when they separated and moved bad 

 to about Oft. of each other. 



After an interval they advanced toward each othey 

 again and repeated the* same performance as before 

 The desperate battle went on by "rounds," till several 

 were fought. How long the fight had been going on 

 before I came upon the scene I had no means of knowing 

 but after they had come together several times in m/ 

 presence, the bird that seemed the smaller moved back 

 ward, still presenting a defiant attitude, with his hea ; 

 lowered, till he came to the end of the log, when h 

 jumped off and disappeared. 



Upon this the victor raised himself and stretched u- 

 till he nearly stood on his toes, expanding his wimr 

 the same time. (It looked for a moment as if he 

 crow). Then settling himself back, he brought hi- 

 down against his breast with a sound like that 

 by forcibly striking a brass drum. Again he i 

 wings. and repeated the sound. Still continuing 

 and lower his wings more and more rapidly tL_ 

 finally r-olled away "in one continuous murmur and ■. 

 still." The sound was indescribable. As soon as he hit 

 drummed hfe jumped off the log and disappeared. Wis* 



