266 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



LSept. 29, 1892. 



CAMPS OF THE KINGFISHERS.-XII. 



CARP LAKE, MICHIGAN. 



The Carp Lake Camp. 



[Gontmued from: Paue 179.1 



Wb anchored the boat near the edge of the rush line 

 and filled the bucket with good big shiners, which we 

 caught with hook and line, some of them within a foot 

 or less of the mouth of the trap. They bit greedily at a 

 scrap of worm on the hook, but a broken up cracker in a 

 glass case didn't appear to remind them of anything, or 

 they were too smart to go in the trap, and we have never 

 found out which to give them credit for, stupidity or 

 smartness. 



We pulled across to camp in an ugly cross sea, rolling 

 down the lake, and simk the bucket of minnows three or 

 four rods from shore in four or live feet of water with a 

 float tied to the end of the line attached to the bucket 

 bale, this for a buoy by which we could readily find it 

 Avhen wanted; and after lifting the ironclad out on the 

 sandy beach we climbed th,e bank with the "big trout" 

 and walked in under the fly where the rest of the. boys 

 were enjoying an afternoon lunch, 



From some cause — probably a violent case of cramps 

 brought on by the hook in his bowels or the change from 

 the <iold water of the brook to the warmer water of the" 

 lake — "old Hickory's trout," as the boys had got to call- 

 ing him, was dead, and stiff as a smoked herrin', and 

 when laid on the table with his tail curled something in 

 the shape of a spoon-oar blade each one felt called on to 

 make a few "amphibious remarks." 



"Never see a mud turkle jest that shape afore; must be 

 a new species," said old Sam solemnly; and Charley ven- 

 tured that "the markings on him were somewhat differ- 

 ent from those on any other dogfish he had ever seen," 

 and the Colonel and the "pi-ofessor" — but I won't try to 

 chronicle the "roasting," as they say in baseball, that I 

 got on account of that hapless troiit; it is enough to say 

 that should I ever see another big trout in a pool and 

 take a special interest in its capture I'll say not a word 

 about it to "a solitary soul on the face o' this livin airth" 

 till I have "hived him" and brought him into camp — 

 alive, 



(Old Sam put "the last trout in the pool" in strong 

 brine to keep and take home to show to some of his fel- 

 low fish cranks, who had never seen one of the tribe, but 

 we learned afterward that the experiment was not a suc- 

 cess. When he took it from the jar in which it was put 

 to pickle he said he "couldn't tell whether it was 'Jeems 

 Mackerel's trout' or a new specie o' stone roller." 



The days came and slipped by into the past, each full 

 of its pleasures and some disappointments, for the bass 

 fishing was not as good as we wished and the wind was a 

 continual strain on our patience, as it blew hard every 

 day usually up or down the lake, making the water so 

 rough that we rarely got a half day of comfortable fish- 

 ing; but withal we were content and happy, and wished 

 there was no such thing as business in the world to dis- 

 turb the dreamy, indolent ways we had fallen into and 

 awaken us to the harder realities of life. 



To vary the enjoyment, an excursion was planned that 

 night around the camp-fire for the following Sunday to 

 go down to Leland for a view of the big lake (Michigan) 

 at the outlet of Carp Lake, and next morning, Saturday, 

 I launched the ironclad, and with rod and bucket of min- 

 nows took my way down to the Fountain Point House to 

 hire the little steam lauch Rambler, stay over night and 

 come back with the boat in the morning in time for a 

 good start. 



The pull down to the hotel was uneventful, except for 

 an "episode" with a school of big gars, three and four 

 feet long some of them, that I ran into in shallow water 

 near shore at the ipoint above Wood's Bay. They were 

 lying close inshore in water less than a foot deep, sunning 

 themselves, as it appeared, and as I came on them un- 

 awares there was lively hustling among them for a minute 

 to get around and under the boat out into the lake, and I 

 was glad when the last one dashed under the boat and 

 went clear without punching his long bony snout through 

 the canvas and causing another shipwreck. 



Then a great snapping turtle, as big across as a camp 

 stool and with a head as big as a tin cujj, came clawing 

 his way along the bottom from inshore— he had doubtless 

 been "a lay in' " for one of the gars to come within reach 

 of his terrible jaws— and passed slowly and heedlessly 

 under the boat directly amidships, the "scroll work" on 

 his back barely clearing the canvas as he made his way out 

 into the deeper water, 



I gave him a smart poke with an oar blade as he went 

 by to hasten his movements, and lamented because I 

 hadn't a gaft' and a pistol along, for there, only a yard or 

 so away, was our biggest camp kettle full of savory turtle 

 soup walking off into the depths of the lake and I looking 

 on powerless to prevent it. 



Yum! My mouth watered, and I fancied I could almost 

 sniff the several and various odors arising from that 

 camp kettle; the oars fell again in measured stroke, and 

 just then I wag reminded of the story of the old darky 

 and his rabbit, which at an unlocked for moment 

 "humped himself" and kicked out of his grasp and made 

 his escape, with the parting shot from the old man, 

 "Take yo'se'f off dar, yo' wufless ole cottontail; yo' 

 nuffin' but po' dry meat nohow," which scrap of colored 

 philosophy I applied to the big turtle and felt resigned. 



When I rounded the point a short distance below I met 

 a stiff wind and a white-capped sea rolling up the lake, 

 which I had thus far avoided by keeping close in along 

 the east shore, but here the lake took a slant to the nor'^ 

 east, and from there down I was in for a hard pull. 



Wood's Bay is a noted bass ground for the "reaorters" 

 who never catch any bass, and I hooked on a minnow to 

 see if I could get a few of them to take down to my old 

 fi-iends, Colonel Whitfield's wife and her folks, who 

 spend the summer months at their cottage near the hotel 

 (they also own and manage the hotel), for I knew it 

 would never do to make my appearance before Mrs. 

 Whitfield and Mother Morrison without a string of fish of 

 some kind to uphold the reputation of the Kingfishers. 



I managed to pick up iive big-mouths before reaching 

 he hotel, which was fortunately little better than any of 

 he gupRt>f hf)d done thrif flav. aurl T noultl afford to put 



on some airs, albeit the margin was exceedingly small. 

 After a cordial hand shake all around (there were other 

 friends there, too, from Cincinnati) the best part of the 

 remainder of the afternoon till supper time was used up 

 in entertaining the youngsters with fish talk and filling 

 up at frequent intervals on the water of the famous 

 spouting well from which the house takes its name, and 

 after supper I pulled down to Provemont in the ironclad 

 and filled up my old friend Couturier— the postmaster— 

 with yarns of our camps since '84, till daylight and the 

 old man's endurance gaVe out about the same time. 



When I got back in the boat it was so dark I could 

 scarcely see my way out of the narrows into the bay 

 above the bridge, but once out I laid a course that would 

 make a short cut to the point and soon after run on a 

 sunken log in shallow water and came near getting ship- 

 wrecked in the darkness, which would have been an 

 "episode" worth" mentioning, for I was a hundred yards 

 from shore and the soft, oozy mud so deep under me 

 that an oar run down its full length failed to reach firm 

 ground. 



I was tuned up for some vigorous cussin', as I ex- 

 pected to hear the water coming through the canvas 

 somewhere, but for a wonder the ironclad escaped with 

 a good scraping of her bottom as I worked her off the 

 log, and then I felt the way carefully up to and around 

 point under reduced steam, so to speak, to the boat- 

 house, where I secured her for the night and walked up 

 to the hotel, feeling thankful I was not perched on the 

 sunken log down the bay, " hollerin' " for somebody to 

 come and take me off. 



At the house I spent the evening looking on at some 

 time-killing games" of cards going on in the parlor and 

 felt quite complacent and equal to the emergency, for I 

 had actually shaved and put on a clean shirt— not a 

 "biled" one — before leaving camp, at which exhibition 

 of absentmindednes the boys greatly marveled and gave 

 me another "roasting," for shaving in camp is notable 

 as one of the lost industries. 



I slept in a good bed that night— not one of the Inter- 

 lachen $1.49 affairs — had a good breakfast in the morn- 

 ing and when 1 went to pay the bill I found thaU Mrs. 

 Whitfield had figured it out to amount to just !gO, which 

 reminded me of the old tavern keeper who flourished 

 once upon a time down in Indiana, 



I paid the bill, with thanks only — she would take no 

 other remuneration — and have been studying since how 

 to get even with that blessed little woman, but the solu- 

 tion is as far away now as then, and I can only say, 

 "May the Fountain Point House prosper till the fountain 

 runs dry." 



With the indicator of the steam gauge wavering around 

 the 80lb, mark, the Rambler made the run to camp in less 

 than an hour, where we found the boys all ready except 

 Kelpie and Johnny, who had taken a boat and gone to the 

 lake and up the "bayou" to hunt the mouth of Cedar Run 

 and follow up the stream to see if the trout fishing in it 

 was as good as reported. The bayou was a narrow, 

 nearly currentless stream coming into the lake through 

 a vast swamp, and just why it was called "the bayou" no 

 man could tell. 



Cedar Run flowed into this sluggish stream from the 

 south, about a half mile from the lake, and was navigable, 

 so we had learned from the Nolan boys, for a canoe or 

 small boat as far up as it had been "logged out," a 

 distance of a couple of miles. 



Old Sam and I had tried the year before to get up it in 

 a boat but fotmd it imj)0ssible on account of a jam of logs' 

 and railroad ties near the mouth, and this year we had 

 been too busy hunting bass waters and idling along other 

 trout streams to think much about it, and had not troubled 

 oui'selves to go up and see if the logs were out. 



Kelpie and "the kid'' had left camp early in the morn- 

 ing, leaving word that if the steamer would come to the 

 head of the lake and blow her whistle a few times they 

 would return and go along with us. 



The boat was dispatched to the mouth of the bayou, 

 when the whistle was blown vigorously for awhile, and 

 then the Captain worked her up to the mouth of Cedar 

 Run, where he pulled the whistle at intervals and waited 

 for more than an hour without a response, and at last gave 

 it up and came back without them, when we got aboard 

 and headed down the lake in not a very good humor for 

 having been kept so long waiting. 



We took the keeper of the fryin' pans along, leaving the 

 camj) in charge of three of the Laid law children — "Captain 

 Tom," his sister Emma, a little miss near Tom's age, and 

 little Jimmy, an artless, sweot-faced midget of a boy in 

 short breeches, who had won his way into our hearts till 

 he was the pet of the whole camp. As the launch moved 

 away we saluted Captain Tom, who stood at the edo-e of 

 the bank erect and soldierly, nigh bursting with a sense 

 of importance at the responsibility imposed on him, but 

 with an air of dignity proportioned to his notions of the 

 magnitude of his charge that was highly amusing. 



But Tom was a courageous, trusty boy, and we felt that 

 the camp would be looked after with fidelity during our 

 absence, and that the old flag would be still there when 

 we got back, unless he was overwhelmed by some unex- 

 pected flank movement not provided for in his line of 

 defense. 



The trip down the late and back was uneventful, and 

 the details may be served up like a cheap boarding-house 

 dinner— all at once, as there wasn't an "episode" during 

 the day worth mentioning, but it was a beautiful day, 

 and the boys enjoyed the view of the big lake and the 

 scenery of Lower Carp, as it was all new to them. The 

 "perfessor" enjoyed himself, too, more, it seemed, than 

 the rest of us; in fact, it was a great day for him, as he 

 had us cornered in the narrow limits of the little launch 

 where he could fire his irritating witticisms (?) and stale 

 puns at us, and we unable to get out of the way. He 

 had wound himself up early in the morning, and didn't 

 run down till the circle broke up around the camp-fire 

 that night. 



(The "perfessor" might do himself a good turn by past- 

 ing in his hat the following quotation, to wit: "He that 

 hath a satirical vein, as he maketh others afraid of his 

 wit, so he had need to be afraid of others' memory." We 

 still have the "perfessor" in mind.) 



Back at the camp again before "sundown, we found 



Kelpie and Johnny had just returned without a trout or 



any other kind of fish. 



They had gone by the mouth of Cedar run without no- 

 ticing it and kept on the main stream (the bayou) hunt- 

 ing for "the first crick oomin' in from the left," as old 

 Sam had instructed them, till they came to the whallow 



water and riffles where the stream left the "hard lands" 

 and entered the swamp, near two miles from the lake. 



They had seen a good many fish— goggle-eyes, perch, 

 suckers, and an occasional pickerel, and dogfish, but they 

 wasted little time on them, as they were looking for 

 Cedar Run, and trout. Kelpie said he knew there were 

 no trout in the stream because of the presence of the 

 pickerel and other fish, and because it didn't "look 

 trouty," but he had enjoyed the day out, as he was never 

 better satisfied with himself than when poking along, 

 exploring a new stream. 



When asked if they had heard the steamer whistling 

 for them, he said they had heard a whistle but supposed 

 it was the mill whistle at Bingham— which was the most 

 transparent prevarication we had ever known him to be 

 guilty of, as he knew the mill did not run on Sundays, 

 and besides, the mill whistle was near an octave lower in 

 tone than the whistle of the little steamer. 



But after all, we did not blame him much for preferring 

 the solitude of the swamp and Johnny to the "perfessor's 

 jokes," and the mild "fish lie" with which he burdened 

 his conscience to explain the reason of their not answer- 

 ing the whistle will, it may be hoped, not count much 

 against him at the final round up. 



Miss Emma and little Jim had got tired and left some 

 time before, but the "officer of the day" was still on duty. 

 He was duly commended for his faithfulness as a camp 

 keeper, and a minute after was kicking up a streak of 

 dust in the road with his brown bare feet as he "humped 

 it" for home to drive up the cows for the evening milking 

 —the happiest boy and the best, to our notion in all the 

 neighborhood around. 



Here's health and long life to you, "Captain Tom:" 

 may you grow up to be as good a man as you are a boy. 



The camp fell into its old ways again. 



The old flag was lowered at .sundown, untoggled and 

 put away for the night, the camp-fire built, lies swapped 

 around it as of yore, plans for the morrow talked over, 

 some excruciating jokes were worked in at inopportune 

 times by the "perfessor" to keep his hand in, and as the 

 fire burned down and drowsiness overtook us we found 

 our way to the tents, each as the spirit moved him, leav- 

 ing the Colonel as tisiial to sit in his camp chair sucking 

 comfort from his pipe and weaving fancies in the gleam- 

 ing coals till the last tiny tongue of blueish flame wavered 

 and died out, leaving him only some wreaths of smoke 

 curling from the ends of burned off sticks and the dull 

 red glow of the dying embers to remind him that the 

 turn of the night was drawing on apace. Kinoflsher. 



[TO BE CONCLUDED.] 



A CAMPER'S DIARY.— IV. 



The Fobks, Aug. 24.— This is the camp on a bank, 

 raised up, overlooking the Little Magalloway, not far 

 from where it joins the Magalloway proper. You can't 

 quite hear the meeting witla the big one, but you can 

 hear the commotion. There's only a little plateau cleared 

 off for the camp, with a raspberry jangle in back and 

 then the woods interminable. We have built some steps 

 down the bank to the foot where the boats lie moored, 

 half hidden. There's a trail meandering down along the 

 brow, and when:.the flaps are open it goes right through 

 the tent. One side of the canvas is pinned close to the 

 edge of the bluff with the guy ropes reaching down and 

 fastened to divers spruce and small white birches among 

 the foliage on the bank. There's a rude shelter tent, too, 

 just a fly. supported by forked saplings, and there we 

 dine on a table made from a dismembered provision box. 

 The camp stones are between, in the clearing, well swept 

 by the bough broom, and the forked saplings are gar- 

 nished with camp things; some are bright and reflect the 

 sun, some don'i. I'm making these notes in peace. The 

 others are off on an all day's tramp. 



The provisions suffered little from their wetting in the 

 rapids. The flour, in a big tin pail, caked a little, the 

 meal got sour in spots, and the bag of prunes prematurely 

 began to swell, but the big rtibber bags saved the clothing. 

 The only bad thing about those bags is in the tent at 

 night. When a thing goes through that capacious maw 

 it's irrecoverable. You're liable to want a pair of stock- 



at lunch a fellow came down the trail, came through the 

 tent, and first thing I knew stood smiling at the little 

 village obstructing things. He was a youngish man with 

 a brown flannel shirt, open at the throat, a knapsack on 

 shoulder and a well browned skin that proclaimed him a 

 native, a tan that was ingrained and staid there summer 

 and winter, not fresh and parvenu like ours. We ap- 

 peared to have known each other for several years, so he 

 unslung his pack and dropped on his haunches to help 

 me make the dinner less. 



When the subject of deer came up, I said, "Are there 

 many?" His jnouth was obstructed at the time with one 

 of Sam's famous biscuits, so he smiled and waved hie 

 hand over miles of wooded hills. He knew of nothing to 

 prevent a man from getting a deer if he wanted one and 

 kept quiet about it. To his thinking, the natives ought 

 to leave them pretty much alone for the visitors who 

 come with guns and pocketbooke. He reflected seriously 

 before answering my question, and said: "Yes, there 

 are more deer shot iu summer than in winter." 



Aug. ^5.— The boys came home tired last night, but 

 brought a fair lot of fish, so we ate trout for supper and 

 had some left to put down in the spring. Had a fine 

 camp-fire then, and all sat round with our coat collars up 

 and talked. We don't tell stories much, we argue. Per- 

 haps the queerest thing is that nobody smokes. Mack 

 pulled out a brand new briar wood, took a few puffs and 

 put it back with the remark that he smoked a great deal 

 at home, "great deal," and this brought a quick look 

 from Sam, Mack was going to continue, but A'alentine 

 interrupted him. He does this frequently. He takes 

 possession of the conversation any time he' wants it by 

 virtue of a great, big, baritone voice. He said, "This 

 superior attitude affected by smokers is all bosh. They 

 get round a fire with their pipes and have you think their 

 minds are full of high fancies and poetic dreams un- 

 known to those outside the cult. Fact is, their brains 

 are smoke-cured and can't think. They only see the 

 flames that sort of leap and change, with a vacant smile." 



When I told about my noonday visitor, Mack was all 

 excited and got out the gun he hadn't dared to show 

 before. He seemed to think the law was off and wanted 

 f<> nmke plans tur to-mari'ow, "S'aleatine got to lecturing 



