266 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 8i, 18&4. 



ON THE NORTH SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 



"Should you lure, 

 From his dark haunt beneath the tangled roots 

 Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook, 

 Behooves you then to ply your finest art." 



The angler who voyages to the North Shore of Lake 

 Superior for the ever beautiful trout of radiant dyes has 

 revealed to him a region of primitive wildness and pic- 

 turesque beauty that is without a parallel on this conti- 

 nent. The lake itself, the largest body of fresh water in 

 the world, alone impresses him far beyond his most san- 

 guine expectations. Imagine a vast reservoir of the 

 purest, clearest and most wholesome water, having for 

 its dimensions a length of 380 miles, a breadth of 160 at 

 its widest part, and a shoreline of rough and ragged walls 

 of 1,500 miles, with a depth varying from 500 to 1,000ft. 

 This is not all, for in addition to its having a waterway 

 of 2,100 miles from the source of the St. Louis emptying 

 at its head to the. mouth of the St. Lawrence, it receives 

 the waters of 200 rivers and contains 25,000 islands and 

 islets. Its very purity and coolness, never rising above 

 46° Fahrenheit, make it the most favored home for the 

 matchless beauties who so proudly wear the celestial 

 colors of the rainbow and the sunset. 



From Gros Cap Island to the mouth of the famed Nipi- 

 gon, and, in fact, along the entire coast line, they he in 

 quiet concealment in rocky chasms, under ledges and 

 around big boulders. In the first mentioned boundary 

 they are found to be more numerous and of more ample 

 proportions, but always of that graceful symmetry and 

 ideal iridescence which pre-eminently make them worthy 

 the pen and pencil of both poet and painter. 



For a number of years, in company with Mr. P. E. 

 Roach, whom I have in other published serials called 

 Ned, and will hereafter in this, I have sailed along the 

 beetling cliffs and purple mountains of the North Shore, 

 tempting, with alluring flies of shimmering tinsel and 

 feathers gay, these scarlet-robed Hebes of the "gleaming 

 stars" that in expectancy lie in their rocky lairs ever ready 

 with, blazing eyes and tiger-like savagery to spring upon 

 their unsuspecting prey. 



In the early part of last July, when the sun was pour- 

 ing down a flood of bright goiden light, and lovely clouds 

 of crimson were serenely drifting in the empyrean blue, 

 we started with very hopeful hearts and unfaltering 

 tenacity of purpose for the iron-bound coast in a Mackinac 

 — a special name for that class of boats — well provisioned, 

 and manned by two sturdy half-breed sailors. The water 

 being as smooth as polished steel and the heat unduly 

 intense, we took a tow from the "Soo" with the little tug 

 Annie Clarke as far as Grindstone Point, where we "cast 

 off," went ashore and camped. It being near 6 o'clock 

 when we struck the beach, and having had nothing but a 

 few crackers since early morn, we hustled things around 

 quite lively, and soon saw the white wings of our tents 

 arise amid a cluster of spruce and balsam, the provisions 

 carefully stowed away, and then the long-wished-for 

 supper prepared, to which we brought a plow boy's insati- 

 able appetite. It was dispatched, I assure you, with 

 alacrity, and without the formula of finger bowls or linen 

 napkins. We were roughing it, and as a necessity, the 

 dining-room auxiliaries of a first-class menu were omitted 

 on this particular outing. 



Camping, we will here remark, while incidentally 

 touching upon the delightful recreation, is not for every 

 one; it is not for those whose appetite fails them at a 

 table less than three feet above grasshoppers and crickets; 

 it is not for people of few resources, miserable when alone. 

 It is for all who are in love with nature, who desire to 

 know her in every mood — in storm, in the wilderness, in 

 the night, and with Keats, 



"Far, far away to leave 

 All meaner thoughts, and take a sweet reprieve 

 From little cares;" 



who, away from the shows of things, find clearer judg- 

 ments sifting down between the leaves with the sunlight, 

 and springing up with the grass blades, and who are will- 

 ing to pay for all this the price of some sacrifice of ease 

 and order and conventionality. 



Ned and I always took this philosophic view of it, really 

 the angler's view, and fully discussed it that evening over 

 our "tea and toast," satisfied that no perfumed dandy of 

 the gentle art with soft muscles and silk stocking affini- 

 ties should ever seek this rock-bound and mountainous 

 shore in pursuit of the tinted beauties. His Utopian ideas 

 of the angle would soon go glimmering if he ever had 

 the hardihood to attempt it. 



Desiring, after the wholesome repast, to enjoy the 

 fretted and dying fires that then filled the vault of heaven, 

 we sought a convenient spot on some rocks overlooking 

 the great late, and there watched the regal loveliness of 

 the west, as the clouds took on the scarlet of the sea- 

 shell, and the far away hills the blue and tender gray of 

 the departing day. Turning to the luminous gateway of 

 the east, as twilight lost itself in the crimson hues, we 

 were greeted with the silver face of the full moon in sum- 

 mer glow rising slowly o'er the rustling treetops into the 

 amethystine sky. 



Our cup of emotional pleasure was now filled to the 

 very brim with this impressive scene of heavenly splendor 

 where nature had massed her choicest colors like the 

 threads of some delicate embroidery, 



"Purpled and paled with dreamy mist, 

 Shaken from breezy wafts that lie 

 Calmed in their isles of amethyst." 



A myriad of murmuring insects, as if to destroy our 

 quiet contemplation of the bejeweled arch, had now risen 

 on all sides of us, and those that blood alone would satisfy 

 made such a ravenous attack upon us that the fly repell- 

 ent which we were fortunate enough to bring along, was 

 soon deluging our faces and hands. Ned bawled out in 

 bitter agony at the savage onslaught of the bloody horde, 

 which make life such a misery on these lonely shores' 

 while I was not a bit behind in the use of that lurid 

 language which seems to afford a pagan as much relief 

 as tears do the gentler sex. The odoriferous liquid, 

 however, soon began to display its subtle powers upon 

 these little trumpeters of the woods, and then we became 

 as gentle as sucking doves. 



The night wore on apace in unclouded grandeur with 



"the silver-footed queen" proudly advancing in her celes- 

 tial pathway and flooding lake and land with shimmering 

 beams and shifting shadows. 



The silence which prevailed — deep as death itself— was 

 only broken by the clamorous hoot of some far away owl, 

 or the flutter of some hungry whippoorwill as he snapped 

 up the tiny insects for his nocturnal meal. My piscatorial 

 camarade was so deeply enthused with the ravishing- 

 beauty of the night and the luxury of a fragrant regalia, 

 that nought but the leap of a trout or the bite of a brillot 

 would bring him back to things terrestrial. The latter, 

 however, soon drew his blood, and then sentiment was in 

 hurried retreat and he himself once more. 



"The beastly pirates will never let up," was his awaken- 

 ing response to the insectivorous invaders, and then there 

 was a free anointing once more with the powerful mix- 

 ture. 



The plans for the morning's sport being talked over and 

 fully matured, we quietly retired to luxuriant beds of 

 fragrant balsam leaves which soon wooed us to restful 

 slumber and delightful dreams. 



The early dawn, like a rose of joy, introduced a refulgent 

 sun, accompanied with tinted clouds lazily floating in un- 

 numbered battalions across the spangled dome of blue, 

 and charmingly imprinting their delicate reflections o'er 

 the far-reaching prospect. 



The gentle breeze, a southwest one and always a de- 

 light to the gentle angler, came laden with a fragrance 

 and exhilaration from the dense forests that made the 

 eyes sparkle with the radiant glow of ruddy health. It 

 was really the exquisite morning of a faultless summer day. 

 Eager for the anticipated sport, the camp was at once 

 aroused, breakfast hurriedly served, and then to the home 

 of the Apollo of the dotted robes. 



Our half-breeds, we will here particularize, were experi- 

 enced and active boatmen, and in every way exceedingly 

 meritorious, taking as much interest as ourselves in raids 

 for the rose-colored leopards of the rocky reefs and pel- 

 lucid pools. The chief boatman answered to the name of 

 Peter, being the one who was with us on our trip of last 

 year, while his "helper" responded to that of Kenosh. 

 Though the latter was a "sub" on the trip, he was the best 

 of the twain, and could give his boss many fine points in 

 skillful navigation, and also discount him as chef of the 

 frying pans. He was unusually daring with a boat, and 

 would venture in storms that would make many a half- 

 breed turn pale, if not his more civilized brother. He 

 was a rare exception to his class, and so apparent was his 

 superiority to that of his chief that that individual was 

 constantly kept on the strain to prevent being entirely 

 overshadowed. We were confident we had drawn a prize 

 in Kenosh, and that he would prove superlatively satisfac- 

 tory, and could fully be depended upon in time of threat- 

 ened peril. Invariably he was the first to obey, and that 

 morning had arisen unusually early, so there would be no 

 delay in starting for the retreats of -the golden fins. Ned 

 was also another of the peep-o'-day boys, for he was 

 always up with the first coming of dawn, arranging his 

 tackle, and particularly his flies, which so frequently had 

 to have, in his opinion, an additional red feather or two, 

 and doubtless a glass eye. 



"All aboard!" was the cry immediately after breakfast, 

 and into the shapely Mackinac we all tumbled with an 

 alacrity that astonished ourselves. The prospective sport 

 was undoubtedly the incentive for our unusual agility, 

 and to have seen us hustling around that morning, like 

 boys on the common, you would think we had been par- 

 taking of the waters which Ponce de Leon so long sought 

 for, but never found. 



My tackle had been ready long before the breakfast bell 

 had tinkled. I had selected a silver-doctor for my drop- 

 per and a gray-hackle with a red body for my stretcher, 

 having always found these very choice flies; and with my 

 7-ounce split bamboo with cork handle and aluminum 

 reel, was satisfied, thus prepared, to secure my share of 

 the quarry. , 



Ned had selected a couple of flies of his own creation, 

 which might as well be termed the ' 'red-headed-terror" 

 and the "scarlet-avenger," as they were without any dis- 

 tinct nomenclature or of any specific class. Which was 

 the dropper or which the stretcher I never ascertained, 

 suffice it to say, he idolized them as if they were priceless 

 pearls. It mattered not to him whether it was terror or 

 avenger that took precedence on the leader — they went 

 sailing all the same to the sun-kissed waters with as lurid 

 a streak in their wake as a comet displays in its erratic 

 course through the regions of unknown space. 



After proceeding along the wood-crowned and serrated 

 shore a short distance, we reached what we thought 

 coveted waters, and then the work of earnest casting 

 commenced. Ned sent his blood-red flies over some 

 streaks of darkened waters, while I sought a victim 

 around some huge boulders. Neither of us getting a 

 response to our very industrious flogging, we passed on, 

 casting as we went in every available spot that we thought 

 harbored the beautifully mottled trout. Over ledges, 

 chasms and debris of dismantled rocks our flies industri- 

 ously fell, only to be lifted from the dimpled waters to go 

 through the same modus operandi time and again, till our 

 hearts grew sad and weary of the persistent work. 



Flies were changed a dozen times or more, but it was 

 futile work, as no red-jacket showed the least bit of 

 inquisitiveness. It was "love's labor lost," and were it not 

 for the radiance with its soft and balmy air, the rhythmic 

 beat of the murmuring waves.the sapphired beauty and"the 

 deep sunset of hope," which whispered promised pleasure, 

 we would have turned the prow of our boat campward, 

 satisfied that the trout were not there or else not rising to 

 the most attractive or deftly thrown fly. 



Ned suggested a move onward to the "big rocks," a 

 mile or two ahead, and if they failed to yield us the tinted 

 trophies, to return and break camp, either then or in the 

 morning. Being in accord, a move to this haven of hope 

 was ordered, and then two pairs of glistening blades 

 swept through the mirrored green of the crystalline 

 waters. Arriving at the rocks, we cast off our hob-nailed 

 brogans and then encased our feet in tight-fitting slippers 

 covered with rough-bottomed rubbers, that we might be 

 enabled to clamber more readily over the ragged and in- 

 clined rocks without danger of a plunge into the icy 

 waters below. I took the outer edge of a big block of 

 granite, and sitting down for concealment, commenced 

 casting. On the second throw I had a rise from one of 

 the small fry, which I lamentably missed. Again the 

 flies went out and fell like fluttering snowflakes, as I 

 thought, upon the rippling water, and the same investi- 

 gating trout — or one like it— struck at my silver-doctor, 



and then was repenting of his hasty interview with a 

 frantic frenzy that availed him but little. Though of less 

 than half a pound, he fought gallantly, but for all that 

 he was soon pressing the meshes of the net, being the 

 first victim of the angler's allurement. Although he be- 

 longed to the infantile class, he was received with as 

 royal a welcome as if his weight were in pounds. We 

 were not just then elevating our proboscis at this size. 

 Later on he would have been treated with an indignity 

 that would have insured his contemptuous return to the 

 element from which he had been purloined. 



Once more my flies sailed out for others of the dotted 

 tribe, and soon I impaled one a shade larger and more 

 lovely in his silken coat of ravishing hues. My pride at 

 these tom-tits in tints began to rise, vain man that I then 

 was, and in a minute or two, as if to increase my triumph, 

 had another racing around with my dropper — a red-tip 

 coachman. This one completed a trinity of the rainbow 

 beauties and led me to believe after all that the trouting 

 would yet be generous before the bright sun kissed his 

 usual good-night to the breathing waters. I turned 

 around to look at my associate, and there he was, poised 

 on the apex of a slanting rock, casting and fluttering his 

 flies with an industry and patience that alone belong to 

 the accomplished angler. 



"You have a boss place there," he said, as he noticed 

 my observing eyes. 



"Yes, for baby trout." 



"Well, I am not too proud just now for even that class 

 of pisces, I assure you," and then with the arm of an 

 athlete and the eye of an eagle he silently resumed his 

 casting with an expectant hope that indeed merited 

 generous success. 



The sun was at meridian and its lance-like rays quite 

 ardent, yet the ardor of the angler still remained un- 

 quenched, though "the flesh pots of Egypt" were tempt- 

 ingly reposing in the lunch basket near by under the 

 rustling branches of some clustered pines. Our appetite 

 then was only for the radiant redcoats, and so we both 

 kept up a steady flogging of the gleaming lake, expecting 

 every momen t to see some hungry or inquisitive trout 

 break with wolfish snap for the quivering flies. Finally 

 I received a savage response and this time it was from a 

 foeman worthy of my steel. I felt the barbed hook sink 

 into his trembling jaws as I gave the necessary twitch at 

 the proper time and then the reel sang the tuneful rhythm 

 so pleasing to the patient angler, as the bewildered trout, 

 as I then thought it, dashed for deeper water and un- 

 limited freedom. 



Yard after yard of line spun out, and then, as I applied 

 the pressure of the silver spool, he came to the surface 

 and made an acrobatic leap-somersault, if you will; and \ 

 much to my astonishment, as well as that of the entire , 

 party, who were now interested in the fight, revealed I 

 himself as a genuine bronze-backer, and a heavy-weight ll 

 at that. Now it requires more time and patience I think 

 to kill a small-mouth black bass, such as this was, with 

 a trout rod, than it does a brook trout of equal weight 

 under the same circumstances. 



"Give him ample time," was the cautious cry of the 

 originator of the lurid flies, and time it was, for I played 

 him through all his savage dashes, his frantic leaps, his 

 stubborn sulks and his crafty strategy, until I almost de- 

 spaired of bringing him to the net. At last he comes to 

 the surface, and then, as if harboring some grand coup, i 

 yields to the running thread as it is returned to tn« 

 rhythmic reel. I well knew the bulldog fighter had 

 another trump to play and that it would drop ere he in- 

 voluntarily consented to be encircled in the fatal twine. 

 Gently he approached, and as he rested a moment on his ; 

 panting sides I saw the savage glare of his fierce eyes, too 

 vital indeed for a complete surrender. "Ah! there he 

 goes once more," but he was not the surprise party he had 

 plotted for, as I had learned the tricks of these old bronze 

 warriors too well in my many exploits around the pic- 

 turesque islands of Lake Erie to be now taken at a disad- 

 vantage. "Eun on, my frantic brave, for I opine it will 

 be your last race ere your funeral dirge is sung. Tired 

 and broken-hearted are you, and even the white flag goes 

 up in token of surrender." Well, stand ready with the 

 net. Ah! here you are; now lift him out gently and 

 ascertain what his weight registers. "Three and a half 

 pounds," say you? "All right, lay him carefully on the 

 grass with the other symmetrical beauties, and there you 1 

 have in the two species the realistic picture of the gamest 

 and handsomest fish that ever made the heart of an 

 angler palpitate with pleasurable emotions. Now for 

 lunch." 



As it was quite warm we sought the grateful shade 

 under some spreading maples in the deep woods, and 

 there did ample justice to the contents of a well-filled 

 lunch basket. It was probably not as fine as the Egyptian 

 cookery, of which it is said the great Cassar grew fat with 

 the feasting thereof, but our keen appetite rendered it so 

 very palatable that we were not at all envious of the im- 

 perial gourmand. 



After the tid-bits of the basket— really our dessert — had , 

 been disposed of, the half-breeds and my associate 

 indulged in a smoke, while I, piscatorially inclined, took 

 my rod and again sought the big rock in expectation of 

 alluring another trout or bass to the feast of the flies. 

 Through repeated castings I rose another black bass, with 

 which I unfortunately failed to connect, and then , after 

 the lapse of a few minutes, hung one of the bespotted 

 beauties' of a little less than half a pound, and that was 

 all I could coax from the icy waters around this choice 

 spot during an hour's constant casting. 



The smokers having imbibed enough of the poisonous 

 nicotine, now pronounced in favor of taking the boat and 

 coasting along, in hopes of bettering our sport. Trying 

 the experiment for fully an hour or more without the'sur- 

 face of the water being broken by the desirable fish, we 

 concluded they were not in it at all, and then the prow of 

 the Mackinac was turned to our far-away camp. On com- 1 

 ing to what we considered choice places en route, we 

 stopped and offered our flies as a temptation to S. fonti- 

 nalis, but they were not to he buncoed with the fluttering 

 feathers, and so we reeled up and went on our "winding 

 way," content to take in the shifting panorama, always a 

 source of great delight to the ardent lover of nature, 



A glance at the distant and beautiful Bachewauaung 

 Bay revealed the faint mist of blue, gently stealing o'er 

 the wooded hills, until lost in the bright sunshine; to the 

 west, where Aurora was fast coursing, streamed clouds in 

 mantle of gold that scarcely moved; soft shadows fell o'er 

 the valleys and the heights above; zephyr breezes laden 

 with the fragrance of the balsamic forests caress your 



