26 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
[July 11, 1896. 
FLY-FISHING 
On the North Shore of Lake Superior. 
[Oontimied from page 9.] 
And again we skirt along the dismantltd walls until 
we come to a defaced headland, where tons upon tons of 
flinty rock have been torn from its disfigured face and 
)\urled into the waters below, where a sapphire gleam 
was theij playing along the sinuous shore of dethroned 
deformity. 
Here must he the home of some of the scarlet and spot- 
ted race that rove through these channeled fissures and 
under the shelving ledges. 
The thrashing commences, and every crevice and slip 
and gap were showerpd with our dropping flies until pa- 
tience was almost exhausted, and then a daintily dotted 
pet of less than a pound broke water and learned the les- 
son' of disenchantment by paying the forfeit of his life. 
He was a victim of Ned's dusting brush, as he called his 
red-headed, red-sided and red-footed fly^ the terror of the 
lake. ■ " , 
"Oh, yes," says Ned after the hook was disengaged, 
they all come for it; even the babies cry for it." 
I smiled at the venerable angler's unbounded joy over 
his new-made novelty and its success, but prudently re- 
mained silent, wondering all the time what an artistic 
fly buUder would think of such an outre combination he 
had brought forth, bringing the trout so readily to the 
surface. The fair authoress of "Favorite Flies," who had 
doubtless been years in preparing and formulating that 
admirable work, would doubtless think Ned's close /ic- 
quaintance with an oriental bowstring consistently advis- 
able. Ned when he built that gorgeous red gob had 
doubtless been wading knee deep in Shakespearean lore, 
and when unearthing that passage in Hamlet which re- 
lates that 
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in our philosophy," 
set about at once under the mystic language and evolved 
from his inner and ingenious consciousness the great, 
gory killer, the dusting brush. 
We thinlc an apology due the fair authoress for making 
mention of her remarkable book in connection with Ned's 
red riddle, that should have disappeared with the lost arts 
of the ancients. 
To return to the pleasant pastime, will remark that we 
thoroughly fiahed along this grand rocky scenery, where 
the crystal spUnters fly from the sunbeam's chisel, and 
not another of the Claude-tinted family disturbed the 
surface of the silver sea. As Ned had outranked me in 
the angle with that red-headed devil, he was anxious to 
start for camp, and that without a halt. Making no 
demur, we hasten along in full sympathy with the great 
hills of endless rock that here mark and sing the song of 
eternity. They do not babble, or sob, or moan, or roar, 
like the discontented, melancholy sea. The powers of 
air bring all their batteries against them, lightnings blast 
and rive them, torrents plow them to the bone, sunshine 
scorches them, frosts gnaw away their substance and 
tumble it down into the valleys, and they utter no cry. 
"After thunder and hail and whirlwind, their peaks look 
out from above and take the sunshine with no Ijravado, 
as though it is their mission to suffer and be strong. 
Dumb patience in trouble, persistent fortitude against ob- 
stacles, the triumphant power of a character rooted in 
truth over the hardships of life and the wrath of the 
world — such a lesson, and the tone of spirit that can ex- 
hibit it, they try to iiifuse into the soul that lives in their 
society. By this effluence, even though the recipient is 
unconscious of the cause, they stimulate and soothe a 
flagging will or fainting heart, as the airs they purify 
search and reanimate an unstrung frame." 
■'Ah, Nature, wrap thy dreamy shade 
About the life that thou hast made, 
And let me Blumber longl 
Thine echoes softly, sweetly roll 
Through hidden chambers of the soul, 
And teach the poet song,'" 
We arrived at camp about 1 o'clock, and then the boys 
hustled around and soon had dinner for us, with some 
beautifully browned trout as the dish de resistance. We 
did no fishing in the afternoon, whiling the hours away 
in reading and cards, and tramping around the little 
island, taking in freph visions and new beauties at almost 
every step. We found the same general characteristics 
here as on the other islands in the lake. Huge masses of 
broken stone and rough boulders cover the lower levels, 
while trees and ruah(^s run riot almost everywhere. The 
shore rim of the island is ragged and craggy, and tells the 
story of storm and ice that is fast eating up and disorgan- 
izing the flinty masses. 
The softness of the air, the puff of coolness that steals 
in from the lake as the evening draws on, the lengthen- 
ing of the mountain shadows,- the reddening and flashing 
light, the seeming increase of all-absorbing silence, the 
f deling as if naturfe were making ready for the <?nd of the 
lay, give to the receptive mind and heart impressions of 
the unutterable things of life which lie on the soul as the 
clouds rest in the air, changing their appearance and 
never losing their continuity. What nameless things 
T>ass through the mind when nature thus unfolds her 
treasures to the sensitive soul! There are moments in 
our confidences with her when simply to live and allow 
the pulses of high feeling to flow through one is to be 
great, and they always come to us in such hours as these, 
when she interlaces us with the holiest and best. 
Being possessed with great desire to cast a fly around 
the buttressed walls that inclosed us, I procured my rod 
and then commenced the arduous tramp and the steady 
cast. I used the same flies 1 had in the morning, being 
satisfied they would prove as effective as Ned's great red- 
headed masterpiece. Some parts of the shore afforded 
fijle opportunity for luring, while others were so declivi- 
tous and tortuous that it was really dangerous to attempt 
their passage. I however got over the best part of it 
without a blip or tumble; but what a miserable fiasco the 
venture pioved. Not a trout could I interest, though I 
changed my flies several times. They were evidently not 
here. Last year I caught but one here, and I presume he 
must have been "the last of the Mohicans." 
When I returned to camp and reported my dismal fail- 
ure to Ned, he said if I had taken his red-headed terror 
the trout would have came miles for it. It was, he said, 
lik'e a fairy's magic wand. I. coaxed hard to have him 
tiry its 'pote,nt powers ia t/be water's I ha(i so earnestly 
whipped, but he concluded it best to not hazard it where 
he thought the scarcity of quarry might make a failure 
possible. . 
After supper, when' the air was fragrant with pine and 
balsam, the stars just discernible, and the insects on wing 
humming a significant serenade, we again gathered 
around a comfortable camp-fire, with the mantle of night 
soon enveloping us. Ned, who was in grand humor, 
owing in part to the success of his red-headed terror dur- 
ing the day, gave us a repertoire of song that came like a 
copious river over the mazes of enchanted ground. 
Kenosh's Ditty. 
On his concluding with the soulful melody of "Allan 
G'Dare," he turned to Kenosh, who was whifling away 
at a corncob pipe, and asked if he couldn't favor us with 
some old Canadian boat song, with which the half-breeds 
are so familiar. He stopped his pufliag at this request, 
and then, after scratching his head and looking up to the 
glowing heavens, where the dippar was in diamond bril- 
liancy, slowly opened his moutn, from which gleamed 
his white teeth, and then moved his silent tongue by 
giving a welcome affirmative. 
"I sing 'em in French though." he added. 
"Sanskrit, if you wish," says Ned. 
"No good singer, like you." 
"Thanks, Kenosh." 
"You no understand the French." 
"Not a word." 
"Hope you like em anyhow." 
"I am sure we all will." 
Here he laid his pipe aside, and on clearing his throat 
commenced the chanson, and one which I am positive I 
had heard our boatmen sing on the famed Nipigon. He 
rendered it, as do all the half-breeds, in a low, mournful 
voice; but he seemed to put his whole soul in it, and I 
presume thought he was entrancing his auditors. So 
confident was I of having heard it that I got from him 
after he had finished the chorus line, which was, "JLa 
violette dandine, la violette donde," On looking over a 
b)ok styled "The Siioe and Canoe," while writing this 
letter, I accidentally stumbled over it. The author of 
the work said it was taken from the lips of the singer, 
and is evidently ancient Norman in the Canadian patois, 
I may be intruding on space in giving the translation 
of the ballad, but I am sure all anglers who have em- 
ployed the half-breeds of this shore in their outings will 
read it with some interest and may possibly recognize it. 
It thus pleasantly runs: 
"With heart as wild 
As joyous child 
Lived Rhoda of the mountain. 
Her only wish 
To seek the flsh 
In the waters of the fountain. 
Oh, the violet, white and bluel 
"The stream is deep, 
The banks are steep. 
Down in the flood fell she. 
When there rode by 
Right gallantly 
' Three barons of high degree. 
Oh, the violet, white and blue! 
" 'Oh, tell us, fair maid,' 
They each one said, 
'Your reward to the venturing knight 
Who shall save your life 
From the wateru' strife 
By his arm's unflinching might ? ' 
Oh, the violet, white and bluel 
"'Oh! haste to my side,' 
The maiden replied, 
'Nor ask of a recompense now. 
When safe on land 
Again I stand 
For such matters is time enow.' 
Oh, the violet, white and blue ! 
"But when all free 
Upon the lea 
She found herself once more, 
She would not stay, 
But sped away 
Till she reached her cottage door. 
Oh, the violet, white and blue! 
"Her casemate by, 
The maiden shy 
Began so sweet to sing. 
Her lute and voice 
Did e'en rejoice 
The early flowers of spring. 
"But the barons proud 
Then spoke aloud: 
'This Is not the boon we desire. 
Your heart and love. 
My pretty dove, 
Is the free gift we require.' 
db, the violet, white and blue! 
" 'My heart, so true. 
Is not for you, 
Nor for any of high degree. 
I have pledged my truth 
To an honest youth, 
With a beard so comely to see.' 
Oh, the violet, white and blue!" 
We were about retiring after the musical festival, when 
Kenosh inquired of Ned if he intended to give his re- 
markable adventure of bagging three bears without a 
single shot. Ned said he had forgotten all about it, but 
as he had promised to relate this exciting occurrence, he 
would do so, and then the half-breed tossed a stick or 
two more of spruce upon the fire, and thereby sent up a 
golden shower of sparks that fell dangerously near our 
tents. 
Ned's Pear Story. 
"Well," said Ned, throwing himself back in his camp 
chair and tossing away his nearly consumed El Principe, 
"I was at one time in the sixties stopping at a farmhouse 
contiguous to a little town called Baldwin, on the line of 
the Pere Marquette Railroad, with all the ■paraphernalia 
requisite for taking fin, fur or feather. When I was not 
oato^iag grayling, mik which the etreama near by 
abounded, I was roaming the woods in search of birds, 
deer or bear. One morning I concluded I would endeavor 
to bring in bruin's scalp, and so I prepared accordingly. 
The weather was a little cool, and I thought a little nip of 
the extract of golden grain would not come amiss, and 
had therefore early in the morning sent the serving boy, 
who was a stripling of some fifteen years, down to the 
little hamlet near by to secure me a pint bottle of the 
elixir. The boy made good time and was back before I 
had finished breakfast; and when I was ready to start, 
which I did in great haste, he informed me the bottle was 
on the table in the front room. I snatched it up quickly 
as I passed through the room, and, as it was not much 
larger than an ordinary flask, I put it in the back pocket 
of my hunting coat, where it would doubless be out of all 
danger from breakage. 
"It struck me after I had commenced the tramp in the 
dense and shadowless forest that it would have been much 
better if I had taken my flask, as the bottle showed a dis- 
position of juggling in that capacious pocket, and agaiir, 
if I got after a bear on the double-quick, or he got after 
me, the glassware stood a good chance of breakage, or at 
least of receiving some emphatic language not in vogue in 
polite society. I threaded the pathless forest for some 
three miles, when feeling slightly wearied I concluded I 
would sit me down on the trunk of a prostrate tree and 
ascertain whether the contents of that perplexing bottle, 
which was constantly vaulting from one side to the other 
of that wonderful pocket, which would hold many a brace 
of fowl, was good for the inner man. Finding a con- 
venient log, I was about to luxuriate in ease, when to my 
surprise a big black bear rose up with a fierce growl from 
the opposite side of the timber. At once I sprang back, 
and taking a steady aim at the (discontented bear 
pulled the trigger; but the gun was not responsive. 
By this time the bear, who appeared not only in a savage 
mood, but fighting mad, came jumping over that log with 
his eyes all aflame and his hearc full of desperate valor. 
I was then satisfied he had a cub or two near by, and that 
the best I could do was to spsedily retreat. On I swiftly 
went, with the ferocious bear at my heels, who I was con- 
fident was fast overhauling me. Spying a tree in front 
of me which I knew — you might say by intuition — that 
no bear could climb, I dropped my gun and clinching the 
tree shinned up it with the alacrity of an acrobat. After 
having secured a safe position I turned around and saw 
old Ursa major looking up at me in the most rageful and 
disappointea manner. Hd tried hard at tinies to scale the 
tree, but it was a problem he could not solve. There was 
too little tree and too much hug, and as a consequence 
the quotient could not be obtained. In his violent anger 
he tore up the ground, bit at the tree and growled with a 
roar that could be heard far away. He kept this up for 
quite a while and then, much to my amazement, a couple 
of more bears came trotting to the scene. They all, after 
a consultation, joined together in endeavoring to get a 
human steak or two out of my anatomy, but it was a 
total failure. The entire trinity were constantly around 
the tree, very industriously clawing and biting it, but to 
no purpose. If they had only formed a pyramid such as 
we see m a circus, they could have had a circus out of me, 
but they lacked in gymnastic knowledge and would 
therefore lack in the feast that, was so near and yet so far 
away. I finally lost all fear of them for the nonce, and 
enjoyed their restless antics in a high degree. I con- 
cluded while in this mood to take a little of the corn ex- 
tract from that tumbling bottle of mine, so I yanked it 
out from its playground after cornering it in the star- 
board side ot its receptacle. Oat came the cork, and 
with a smile and smack mg lip? I closed around the mouth 
of that bottle, and at the first gulp I found my mouth in 
a sea of nasty oil, which I spit out instantaneously. As the 
drops touched mother earth the bears sniffed around 
them and then commenced licking up the oily substance. 
"The 'boys' in sampling a good quality of old bourbon 
in good fellowship joyfully exclaim, 'It's oil, you bet,' 
and then rub their diaphragms with a satisfied smile rip- 
pling o'er their beaming faces. I could in my present di- 
lemma with a verity say, 'It's oil, you bet,' but the dia- 
phragm movement would be omitted, most emphatically 
so. I evidently had the greasy substance, but who in the 
devil was fortunate enough to possess the abstracted 
whisky. I was satisfied it was old Tom Buford, one of 
the joUiest anglers that ever cast a fly or hung a trout. 
He had arrived at the farmhouse the day before with 
piscatorial intent, and when I bade him a cheery good 
morning at the breakfast table, as I started on the hunt, 
I surmised that he developed, a significant smile. Ah! 
Tom, you old rogue, you are the prince of good fellows 
and king of practical jokers, and you no doubt found 
my whisky O. K. and assuredly cracked your sides laugh- 
ing when you thought it about time for me to take an 
initial nip and emphatically exclaim, 'I'll be blanked if 
it ain't genuine oil and another of old Tom's tricks.' 
"As I saw the bears so fondly lapping up the rejected oil, 
a happy idea came to me, and as it fuUy developed in all - 
ics lurid magnificence I laughed over it so heartily that I 
came near falling out of the tree and giving the bears an 
opportunity for a first-class meal. The plot, although in- 
genious, was very simple,, I would adroitly coax the 
bears to the tree, saturate them with the oil, and then by 
dropping a few lighted matches among them, of which I 
had plenty, would make a bonfire of my shaggy sentinels 
and thus escape. Again I had to cachinnate and again I 
came near tumbling out of my perch, I got every- 
thing all ready for roasting those greedy bears, and un- 
corking my bottle, I dropped a little of the oil on the 
Inclined trunk near the bottom of the tree, and then 
on their scenting it all of them went for it as if it were 
the most delicious wild honey. This was my golden op- 
portunity, so holding my bottle directly in line for thena, 
i poured the whole contents of it over those three bears, 
and then quickly lighting a dozen or more of the matches, 
threw them in a bunch among the bears, who were still 
at the oil, and instantaneously there, were roaring flames 
of fire, and like lurid comets they started off at a desperate 
speed through the forest and brake, howling in the most 
agonized manner. Then I hugely enjoyed the spectacle 
of the racing and blazing bears. But what is that smoke 
and flame that spreads out like the opening of a vast fan 
just ahead of me? As it moves along it gathers in speed 
and magnitude, and then for the first time I saw what a 
terrible thing is a forest fire, It was the invqltfutary work 
of the burning bears. For months there had not been a 
drop of rain in thig section of the oountry, and the woods 
ia consequence were like a tinder bps. How I did regret 
Jihat ingenipiis jojje of mifte, which, whUeifcaayed my life, 
