62 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aire. 18, 1891. 



TROUTING IN WEST VIRGINIA. 



ON the 22d of June our squad started, to test some of 

 the mouutain streams which are the source of Cheat 

 River, in AVesfc Virginia, and which are almost unknown 

 to anglers. The members of the party were Bowyer Mc- 

 Donald, Master Ray Williams and the writer, from Wash- 

 ington city, and W. T. Koontzand Hazard Othey, of Ohio. 

 There was, in addition, before starting, the usual per cent, 

 of ardent sportsmen who couldn't be held back at first 

 and couldn't be dragged forward at last. What they 

 missed will be told later on. 



The scene of operations selected was the eastern side of 

 Randolph county in that portion of the State so graphi- 

 cally described by "Porte Crayon" in his "Virginia Illus- 

 trated," and by John P. Kennedy in his book, now out of 

 print, entitled "The Black waters'." 



Our route from W^ashington was via the B. & O, Rail- 

 way to Cumberland, where the thrifty custom prevails of 

 charging transfer fees on checked-through baggage. We 

 here took the West Virginia Central, one of those rare 

 roads on which a passenger may ask a question of any 

 employt; without being made to wish he hadn't. 



To one who has never visited a lumber region the scen- 

 ery on this road is a revelation. Enormous saw and 

 planing niills, acres of sawlogs, and whole fields filled 

 with lumber seem to almost inclose the entire tract. Vil- 

 lages are plentiful as in New England, but there is scarcely 

 a farm under cultivation. In most of the streets the 

 stumps are still standing, from which the lumber was cut 

 to construct the houses, 



Up the North Fork of the South Branch of the Poto- 

 mac and across the divide brought us to the wild Black- 

 water region and to the end of our journey by rail, at 

 the new and live lumber town of Davis. The scenery 

 hereabouts, which half a dozen years since must have 

 been grand and picturesque, is now abolutely dismal. 

 Wlaole mountain sides are covered with the remains of 

 fallen trees, nearly all blackened and charred by frequent 

 fires. To see the rapid and apparently wasteful destruc- 

 tion — aye. devastation— of noble forests here would make 

 Senator Edmunds's heart ache. 



However, we did not come here to moralize, nor to 

 plead for forests, but to catch trout, brook trout, moun- 

 tain brook trout. Not the liver-fed frauds of suburban 

 goose-ponds, but the brook trout in his native brook— the 

 trained athlete accustomed to contest for his subsistence 

 in the clear, cold, dashing mountain stream 3,000ft. above 

 the sea, the unchallenged Apollo of the water— the 

 splendid result of nature's most successful effort to unite 

 the perfection of symmetry, color, space and vigor. Who 

 that has encountered him does not remember with de- 

 light the gleam, the flash, the swirl, the struggle! Who 

 that has captured one of 16oz. has not paused before creel- 

 ing it to feast his eyes on its resplendent beauty! A 12 or 

 14in. brook trout at the end of 8 or lOyds. of proper 

 tackle, with his lightning-like curves and shoots among 

 the rocky rapids of a mountain stream, aifoi'ds the acme 

 — the nej3/?/.s w-Wm— the extremest ecstacy of piscatorial 

 sport. This we sought and this we got, those of us who 

 remained to the end. But this is anticipating. 



Trusting our luggage on the journey from Davis to the 

 possibilities of a road wagon, we footed it over mountains 

 and through valleys until at the end of twenty miles we 

 were brought to a halt by the annoying information that 

 the remainder of the alleged road was so obstructed by 

 fallen timber as to be impassable. This was a serious dis- 

 appointment, as we were still eight or ten miles from the 

 heart of the tiout region. Here, at the mouth of Gandy, 

 we quartered in an old log house, in lieu of pitching our 

 tents, and established our headquarters. 



At Divis we had increased our number by adding Mr. 

 Anton Degier as guide, and Mr. Jim GriflFen as cook. 

 Tony Degler is a paragon of guides— a thorough sports- 

 man, tireless, cheerful, a trained woodsman, and without 

 a mercenary symptom. As for Jim, he can get up such 

 a meal from scant materials as will make an angler's 

 mouth water. Our blessings rest upon the good-humored 

 heads of Tony and Jim, 



Before slinging our creels we ordained and established 

 with all due formality the constitution and by-laws of 

 the Gandy Salmo B'ontinalis Club, which said constitution 

 and by-laws were in the following words, to wit: "Don't 

 Kick!"' A club badge was pinned to each hopeful bosom 

 and a daily championship badge for the biggest fish 

 caught each day, and another for the biggest caught on 

 the trip were displayed in order to excite emulation. 



We sallied forth in the evening to test these unvouched 

 for waters, some with bait, some with flies. The angling 

 was fairly good, no more. When all of the party had 

 straggled in we summed up the result, finding sixty-five ' 

 trout from 7 to lO^in. in length. There were symptoms 

 of half-concealed disappointment, not so much on ac- 

 count of the number as of the size of the catch. The dis- 

 appointment was hardly reasonable, as we were still 

 eigbt or ten miles from where first-rate fishing had been 

 promised. 



Gandy at this place and for a dozen miles above is a 

 rapid stream, having few deep pools, and is wide enough, 

 for the most part, to permit the free use of the fly. The 

 temperature of the water here is about 70° Fahrenheit: 

 that of the air ranges from 45' in the night to 73° in the 

 afternoon. Fire and blankets were found to be indispen- 

 sable to comfort every night. 



Neighboring mountaineers told us we had come too late 

 in the season for the best results in this locality; first, 

 becatise the stream was now too low, and second, because 

 it was already well fished out. Nevertheless we easily 

 caught in a few hours each day an ample supply for our 

 table, on which other meat was not abundant. Although 

 10, 11 and 13-inch fish were caught in considerable num- 

 bers, "too many small ones" was a general complaint. 

 Some of us seemed to forget that brook trout are not 

 sturgeon. 



The novices of the party expressed smprise at some 

 features of our experience; they were not prepared to find 

 that four-fifths of our fish were caught in less than SOin, 

 of water; they did not expect to see the fly, as a rule, 

 more effective than the bait. The night-fishing was a 

 novelty, as open pools which scarcely afforded a rise dur- 

 ing the day rewarded nearly every cast as late as 10 

 o'clock at night, We did not test it later. One feature 

 rather upset some pretty welJ-settled notions of the vet- 

 erans. This was that the white and bright- colored flies 



were not the most effective at night. Out of every score 

 caught by me after dark (no moon) more than a dozen 

 were taken on gray and brown flies. 



The first excursion beyond easy reach of camp was 

 naade by Mr. Koontz and a Mr, Cunningham, the latter a 

 visiting brother from Ohio, who was doing the region, so 

 far as it could be so done, on horseback. They ascended 

 Gandy about six miles, fished several hours, and returned 

 in the evening with 97 fine trout. One of these, 12in, in 

 length, entitled Koontz to the championship badge for 

 the day. This experience greatly elated him, and raised 

 the spirits of the whole party. 



Next day Messrs. McDonald and Degler scaled the 

 Allegheny divide, slid and rolled down the eastern slope 

 into wild, rugged and dashing Seneca— or, in the vernacu- 

 lar of the natives, "Sineker." The story of their experi- 

 ences among the deep cafions, narrow ledges, yawning 

 chasms, deep pools and roaring cascades was fairly hair- 

 raising. They fished in the afternoon, slept, or tried to 

 sleep, under the gloomy hemlocks, where rattlers, cata- 

 mounts and other beasts of prey abound, ate brofled trout 

 and biscuits, fished next morning and returned to camp 

 with 176 trout of our standard size. May be some fellow 

 thinks he can tell McDonald what "roughing it" means! 



At the end of the first week three of our party seceded. 

 Whether the frowning mountains, the lonely situation, or 

 the apprehensions of an Indian uprising moved them we 

 have yet to learn; but they departed, leaving the over- 

 buoyant McDonald and myself, with the guide, cook and 

 boy-of -all-work, to complete the outing as contemplated. 



Mornings and evenings we would sally forth with our 

 rods for an hour or two to replenish our larder. We lived 

 comfortably and contentedly, spreading: a luxurious table 

 supplied with milk, butter, eggs, and all the vegetables of 

 the season. No discontent was murmured, none was felt. 

 We caught our fish, ate our meals, smoked our pipes and 

 played cribbage, envying no mortal man his happiness. 

 Frequent visits from neighboring mountaineers, who 

 regaled us with hunting stories in their own picturesque 

 style, added variety to our tranquil life. Here, during 

 these halcyon days, as well as on a rough and tough cam- 

 paign, "Bo vv" McDonald proved himself to be the 6ea?{ 

 ideal outing companion. 



I must not omit honorable mention of a genuine Vir- 

 ginia "Majah," who had strayed into these fastnesses, and 

 paid our camp frequent and protracted visits. He had 

 seen better days, doubtless much better, had been edu- 

 cated at the University, and was evidently upon terms of 

 intimacy with every well-known soldier and statesman of 

 the present and past generations, and in every character- 

 istic of the identical type from which "Colonel Cyarter 

 of Cyartersville" was drawn. He was a delightful story 

 teller, and we compensated him for his entertainment by 

 trying hard to believe his stories. Dear old Majah Nor- 

 man, we love thee; though we could not unanimously 

 approve of thy seventeen-foot fishing pole. 



There we lived in nature's luxury for nearly three 

 weeks, when, a few days before our date for breaking 

 camp we started, McDonald, Degler and I, for the grand 

 tour of Upper Gandy and Laurel. It was a long, hard 

 tramp of thirty-six miles, with first a rude semblance of 

 a road, then a path, then a trail, then the rocky and slip- 

 pery bed of a stream, then the virgin wilderness until the 

 round was nearly completed. 



This region of country is owned in large tracts by non- 

 residents. Hundreds of acres of trees on the mountain 

 sides are girdled, and as the trees die, bluegrass, timothy 

 and clover spring up, affording rich pasture for herds of 

 fine cattle. These cattle are cared for by herders, living 

 miles apart, who, with their families, comprise the entire 

 population. With few cultivated fields, no roads, no 

 churches, no school houses (the parents acting as teachers 

 and preachers), with little hope of greatly bettering their 

 condition, these hardy people live upright and contented 

 lives. However meagre the supply of provisions, they 

 hospitably welcome all strangers, refusing compensation 

 except from those apparently well able to afford it. 



To traverse this interesting country we left camp at six 

 in the morning, and wending our way up Dry Fork to its 

 source, crossed over the divide and down to Gandy at the 

 famous Big Tunnel. This tunnel is neither more nor less 

 than a large cavern extending with windings and turn- 

 ings for a mile under a great mountain, and through 

 which cavern flows the rivulet of Gandy. Our guide, 

 Degler, has conducted a number of parties through this 

 perilous passage, but was never asked to take any person 

 through a second time. 



We reached Gandy by fighting our way through 

 laurels, briers and swamp below the tunnel, and found 

 it to be at this place a dark, rapid stream, 20 to 30ft, 

 wide and about lOin. deep on the shoals. Quickly joint- 

 ing rods, lines, leaders and flies, we plunged into water 

 cold enough to make our feet and shins ache. My first 

 short cast hooked a lOin. trout, which, like all the others 

 caught here, fought with remarkable vigor. In less than 

 an hour, having covered about forty rods of water, Mc- 

 Donald had two dozen and I a dozen and a half, averag- 

 ing more than 9in. Here, for the first and only time, the 

 "thro whacks" were not numerous enough to be a nuis- 

 ance, not half a dozen being hooked. 



Judged by what we saw of it I regard Upper Gandy as 

 the best trouting waters we visited. Barring two "not 

 very formidable objections, to wit, the uncomfortable 

 coldness of the water, and in places, the proximity of the 

 branches, it is an ideal trout stream: not too deep to be 

 easily waded, just wide enough to be covered with a 

 medium cast, and with trout to be proud of in every 

 square rod. To this hour I regret that we did not give an 

 entire day to Upper Gandy. 



Following our prearranged plan, we crossed the moun- 

 tain to the waters of Laurel, near Green Knob, the high- 

 est peak in all that region. In the evening we fished a 

 mile or so of Elk Run, catching some dozens of smaU 

 fish, which, with our Gandy catch, more than supplied 

 supper and breakfast for the dozen persons who that 

 night slept under the hospitable roof of herder Philip 

 Harbaugn. 



Next morning, following a hunter's trail for two and a 

 half miles, we reached mahogany-colored Laurel, the 

 local fame of which had instigated this expedition. It 

 well deserved its reputation. We found it fairly alive 

 with trout, big and little, especially little. Here, if any- 

 where, we were to fill our creels for our friends at home, 

 and we made a new classification of sizes: "Washington- 

 ians," Sin. or over; "campers" (for immediate use), be- 

 tween 7 and Sin.: all smaller ones ranking as "throw- 

 backs." 



This classification, it was found, left the "Washing- 

 tonians" in the minority, and we soon had all the "camp- 

 ers" we could use: we therefore reduced the classes to 

 two, making "throwbacks" of the "campers." The reader 

 is advised to credit any story he may hear about the mul- 

 titude of trout at this place. The most accomplished fish 

 liar or ckculation editor could not earn board wages in 

 trying to exaggerate the number. We heard from good 

 authority that a few days before our arrival a herder 

 youth (our packer here) with one companion caught 900 

 in a day and a half. After testing the stream we not 

 only believed the story but believed that we could have 

 duplicated this marvelovs catch if numbers had been our 

 chief object. But we wanted "Washingtonians" and, 

 heeding the rule that the larger fish are usually among 

 the first caught at a given place, we hurried along, leav- 

 ing myriads of greedy "throwbacks" and, doubtless, hun- 

 dreds of big fellows for future anglers. 



After a mile or two of this royal sport we encountered 

 a streak of adverse fortune. The catch suddenly fell off 

 three-fourths and we were puzzled; but the mystery wag 

 cleared up when we arrived at Beverly trail and found a 

 camp just deserted by a party of fishers, who had evi- 

 dently undertaken to exterminate the entire trout species 



We spent the night at this carop, which was merely a 

 bark roof with the lower end resting on a large log, first, 

 however, dressing our fish. Next morning we hastened 

 over the remaining two miles of fished-out waters and 

 again found the glorious sport of the previous morning. 

 By 10 o'clock we had all the fish we were willing to carry 

 and called a halt. 



As fifty-six hours elapsed between the time when we 

 caught the first of these fish and the time we reached ice, 

 it may be interesting to learn how we preserved them. 

 Under the supervision of Guide Degler we dressed every 

 one with '^the most scrupulous care, exactly as for the 

 table— removing the entrails, gills and every trace of 

 blood, washing perfectly clean, and sprinkling the inside 

 of each with a pinch of salt. After thoroughly cleansing 

 our refrigerator basket and creels we placed in the bottom 

 of each a layer of elder leaves, upon this a layer of trout, 

 and so alternating until the basket was nearty full, then 

 elder leaves to the lid. These fish were out of the water 

 from 30 to 56 hours without ice and 20 hours with ice, yet 

 the cook, sundry experts, and all others who in&pected 

 them pronounced every fish to be in perfect condition. 

 True, we had the di-y and comparatively cool air of the 

 mountains until we reached ice; but we feel assured that 

 the method employed had much to do with their excel- 

 lent state of preservation. 



Returning to the subject of our pilgrimage. After 

 dining we put up our rods, sadly reflecting that this was 

 the last time for this long-to-be-reraembered fxpedition. 

 Shouldering our luggage, we trudged for ten miles over 

 a colossal mountain at a point facetiously called the "Big 

 Low Place," through pathless woods to Dry Fork, and 

 down that hide-and-seek stream to camp. The tramp 

 was toilsome, but uneventful. The inspiring "ching, 

 ching," "boom, boom," imitations of the drum and cym- 

 bals hj Degler, and McDonald's cheering trombone 

 response "tarra-a-ah-r-r-rum," lightened our lagging legs. 



Next morning we broke camp, and, accompanied by 

 our little caravan, wall:ed twenty miles to Davis. Next 

 day evening we reached home, each having from 10 to 

 151bs. of fish fit to grace a banquet of the gods, and proud 

 of our achievements, pedestrian and piscatorial , as mem- 

 bers of the Gandy Salmo Fontinalis Club. 



Jere Williams. 



ALONG THE NORTH SHORE AND TO 

 ISLE ROYAL.— II. 



[.Condudad from page, W.] 



MORNING found the storm raging as hard as ever. A 

 fair beautiful morning it was if only the breeze 

 and the waves were quiet. After breakfast we started to 

 walk to Grand Portage, which we knew could not be 

 more than four or five miles away. The walk was 

 quite enjoyable, but tiresome as we followed the shore 

 line. The scene was most beautiful as we came out on 

 the point that looks into Grand Portage Bay, Nearly in 

 front of us was Grand Portage Island, while away up at 

 the head of the bay lay the village of Grand Portage, sur- 

 rounded by high rocky hills scantily covered with small 

 trees, bushes and verdure. Scattered about between the 

 hills and the bay were the white wash* d log houses of the 

 village. The contrasting waters of the bay, the green 

 hillc!, and the whiteness of the houses, dominated by the 

 chapel, made a scene surpassingly beautiful, more like an 

 old world scene than the newest of the bustling new, Ic 

 was a tedious walk around the bay, and as we neared the 

 village rain began to fall. At the first house the Indian 

 woman and boy refused to talk English. At the next we 

 were cordially welcomed in good English. It was the 

 house of an old ex-government school teacher, a French- 

 man from lower Canada— now the postmaster at Grand 

 Portage— whose strong son Joseph said that he would re- 

 turn with us and bring down our dunnage for two dollars. 



The old ex-school teacher was much interested in us as 

 soon as he learned that we had been on and were ac- 

 quainted with White Earth Reservation. By recent treaty 

 the Grand Portage Indians, between two and three hun- 

 dred in number, may be moved to White Earth, and there 

 is much disFatisf action among them at the prospect of 

 leaving the lake and hills and going to the prairies and 

 pine woods. I was glad that we could give a good report 

 of the land. 



The return to Camp Castaway was a rough one. The 

 wind blew harder, the rain fell, the swells ran so high 

 that Joseph feared that if we were once landed we would 

 not be able to get off again. We made a stern landing, 

 running in on a big comber as we did the day before. 

 Considerable water got into the boat, however. Dinner 

 was prepared and eaten, our dunnage packed and placed 

 in the boat, the Acme folded up, roller put under the 

 big boat, and watching our chance we shoved her in on 

 a big wave and away we went, Stephens waving a good- 

 bye to our camp as we rounded the point. 



We were landed on Grand Portage Island, as the 

 steamer does not run up the bay to the village. Joseph 

 told us there was fine trout fishing at the falls in Pigeon 

 River, and also that there was a lake back from Grand 

 Portage that was full of trout. We also learned that our 

 long looked for Reservation River was the stream where 

 we had caught the three big trout. Well, we have one 

 satisfaction now — we know where Reservation River is, 

 the distance down from Chicago Bay and the distance 



