166 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Masch 19, 1891i 



IN THE REGION ROUND NICATOWIS. 



XXI,— GRAND FALLS AND SPAWNOOK. 



WE went down stream in the chilly morning, saying 

 good-hye to our old heron as he sat hunched up 

 under the trees on the sunny left bank. Off behind a 

 swamp we heard a partridge drumming, but not being 

 anxious to wait in the cool, did not encourage Father's 

 going after him, and at Trout Brook Landing we were 

 willing to go ashore and exercise to get warm. 



It lacked an hour or two of noon when we reached the 

 head of Grand Falls. These are a mile long, rough water 

 all the way, ending in a natural fall, improved for driv- 

 ing purposes by a rolling dam about 14ft. high. That is 

 my own version on my own judgment; Well's Water 

 Power of Maine gives the falls as 300 rods, the total fall 

 100ft., the last pitch 20 ft. I do not know about the length 

 of the falls, but that carry is full 320 rods by my reckon- 

 ing, and I carried on it a varied load from my slippery 

 jacket and the rifle down to whatever could be clutched 

 with the other hand; if any benevolent-minded person 

 said that it was twice as long as Nicatowis carry I should 

 try to believe him unless he could prove that the jacket 

 was just twice as slippery as it had been there. I do not 

 pretend to know the total descent of the falls, though it 

 is considerable. But as to the last pitch I have an opin- 

 ion, though rather than quarrel with Well's Water Power, 

 I would comxiromise, stretching the height from I4ft. to 

 15ft. if the opposing party will throw in the other 5. It 

 is a good fall, though, and pours down a flood of white 

 water. 



Father and I each lugged a light load across, but Jot, 

 after running ahead a little to look out the place, said 

 "he guessed he could go it all right." It is bad water at 

 any time; even in a dry season Big Sebattis declared that 

 it was "berry rabbidge water" and took "great deal judg- 

 ment" to pole up it; but this year the stream was 2 or 3ft, 

 higher than Father had ever seen it in the fall, and the 

 increased volume of water pouring down over the falls 

 made them much worse than usual. The rains had so 

 swollen the river that it boiled down over the rocks in 

 great white rapids that showed a brandy-colored edge 

 above the yellow foam when the sun struck on them, 

 rapid after rapid, increasing as they descended until, just 

 before it made ready for the grand leap, it was all foam. 

 After waiting some time, part of the time on the bridge 

 watching the water and part of the time in the bushes 

 basking in the hot sun, I heard the clink of the pole on 

 the rocks, and soon the Lady Emma appeared slowly 

 picking her way through the rapids. Presently she shot 

 beneath the bridge and Jot landed out on a large rock on 

 the right bank just above the Grand Pitch. He did not 

 say much about the place except that there was "some 

 great ky washing around up there," and that the worst of 

 it was not in sight. Several times, he said, when he put 

 his pole down the whole length it did not touch bottom — 

 a great danger when all may depend on getting pole-hold 

 and snubbing at that particular place. Pointing to the 

 last rapid above the grand pitch, the worst of those in 

 sight, he said that he went through several places as bad 

 as that. Many expert watermen would not have cared 

 to run Grand Falls this year when Jot did. Let me fore- 

 stall the question by confessing that I am altogether too 

 much of a coward to have desired any part in it myself. 



We took time to view the grand pitch from the dam 

 both above and below and also ci'ossed the stream to the 

 left side where there is a gx-eat, square, out-hanging rock, 

 which some poor witling undoubtedly either has named 

 or will name the Devil's Pulpit. Let it be named Joe 

 Mitchell's Rock, for here it was, in fu.ll view of the mag- 

 nificent panorama of the river, the falls and the moun- 

 tains below, that old Joe used to have his camp and his 

 eel-pots, and here was enacted that laughable story with 

 which many an audience has since been ejitertained, of 

 Joe Mitchell's eels and Stickney's cow. 



Just before we embarked I found a family of snakes 

 coiled up in the sun. It was mean to do it, but I threw 

 them into the swift cm-rent to see them swim. They 

 came straight to the shore, riding on the surface of the 

 swift water, their heads and breasts reared up, their backs 

 arched in undulating advancing curves. They were 

 Virgil's pythons coming from Tenedos, vindicating his 

 description point for point, and imparting to it a new 

 forcefulness, it seemed to me. 



From the Grand Falls down the stream is quiet, with 

 low banks and few camping places. The hot srm made 

 it pleasant for us, but in the treetops we could hear a 

 wind howling. We glided along quietly, occasionally 

 scaring up an old heron that would keep just within 

 tempting gun shot of us, until we came to Spawnook 

 Lake, which is threaded on the stream like a single great 

 bead. On the lake it was blowing a gale. From the 

 shelter of the inlet we could see the big, white-capped 

 waves, black and ridgy, rolling in to us across the shoal 

 grounci. On a lake one never sees the smooth, glassy, 

 green rollers of the sea shore; lake waves are blue, black, 

 or leaden, with wrinkled fronts, and they rise up very 

 straight on the foreside as they are driven on by the wand 

 which they never long outlive. We looked at the lake 

 before we started out, and planned how we should be able 

 bear up against the wind. But this was not like that day 

 when we were windbound at ' Nicatowis, nor like that 

 other when we were driven down upon the shoal and 

 rocky ground at the foot of Caucomgomoc with the odds 

 against us. We could see the worst of the waves, and the 

 lee shore was clear sand. We laughed as, within the haven 

 of the inlet, we took off om* head gear to prevent its being 

 blown away, tucked the tent down over the load and the 

 gossamer over myself to keep the water off, and put out. 

 It was rough, about as rough as it could be on a lake no 

 larger than Spawnook, and hard work for the paddlers, 

 who had to do their best to prevent being driven back on 

 the shoal ground and capsized; but it was good fun for 

 the passenger with nothing to do but be rocked like a sea- 

 gull and admire the skill with which the Lady Emma was 

 held on her quartering course so long as the wind per- 

 mitted, and the moment a gust came or a larger wave 

 than common lifted his ci-est, was turned head to, and 

 eased off, so that with an uplift of the bows she rode out 

 what would otherwise have come near to ujisetting her. 



Maps give this lake the name of Saponic, but that is 

 not its proper title. The real name is Pawnook, or Bar- 

 nook, and it means "an opening in the mountains"— an 

 approprig,te naoje for this sudden exnansiQn of stream 



just as it reaches the foot of the massive Passadiunkeag 

 Mountain sloping down to it on one side, and the granite 

 studded hills which encii'cle it on the others. Pawnook 

 was the name the Indians gave it seventy years ago; for 

 in 1828, or within a year of that date, when my grand- 

 father went up fhe Passadumkeag with some Indians and 

 S. R. Peale, of Philadelphia, a member of Long's expedi- 

 tion in 1819-1820, and of Commodore Wilkes's in the for- 

 ties, the Indians gave this name and this meaning. If 

 we cannot restore the old Pawnook or its softer equiva- 

 lent, Barnook, let us keep the vulgar Spawnook, and not 

 give up name, association, meaning and everything for 

 the barbarous Saponic proposed by some unknown map- 

 maker, or corrupted by some careless printer. 



The wind was so strong that we could not keep the 

 course we wished to, but instead of going directly for 

 the old bark landing on the left where we intended to 

 camp, we were forced to head up into the wind a great 

 deal more than we wished to, until, when nearly half 

 a mile out from the shore, where we wished to land, we 

 could take advantage of a lull, turn and run in shore. 

 We did not take in much water after all, thanks to good 

 management. And we did pass a very pleasant evening 

 on that camp ground; though being the last, it seemed 

 just a little lonesome. 



xxn.'^-^AMb SO HOME." 



The next morning we started out again— another glori- 

 ous day, bright October weather, not too cold, but every 

 morning the trees waking to find themselves redder than 

 before. Just as we entered the outlet Father killed two 

 wood-ducks at a shot, A little below comes the fall called 

 White Horse, which Father and I walked past as only one 

 man was needed in handling the canoe and our extra 

 weight would make it harder. I remember that I had 

 been allotting on the fun of running the quick water here 

 apd at Lowell and lost both. 



Many were the pleasant reminiscences of this day, little 

 things "seen in passing — a blackbird in the bushes, a flock 

 of ducks flying, ship-timber floating slowly down stream, 

 an old heron that like all those we had seen this trip was 

 so tame that we repeatedly came within a few rods of him 

 At one place we heard a partridge drumming, and Jot and 

 I remained in the canoe looking over the side at the wrig- 

 gling creatures in the water, while Father went off after 

 the partridge. In the course of half an hour he returned 

 with his bird, having successfully located him and hunted 

 him up when he was drumming on the top of a granite 

 rock some five feet high, 



Down to Lowell we floated quietly, but below there the 

 stream is broken by many rips, "nothing at all for water," 

 as Jot would say, but very delightful for the canoeist, 

 who loves to feel the quickened pulse of the water and to 

 see the canoe, skillfully guided, swerve, turn, or shoot 

 ahead as directed. Most of these rips had water enough 

 on them to be run on the paddle, but sometiu^es we used 

 the pole a little. With a poor canoeman in the stern 

 every one, insigniBcant as they were, would have been a 

 fresh vexation, for we should have been run upon gravel 

 beds, scratched over little stones and bumped on big ones, 

 which hru-ts one's feelings more than it does the canoe. 

 But with Jot all was different. He does not need our 

 commendations as woodsman, hunter, waterman, cook, 

 or honest man, but he has them, none the less, 



0, the perfection of a day, the perfection of a cruise — 

 to glide over still waters in the hot sunshine, to dance 

 with the ripples down the rapids, the trees standing on 

 both sides robed in scarlet. That it was the last day, so 

 soon to be over, only made us grasp the more greedily at 

 its pleasures; we drank in our environment with the un- 

 slakeable thirst of Gargantua, and a hundred pictures of 

 scenes we passed are held in memory as vivid as the 

 moment we passed them. How we did enjoy the day" 

 like others that had preceded, rainy and sunny alike 

 looking back we would not have had any of them other 

 than as it was. The weather and the events seemed to 

 have sympathized from the first; we saw each place in 

 the mood most becoming to it. We would not for a world 

 have missed the exquisite delight of that day about the 

 Pistol region, and Fourth Lake Avould not have shown 

 half its proper dismalness on any but just such auspi' 

 cious days as we sjient there. 



Just above Rocky Rips, Father shot a sheldrake flying 

 overhead and brought him down into the water; we saw 

 him fall and swim a space; when we were almost upon 

 him he disappeared. AVe searched everywhere for him , 

 scanning the bottom up stream and down, to see that he 

 was " 



WILDFOWL IN OREGON.-III. 



HUNTERS habitually refer only to their successes. 

 Seldom do you hear much about their failures and 

 their hardships; but then hunters at best are only human 

 beings in disguise. Observation and experience impresses 

 me with the behef that a record of the failures and hard- 

 ships in the life of any persistent sportsman would con- 

 stitute more than half of his diary. The rains, the chill- 

 ing fogs, the cold winds, wet feet, muddy duckboats, 

 frozen decoys, tired bones, hungry stomachs, all these 

 are seldom referred to; neither is much said about empty 

 game bags; but without experiencing all or most of these 

 vexations and afflictions no man was ever a true hunter. 

 You can teU the old hunter from the tyro simply by his 

 patience in adversity and his calmness in distress. He 

 never murmtu:s; he never wants to go home simply be- 

 cause things have gone a little wrong or the ducks don't 

 fly. Hunting is a safe cure for chronics. It either makes 

 better men of them or makes them stay at home where 

 they belong. 



Dan Howe and I left Portland at 2 o'clock A. M. one 

 dark stormy night on the old hunting boat for a shoot 

 around Sturgeon Lake on Sauvies Island. It was not 

 only dark, but black, and the rain was out of Oregon's 

 old original stock, the same that prompted envious neigh- 

 bors to dub this the "Webfoot" State. I concede that it 

 does sometimes rain in this country for six weeks, day 

 and night, without cessation. I concede that the word 

 Oregon affects the majority of Eastern people somewhat 

 as a mild attack of the ague affects them, and that in 

 their minds it is synonymous with mists, clammy feet 

 and influenza, but these assertions about the birds, the 

 animals and the people aU being web-footed, I assure you 

 are not strictly true. As a matter of com-se it rains; but 

 ordinarily the rains are of such ajmild, gentle little tear- 

 drop kind that nobody seems to feel like seriously pro- 

 testing. 



But this particular night was very stormy and boister- 

 ous. An hour brought us to the "breakwater," through 

 which we were hurled into Willamette Slough. This break- 

 water is a thorn in the side with every Portland himter. 

 It is built at the entrance to the Slough and is an ex- 

 tremely dangerous place in the night. It is always a re- 

 lief to be through it, either going or coming. Another 

 hour brought us to the mouth of the Gilbert River, a 

 navigable tide stream of the island, up which we started 

 under a good head of steam. Ten minutes more and the 

 prow of the boat was pointing to the north star, while the 

 stern was almost under water. In fact, the water was 

 washing into the fire room. We had run square upon a 

 sunken log, and apparently were there to stay unless the 

 boat sank. Every usual expedient in such cases failed to 

 bring us off, so Dan and I, against the protestations of the 

 captain, launched our little duck punt, which was about 

 the size and shape of an ordinary cofiin, and pulled up to 

 our destination, leaving the dogs to find their way as best 

 they could along the bank. It was a long, laborious pull ; 

 but perseverance prevailed, and we arrived in due time 

 at the narrow ridge which separates Big and Little Stm- 

 geon. 



It rained unusually hard all day, but the shooting was 

 excellent. The birds were continuously flying over this 

 ridge, back and forth between the Sturgeons; and taking 

 our station in their fly- ways, we killed all we could carry. 

 As I have remarked before, it rained. Our luncheon got 

 wet and resolved itself into a kind of soft hash. Its 

 sickly, mysterious appearance was enough to appease 

 even a hunter's appetite without partaking of it. Night 

 came on early, and the last we could discern of the htmt- 

 ing boat was her white steam rolling up over the trees 

 away down the Gilbert, as she puffed and pulled in her 

 frantic efforts to free herself from the embrace of that 

 log. -We learned afterward that she pulled off at dusk, 

 whistled herself hoarse for us and "hen steamed back to 

 Portland, But we were too far off to hear her, and could 

 not have reached her in time if we had. 



As the darkness settled down upon us we began to think 

 serious thoughts, A night on Sturgeon Ridge, in such a 

 wind and such a rain, was not an agreeable contempla- 

 tion, Dan suggessted that we try to reach an old hunter's 

 cabin which he remembered to have seen away at the 

 upper end of the ridge. We acted upon the suggestion, 

 hung our ducks in a tree and struck out for this haven of 

 rest. 



It was very dark, but by following the bank of the 



nmg the bottom up stream and down, to see that he ^^^^ arrived at a point opposite that at which Dan 

 ... not clinging to the weeds beneath the water, and { ^^ ^g^^ ^-^^ ^^^^^ ^e located. Feeling our way 

 beating the banks to drive him out if he were hiding , t^^^ugh the dripping brush for half an hour we found the 

 Failing to find him, we went ashore to take our last meal ^abin entered, scratched a match and surveyed our 

 together. After dinner we went down stream oyer Rocky ^^^rters. We found ourselves in a httle box about 8ft. 

 Rips, Lightning Rips, Scalp Rock— natives call it Sculp g^Quare, with no sign of a roof, and such evidences of 

 Rock; it commemorates some old Indian fight probably | ^^^.^j^ jj^ving been there as made hip boots a necessity, 

 of the last century, and there was another at Spawnook | ^ ^j^g^j. xAa^Qn; and stood under a tree to talk 



— and over all the other numerous rapids on the way, 

 'Tis too bad not to tell a good joke on one's self. I was 

 pondering over the escape of the sheldrake, going over 

 all the possible escapes open to him, how he looked, how 

 he was wounded, which way he went, and all that, when 

 only a few feet from us a pickerel flipped out of water 

 with such suddenness that I was scared into speaking. 

 Well, what did I say? What but "There's your duck, 

 Father," and got well laughed at as I deserved, for the 

 duck had been shot mUes behind and was either dead or 

 recovering long before. 



We went down through the wide meadows, the booms, 

 the rafting-out place, to the town of Passadumkeag. It 

 was not pleasant to see houses again ; we always dread 

 the coming back. But we repacked our goods into 

 smallest compass, brought out the neglected clothes 

 brush and clean but crumpled collars, straightened our 

 hat brims and made ready to go down to the railroad 

 station and so home, as loath to return as we had been 

 anxious to go. Sic semper. 



Fannie Peahson Haedt, 



[Next week we shall begin the publication of a series 

 of papers by Miss Hardy, entitled "Six Years Under 

 Maine Game Laws," As the topic is one of importance, 

 and one about which our correspondent is well qualified 

 to write intelligently, the papers will be read with inter- 

 est. It is well known that in a large section of ]\Iaine 

 the present game and fish laws are disregarded. If Miss 

 Hardy shall carry out her expressed intention of telling 

 the public how this unfortunate condition has come about 

 and shall succeed in pointing out even a partial remedy, 

 she will have performed a public service of no mean 

 jnagtiitude.] 



the matter over. It was raining and blowing just as hard 

 as ever; and was getting cold. Finally we concluded to 

 build a fire and try to get warm, Did you ever try to 

 build a fire of a dark, rainy, windy night with green, wet 

 wood, benumbed hands and a match? 



Well, as the last match flickered and went out we stood 

 there shivering and silent. I don't know what Dan was 

 thinking about, but I was thinking something about home, 

 hot supper and a blazing fire in the hearth. 



The wind moaned and the rain drizzled down our backs, 

 the only variation in the monotony being the hoarse 

 whooping of cranes, the weu'd honking of geeae, and the 

 rude quacking of ducks, while their restless thousands 

 made the air tremulous. It seemed as if the air itself was 

 some living thing, shivering as we were, such a strange, 

 confused, incessant noise did the wings of the uneasy 

 water-fowl make. 



But we must do something. It would be at least ten 

 hours until daylight and it would not do to stand there 

 aU night. So we sneaked away into the darkness like 

 two thieves, or two tramps under orders from the police 

 to move on. Shortly we struck a grassy swale and fol- 

 lowing it came to an old hay barn biult up on stilts. We 

 could not get in, but hearing hogs grunting and snoring 

 underneath, we concluded that they might go out on 

 watch a while and give us a chance to get warm. Of 

 course the dogs eagerly took off om- hands the job of 

 ejectment, and, shame to say, we crawled into their warm 

 beds. No, not exactly into them, but we compromised 

 with our pride and got as close as we could. Then the 

 fun commenced. It was very evident that our intrusion 

 was distasteful to both the hogs and the fleas; but it was 

 fight or frei?e, and we prepared to fight, Th(j l>attle 



