242 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Bbpt. 25, 1897. 
DOWN IN MAINE. 
As another shooting season approaches, the usual question 
of where to go is probably causing many an annual woods 
visitor much anxiety, not unmixed with a certain enjoyment 
which the selection of the location for a camp or cruise 
always brinir. 
Last tall I made a cruise of two weeks which ought to 
afford all the variety of canoeing, camping and big game 
hunting that any reasonable person could ask for, and for 
the benefit of any whose vacation time is hmited, yet who 
wish to cover considerable territory without extremely hard 
work, this is written. 
The trip can be nicely made in two weeks from Moosehead 
Lake, and could he done in two weeks from Boston if there 
was a good pitch of water in the rivers. The scenery is 
grand, the fishing fair, and big game very plentiful. There is 
only one portage— that from Round Pond into Allagash Lake 
— and that is over a good road. A number of side trips could 
be made from this cruise to grounds where splendid shoot- 
ing could be had, particularly into Shallow Lake for ducks 
and deer, and up the Allagash Inlet to Desolation for moose. 
There is also another section — a splendid big game region — 
which can be reached from Allagash or Chamberlain lakep, 
and which is seldom visited, as it is supposed to be almost 
inaccessible. A carry of two miles over an extremely blind 
and crooked trail took us to a dead-waier that lead back into 
this section nine miles further back. We did not have time 
to make the nine-mile canoe trip, but saw an abundance of 
moose sign about the dead-water, and there was no evidence 
that the trail had. been used for years. Oar address for the 
last two weeks of October will probably be at the head of 
this dead-water. 
Our party consisted of Frank E. Wolfe, myself and my lit 
tie Eaglish setter, Gypsey Belle IL This was Frank's first 
experience in the New England forests, and I judged from 
the curiosity which Gypsey excited that she was the first set 
ter to visit the Allagash. She was guessed at everything 
from a spaniel to a shepherd, but that she was a deer dog of 
some kind no one doubted. 
We left Boston at 9 P. M. over the popular B. & M. ; ar- 
rived at Bangor soon after daylight, stopped there just long 
enough to get breakfast, and weie off for Moosehead. At 
Oldtown several members of the Penobscot tribe boarded the 
train with axes, yokes and paddles, and it began to look as if 
we were really getting among good people. We found them 
very interesting and willing to give us much valuable infor 
mation about the section of country we were headed for. At 
Greenville we took the steamer for Kineo, where we arrived 
at noon, after an enjoyable sail up the lake. On the way up 
we arranged to take with us one of the Indians who cam*^ up 
on the train with us. This was John B. Mitchell, who is 
known among his people— and among his friends — as 
"Johnny Bear." At Kineo we had time to get dinner and 
buy OUT supplies before the boat left for Northeast Carry. 
At Kineo Johnny engaged as our second guide his partner, 
"Old Joe Aus'n.'"' Whether his name was Austin or Orstn 
or something else we could never make out. He spelled it 
X. Pronounce it to suit yourself. 
From Northeast Carry we had our canoes and dufBa driven 
over to Luce's, on the West Branch; and dropping down to 
the mouth of the Lobster we made our first camp, twenty- 
one hours from Boston. This first camp convinced us that 
our trip was to be a most delightful one, and that conclusion 
was arrived at after enjoying cur first meal m camp, lol- 
fowed by a "big smoke." The pleasure of a trip into this 
country depends so largely upon the guides that I feel 
obliged to give you a sliglit pen picture of the two men on 
whom we were dependent for almost everything for the next 
two weeks. Most every chronicler of a fishing or shooting 
trip writes of having the "best guide in Maine," and I can 
fully appreciate the feeling which prompts him to such a 
declaration. We probably did not have the "best guide in 
Maine," because there is probably no such guide there, but 
we certainly did have a combination that could hardly be 
improved upon — don't seem as though it could. 
I feel rather diffident about writing anj'thing of John 
Mitchell, but I trust that what 1 say of him will be inter- 
preted in the spirit in which it is written. 
J'ohnny Bear, as he apparently preferred to be called, is a 
middle aged, compactly built man, with a remarkaoly strong 
face, on which is truthfully stamped uprightness. He not 
only speaks English, but speaks it well, and is seldom at a 
loss for just the right word. He is a remarkably well posted 
man, and talks entertaininglv on any subject which a man 
has any business to talk about in the woods. I didn't try 
him on theosophy or the nebular hypothesis, being a little 
rusty on them myself; but he did give me some interesting 
points on political economy, as practiced in the government 
of his tribe. Where I feel most at liberty to speak of 
Johnny, is in regard to his skill as a cook ; and I could cover 
that subject the quickest by saying that he is the best out- 
door cook 1 ever saw. There are plenty of men who can fry 
potatoes, boil a pot of tea, or even broil a bird, trout or a rib 
of venison over an open fire; but when you find a man who 
can turn out of a tin oven, three times per day for two weeks, 
a pan of biscuits of the most delicious brown, and light as 
feathers, then you have found a man who is a cook "for 
fair." Johnny Bear did this in spite of wiad, rain or wet 
wood, without so much as the suspicion of a failure, and his 
stewed tomatoes and Kosombo were simply revelations in 
the possibilities of gastronomic research. Kosombo ! I have 
but to close my eyes to smell the delicious aroma of that 
pot-pouri even now. 
"Old Joe," is an Indian, from the way he fries potatoes to 
the style of wearing his belt; next to being an Indian he is a 
hunter. He has had little to do with white people, having made 
his living by hunting and trapping until within a few years, 
and consequently is a little backward about expressing him- 
self in English — when he has nothing to say — but he has no 
difiiculty in carrying on a conversation when he has some- 
thing to say to you. Not being able to read, Joe is depend- 
ent on the Penobscot folk-lore for his stock of general 
knowledge, and he proved a perfect mine of information on 
such matters as the meaning of the Indian names for the 
lakes and rivers, etc. Joe told us of being at Chamberlain 
Lake with his father forty years ago, and he has lived in the 
woods a great part of every year since. Small wonder then 
that there is little to be known of the woods which Joe does 
not know. Both of these men are splendid canoemen, and 
willing to imdertake cheerfully anything you may suggest, 
and another strong point in their favor is that neither of 
them uses any liquor. They never tired of answering our 
Bumerous questions, and when one was asked which they 
could not answer, they never hesitated to come out flat- 
footed and say "I don't know.'* 
We broke camp early the next morning and paddled down 
the majestic West Branch, past round-domed Kokodjo, stop- 
ping a few minutes at the Moosehorn and Ragmuff 1o try 
for trout, but failed to raise any. We lunched on Pig Island, 
then down the Horse Race, through the Fox Hole, over Pine 
Stream Falls, and so on into Chesuncook. From the shore 
of the lake we had our first view of Katahdin and the Sourd- 
nehunks, and our last of civilization. From the head of 
Chesuncook we entered the TJmbazaoksus Stream, turned to 
the left up the Cauquomgomic and reached the first falls in 
the late afternoon. Here was the most beautiful camping 
spot we saw on the whole trip. At the ypper end of the 
short carry around the falls is a small, level plat of sward 
that seemed as if made on purpose for a camp site. The 
series of three falls is extremely picturesque, and the pools 
are ideal trout pools. The afternoon had grown quite cold 
and the trout rose sluggishly, but frequently enough to show 
that on a favorable day they would yield fine sport. We 
had the usual "Vig smoke" around the camp-fire that night, 
but the music of the falls so successfully essayed the part of 
"The Sandran" that we rolled up in our blankets early, and 
were soon in sonorous rivalry with Joe and Johnny in "call- 
ing moose." 
Wo. awoke to a glorious morning, and while Johnny was 
getting the breakfast we exposed a few plates and visited the 
little cove, to find where several deer and a moose had been 
down to drink and feed during the night. How big that first 
moose track did look I After break! ast we put in above the 
falls and paddled up the winding stream, reaching the horse- 
race, where we made camp about 3 P. M. Every stream in 
this country has its horserace. The banks of the Cauquom- 
T 
JOHNNY BSAK AUD OLD .TOE AUS'N. 
gomic "are heavily wooded, the current, except in a few 
places, is slow, and the trip up was very enjoyable. We 
saw a few wood ducks and many tracks, but no big game. 
After makin? camp, we toted a part of our stuff up to Cau- 
quomgomic Lake, and left it there, covered with a rubber 
blanket. On the return trip Gypsey found the first partridge 
seen on the trip, and we had a "broiled bird" for supper. 
Our camp was on a high bluff overlooking the river, and 
having plenty of time and the prospect being for another 
cold night, Joe made a wigwam out of the big tent, while 
Johnny showed us what he called a good cooking fire. As 
Old Joe said, "All hot, no smoke." We made a picture of 
the camp, with the fire in the foreground, and the smoke 
from it is barely discernible, though Johnny was baking bis- 
cuit, stewing tomatoes, frying flippers, and broiling a bird at 
the time. While this was in progress, Frank and I took a 
plunge in the river, followed by a brisk toweling, and were 
then ready to forcibly demonstrate our appreciation of 
Johnny's cooking. 
The morning showed signs of rain, and we made an early 
start; the guides poling up in the canoes, Frank, Gypsey and 
I over the trail to the lake. It soon began to rain, and arriv- 
ing at the lake we made a lean-to of bark from the dam, and 
under this waited for the canoes. 
From this lake we entered Round Pond stream, and here 
saw the first signs of lumbering. Swampers had cleared the 
trees and brush from the banks of the stream, and the result 
of their work was anything but pleasing. When we came 
to the meadows there was any quantity of deer and moose 
sign. The banks were all cut up with their tracks, and the 
lilypads had been nipped off, and in some cases the roots 
torn up for miles at a stretch. Some of this had been done 
by muskrats. some by deer, and much of it by moose. The 
guides showed us very quickly how to distinguish the work 
of each animal. I thought of this when reading the recent 
interesting articles on deer and lilypads in Fokest and 
Stream. When old Joe tells me that moose eat lilypads as 
well as deer, I am prepared to believe it implicitly. 
We passed a place where the stream broadened out into a 
sort of shallow pond almost entirely covered with reeds and 
rushes, and here was quite a largi camp with several ladies 
in the party. Why any sane man should camp in such a 
place, with nothing but grass " and rushes in sight, I could 
not understand : particularly when having ladies along, for 
the gentler sex set great store by pleasant surroundings. I 
asked Johnny about this. He smiled significantly, and said : 
"Oh! I guess it's getting pretty near the 1st of October." 
We crossed Round Pond in the rain, and finding the camp 
at the mouth of Poland Stream occupied by a party of night 
fish peddlers we made camp a short distance up the carry to 
Allagash. I think these fellows were fish-peddlers, as they 
had a nice new tin horn under their canoe and a nice new 
lantern with a big bright reflector. Possibly this was a 
headlight off some stray locomotive; it was uearlv big 
enough. 
Everything was drenched, and we looked forward to a 
very disagreeable night. After the tents were up Jo8 started 
off into the woods with his axe, and Frank and 1 tried the 
trout below the Poland Stream Falls. They were pretty 
small, and we soon gave it up and returned to camp to find 
that Joe had completely carpeted our tent, bough-bed and 
all, with huge sheets of birch bark, laid inner side (dry side) 
up, and we were as dry as could be. 
The next day we carried over into Allagash, all doubling 
the route twice. We each made up what we considered was 
a back-breaking load while the guides washed the dishes, 
then we watched Joe make up what he called a "Mohawk 
pack." First he spread out the large tent, on top of that 
the smaller one, then their two bags of clothing, a sack of 
canned goods, a wooden tub holding about a half bushel of 
provisions of various kinds, and several packages that lay 
handy. Then he began to roll up the tent, first from one 
side, then from the opposite, and when he had folded in the 
ends and given it a final roll, he had the ends of the tent 
ropes sticking out of the bundle at just the right places for 
tying the whole securely. Itwas a work of art, particularly 
the rolling and folding He took his axe and cut some broad 
pack straps from a handy cedar, arranged one for his chest, 
another for his forehead, swung the Mohawk on to his 
broad shoulders, picked up a sack of potatoes in one hand, 
the bag of flour in the other, and struck out for Alla- 
gash. We found him there with the tents up when we got 
there. 
In the little cove to the right of where the carry comes out on 
Allagash we had the first and best fly-fishing of the trip. The 
padole up the lake to the mouth of the Allagash stream was 
delightful. The lake is somewhat in the shape of a square 
with rounded corners, the shores are densely wooded and the 
water is clear and cool We camped opposite the pinnacles 
and spent several days in exploring the now famous cave and 
prospecting up the Allagash inlet. The cave is a mighty 
poor thing as caves go, in fact it is not a cave at all, but a 
series of enormous seams running from the top of the fast 
pinnacle down into the mountain for several hundred feet, 
and is as damp and dirty as one could wish. I spent a part 
of two days there making flashlights of the different recesses, 
and spent the two weeks following my return in bed as a 
consequence. However, it is a wonderful freak of nature, 
and well worth a visit, at least my visit thire was worth con- 
siderable to my physician. 
We went several miles up the inlet and saw many frfsh 
(igns of beaver, deer and moose, in fact we started two 
moose and several deer were paddling through the alder 
grounds There are large trout in the stream, and it is said 
to contain salmon, but this we were unable to verify. This 
camp we left with reluctance and dropped down the Allagash 
River to Chamberlain Lake. Whilewalking around a bit of 
bad water we came upon a freshly built "beaver dam. It 
looked to be quite loosely put together, hut it held water all 
right. We tried to get up to a meadow which this dam over- 
flowed in hopes of getting a sight of the animals and their 
houses, but were unable to do so. 
When we first started out, the guides asked many ques- 
tions about Gypsey, and it was plain to be seen that they 
had their suspicions about her. One day Old Joe called her 
down to the bank, where fresh deer tracks were as thick as 
hair, and pointing to the tracks he tried to interest Gypsey 
iu them, but she only wagged her tail, and paid no more 
attention to them than any' well-behaved setter would. This 
apparently convinced Joe that she wasn't a deer dog, what- 
ever else she might be. Just before reachiner our camping 
place, a mile above Chamberlain Lake, we flushed a par- 
tridge, which lit in a birch sprout beside the river. I tojk 
up my gun, and as the canoe was passing knocked him out. 
Now don't throw up your hands; it's no pot shot to kill a 
bird from a canoe that is dodging the rocks down the swift 
water of Allagash, even if he is sitting on the limb of a 
swaying birch, and my conscience did not trouble me a 
little bit. Gypsey was in the rear canoe, and when told to 
fetch she went overboard, and when fhe came back across 
the river, wading and swimming, with a big cock par- 
tridge's wings covering both her eyes, the Indians were 
greatly pleased. We could not stop for her in the swift 
water, but she was at the landing to meet us, and that par- 
tridge went into the kettle with a pair of black ducSs and a 
couple of his near relatives in short order. I think that this 
was the greatest kettle of Kosombo Johnny turned out on 
the entire trip. I never could understand where he got the 
curry. 
While we were making camp, Joe said he heard a moose 
up on the ridge, and after supper we went out to try to call 
him out. We had not gone a quarter of a mile from camp 
and Johnny had made but a few calls when we heard one 
coming. He came into the water, but a cow, which he had 
left in the woods, called him back again, and we thought 
our fun was over. 
Frank and Joe had drifted up into a little cove and were 
watching a buck feeding, when we heard another moose 
coming. We whistled to the other canoe, but could not 
attract their attention owing to the noise of a little waterfall 
near them, so we pushed off and started across the stream 
to get a good look at the new-comer. I asked Johnny if 
this was not the same moose, but he said not, that this was 
a larger one. He came down the bank with a crash, and 
slumped into the water with as much noise as a yoke of 
steers would make. When the others saw us start across 
stream they followed, and we all got quite close to the beast 
before he scented us and plowed his way across the hog 
with loud grunts. Frank and .Joe continued down the river 
to make another call and Johnny and I returned to camp, 
reaching there at 8:30, having had an easy chance to kill 
two moose. I thought this very remarkable, but Johnny 
said a good moose caller could call out a moose any time, 
day or night, if there was an unmated one in the vicinity, 
and before the trip was ended I could well believe it. Joe 
called several times down near the lake but got no response. 
While skirting the western shore of Chamberlain Lake we 
saw our only caribou, and got up within easy shooting dis- 
tance of him. He was feeding, and moved about with 
quick nervous steps, very unlike any other animal we saw. 
When about two miles north of Ellis Brook we ran into a 
school of trout, jumping in all directions We tried them 
with all colors and sizes of flies, but could only raise one of 
them. They were splendid fish, from a to 4(bs. in weight. 
Several broke water quite near the canoes, so we got a good 
idea of their size. They were extremely tantalizing. 
From Chamberlain we turned up Mud Pond stream and 
camped on the western shore of the pond. In the morning 
