July 7, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
9 
ON THE NORTH SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 
COontintied from Fage 560.) 
After dinner we concluded to go to a magnificent 
pool in the river by a detour which materially shortened 
the distance. We had heard last summer of some fine 
trout having been caught there, although the river never 
had been noted as a fishing resort, anglers seldom putting 
in here to court acquaintance with the beauties of the 
marvelous tints and rare shades. 
On reaching the lonely basin we were in raptures over 
it, for if ever there were an ideal home for the trout this 
evidently was one. It was surrounded on all sides but at 
its gateway, with ragged cliffs and massive rocks that 
had been forced from the eminence above, while through 
a narrow canon of some 20ft. in width raced a raging 
waterfall that leaped from parapet to ledge with a rush 
and roar that sent the wild waters in sheets of foam half 
way up its rocky sides and {hen surged over a plateau of 
solid rockery that somewhat tempered its savage swift- 
ness ere it struck with a musical rumble the ever beauti- 
ful pool. 
We were really spell-bound with the grandeur and 
wildness of the place, for on every side nature had been 
liberal in blending the seething waters, the shadowy 
abysses, the spectral rocks, the silent forest, in one grand 
chef dlmuvre that to an artist's eye would have proved 
unspeakably fascinating. 
As we looked upon this picturesque pool with its savage 
gorge that had been channeled with torrents and gnawed 
with frosts for untold years, we almost forgot our mis- 
sion. 
At last the ardor of the angler cropped out and then 
the flies went whizzing until we had circled all we could 
of the pool without receiving a single rise. Ned finally 
gave Kenosh his rod and sent him to try an almost inac- 
cessible part of the pool that required a steady nerve and 
more suppleness than either of us possessed to there keep 
a foothold. 
Undaunted, the alert half-breed made the descent to 
the place desired, but wishing to drop his flies where 
some foam was floating around in an eddy, took hold of a 
convenient rock overhead with one hand and swinging 
around to the perpendicular wall, with one foot remain- 
ing unsecured o'er the pool, made his casts, hanging, as 
till the waters remained unbroken. Not at all discour- 
aged, we made another and still another change, and 
fished again until we covered nearly every foot of the 
water in our vicinity. 
The boatmen stood by and watched our industrious and 
HE'S got them. 
Forest and Stream Water Colors. 
it were, between the sky above and the water below. 
Ned, who had been anxiously watching his movements, 
cried out: 
"Look at the dare-devil." 
"Can he swim?" said I to Peter. 
"Not a stroke," he replied; "if he drops that will be the 
last of him." 
Ned, all of a tremor, shouted to the semi-barbarian: 
"For heaven's sake, Kenosh, get out of that." 
But Kenosh simply smiled and continued sending his 
lures into the little snowy mounds. Time and again they 
fell into the creamy foam and by its dimpled edges, but 
not a trout sprang for the counterfeit pre- 
sentment. The pool was a sad delusion as 
to its red-coated and spangled-spotted 
denizens. Some sweet siren, with hair in 
golden curl, might possibly arise- and 
charm, with some weird melody, but no 
Salvelinus fontinalis would open his mouth 
for either morsel or music. 
The foolhardy half-breed, much to our 
relief, soon gave up his perilous position 
and then went clambering over the creviced 
cliff to doubtless see if there were other 
places where he could again put himself in 
danger for the sake of a tinted trout. 
Ned now sought consolation from our 
dismal failure, at the pool by seeking a 
dosition on a rocky pedestal, older doubt- 
less than the pyramids, where he could 
enjoy the grandeur of the leaping waters 
as they tore through the flinty gorge with 
its shaggy belts of pine and Arctic shrub- 
bery that lined the bulwarks above and 
which gave additional wildness to the rush- 
ing waters of the savage-looking cation: 
"Here are towering rugged mountains. 
Granite rocks scarred and gray; 
Nature's altar, whence her Incense 
Floats in wreaths of mist away." 
The trouting being a lamentable failure, 
we hurriedly made the return tramp over 
the blocks of mossy granite and through 
dark glades of pine and tangled thickets, perf ectlyjsatisfied 
that Montreal River is not an angler's paradise, though 
it is assuredly one for either artist or poet. 
We had no sooner reached camp than we were all sur- 
prised to see a fish leap out of the water near the mouth 
of the river. It was but a moment before we had both 
our flies dancing on the surface of the stream as a tempta- 
tion to the sportive fish. Again and again the flies rose 
and fell, but no response was received. Ned suggested a 
change of lures, which was accordingly accomplished, but 
BASS FISHING AT BLOCK ISLAND. 
Forest and Stream Water Colors. 
painstaking efforts with exceeding interest, hoping every 
minute to be called into service to land some handsome 
trout, but they were not brought into requisition. Still 
hopeful, still reliant on my lures, I go down once more 
into my portfolio for another 
change of flies, but they shared 
the same fate as the others. 
After I had about ranged from 
alpha to omega in my choicest 
assortment, I began to waver 
in my faith, and as I was about 
to discontinue the patient flog- 
ging of the stream, another fish 
broke the water near by, and 
with one accord the boatmen 
cried out: 
"It's a sucker I" 
"So are we," I replied, and 
then the flies dropped no more 
and we reeled up and dropped 
into our camp chairs satisfied 
that a leaping sucker is entirely 
out of his element when he at- 
tempts to emulate the trout in 
his vaulting ambition. 
The day had been a gloomy 
one and bade fair to close with- 
out a single ray of hope for our 
advance in the morning. The 
.sun had not an arrow in his 
quiver to send to the earth; the 
dull leaden clouds were quite 
vaporish and presaged a downpour at any moment, while 
the waves lashed the shore as if Neptune had reascended 
his throne in the deep with imperial intent of showing us 
poor mortals the sublime and snowy beauty of his heaving 
plains. 
As we sat around a glowing camp-fire after supper, 
watching column after column of thin blue Bmoke ascend- 
ing in waving spirals and losing itself in the deep gloom, 
a few drops of rain began to patter and the deepening 
shadows lost all semblance, and darkness, like Erebus, 
engulfed us, while cooling winds swept along the river 
and filled the deep forests with a melancholy moan. We 
tleness. Ned and I, after consulting, concluded to trust 
our little bark to the uncertain winds, and, therefore, 
ordered the immediate dismantling of camp after break- 
fast. The boatmen, who were eager for home, did not 
demur, but entered with a zealous spirit to hasten the de- 
parture. They were sure the wind would not turn on us, 
though they were positive we would have a lumpy sea 
and a rough time of it ere we reached our destination — 
Maimaise Point. 
We ascertained, as soon as we had emerged from the 
mouth of the river, that it was to be swift Bailing, for the 
north wind caught us with a dashing vigor that made the 
little craft fairly hum through the clouds of foam that 
rolled over from her shapely bow. 
"She's a-spinning," says Peter, the helmsman. 
"I should call it plunging," says Ned, as the boat rose 
upon the crest of a huge wave with a mass of white water 
rolling on the windward side. 
Both sails were up without a reef and singing merrily, 
and as long as the breeze did not increase the Mackinac 
would hold her own. We made such good time with the 
racing greyhound that we thought of going ahead when 
we reached Maimaise Point, but the half-breeds said we 
would be glad enough to stop at the first harbor. They 
were right, for during the next hour we had an increased 
sea and a change of the wind to the northwest that was 
sending the boat's lee side within an inch of the foaming 
water. Reefing was talked of, but we were so delighted 
with the way she was leaping and driving through the 
turbulent waters that we ruled against it. 
"All right," says Peter, who was more prudent than we, 
"she will stand it for a while yet, but she will need close 
watching, I tell you." 
Ah, what a glorious time; overhead the gulls swiftly fly 
and mew their strange sea song; along the grim gray 
shore of frowning battlements the sea, with fury in its 
wake, breaks into oceans of foam, while the dark forests 
that line the adamantine walls bend and twist as if in 
great agony. Whirling flakes of snowy froth greet us on 
every crest, and when finally rounding a bold and jutting 
headland, we strike still heavier seas, and yet the fleeting 
craft like an arrow from a cross-bow gaily cleaves 
through them, throwing off swirling surges in wild glee. 
"Oh, brave white horses, you gather and gallop," 
but in the hollow of your backs and on your high arched 
, [.VIGILANT AND VALKYRIE. 
Forest and Stream Water Colors. 
\ 
[JACKSNIPE COMMQ Df/j 
ForesCand38treani£Water~Colors.' 
were in the cave of despondency, atid as oblivion would 
insure forgetfulness, we sought the panacea by taking to 
our beds with the hope that the approaching morn would 
present a picture framed in golden sunbeams, and that 
Neptune, satisfied with his gorgeous display of snowy 
plumes, would give us a sea o'er which favorable breezes 
would gently play and rosy waves dance in delight. 
The dawn at last came, but no golden shafts beautified 
it, though the sea god had a propitious breeze for us, 
which was tossing the waters in anything but tender gen- 
manes we proudly ride with our white wings as if Nep- 
tune were our helmsman. The waters are flashing, the 
spray dancing and the wind singing with the ever-chang- 
ing sound of the rolling foam, while the masts are moan- 
ing under the heavy strain from the whistling sails. 
"Let's take a reef," says the cautious pilot. 
"Nary reef," says Ned, "let her slide." 
"Slide it is." 
And away she skims over the bounding billows with 
her cutwater fairly buried in a cascade of foam, while 
the waves beat hoarsely on the ragged shore. We are 
nearing Maimaise Point, and miles out we see a fishing 
boat tossing around as if she were in 
sportive play withthe arching waves. 
"Look out there," says Ned, "at that 
little dandy of a boat; she fears not this 
fierce wind." 
"That," said our helmsman, "is a big 
Collingwood fishing boat that can live in 
any sea, and would drown a fleet of such 
boats as this." 
"That makes a little difference." 
"Yes, a great deal." 
And then a colossal comber smote us 
quivering, giving us our first ducking. 
"You'll get plenty more like this," said 
Peter, as he shook the water from his coat. 
His prediction was correct, for we were 
sailing^ very shallow water, which could 
not well be avoided, as we had to make 
the harbor on this side between islands 
and through a narrow channel, but as it 
had been staked out for the tugboat it was 
all plain sailing, if it were a little wet. 
At last we dash into the channel, which 
was fairly flying in foam, and after an ex- 
citing ride of a few minutes through veiy 
lumpy seas, with a sprinkle or two of sprav . 
we are fairly in port, landing on the island, 
which is now used as a fishing station. 
Now that we were snug in harbor Peter 
turned to us and said: 
S; 1 'It's a wonder we hadn't capsized, carry- 
ing such full sails in such a heavy wind." 
"Nonsense," replied Ned, "that's nothing; a spanking 
little breeze, that's all." 
Peter looked at Ned with surpising eyes and then re- 
sponded: 
"I'll not hazard any more such spanking breezes while 
I sail the boat." 
"All right, Peter; take a 'cedar' breeze' if you want it, 
but give me the rolling sea with a wind that has a moan 
in its blast." 
This settled the sailing discussion, with the odds in 
