806 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Nov. 6, 1890. 



MOOSE RIVER AND THE WEST BRANCH. 



vm. 



TN the morning we descended the two remaining miles 

 J. of Sahkhabehaluck, and shot out onto the broad bosom 

 of Moosehead Lake. The gale which had troubled the 

 waters of Long Pond and Brassua was over; it had blown 

 three davs, which is the usual length of time m which 

 these mountain wind storms assert themselves, and when 

 we left Moose River we glided out on to a surface which 

 had not a ripple on its broad level. A blue, cloudless sky 

 smiled overhead, and all nature, from the frowning cliff 

 of Kineo to the tiniest leaflet, seemed to be under the 

 influence of the morning. It was one of nature's gala 

 days. At Kineo the guides bought new setting poles, we 

 made some purchases at the store and engaged a steamer 

 to transport our outfit to the Northwest Carry, thereby 

 avoiding a twenty-mile paddle. Magnificent views are to 

 be had from the summit of Kineo, which take in a vast 

 area of country, covered with trackless forest and dotted 

 with lakes and mountains, but as we had made the ascent 

 in former years, we did not attempt it. The staunch 

 little steamer Kineo was placed at our disposal, and with 

 the canoes lashed to her sides and ourselves and the lug- 

 gage aboard, she soon rounded the Kineo promontory, 

 and steamed rapidly toward the north. 



At the carry we found that some changes had been 

 made, which, though they detract from the picturesque- 

 ness of the locality, add to the comfort of the traveler who 

 visits this remote and isolated place. The old log cabin, 

 which for many years was the only structure in the rough 

 clearing, is now used as a stable, while a new frame 

 house stands nearer the lake. There is no other house 

 within twelve miles, and Greenville, forty miles distant, 

 is the nearest village. We were greeted at the landing 

 by old Joe Morris, the voluble and garrulous Frenchman, 

 who, at the Northwest Carry, is "monarch of all he sur- 

 veys." After telling him that we wished to cross the 

 carry immediately, we paddled across the bay to the 

 mouth of Carry Brook and then up that tortuous stream, 

 which is filled with stumps, sunken logs and snags. 

 There was no perceptible current, and the water had set 

 back into the woods till many of the trees were dead, 

 and all along the low, swampy banks they formed an in- 

 extricable tangle. We proceeded for a mile and landed 

 on a muddy bank from which a few steps led to the 

 "tote" road. The canoes were lifted out, and we heard 

 Joe shouting to his team in a patois which showed that, 

 if they understood him, they were able to obey orders in 

 two languages. The horses were attached to a rude sled 

 on which we loaded two canoes, lashing them tightly so 

 that they would receive no injury from their rough jaunt. 



Francis was left in charge of the other two, and we 

 started across the carry. The bank where we landed 

 was covered with bear tracks sunk deep in the mud 

 where bruin had wandered about a day or two before, 

 and while going along the path we saw many deer tracks 

 and in one place the track of a moose. 



None but the steadiest of teams could have been con- 

 trolled on this road, which, to quote Joe, is a "pretty 

 sassy" one; but his horses were trained to the business, 

 and at the sound of his voice would stop or pull as the 

 emergency required. The trail led up hill and down, 

 and was strewn for the whole two miles with rocks and 

 boulders, which threatened to capsize the sled more than 

 once. At times one runner would be elevated two or 

 three feet above the other, but the journey was made 

 without accident. Bog holes and sloughs, some contain- 

 ing a foot of dirty water, underlaid with a 6-inch stratum 

 of mud, were sprinkled in here and there by way of varia- 

 tion, and ruts and gullies all did their best to make 

 things interesting. Traveling over a backwoods "tote" 

 road is certainly replete with the "spice of life." The 

 carry road for some distance is identical with the old 

 Canada road, which runs from the Northwest Carry to 

 Canada Falls on the south branch of Penobscot, and 

 thence to Canada. Since the new Canada road — the one 

 over which we traveled from Skowhegan to Moose Eiver 

 bridge — was built the old one has become obsolete, except 

 as the lumbermen use it as a winter road. It is now 

 pretty well "grownup" and is little more than a green 

 lane through the forest. 



The "other end" of the Northwest Carry dumps (this 

 seems to be the only word) one in the edge of the woods 

 and on the borders of Seeboomook meadows. These 

 meadows consist of a tract of open ground covered with 

 a coarse growth of grass. They are surrounded by the 

 woods, and on the eastern side are some rough ledges of 

 gray rock. 



A portion of the meadows is covered by shallow Carry 

 Pond, between which and the end of the carry is a quar- 

 ter of a mile of quaking bog, over which canoes must be 

 dragged, as the horses cannot traverse it. This is not a 

 difficult task, however, for the light canoes slip along 

 easily over the grass. The ground trembles and shakes 

 under the feet and the water oozes up through. We un- 

 loaded the canoes, and Joe turned his horses, saying, 

 "Well, boys, I suppose I be back some time." We pro- 

 ceeded to get dinner, and by the time Joe and Francis 

 returned we were ready. A loaf of new bread, bacon, 

 eggs and trout were the delicacies offered on our bill of 

 fare, and our wine cellar, under the roots of a great 

 spruce, produced a choice brand of aquapura, which we 

 quaffed, cold and sparkling, from a birch bark cup. "A 

 man never ought to carry any dishes to the woods," said 

 Cy, "but make them all of birch bark. I can boil potatoes 

 in a birch bark kettle." 



While some "led" the canoes, the others toted the lug- 

 gage across the bog to theTpond. There was nothing in 

 this lonely place to indicate the presence of man. and 

 while eating we saw a deer come out of the woods be- 

 yond the pond. We had here our first serious annoyance 

 from insects, and were obliged to besmear our hands and 

 faces with tar oil as a protection from the myriads of 

 bloodthirsty mosquitoes which attacked us. We had but 

 little trouble with that other pest, the black fly, as its 

 duration is limited to a few weeks, and its season was 

 nearly over. 



When we took the canoes from Carry Pond it was 

 Kennebec water which dripped from them; when we 

 placed them in the pond they floated in Penobscot water. 



From the pond we entered narrow, winding Seeboo- 

 mook Brook, which ran its crooked length between 

 muddy banks, grown up with alder bushes and tracked 



by deer. At times we stooped to avoid the alders, whose 

 branches met across the little stream, and again we 

 scraped along the bottom where the shallow water would 

 not float us, or felt some snag or log scratch along the 

 canoe. A quarter of a mile of this carried us across See- 

 boomook Meadows and into the West Branch, opposite 

 Seeboomook Island. 



We turned up stream and paddled rapidly, for we 

 wanted to select a good camp site, as our intention was 

 to spend several days on the Branch. We went up for 

 three miles, and after examining several places found a 

 good location on the right bank a mile above Nelhudus 

 Stream. The only bad feature was a steep muddy bank, 

 which we had to climb, but there was plenty of wood, 

 with evergreen boughs for beds, and level ground on 

 which to pitch the tents. At this place, which we called 

 Camp Nelhudus, we pitched all three of the tents, one for 

 Ourselves, one for the guides and one for the "waugan." 



IX. 



The West Branch may be called a classic stream, for 

 with it are associated some of the names famous in 

 American literature. James Russell Lowell, Henry D. 

 Thoreau and Theodore Winthrop have floated on its 

 waters and sung its praises. It is a river of the woods; 

 nowhere is there a village, and but few isolated houses 

 stand upon its banks. The canoe of the Indian and the 

 batteau of the lumberman are the only craft which navi- 

 gate it. The moose and the deer find sustenance upon its 

 banks, and the beautiful speckled trout swims in its 

 waters. The virgin forest waves over it, and the rushing 

 of its rapids breaks the silence of a wilderness. Its only 

 commerce is the floating down of the lumber drives and 

 the transportation of supplies to the logging camps. It is 

 ever a stream of beauty under whatever conditions it may 

 be seen. 



The West Branch ! What reminiscences the name 

 suggests to the memory of the writer. Pictures, photo- 

 graphic in the minuteness of their detail, form one after 

 another in the brain. There are beautiful mornings on 

 the dead water when the mist slowly rises and permeates 

 the air, veiling all objects with a silvery, impalpable 

 medium; mornings when the surface is like polished 

 silver, and every tree and blade of grass droops motion- 

 less above its reflected image in the sleeping river. There 

 are nights so dark that he who sits motionless in the bow 

 of the canoe, grasping his rifle and straining his eyes to 

 peer through the gloom, is invisible to his companion in 

 the stern, and the phosphorescent flash of the silent pad- 

 dle is the only light. 



There are other nights when the sky is sprinkled with 

 stars and the full moon sheds its soft lustre over river 

 and forest, when as one drifts past the silent shores with 

 their dusky shadows and ghostly trees, or glides along 

 the twinkling path of the moonlight, one feels the witch- 

 ery of the time and place, and spell-bound, floats on what 

 is now a lethean stream. 



The lilies, on which the deer come down to feed, 

 change to lotus flowers, and one is borne on many longer 

 voyages to those far realms of fancy, which lie beyond 

 the forest and the world. Memories of many days on 

 the West Branch come back; days of sunshine and days 

 of storm: days of summer heat and days when the chill 

 of autumn was in the air. It is a stream of many phases; 

 now black and deep, apparently as fathomless as the blue 

 vault above; then smiling and dancing along over a stony 

 bottom, and again, its angry waters dash madly through 

 wild gorges, boiling and seething between walls of rock. 



After our camp was ready for occupancy we went 

 down to the mouth of Nelhudus for the evening fishing. 



The fishing on the West Branch is confined to certain 

 pools and to the quick water of the falls and pitches, and 

 a stranger might pass this Nelhudus pool without sus- 

 pecting the wealth it contains. 



The canoes slid cautiously to the edge, and while the 

 guides held them stationary we cast our flies. William 

 and I put on a brown-hackle, a red-ibis and a white-mil- 

 ler. Harry substituted a blue- jay for the hackle. 



William made the first cast. His feathery lures, as the 

 line straightened, fell lightly down toward the center of 

 the pool, but there was no response, no sign of life in the 

 placid water. Again the tip of his rod described an arc, 

 and once more the flies descended, but before they touched 

 the surface a large trout with a rush so impetuous that 

 the water fairly boiled, flung himself into the air, and 

 turning took the red ibis as he fell. 



Then ensued a battle which would have fired with en- 

 thusiasm the most indifferent of anglers, and when it 

 ended the fish was in William's landing net. Harry 

 hooked a large fish which, in its struggles to escape, 

 wound the line around a stick which was stuck in the 

 bottom of the pool. While it was threshing about and 

 we were expecting to see the taut line snap asunder, a 

 smaller fish took one of the other flies, and then there 

 was fun for a few moments while Bill untangled the line. 



He finally cleared it, but the larger trout broke away, 

 carrying with him the white-miller. Several times we 

 had two fish on at once, and most of the doubles were 

 landed. Host one good fish which, in spite of my efforts, 

 got under the canoe and snapped the leader. 



I never saw trout bite so fiercely and take a fly so 

 viciously, as those we took at Nelhudus Stream. They 

 came with a rush, often leaving their element bodily, 

 and when struck were wild with fright and fought nobly 

 for liberty, contesting every inch of line. 



We were often deceived in fish w-e had on, thinking 

 before we saw them that they must be of good size by the 

 way they fought, but they proved to be small when 

 landed. Their strength and courage were in inverse ratio 

 to their size and weight. We fished this pool each 

 morning and night, and had no difficulty in supplying 

 our table with fresh fish. 



One night, leaving the others to angle, Francis and I 

 explored Nelhudus for three miles up stream. It is a nar- 

 row, winding stream, and the country about it is com- 

 paratively level. The banks are covered with bushes, 

 but wherever there was a bit of sandy beach, or open 

 space of muddy soil, the deer and caribou tracks were as 

 thick as those of cattle in a barn yard, and we saw where 

 moose had been. 



We crossed many pools where the trout darted swiftly 

 away at our approuch, and in places we had to wade 

 while we dragged the canoe over the shallows. The bed 

 of the brook was mostly clean white sand and pebbles 

 such as trout like. We saw the remains of a heaver dam 

 and their cuttings on the hank, and in places we had 



prettv glimpes of the distant Nelhudus Mountains. 

 "Well," said Francis, "I guess mebbe we better go back. 

 Don't want get caught up here all night." And as the 

 light was waning we returned. 



We went nearly every evening to a log camp, a mile 

 from our tent, for the purpose of changing our dry plates. 

 It was in a dilapidated condition, but was appreciated by 

 the hedgehogs, which had gnawed the woodwork and the 

 door; it served admirably, however, as a dark room, and 

 we enjoyed the trip back and forth in the quiet and cool 

 of the evening. 



One night as we returned to camp we heard a rustling 

 in the underbrush near the "waugan" tent, and Francis, 

 holding up a warning hand and listening a moment, said, 

 "There's somebody 'round the waugan. I guess he's a 

 mink or a rabbit;" but "he" proved to be a woodchuck. 

 Francis usually alluded to everything, whether animate 

 or inanimate as "he." Francis had little to say; he rarely 

 took part in our conversation unless directly addressed, 

 the taciturnity of his race being one of his characteristics. 

 But when I have been alone with him he has related many 

 anecdotes of the woods, and is an intelligent and inter- 

 esting companion. 



At Nelhudus Camp we made a table on which to eat, 

 and Dennis, having more time than when we were trav- 

 eling, gave us more elaborate meals. He had said that 

 he "could boil water without burning it, but did not 

 claim to be a cook;" hut we found him as skillful with 

 the frying pan and the coffee pot as he is with the rifle 

 and the paddle. Of course we ate trout— trout fried in meal 

 and trout fried in fat, broiled trout and baked trout, trout 

 chowder and trout in every form, except raw trout. Trout 

 was supplemented by various "fixins;" fried potatoes, 

 fried onions, fritters and flapjacks, all being consumed 

 in astonishing quanties. Our table was made of four 

 crotched sticks, firmly planted in the ground, with poles 

 laid across and resting in the crotches, while a great 

 sheet of bark, placed over the whole, formed the top. 



One morning as we were going up the rixer to Gulliver 

 Falls to try the fishing there, we saw what we at first 

 thought was a musquash swimming across, but on nearer 

 approach it proved to be a little red squirrel. 



Harry and Bill saw a deer swim across the stream one 

 morning, and there was scarcely a day but we started 

 deer. One noble buck with branching horns, though still 

 in the velvet, presented a grand sight as he stood in the 

 edge of the water with a doe by his side. We came upon 

 them suddenly a,s we rounded a bend, and they stood 

 watching us for a moment before they disappeared in the 

 woods. 



The laws of the State of Maine do not allow T the capture 

 of trout and venison at the same season, and this was 

 close time for deer. William Austin Beooks, 



HALF-HOURS IN THE SIERRA NEVADA, 



VI. — THB MAGIC SPELL OF A WILD BIRD'S SONG. 



ONE day last summer a stockman camo up to camp on 

 his way to visit the cattle on his range, with an 

 urgent request that I should go down into Lake Valley to 

 see the wife of a cattle owner, who was seriously ill. It 

 always makes me ill-natured to receive a professional 

 call when on my summer outing, and I almost invariably 

 refuse. In this case I could not well do so without being 

 guilty of inhumanity. The woman was reported very 

 ill indeed, and the nearest resident physician was over 

 twenty miles away, and a motmtain road at that. The 

 messenger stated that a vehicle was coming to the nearest 

 point accessible, to convey me there and back, so making 

 a virtue of necessity I rowed down the lake and climbed 

 the mountain to where the team was to meet me. 



On arriving there the team had not put in an appear- 

 ance, so I walked slowly along in the cool shade of the 

 pines until I reached the old grade. Following this until 

 I reached the summit, and no team appearing, I sat down 

 under the branches of an overhanging pine. Lake Val- 

 ley spread out at my feet, and beautiful Tahoe wrinkled 

 her face in the distance under the influence of a gentle 

 western breeze. The blue of a cloudless California sky 

 hung over the scene, and the rock-ribbed sides of the 

 mountains gleamed under the brilliant rays of the sun. 

 The granite sands on Job's Peak glistened like new-fallen 

 snow, while the more distant mountains hid their ragged 

 outlines behind the filmy blue veil of distance. The hum 

 of bees was in the air, and the querulous whistle of a wood- 

 chuck emphasized the drowsy silence. 1 leaned back 

 against the tree and tried to fancy that I was gazing upon 

 a portion of fair Italy's storied land. 



I had fallen into a deep day-dream, when suddenly 

 there fell upon my ears the ravishing bell-like tones of a 

 hermit thrush. Yes, there could be no mistake about it! 

 Although I had never heard one before in California 

 (nor have I since) and did not know that the bird existed 

 on the coast, yet I could not be mistaken. 



Again and again the mystic and enchanting notes rang 

 through the piny arches of the surrounding forest, and I 

 was once more a boy in my native eastern woods. The 

 sombre pines, with their dim aisles of columned shade, 

 faded from sight, and in their place were the smooth 

 gray boles of the maple, birch and beech, with their 

 delicate green foliage trembling in the June breeze. The 

 sunlight filtered through and lay in splashes on the 

 ground. The red squirrel chittered on the dead branch 

 of a neighboring hemlock, and the drumming of a late 

 grouse came booming on the quivering, odorous air. A 

 little truant. I fear, from the neighboring schoolhouse 

 with a willow pole, a cotton line and a liberal "gob" of 

 worms in his jacket pocket comes slipping through the 

 shadows and the sunshine on his way to the brook that 

 sings in the hollow beyond. Now he Btops and gathers 

 the spathe of the wild turnip; then again the golden or 

 pale pink slipper ©f the cypripedium. Here in a little 

 hairy ball at the foot of a tall fern he discovers a chippy's 

 nest. Thank God! that little urchin did not rob the 

 anxious mother of her fragile treasures. Dallying thus, 

 in love, even at that early age, with nature and her 

 ways, he oomes to where the little brook is skurrying 

 over mossy stones and under grassy banks and old logs to 

 the distant river. The glimpse of a darting trout arouses 

 the angling spirit in the boy's heart, and he baits his 

 hook and soon "yanks" out a fish. It is done in the or- 

 thodox manner of the schoolboy, and the poor trout 

 would have been slung higher into the overhanging 

 branches had the "pole" and line been any longer. Then 

 comes the "shinning" up the tree to retrieve the precious 

 hook and its wriggling captive. A willow twig hacked 

 off with that "sure enough" steel-bladed pocket-knife, 

 and the struggling captive is strung by the gills to flap 



