192 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
|March 7, 1896. 
THE SUMMER HOLIDAY, 
Where to Go-What to Do. 
"Who can understand Mr. Herbert Spencer's "System of 
Synthetic PhUoaopby," or his definition of "Evolution?" 
The value, however, of his "gospel of relaxation" cannot 
be overestimated. 
In the excessive hurry and excitement of this competi- 
tive stage of the nineteenth century, in the fever of life, 
when our well-earned holiday arrives — if it comes at all — 
we seek this relaxation, without time for reflection, in dif- 
ferent directions, in various ways, and the question 
remains, do we find it? 
It is only those who have gained that point of vantage 
in their career, middle age — who can compare the past 
with the present — that can adequately advise where to go 
and what to do in the annual summer holiday. 
Happy is he who, in this matter, takes "the counsel of 
the old men" — the middle aged. Without this advice 
you may decide upon an Atlantic voyage — a European 
trip. During the voyage you are at least free from the 
routine of office life; no daily newspaper, no telegrams 
or telephones! You are a free man for a while — yes, for 
a while. 
Your first voyage in a Gunard steamer, thirty years ago, 
was of eighteen days' duration. Now, before you are 
well settled down to find your "sea legs" you have landed 
at Queenstown, after five or six days' voyage in Campania 
or Lucania, and society vexations can scarcely be said to 
be absent during the short voyage. 
You have but just arrived in London. You are met by 
Cook's or Gage's tourist agents, who would fain lead you, 
like a nurse with a batch of children, in your Continental 
trip. With or without Cook or Gage, you decide to renew 
your acquaintance with men and things on the continent 
of Europe. 
The heat and turmoil of Paris bores you. You try to 
escape it. You ascend the Eiffel Tower, as you have 
already tried to avoid the London busy crowd, on the 
great wheel at Earle'a Court; even here (on Eiffel Tower) 
you are hustled by the large family of tourists — even here 
you cannot "rest awhile." You go up in a balloon for a 
bird's eye view of Paris. Alas! you find it is a captive 
balloon — so-called — and before you have time to open 
your eye to the view you receive the word of command , 
"Time's up!" and the balloon is pulled down to mother 
earth by the rope which regulates its ascension. 
You proceed to Switzerland. Surely nothing can rob 
the Alps of their picturesqueness, the flora of their beauty, 
the lakes of their charms. You climb the Regi or Pilatus 
once more to gather your favorite Alpine flowers — edel- 
weiss or Oenticma acannis. Modern science, however, 
has brought a cogwheel rail way train to the highest points 
of these mountains, and the poetry of Alpine climbing has, 
in a great measure, departed. 
At Grindenwald, prior to ascending the Jungfrau with 
its glaziers, you find there has been a "boom," and that 
hitherto isolated place has become a celebrated summer 
and winter resort, with all "modern improvements." 
You try back, in order to visit northern Italy, and you 
find that the St. Gothard Railway has brought "over civ- 
ilization" even to those parts. 
You have discovered that Geneva, on one side, and 
Brussels, on the other, are but miniatures of Paris. 
Again you vary your route. You go east. You must 
find that eagerly sought "relaxation" down the Rhine! 
Here hosts of tourists drink their British beer on every 
Rhine boat. You stop off at some quiet village en route, 
say St. Goar or Bingen, in order to secure peace and quiet, 
and you have hardly landed before 'Arry on his bicycle 
plunges into your center of gravity and leaves you all of 
a heap. As soon as possible you move on to pastures new, 
if not vistas fair. 
You take the P. & O. steamer for the Mediterranean. 
Again you visit that hotbed of British soldiery, Gibraltar, 
to find that "on foot or on horseback in southern Spain" 
is not what it was thirty years ago. Then there were no 
railways and there was a spice of danger — a bit of pleas- 
ant adventure about it. Now } ou elect to travel by rail- 
way train. Again you are disappointed. The train 
dumps you down at Grenada (the Alhambra), or Cordova, 
or Seville, with but "ten minutes for refreshment," or 
perhaps the train guard stops at that picturesque epot, 
Ronda, long enough to enable him to light his cigar- 
ette. 
You return to America in despair, not having found 
the eagerly sought relaxation. On landing at New York 
after a too brief voyage, you are once more "electrified" 
by our civilization. The stream and counter stream of 
cars on Broadway still move on. There are a thousand 
and one signs of advanced civilization on the right and 
on the left, the desire for rest and quiet remains. 
Where then can this relaxation be found? Accept the 
counsel of the old men. Come with me, say I, to the 
forest and stream, with the State of Maine or eastern 
Canada for your hunting grounds, "far from the dreary 
sounds of crowded earth, the cries of camp or town." 
Let the Micmac or Milecete canoe be your means of 
transport, a small tent or wigwam your sufficient shelter 
from sun or storm, the redskins your sure guides. And 
allow me to lead, in thought, by offering the following 
extracts'from camp notes on a very enjoyable round-trip 
canoe voyage from the Gulf of St. Lawence to the Bay of 
Fundy during my autumn holiday. 
Our party consisted of two ladies, an Irish friend skilled 
alike with rod and gun, my boy and myself. We found 
that to none was the trip more enjoyable than to the 
ladies, and shooting the rapids gave zest to their enjoy- 
ment, and they were ever ready for the business and 
pleasure of roughing it. 
Four Milecete Indians accompanied the party as guides, 
and three bark canoes were the usual means of transport,' 
while the Indians themselves were the means of transport 
for the canoes during the portage. On but one previous 
occasion (years ago) had a lady — Lady Head, wife of the 
then Governor — taken the round trip in question. 
We proceeded from the harbor of Bathurst, on the 
Gulf of St. Lawrence, to the source of the Nepiseguit 
River, Nepiseguit Lake (100 miles); thence by portage 
three miles to Nictor Lake, the source of the Tobique 
River; thence nearly 200 miles to the St. John River; about 
200 miles fur theria St. John Harbor; total distance of round 
trip about 500 miles, more than 200 of which are through 
wild forest lands. 
The whole course of the Nepiseguit River (its name 
being derived from its rough waters 'and rugged rocks), 
as well as the upper part of Tobiaue River, may be said 
to be wild and rocky and in consequence picturesque in 
the extreme. 
The view from Bald Mountain (the highest point of land 
in the province, 2,500ft., overshadowing Lake Nictor) is 
very fine, millions of acres of forest are spread like a 
map, sinking and swelling in one dark mantle over hills 
and valleys, while Mars Hill in Maine, Tracadie Gash in 
Quebec and Green Mountain in Victoria are all distinctly 
visible. 
There are some fine cascades on the Nepiseguit River. 
Grand Falls, twenty miles from its mouth, is a total height 
of 140ft. , and thus completely bars the upward progress 
of salmon. 
One member of our party here killed four salmon in 
one hour, one of which weighed (not by guess work) 301bs. 
Splendid trout fishing can be had in every deep pool above 
the falls. From Nepiseguit Lake to the falls is a part of 
the river but little frequented and but little known, the 
limit of salmon fishing being the limit of civilization. 
I pity those whose tastes can only be satisfied by ex- 
cessive salmon taking, and who fail to appreciate good 
trout fishing with light rod and line. In proof of the 
excellence of the trout fishing in the Upper Nepiseguit I 
may mention that I caught three trout in succession 
whose net weight was 9ilbs. 
Having ordered our Indians (Milecetes from the St. 
John River) to meet us with their canoes at Grand Falls, 
where is a lengthened portage, we appointed a time and 
place, meanwhile, to meet some French "habitants" 
with their canoes at some distance from Bathurst, desir- 
ing to spend a few days before the arrival of our Indians 
in fishing the splendid salmon pools at the Paheneaux, 
the Chain of Rocks and at Grand Falls. We failed, how- 
ever, to make the connection. Our men came not. 
Notwithstanding this, like old campaigners, the busi- 
ness of pitching camp, chopping wood, cooking, etc., 
proceeded in the most systematic manner, and when we 
had all assembled for our evening meal we were agree- 
ably surprised, not that the Frenchmen had arrived, but 
that the usual camp fare of pork and fish, bread and 
beans', with "oceans of tea," had been supplemented by 
the thoughtfulness of the good wife by such luxuries as 
butter and condensed milk. A pot of marmalade, too, 
was actually produced. 
It would be hard to say which camp during our trip 
was pitched on the most picturesque spot. This, our first 
camp, however, was beautifully situated on a hardwood 
plateau, the river running calmly and peacefully by at 
some distance beneath us. Vivid recollections of that 
evening will long remain. We sat for hours round the 
camp-fire in front of our tents (a small bell tent for the 
ladies, a lean-to for the gentlemen), and though we had 
done an honest day's work, we were loath to lose any 
moment of this enjoyment. Night was far advanced be- 
fore, one by one, we sought the spruce bough couch. 
Our Frenchmen, with so many excuses and such ample 
apologies that it was impossible to lose one's temper, ar- 
rived at our camp next morning. They had had no din- 
ner on the previous day, no breakfast this morning, and 
they made short work of what remained of our condensed 
milk and pot of marmalade when having a "square meal." 
At this camp we spent the day in fishing the numerous 
salmon pools in the neighborhood of Middle Landing, 
while the ladies fished for trout and assisted in shifting 
quarters to Mr. Spurr'a comfortable log hut at the Chain 
of Rocks, where we settled down for a quiet Sunday. 
What better place? 
"Go sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
Go slowly trace the forest's shady scene?" 
After a day of perfect rest and perfect pleasure, we 
again resumed operations with rod and line; but owing to 
an unusual rise of water, neither the well-known Nichol- 
son fly, nor the Jack Scot, Silver Doctor, Dusty Miller, nor 
any favorite fly we could produce, nor any skill my 
brother angler and myself could bring to bear would 
tempt the numerous Balmon we could see in these pools 
to rise with a will; and not till we reached Grand Falls 
next day did we have the good sport I have referred to. 
Unlike the Frenchmen, the Indians were most punctual 
in keeping their appointment. At the precise moment 
they were told to meet us their cheery voices were heard 
on the high bank above us; and, though we were agree- 
ably occupied at the time in successfully fishing the large 
salmon pools at the Grand Falls, we soon bade farewell 
to this favorite spot. Ere night set in we had poled many 
miles up stream. 
Day after day, for several days in succession, we poled 
steadily but slowly up this fine river, instinctively pulling 
up now and then at the best trout pools, and landing three- 
pounders till even my boy cried enough, when his arm 
had become tired, or when his rod required a fresh splice 
(results of playing monsters); or again, we disembarked 
to follow a covey of partridge (ruffed grouse) which, re- 
fusing to take to the tree, ran with all the speed of their 
red-legged brethren in Spain, and a general chase was the 
result. Now a halt was called, on the part of the ladies, 
to gather rare specimens of flowers — one of the pitcher- 
plant family in one place, one of the water plantain family 
in another. Ordinary wild autumn flowers (it was now late 
in August) were abundant in every direction, and ferns, 
mosses and lichens of rare kinds abound in the Upper 
Nepiseguit. Like practical people, too, we more than once 
stopped en route to gather blueberries for the pudding at 
our midday meal (always a certain excuse for a halt). 
And, not so practical, one member of the party, ever 
ready with his sketch book, was wont to ask occasionally 
for five minutes "law," to commit to paper his idea of the 
beauty of some particular bit of landscape, much to the 
amusement of our canoe men, who seemed to enjoy being 
"thrown in" in the foreground. 
Moreover, while enjoying a delightful reverie, building 
castles in the air, there was often a sudden check to our 
onward progress by the quick exchange of a pole for a 
gun, on the appearance almost in the midst of us of a flock 
of ducks; while one of our Indians, whose eyes are always 
open, on seeing a mink or otter retreating to his "lorb" 
thrusts his pole lance like at his foe. 
We found the Indian Rapids, Portage Brook and the 
Devil's Elbow delightful camping grounds, with capital 
trout fishing close by. At the last named place we met a 
trapper (it is unusual to meet anybody in these parts), he 
had just settled down for a month's trapping and bad 
already captured a fine black bear and several otters. 
We spent a pleasant half hour in his camp, admiring 
his furs and hearing; all about his prospects of sport. His 
ca ; noe men were Micmac Indians from the Gulf of St. 
Lawrence, and there was no interchange of civility be- 
tween them and our Milecete Indians. 
We were desirous of reaching Nepiseguit Lake by Sat- 
urday night. We therefore had to push on, to ply pole 
and paddle, toward the end of this week. The sun was 
sinking fast when we entered this beautiful lake, and so 
taken up were we with the scenery that we allowed our- 
selves but little time that evening to pitch camp and catch 
the following day's supply of fish. 
So abundant, however, are the trout in this lake that 
the supply was easily obtained, and ere night set in, with 
little effort on the part of the Indians and ourselves, we 
had our tents pitched in a deep pine forest, on a moat pic- 
turesque spot on the edge of the lake. Having resorted to 
poetry to give an adequate idea of the delights of a pre- 
vious Sunday (I admit that the Sunday spent here was 
not less enjoyable), I must give some prosaic details con- 
cerning this day. Instead of "sitting on rocks" we were 
all "sitting on a log" in a row, having our midday "square 
meal," when the faithful Noel — our pet cook — formally 
announced with long, serious face, as if he had lost his 
nearest and dearest friend, that the "pork was giving 
out," which means, in plain language, that soon we 
should have no "nice fried pork," varied by "nice pork 
fried," to delight our hearts. "The pork was giving out," 
we must soon go on our way down stream, 'twas true, 
amid beautiful scenery, yet it would really be up-hill 
work— "the pork was giving out." In estimating for pro- 
visions for a trip of this kind one should see that the sup- 
ply is equal to the demand, and the unexpected arrival of 
the "waiting man" — our spare Indian— was the cause of 
this mishap. No other course was now open to us, sad to 
relate (as it is indeed a serious thing, and I have no in- 
tention of speaking of it in a frivolous manner), than to 
put ourselves on "half rations" of pork till we should 
reach the settlements, where we could replenish our 
stock. 
Next day we made the portage to Lake Nictor, the 
source of the Tobique River, and during this portage the 
ladies for the first time received unwelcome visits from 
our old enemies, mosquitoes and black flies. A black 
bottle of "Angler's Defence," the gift of a thoughtful 
friend at our start, had the effect of keeping both mos- 
quitoes and black flies at a respectful distance. Nothing 
could exceed the beauty of the scenery of Nictor Lake. 
It possesses more beauty of scenery than any other 
locality I have seen; close to its southern edge a granite 
mountain rises to a height of nearly 3,000ft., clothed with 
wood to its summit, except where it breaks into preci- 
pices of dark rock, or long gray shingle slopes. Other 
mountains of less height, but in some cases of more 
picturesque forms, are on other sides. And in the lake 
itself, in the shadow of a mountain, is a little rocky inlet 
of most inviting appearance. We spent a couple of de- 
lightful days in thiB region. 
We camped one night on Hacmatac Brook, on the 
northern side of the lake, Bald Mountain and its hills on 
both sides being directly in front of our camp, the lake 
lying between ua and the mountain. It would be hard 
to deacribe the beauty of this view, especially when at 
night the full moon rose over the top of Bald Mountain, 
and mountain and hills, forests and ravines were reflected 
upon the placid water, not a cloud was visible. Gladly 
should we have remained here many days, but we were 
often reminded of the rapidly diminishing piece of pork. 
We started early one morning down the Tobique River, 
and gently down stream is the order of the day. To any- 
one who has poled all day long up stream in midsummer 
at low water the delights of going down stream with an 
abundant supply of Water are fully appreciated; they 
were by us on this occasion. The upper Tobique country 
has a wild and peculiar aspect, quite unlike the upper 
Nepiseguit country. Here the now narrow river turns 
and twists through cedar forests, the trees growing at 
every conceivable angle; some had fallen across the 
stream, others were reclining along the bank, while 
others were meeting above our heads, forming arches of 
every imaginable shape and size. Here and there blue 
hills, more or less remote, are to be seen. 
The run to Cedar Brook (twenty-five miles), where we 
dined, was made in quick time. We afterward made the 
Forks (twenty miles further). Here the Momozeket River 
from the northeast and the Campbell River from the great 
Tobique Lake join our little Tobique River. 
We now met a friendly Indian (Old Tom), whom we 
had surprised at his happy fishing grounds spearing white- 
fish, who gladly exchanged a piece of pork for some tea. 
Money appeared to be of no value to him. He also sup- 
plied ua with whitefiBh, which never or rarely take the 
fly, and he threw in in the bargain a few potatoea. Our 
fortunea were thus made; we had abundance of food; we 
went on our way rejoicing. 
I can't say much in favor of fly-fishing in this branch 
of the Tobique. Trout and salmon and these whitefiah 
appear to be abundant in the river. There are some beau- 
tiful salmon pools. I have, however, thrashed the waters 
for hours with but indifferent success. We soon found 
that we had gone too quickly down stream. We had left 
the favorite moose yar-ds behind; we had seen lots of fresh 
tracks of both moose and caribou. And now, for the first 
time, it occurred to us that during this full moon was the 
most favorable time for moose calling. We, however, 
made fruitless attempts at this sport, so-called, the In- 
dians making a doleful noise (artistic moose calling is 
doleful in the extreme) to attract the attention of the 
moose, we men and women shivering with cold the 
while. 
We ihad some beautiful views during our voyage next 
day of Blue Mountain, eighty miles from the mouth of ' 
the river. 
And as autumn advanced the forest became daily more 
and mere beautiful, decked in its foliage coat of many 
colors. 
From Blue Mountain to Andover, at the mouth of the 
Tobique, we paBs the Gulquae River, navigable for canoes 
twenty-five miles, and later on thirty-one miles, the 
Waspekehegau — thiB Indian name means a river with a 
well at its mouth. 
Some beautiful wooded islands are afterward seen, on 
one of which we camped and held "a levee," which was 
well attended by farmers' wives and daughters, who came 
to study the fashions, the cut of the dresses of the ladies 
of our party. I doubt whether they got many valuable < 
hints; they, however, seemed quite pleased with their 
visit. We made an early atart next morning, so early 
that when we pulled up with good appetites for dinner . 
we discovered it was but 9 o'clock in the morning. As 
