68 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 38, 1892. 



CAMPS OF THE KINGFISHERS.-Vl. 



CARP LAKE, MICHIGAN. 



The Carp Lake Camp. 



In the morning Sam and Charley and Kelpie were sat- 

 isfied to use the wooden boats again, while the Colonel 

 and I put the ironclad together for a cruise up the east 

 shore of the lake to Fouch'a landing, about 3 miles, and 

 thence across for a visit to Uncle Jimmy Nolan, "the rare 

 ould Irish gentleman,'' and as good a neighbor as we 

 ever had in all the years of our camping out. 



We borrowed a few minnows out of old Sam's bucket 

 "onbeknownst" to him, and throwing an old grain sack 

 in the boat in which to bring back some potatoes, took 

 our way up shore with a stiff wind abeam from across 

 the lake that gave the ironclad a chance to show her best 

 points. A half mile or more from camp I took my first 

 bass, a small one, guessed at a trifle under a pound 

 weight, which was returned to the water to grow larger 

 if some wretch without a conscience didn't happen along 

 in the near future and yank him out to glorify himself in 

 the eyes of his friends of the same ilk as a count fisher. 



He was a vigorous fighter, however, for his size, and 

 for a minute or so the arch of the old rod came near 

 fooling us into the belief that it was battling with a 3- 

 pounder, but as he was the first bass I had felt for a 

 year we charged the error of judgment to the old wrist, 

 which was too much out of practice for a close guess at 

 the size of a fish by the strain on the muscles, and to 

 a "sneakin' hope" that overcomes us all at times that 

 the fish at the other end of the line may turn out larger 

 than he feels on the rod. 



The little fellow must have slipped around ahead of us 

 and told all the bass and other fish that be came across 

 on the way that a couple of dangerous old fish cranks 

 in a torpedo boat were cotning, loaded, and to give them 

 a wide berth or they might run against a "live wire" 

 trailing after the boat and come to grief through the 

 alluring antios of a harmless-looking shiner, for we 

 fished all the way up to the point across the little bay 

 from Fouch's landing without getting another bite, save 

 from one bold and reckless goggle-eye who failed to 

 heed the warning and fell a victim to his curiosity in 

 trying to find out what was the matter with the erratic 

 shiner. 



We stopped around the point and caught a few good 

 minnows with hook and line, still-fished awhile without 

 success, and then pulled across the bay to the landing to 

 stretch our legs ashore and slake our thirst at a pool in a 

 clear, cold little spring branch that came stealthily out of 

 the tangle to the right of the road and lost itself a few 

 rods down to the left in the grass and lily pads lining the 

 shore of the bay. 



(It may be noted for any one desiring the information, 

 that this landing is the place to where "summer resort- 

 ers" for the Fountain Point House are conveyed from 

 Traverse City by vehicle— there will soon be a railroad- 

 to take the little steam launch Rambler for the house, 

 twelve miles below.) 



After a good rest and a smoke we got back in the boat, 

 and shipping both pair of oars settled down to a pull of 

 two good miles and a half across the lake almost in the 

 eye of the wind and against a white-capped sea that 

 slapped an occasional half pint of water in over the 

 bows, but we had got used to the ironclad's ways and 

 snaky manner of climbing a sea and didn't mind it 

 much. 



We forced the boat through a dense belt of bulrushes 

 growing a couple of rods from the shore, to the landing 

 we had made in front of our last year's camp, and got 

 out to look around for reminders of the pleasant days 

 spent there in sun, and rain, and storm, for even the 

 rainy and stormy days have their pleasures in a well- 

 balanced camp. 



First, was the Colonel's famous camp-fire, or rather the 

 reminder of it in the shape of a weather-beaten pile of 

 ashes and a few sodden, partly burned roots of a great 

 stump that he had spent many hours, far into the nights, 

 in reducing by piling around it a half a cord or more of 

 logs and limbs and touching it off with certain prefatory 

 bibulous festivities and ceremonies, which would shoot 

 up into a blaze of flame and sparks that could be seen for 

 miles do wn the lake Around this we had nightly gathered 

 and smoked and told fish lies, and took solid comfort till 

 drowsiness drove us one by one to bed, except the Colonel, 

 leaving him to sit and weave fancies in the embers till 

 the last flickering flame died out. 



Two or three rods up shore was the "sign" of another 

 old stump that had shared the same fate, and a little fur- 

 ther on still another, which had moved the Colonel to call 

 it "Threa Stump Camp." 



Of a verity, "The Kurnel is a main hand at buildin' a 

 camp-fire." 



Next came a smaller lot of ashes, flattened and beaten 

 into the ground by the rains and snows of many moons, 

 and a few charred ends of chunks and sticks, which de- 

 noted the spot on which many an appetizing meal had 

 been prepared to the accompaniment of more or less 

 variegated profanity, notably when it was raining and the 

 fire wouldn't burn well. 



Near it still stood the two posts on which had rested one 

 end of the "kitchen" table, the other supported by a 

 handy stump, on which the camp-fire fiend had not been 

 allowed to operate for a display of his fireworks. 



A rod from this were yet standing three of the six posts 

 on which had rested the dining table, and off to the right 

 were four well-defined squares where the tents had stood, 

 with here and there the weather-beaten head of a tent 

 pin sticking out of the ground as we had left them when 

 we broke camp. 



While we stood talking over the pleasant days we had 

 spent on the familiar spot, a lot of cattle and some horses 

 grazing in the field caught sight of us and came hurrying 

 up to within a few yards, where they stood with necks 

 outstretched and bursting with curiosity, staring at us in 

 open-eyed wonder, with trouble brewing for us, as we 

 knew, if the inspection did not turn out to their satisfac- 

 tion. 



We were in some doubt as to their intentions, ami m9,de 



a hasty mental calculation how long it would take us, 

 with a sudden and pressing impulse for a starter, to reach 

 a division fence a few rods back of us; but our fears were 

 quieted by an old brindle cow with a clanging bell hung 

 to her neck, who seemed to recognize in us old friends, 

 by a low moo-oo, which the others appeared to understand 

 as a signal that we were all right and not to be molested, 

 and somewhat to our relief they turned lazily and began 

 feeding again, as though nothing had happened to disturb 

 the quiet of their humdrum life. 



One mild-eyed young filly, however, seemed to wish a 

 better acquaintance, and stood eyeing us curiously, afraid, 

 or too timid to make the first advance, but when I snapped 

 my fingers at her she came confidingly up and stood 

 quietly to have her nose rubbed, making an occasional 

 playful snip the while at the grain sack hanging over my 

 shoulder. 



It was a pleasant "episode." as old Sam would have 

 called it, but when we had rubbed noses to our mutual 

 satisfaction, and got quite well acquainted, the Colonel 

 and I— having in mind the cream and buttermilk in 

 Mother Nolan's spring house— started for the house, 60 or 

 70 rods back on the side hill, with her ladyship following 

 demurely behind to the fence at the lane, where she 

 stood looking after us with wistful, reproachful eyes, 

 "cogitatin' " doubtless on the uncertainty of human friend- 

 ship. 



Truly, it is a comfort to make friends with the dumb 

 animals — big, savage pups and "ornery ours" omitted. 



At the house we found uncle Jimmy sitting out on the 

 porch with a neighbor and Johnny, a lad of seventeen 

 and the baby of the family, aU three doing nothing and 

 apparently enjoying it. He welcomed us cordially and 

 boisterously as is his wont, shaking hands vigorously the 

 while, and called in at the open door. "Mother, mother, 

 come out; here's Colonel Culbertson and ould Hickory, 

 two o' thim Kingfishers that wur camped down beyant 

 by the lake last summer, d'ye mind!" "Gintlemen I'm 

 glad to see ye, so I am : sit ye down an' have chairs an' 

 rest yereelves; where's ould Sam and Charley, an' little 

 Ed. — ah, but that Ed. was the bye for mischief an' pranks, 

 an' makin' the fun, so he was; where is the botherin' bye, 

 I'd like to see him — isn't he along with ye? An' Dick 

 Marris [he remembered all the names of the party]; him 

 that presinted mother with the illegant bottle o' the 

 crather for midical purposes— be the same token the 

 milary gi' me a bad twisht soon after ye left us," with 

 a wink at the Colonel, "an' Mister FouHs, the rale gintle- 

 man that he ia, an' Harry an' Mister Gooder as I mind 

 him with the shiny sthandin' collar that 'ud make the 

 side boards of a wagon — an' where ar' ye campin' now, 

 for I know yer campin' or ye wouldn't be here, d'ye see?" 

 All this without an intermission, in a high, strained 

 voice that might have been heard half way across the 

 lake, as the wind was, but his honest old heart was in it 

 all and we let him run down without interruption for a 

 fresh start. 



Meantime gentle Mother Nolan had come out on the 

 porch and we had a good handshake all around, and when 

 Johnny brought up a crock of cold, sweet cream from the 

 springhouse the Colonel made himself at home with it, 

 while I preferred to go down to the springhouse and sample 

 the buttermilk of the morning's churning in the big 

 churn. 



The first dipper went down so slick that I hardly got a 

 good taste of it, and I tried another with better success, 

 but it took the third one to get at the exact flavor, and 

 then I wished brother "Wawayanda" was there to com- 

 pare it with the nectar he drank once upon a time 

 in a stone-lined cellar somewhere in Canada, and 

 then telling about it afterwards in Forest and Stream 

 for the sole purpose, as I figured it out, of making my 

 mouth water. 



When I returned to the porch Johnny and the neighbor 

 had slipped off somewhere, and as the two older boys, 

 Dan and Mike, were out in the fields, and Mary too tiniid 

 and shy to be coaxed from the back room, whither she 

 had fled at the first sound of her father's greeting as we 

 stepped on the porch, we spent near an hour in pleasant 

 chat with the old folks. 



When about ready to take our leave Johnny and the 

 neighbor came up the hill to the porch with a sheepish, 

 expression on their faces that meant they had been in 

 mischief of some kind, and it soon developed that they 

 had gone down to the lake to have a look at our canvas 

 boat, the first they had ever seen, and the temptation 

 to try it was too strong, and they had been overcome. 



Getting in, they raced up and down the shore awhile, 

 having great fun, when they concluded to land at a 

 sandy beach a hundred yards below that looked to them 

 a better place than where we had left it. Alas! for their 

 good intentions. 



When within 10yds. of the shore they struck a sharp, 

 unnoticed snag sticking up out of the sand, and ripped a 

 hole in the canvas that started the boat to filling rapidly, 

 but as the water was less than a foot deep they jumped 

 out on either side and snaked it ashore before it had taken 

 more than a few gallons. 



Then they sneaked up to the house to break the news 

 of the catastrophe. 



When Johnny had, with much trepidation, told his 

 tale Uncle Jimmy nearly exploded with wrath, and gave 

 the boys such a scoring for their "schylarkin' an' med- 

 dlin' ways'' that they were glad to take refuge in the 

 house under the protection of Mother Nolan till the storm 

 abated. 



Uncle Jimmy insisted on "settlin' all the damiges," 

 but we lifted a load from .Johnny's mind by assuring him 

 that we looked on it as purely an accident and he nerd 

 not worry about it; that the damage done was so insignifi- 

 cant that it could be repaired in a few minutes when we 

 got to camp. 



After the Colonel and I had consoled ourselves at the 

 springhouse with a last dipper of buttermilk, we started 

 in a body for the scene of the wreck, stopping in the 

 potato field on the way to "grabble" a half bushel or more 

 potatoes to take to camp in the grain sack. However, we 

 did not know how we were going to get them there, as 

 our boat was useless and the camp on the opposite side of 

 the lake three miles or more away. We found the boat 

 dragged up half her length on the sand, with an L-shaped 

 slit in the canvas about 2in. long on the starboard side 

 near the forward stool and five or six gallons of water in 

 the stem. 



The water was scooped out with the tin cup brought 

 along, aided by the big sponge, the boat carried out on 

 the beach and taken apart, and then we stood looking at 



each other in a vacant sort of way, in a of a category 



as to how to get it back to camp. 



"Shipwrecked b'gosh," old Sam would have said, but 

 we were on a hospitable shore, which does not always 

 fall to the lot of castaway mariners. 



The neighbor came to our relief by saying he had a 

 big new skiff a short distance down the shore which we 

 could use to get to camp and keep till he needed it; and 

 in half an hour we had the collapsed ironclad loaded into 

 the bow of the big skiff and headed down the lake in the 

 direction of the camp, much to Johnny's pleasement no 

 doubt, for it was plain the boy had been greatly worried 

 over the mishap and did not expect to come out of the 

 scrape so easily. 



A few hundred yards down shore we beached the skiff 

 at the mouth of a little stream, out of which we bad 

 taken sixty or seventy good trout the year before, but 

 after fishing it carefully up to an old deserted mill at the 

 road without a bite — the only part of the stream we had 

 found any fish in— we took a short cut back to the boat, 

 convinced that it was either a poor day for trout or that 

 the youngsters of the neighborhood had cleaned it out. 



I tried it another day some time afterward, but got 

 nothing, only the information from a boy that it had 

 been fished industriously nearly every day for a month 

 or more, and what fish they had failed to catch were 

 doubtless scared to death. 



Off the mouth of the little stream a hundred yards was 

 a stake sticking up in about 12ft. of water, where with 

 his boat tied to it, the Colonel had spent a fair part of his 

 time the previous year "inveiglin' of bluegills" with a 

 barnyard hackle for a tail fly and a couple of gaudy 

 "other" flies for droppers, the heft of the pleasure and 

 comfort being furnished by a light split-bamboo Leonard 

 fly-rod. The immediate vicinity around the stake had 

 been christened "the bluegill hole," for on almost any 

 day or hour of the day a string of them could be had for 

 the trouble of pulling a boat down from the camp to the 

 "hole" after them. 



The Colonel's weakness for bluegills, and the recollec- 

 tions called up by the sight of the old weather-worn stake 

 overcame him, and we pulled out, and taking a couple of 

 half-hitches around it with the painter, settled down for 

 an hour's sport with "them little fellers that kin knock 

 the spots off'n a trout a-hustlin' an' a-cavortin'," accord- 

 ing to old Sam, and Sam's estimate of their fighting qual- 

 ities is not far wrong. 



After taking and stringing 25 or 30 big ones— enough 

 for a couple of fries for the whole camp, and returning 

 to the water as many more smaller ones, we had enough, 

 and once more took our way down the lake— first chang- 

 ing snells and hooks for bass — but we got nothing but a 

 pickerel in two miles" fishing, and gave it up and crossed 

 over to camp about 5 o'clock, well satisfied with our day 

 out, even though the ironclad had a hole in her bottom 

 and had to go in dock for repairs. 



When we climbed the bank near Barney's table we 

 were greeted by two raw recruits from Cincinnati, sitting 

 under the big fly, whom the Colonel had telegraphed to 

 come up while in Traverse City, and they had been in 

 camp an hour or more waiting for some of us to come in 

 and do honor to their arrival. 



They were father and son ; the former a man of the 

 sawed-oft' variety, the son a spindlin' shrub of 18 years 

 from the sturdier parent stem, who had sprained his eyes 

 by over-study so such an extent that he was afflicted with 

 short sight — and glasses, but he was a good, jolly sort of 

 bov, and we took a liking to him. 



What the paternal parent lacked in stature he made 

 up in other accomplishments, among which was a burn- 

 ing desire to impart his knowledge of angling to his son 

 —who knew more about it than he did — and he could 

 hold up his end, too, equally well with the Colonel or 

 the Kfntuckians when it "came to a question of ' O. F. 

 C." or "Old Crow." 



I will not inflict the whole of his name on the reader 

 lest he get as tired hunting for the end of it as we did of 

 his unappreciated wit, the old wormy chestnuts he 

 S]}rung on us at all hours, seasonable and unseasonable, 

 bis very funny (to him) but pointless (to us) play on 

 words and his irritating sarcasms directed chiefly at 

 his friend, the Colonel, who we sometimes wished would 

 pick him up by the slack of his breeches and pitch him 

 into the lake. But he was a good follow, with capabili- 

 ties but little tact, and we finally got used to his "ever- 

 lastin' smartness" and looked for it as a part of our daily 

 fare, to be taken, however, like castor oil, with fortitude, 

 if not with a relish, and thereafter the camp run along 

 with less friction than might have been expected. 



There may be a moral to this, if the reader has a mind 

 to hunt it up. 



We called them Johnny No. 1 and Johnny No. 3 to dis- 

 tinguish one from the other, but it was only a day or two 

 till old Sim departed from the usual Kentucky custom 

 and dubbed No. 1 "Perfeseor" instead of Colonel, and 

 thereafter it was "Perfeesor" and "Johnny." 



We carried the ironclad up in the shade of one of the 

 oaks and sewed on a neat patch of canvas over the rent 

 and waterproofed it with boiled oil, mixed with the 

 preparation sent with the boat, and in the morning it was 

 as good as new and ready for another cruise. 



When the boys came in a little before sundown and 

 climbed the bank old Sam's "barometer" indicated "not 

 bitin' very well; toler'ble pore luck," but they brought in 

 fom" or flve bass and some pickerel, which, with the blue- 

 gills were more than enough for our needs, and some of 

 us, at least, were satisfied. Kingfisher. 



@ Forest and Stream S 



^ Amateur Photography § 



@ ^competition. ® 



^ See details in another column. ^ 



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