May 30, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
487 
there tried to coax a ruby-gemmed trout to a white miller 
or a knight errant. I watched his untiring efforts for 
quite a while, and being satisfied that he was whipping 
the waters in vain, gave word to push ahead without fur- 
ther delay and without consulting the industrious angler 
relative thereto. He, however, was amiable and heeded 
not my commands, but if a trout had disturbed the ruffled 
surface he would then surely have disputed my despotic 
sway. He was never obstinately ugly, but always had a 
politic and urbane way with him in such cases that com- 
pletely won me over. 
"We will get no rises here," he remarked after the oara 
were taken up, but when the speeding boat had reached 
another temping lair, that he would thrash I well knew 
and with unremitting zeal. Sure enough, when we had 
come to a bold bluff that had several crumbling spurs 
running into the lake, disclosing a disrupted and disorgan- 
ized bottom that was spacious enough to people a colony 
of the claret and silver-coated beauties, he again had the 
boat checked and again he thrashed the rippling waters, 
but no hungry trout could he lure. He at last declared it 
was too dark for fly-fishing, and then gave the word for 
a lively stroke home, and without further prompting the 
bronze-hued boatmen made the white water tumble to 
the rhythm of their dipping blades. 
On reaching camp we felt that a fire would be a com- 
fortable adjunct, as the night air was exceedingly chilly. 
A roaring fire was therefore built, and around it we all 
gathered, and there Ned and I recited many a thrilling 
narrative that made the half-breeds open their eyes with 
wonder. 
Above us the magnificent arch of heaven was ablaze 
with myriads of stars — jewel-like worlds throbbing in 
their strange, silent glow through all the wide realms of 
space. The fire, as if in accord with the celestial, sparkled 
and sent its ruby gleams upon the pulsing waters; an 
occasional clapping of wings was heard, while the dark 
forest rustled to the cool night air which came from it, 
with fragrance and with health on its wings. 
"The watchdog's voice that bade the whispering wind, 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made." 
We retired late that night, but we slept all the sounder 
for it, and rose in the morning greatly refreshed and with 
a longing to carry war into the realms of troutland. We, 
however, made but a slight reduction among the finny 
population that day, for we only caught three, one in the 
morning and two during the afternoon. We were fully 
satisfied that it was no place for generous catches, and so 
determined to leave the next morning at an early hour for 
Grindstone Point, some twenty-five miles distant. That 
evening, immediately after supper, a young and agreeable- 
looking farmer from Bachewavaung Bay sailed into our 
harbor with his Mackinac for the purpose of making a cup 
of tea; but he was not put to that trouble, for, having 
enough of that exhilarating beverage left from our sup- 
per, we supplied him with all he desired. While partak- 
ing~of the fragrant cup he informed us in a somewhat 
nervous manner that a young white girl, a neighbor of 
his, had that morning run away with an Indian, and a 
bad one too, for whom she had formed a fancy, with the 
intention of marrying him. The relator was so much ex- 
cited in giving us the information that we were positive 
that he was the discarded lover and was in hot haste after 
the eloping couple. 
As he pushed out from the shore, and he was in a great 
hurry about it too, he remarked with a tiger-like rage, 
"I'd be willing to forfeit my life to come up with that 
cursed Indian." 
He had a double-barreled shotgun in the boat, and we 
were positive it was loaded for Indian. It was almost 
dark when he left us, and he said as he was spreading his 
red sails that he would make the "Soo" that night despite 
any angry storm that might arise. The entire affair 
smacked of a North Shore romance with a blood-curdling 
tragedy as its closing act. 
Ned said he knew the parents of the girl and thought 
the dusky son of the pathless forest had hypnotized her, 
for he was unable to realize how the fair-faced girl would 
marry such a repulsive brute in preference to the really 
good-looking pale-face. We heard no more of the run- 
away couple, but were fully satisfied the Indian popula- 
tion of that neighborhood would be minus one if the 
pursuer in his then revengeful mood should overtake the 
fly'ng lovers. 
The dawn of another day at last came pouring with a 
generous hand its golden glory on earth and air. A soft 
breeze blew in from the lake, the sky was pearl-like 
and pure as an opal, yet bright with delicate, shifting 
clouds of crimson and pale mauve — small, fleecy flecks of 
radiance that looked like a shower of blossoms fallen from 
some far iuvisible flower land. The waters were slightly 
ruffled by the wind and curled iuto the tender little dark- 
green waves tipped with light fringes of foam. Tenny- 
son must have had just such a morn disclosed to him 
when he wrote, 
"Morn in the white wake of the morning star 
Came furrowing all the orient Into gold." 
It was hurrying to and fro that delicious morning to 
break camp and be off on the shimmering and singing 
waters. Breakfast was quickly served and about as 
quickly dispatcied, and tnen came the dismantling of 
camp, the loading of boat and the embarking. Never did 
we sail under more favorable auspices, never under more 
gorgeous skies, never over such seas of silver that seemed 
to tremble and sparkle with loving ecstasy. 
Ned could hardly contain himself in such golden and 
glowing radiance, and was therefore decidedly eloquent 
on the beaming beauties all around and about him. 
The half-breeds were in the same inspiring humor, and 
after the parental Kenosh had spread the white sails to 
catch the tranquil breezes he gave expression to his inward 
fervor by exclaiming with much warmth: 
"Fine sky, fine sea, everything fine, and the wind he a 
little lazy." 
From the island to Goulais Bay was about four miles, 
but four miles of very fascinating and impressive ranges 
of rocky shore land. 
As we glide along in the bright sunshine the rocky 
ramparts that confront us are picturesquely diversified 
with butting cliffs, craggy bluffs, projecting ledges and 
crumbling walls that make you wonder what mighty 
forces were gathered here in the age of the world's 
infancy I What terrific convulsions and frenzied spasms 
that rent in twain the earth's envelope and left mountains 
where once were lake and plain. If one likes a feast of 
impressive grandeur as some do, nature here furnishes it 
in the fullest measure. It is constantly in view; it can- 
not be concealed; even the fog which arises conceals it 
only for a moment, and then its savage and stern majesty 
reappear in all the stronger contrast with the softness of 
the passing clouds. It is the story of "Paradise Lost" re- 
enacted in the pantomime of nature, and on a scale of 
magnificence which Milton's imagination did not surpass. 
The grand and serrated mass which composes this bold 
shore line of the great lake representing defeat, "not as 
man feels it when he crouches under it and abandons the 
contest, but as nature feels it when the contest is a drawn 
victory and only the confusion and unrest indicate the 
point of stop." Think of the mad upheavals of boiling 
rock, to cool and harden in the air; think of the centuries 
of channeling by torrents and frost to give the nervous 
edge to the distant ridges and crests and cliffs; think 
what patient opulence of creative power wrapped their 
sides and tops with spruces and pines and balsam, and 
spotted these walls with weather stains in which the 
tempests of thousands of vears took part. No one who 
voyages along the North Shore can abstain from fervent 
admiration of this wild and rugged pageantry which no 
artist can produce on canvas, no poet describe in musical 
verse. 
It is an angler's world for admiration and fit home for 
the loveliest game fish that cleaves the water. 
The wind increases as the day develops, but a purple 
haze hangs over lovely Bachewavaung Bay that is indi- 
cative of an approaching fog. On reaching Goulais Bay, 
Kenosh takes in the foreboding situation with a critical 
eye, and despite the adverse character of it, determines 
to cross over, though he is fully satisfied the misty clouds 
which are silently approaching will enshroud U3 about 
the time we reach the middle of the bay. 
The wind was just stiff enough to straighten the sails, 
while hardly a bubble broke from the bow, so slowly were 
we moving. Ahead we could see the great breadth of the 
foggy bank advancing quietly from the distant shores and 
fast shutting out the sott canopy of the drifting clouds. 
Tae bold headlands of the rocky coast disappeared in the 
misty vapor as if they had been completely swallowed up, 
while the few small islands that were blazing in silvery 
frost work lost their sparkle, and soon after they went 
into the moving maw of mistness until finally every glit- 
tering line of the indented shore was completely wiped 
out and nothing left but cloudy vapor, the herald that 
told the story of the misty veil, awful as a shroud-enfold- 
ed ghost, that would leave us nothing but our compass 
for a guide. About four miles had we made when the 
damp folds fell upon and around us and uncomfortably 
chilled us, shutting out the glorious flood of rosy light, 
while the earth and sky were breathless, the water only 
emitting a wearied moan. 
Kenosh, who always dreaded a fog, declared in a solemn 
tone: 
"Me no like 'em." 
We were all in accord with him, but we felt if we devi- 
ated a trifle from the compass we would be wandering 
over the melancholy waste of waters until the fog lifted 
and developed the samphired and pinnacled crags of the 
ragged shore. 
"Keep her straight to the line of the compass, nor' 
nor'west, and all will be well," said Ned, instructively. 
"I hold her all right." 
"You thought that way once before, and took us a mile 
out of the way." 
"Yes, I know, but we come out all right this time sure." 
"If we don't run to the bottom of the bay or wander 
out into the lake." 
"I keep her all right, you see." 
To the credit of the half-breed be it said, that this time 
he had his nautical head in good trim, and after an hour's 
sailing the fog lifted and showed the prow of the boat 
correctly on her course and about two miles from the 
shore. 
The oppression we had all labored under — for a sur- 
rounding fog will produce it at all times— instantly dis- 
appeared with the sight of land. The sun, as if delighted 
with her regions regained, shone out with a radiance on 
all sides that gave us a landscape of surpassing beauty. 
Soon we were over the bay, and then with an increasing 
breeze we went racing along another lovely bit of shore 
land which nature had invaded as her right of conquest, 
making it rich and fanciful with foliage, crowning the 
forehead of the rugged rocks with flowers and ferns and 
mosses, planting the grasses that spring in green and red 
tufts from all the fissures and that wave in the wind like 
light plumes, scattering their little seeds like showers of 
pearl. 
MJust as summer gathers up her robes of glory, 
And like a dream of beauty glides away." 
A four -mile sail brings us to Maple Bay, and after a run 
of about five more we are snug in harbor at Grindstone 
Point, and soon the white folds of our tents, which are 
in strange contrast with the green woods, undulating to 
the gentle breeze. 
No time was lost in the preparation of a meal, for we 
were all in a hungry mood and" still hungrier for the 
trout, which we well knew were now lurking in their 
watery lairs, so very abundant here. 
In the meantime we opened our cases of rods and pre- 
pared for the delightful pastime, the contemplative man's 
recreation, as Sir Izaak pronounces it. I selected a 
tinseled-wrapped silver-doctor for my dropper and a 
Claret-Montreal for my stretcher. Ned chose a very 
bushy brown hackle (his own make and a killer too) and 
a Seth- Green which 1 advised him to try. 
About the time we were ready for the onslaught the 
boys announced a dinner, for which we showed a very 
high appreciation by making sad inroads upon the con- 
tents of the steaming platters and the delicious tea, the 
aroma of which was a pure delight. We hastily made 
the meal, and then after the half-breeds held the table 
till their rapacious maws were fully satisfied we hurriedly 
took to the boat, and before we had gone 100yds. our 
flies were reaching out for the S. fontinalia of either sex. 
Just after we had passed a large boulder that was glit- 
tering like a huge nugget of silver in the bright Bunlight, 
Ned had a most savage strike and nothing at all a 
moment after to show for it. 
"Served me right," says Ned, "for I had my eyes where 
my lures were not." 
"You evidently can't catch trout by having your flies 
on^ place and your eyes another," I critically remarked. 
"I've just had that practically demonstrated, but now 
for both in the same locality," and then his tempting de- 
ceits went silently sailing through the air and dropping 
Within a fraction of the place where the rose-colored idol 
of the lake had so magnificently and suddenly disturbed 
the water. Another rapacious snap and another splash 
and then an amazed trout and delighted angler were 
united, and immediately after one was for liberation and 
the other for fettering, one for sorrow, the other for joy. 
The battle now raged fiercely and with many sudden sur- 
prises. Once the angler thought bis priz^ had escaped, 
but it was only a "doubling" by the frenzied and mad- 
dened trout. "Ah, he is there again," cries the overjoyed 
angler when he once more felt the braided thread making 
music as it rolled from the silvery reel. Anon he halts 
and then the line slackens once more, and up into the 
glaring sunlight vaults the red-spotted and radiant 
Adonis of the shadowy pool, showering the pearly drops 
from his flame-tinted raiment and then dropping back, 
fully satisfied that his mortal foe is formidable enough to 
wage a war of extermination. The ripples he left racing 
sang his lament and the angler was then assured that he 
would soon have the requiem to chant. 
Time is wasted in detailing the grand and thrilling bat- 
tle; suffice it to say that the angler won not only the 
prize, but a rapture of joy which alone comes to the vic- 
torious knight of the rod. He himself wonders at the 
world of happiness he harvests in the capture of such a 
peerless beauty, 
"He did not dream, he could not know 
That life contained such bliss, 
That from a tinted trout could grow 
Such happiness as this." 
I was constantly whipping the waters during the strug- 
gle, but not a red coat could I coax to my flies. The boat 
is at last ordered slowly ahead, and after advancing about 
100yds. I had a glorious rise, which I equarely missed. 
"Keep your eye on your flies," said Ned through re- 
torting pleasantry when he saw my dismal failure. 
"They were there, but I think the trout missed the fly." 
"Or you missed the trout." 
"One or the other assuredly." 
"He was a big broad-tailed fontinalis, and came at the 
lure with the spring of a leopard." 
"There was grand music in him, but he may yet have 
to sing for me." 
My flies during the suggestive chat were steadily rising 
and falling, and when I had dropped them over the trout 
lair for about the third time there came a rainbow gleam 
with a splash and a snap, and the music I had so dearly 
longed for. Whiz, whiz, whiz, sang the reel, while 
the line hummed in delicious falsetto notes that were 
sweeter than the warble of a honey- throated thrush. 
"He's a whopper," excitedly exclaimed Kenosh. 
"And I hope into the boat he will soon be a flopper," 
chimed in Ned. 
He made a most gallant fight, battling like a Greek 
hero, and thrice during the struggle did the tip of my 
wizzard wand, a Chubb, come on a line with the sturdy 
butt. 
I was giving the rod a thorough test, for it was a new 
one I had secured for this trip, and I was therefore 
anxious to know its reliable qualities. Ned was sure it 
would break, and cautioned against such dangerous 
usage, but it nobly stood the strain, and being satisfied of 
its wonderful strength I made the vitality depart from 
that battling trout in a very rapid manner. He was, to 
use sporting parlance, knocked out early in the fight, and 
came to the nest so completely exhausted that he had no 
breath for a protest. 
With the capture of this proud beauty, a 3-pounder, we 
went quietly and slowly along, dropping our lures in all 
the inviting places as we progressed. 
It was not long before we realized that a storm cloud 
was fast approaching from the west that bade fair to soon 
give us a downpour, if not a very fierce wind. 
Despite the unfavorable indication we kept On the ad- 
vance, but when a lurid flash photographed itself on a 
black cloud and a moan of thunder came rolling along 
we retreated in great haste and reached our quarters just 
as the rain began to fall. That ended the fishing for the 
noon, but we had secured two noble trophies that would 
suffice for both supper and breakfast. 
Alex. Starbuck. 
[to be continued.] 
Bangor and Aroostook Resorts. 
Littleton, Me., May 22. — Fishing in Schoodic Lake, 
fifty-six miles north of Bangor, has been exceptionally 
good during the past week. I learn of a number of large 
trout being taken there with live bait. Fly-fishing is, or 
rather will be, the proper caper in about a week. 
General Manager F. W. Cram, of the B. & A. R. R., 
has been indulging a weakness for big trout on the new 
Ashland branch of his road, and I understand has met 
with considerable success. 
A party of gentlemen recently took from Square Lake, 
near Caribou, a string of ten trout with an aggregate 
weight of 6 libs. A small Skinner spoon was the bait 
used. 
Salmon trout are plentiful in Ross and Tracey lakes, 
near Littleton, and the several small streams adjacent are 
yielding good catches to the crude methods pursued by 
the small boy. 
Rumor has it that a gang of Italian laborers near Gris- 
wold have threatened a strike on account of the seem- 
ingly limitless supply of trout furnished them for food. 
A colony of beavers have commenced operations on 
Wiley Brook, near here, and should pot-hunters keep 
hands off the family will undoubtedly thrive well in this 
locality. 
L. F. Hall, Esq., is to stock his private pond with Ger- 
man carp. 
Dr. Carey, of Houlton, has a private pond here that is 
well stocked with landlocked salmon and square-tailed 
trout. The doctor, however, will allow neither friend nor 
foe to fish there, and I am told by a person qualified to 
know that the fish are so abundant as to almost crowd 
each other out of the water whenever a morsel of food is 
thrown to them. Miss Isquoj. 
The Forest and Stream is put to press each xoeek on 
Tuesday. Correspondence intended for publication 
should reach us at the latest by Monday, and as much 
earlier as practicable. 
