42 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July, 16, 1898. 
Trouting at Carlsbad. 
"Is there any fishing around here, Mr. Proprietor?" 
"Fish? Fish! Oh, tousands, tousand," exclaimed the 
gracious landlord of the Koenigs Villa, bowing low with 
clasped hands, and then adding with a waive of his out- 
stretched palms: "All of zee rivers trouts and zander, 
viele trouts — you catch many." 
Being thus assured, I prepared myself for fishing. In 
the first place a permit from the authorities was neces- 
sary. At the mayor's office a permit was .granted by a 
high public functionary authorizing me, "'a well-born citi- 
zen of America," for two weeks to fish in any of the 
open waters of the township with a rod and line, under 
the restrictions provided by law. For this was charged 
two gulden. Next a guardian was required to accom- 
pany the fisherman, to see that he did not take an undue 
quantity of fish, and thus deplete the waters. Whatever 
doubts we had before as to the certainty of catching 
trout were dissipated by this official caution. The 
guardian was procured. 
Next a carriage and driver were hired, as we learned 
that the further from Carlsbad one fished the larger the 
fish and the greater the quantity. 
Then with a lunch basket, a bottle of Austrian wine 
and a split bamboo American rod we drove hilariously 
out of the grounds of the Koenigs Villa, saluted by Max 
and other attendants, down the Alte Wiese, past the 
Post Hof and the Kaiser Garten, for our joyous day's 
fishing. 
The Tepl empties into the Eger at Carlsbad. Both 
are rapid streams, the Tepl being the smaller, and it 
winds with many sinuosities among wooded hills and 
through pleasant pasture lands. Where it curves to the 
hillside it is overhung with beach and hemlock, and 
shady pools lie under their roots. When it rambles in the 
open meadows it sings over pebbles and shallows, and 
long grasses conceal its undermined banks. Once in a 
w T hile a rude bridge of logs indicates a footway across 
it. Now and then heavy rocks confine it so it chafes and 
foams, and evergreens grow in the crevices of the rocks, 
and ferns hang pendent from them. There 
"Dark foliage intervenes 
In one unbroken roof of leaves, 
Underneath whose sloping eaves 
The shadows hardly move." 
No prettier stream for a trout — no fairer footway for 
an angler. 
After driving out five miles on the road to Marienbad 
we left the horse and driver to slowly follow us back, and 
the guardian and I took the Tepl's banks. The guardian 
had a dress of Lincoln green with yellow stripes, which 
indicated his official position. His little, round hat was 
adorned with a capercailzie feather. He carried a green 
painted tin herbarium slung over his shoulder by a strap. 
This, I assumed, showed his taste for botany. His lan- 
guage was German, his manners bucolic, his dress artis- 
tic. He inquired if I kned a certain Herr Rhinelander, 
"ein grosser Amerikaner," and obtaining my assent he 
would stop, while pointing to some pool in the river, and 
exclaim: "Da, da, Herr Rhinelander hat einen grossen 
Forellen gefunden." 
It is pleasant at times to hear of another's successes, 
but a constant repetition of the tale becomes tedious 
when you do not meet with like success. This was inti- 
mated to the guardia*, but it did not deter him from 
rehearsing the tale: "Himmel, that is the spot last 
year Herr Rhinelander caught zwei grosse, sehr 
grosse, Forellen." The next time he began: "Right 
here, Herr Rhinelander." "Shut up!" I shouted, jabbing 
at him with the butt of my rod. "Och, it's true," he re- 
plied, "it was right here, I am not telling lies; two trout 
that weighed — " 
At this instant a trout rose and was hooked. "There, 
there, iclp sagte dat Herr Rhinelander," etc. I heeded not 
his monologue, but the trout presently broke away and 
a chub was caught instead. The guardian praised this 
catch as if it was of great value. These chub are bright, 
active fellows, some weighing three-quarters of -a pound; 
pretty to look at, but worthless as food, their flesh being 
white and soft. They were so numerous as presently to 
interfere with the trout. They were thrown scornfully 
in the grass when taken, but still thty came and their 
advent was hailed by the guardian with praise and joy. 
Each dark pool that should have held a trout was 
peopled with hungry chubs, taking the fly with avidity 
and meeting their fate in the grass. 
I had not heard from my guardian's reminiscences for 
some time, and presently, saw him sitting on the bank 
with his head bowed. Fearing he was ill, I walked up 
behind him and found he was busily cleaning the dis- 
carded chubs and stowing their bodies away in his poc- 
ket for his evening meal. Hence his praises of my catch. 
Finally a large trout was hooked. This was only the 
second I had seen that day. He swayed lazily back and 
forth a few times in the current and was being drawn 
quietly to the gravelly shore when the guardian rushed in 
behind him, scooped him up in his arms and carried him 
triumphantly to land. Nothing I could say prevented 
him. He then filled his herbarium with water, and plac- 
ing the trout alive in it, strapped it on his shoulder and 
valiantly followed me. 
But fishing had lost its charm. I watched the mowers 
in the fields for a few moments and the gayly kirtled 
girls driving home the cows for the evening milking, and 
then mounted my carriage and with the guardian and 
his herbarium before me drove homeward. 
On reaching the hotel the guardian exposed the trout, 
still alive, to the customary evening crowd on the porch. 
"Gott im Himmel, eine Forelle," exclaimed the fat man 
in the arm chair. "Och, wohin haben Sie das gemacht?" 
exclaimed another. "Hoh! Josef, kommen Sie gleich die 
trout zu sehen," called a father to his son. "Are you the 
man what catches this trout?" inquired another. "Pierre, 
tiens voila ton affaire un gros poisson!" "Did you him 
kelch mit dat kleine stick?" asked a Wurtemberger. 
"Does you wants for to shell him?" inquired a man with 
a forked beard and a long black overcoat. 
The crowd gathered fast and I retreated to the effice. 
Scales were brought and the fish was carefully weighed 
and the weight noted in the guardian's book, 2%lbs. of 
German brown trout, being about the largest size taken 
in the river. Then I paid the city for it. "But it was 
your trout," I hear you say; "you caught it." No mat- 
ter, I paid only for the privilege of catching it, and now 
had the privilege of buying it. The purchase was made 
and the fish consigned to the head cook to be served at 
the dinner on the following day. 
Somehow the fame of that trout got abroad. Several 
persons called to see it. The cook realized many trink- 
gelds for showing it. I never passed the front porch but 
I heard: "That is the shentelman dat caught de big 
trout." I shunned the front porch, and came in and 
out by the side door. 
Knowing we had a trout for dinner, I ordered a bottle 
of Marcobrunner and invited a friend. The trout was 
brought in the dining room on a silver dish, garnished 
with greens and with a rose in its mouth. The head 
cook in his white cap carried it aloft, causing all the 
guests to stop their dinners, crane their necks, and ex- 
claim "Ein grosser Fisch!" A convivial gentleman at 
the next table raising his glass called out, "I vill drinks 
your health, sir." The landlord smiled continuously. 
The waiters spilled the soup they were passing while they 
ogled the trout. Then and there I abandoned forever 
fishing in the waters of Austria. 
The next day I added up the cost of my experience, and 
it ran thus: 
Permit of the mayor to fish 3 
Pay of the guardian 3 
Carriage to drive up the Tepl 10 
Charge for the fish caught 4% 
Dinner to eat the fish 20 
Douceur to the cook for cooking it. 4 
Total 44^ 
Equivalent to $17.80, being about $2 a pound. 
This was nearly as bad as my Quebec friend, the own- 
er of two salmon rivers, who told me his salmon cost 
him $5 a pound. But he had salmon. I only a German 
brown trout. But then it was a new experience. Ex- 
perience always costs. C. E. Whitehead. 
The Headwaters of the Yukon. 
The Yukon has a peculiarity which distinguishes it 
from all the other world's great rivers, in that its head- 
waters take their rise within fifteen miles of the ocean 
it travels 2,600 miles to reach. Fifteen miles below its 
source is Chilcoot Pass. At Lake Bennett the river 
becomes navigable for boats 50ft. in length, and with an 
average drop of ioj^in. to the mile affords a down-hill 
journey for a distance equal to one-tenth the circumfer- 
ence of the globe. 
Suppose the surface of the river in winter was smooth, 
glossy ice, and that Bering Sea and the North Pacific 
Ocean were similarly coated, also that friction and the 
resistance of the atmosphere were greatly reduced, what 
a grand toboggan slide might be devised. It is not be- 
yond the realm of imagination to conceive of such a 
slide, oval in form, over which the momentum gained 
during the 2,200ft. drop in the first half from Lake Ben- 
nett to the mouth of the Yukon would carry a coasting 
party the level second half across a part of Bering 
Sea and the North Pacific back to Skagway by a route 
considerably more than 5,000 miles in length and in- 
volving a climb for only thirty miles at the start. 
The Yukon runs in a great bow, first north, then west, 
then south. Its mouth is further south than Fort 
Selkirk, and only a little more than three degrees of 
latitude north of its most southerly source, though 
where the river touches the arctic circle at Ft. Yukon 
it is more than seven degrees north of its source. East 
and west the river crosses thirty-six degrees of longi- 
tude, though it must be borne in mind that degrees of 
longitude here are only about half as long as degrees 
of latitude. 
The peculiar formation of a part of the northwest 
portion of the North American continent is responsible 
for bringing the two ends of the river so close to the 
parent ocean. Instead of having its roof tree inland, the 
most elevated continental land masses are on the edge 
next the sea, culminating in the lofty coast range of Brit- 
ish Columbia and southern Alaska, and sloping off north- 
ward hundreds of miles from the sea. 
Here are the loftiest mountains in North America and 
the greatest rainfall. In a country where it rains or 
snows 300 days in the year it is no great wonder that a 
respectable river should develop within fifteen miles of 
its source, nor that despite the fact that this river flows 
further down through an arid country, requiring irri- 
gation to raise vegetables, the Yukon discharges 
through its hundred-mile wide deltoid mouth a volume 
of water comparable with the world's great rivers. 
Special agent Ivan Petroff in his report to the Govern- 
ment on the population, industries and resources of 
Alaska, which is quoted by a recent publication of the 
Bureau of American Republics, says that the Yukon 
discharges every hour one-third more water than the 
Mississippi. This statement, however, is generally dis- 
proved, though apparently no reliable measurements 
have been taken. 
The principal source of the Yukon relative both to 
the volume of water discharged and length is probably 
that affluent of the Lewes which is marked upon the 
latest U. S. Coast and Geodetic Survey map as Pike 
River, though according to Dawson this stream and not 
the larger one now known by the name should be called 
the Hootalinqua. 
The Pike River takes its rise in the elevated moun- 
tain country east of Skagway and north of Juneau, and 
empties into Lake Atlin, which in turn discharges its 
waters into the Taku Arm of Tagish Lake, forty miles 
below the head of Lake Bennett. 
The drainage of White Pass also flows into the Taku 
Arm of Tagish Lake, but no part of this region has been 
surveyed or thoroughly explored, and maps are based 
chiefly upon Indian reports. The region is easily ac- 
cessible and presents an attractive field for geographical 
rc^s c<u*cti 
I climbed one afternoon over a glacial moraine on 
a mountain at the inner end of White Pass up to the 
everlasting ice, and just before dark secured a very 
good view of the country to the east, north and west. 
The Skagway trail could be traced in a great curve 
through the jack pine flat and across beaver meadows 
by the smoke of evening camp-fires, till in the distance 
it reached the trough-like strip of milky blue that marked 
the glacier-churned waters of Lindeman. 
Far to the north, over the shoulder of one mountain 
and lying at the base of a precipitous snow-clad range, 
another bit of blue indicated a lake which I took to be 
Tootshai, while at my feet and extending to the north 
and east was Shallow Lake, with its various ramifica- 
tions, splotches of blue or brown caught in glacier- 
scooped channels, and looking more like puddles left 
by a receding flood than anything else. The blue 
splotches indicated parts of the lake connected by chan- 
nels, which permitted the glacier water to circulate, 
while the brown or amber-colored lakelets were fed 
directly by springs or streams rising below the line of 
perpetual snow, and were separated from and on a 
higher level than the main body of water. 
Erom this trail only a small part of the lake can be 
seen. The larger portion stretches to the north and east 
like the letter S, concealed by a low wall of rock. The 
outlet of Shallow Lake is a broad sinuous stream, with 
grass-fringed banks, running generally north instead of 
east, as shown on the maps, till lost to sight, where 'it 
enters a gorge six or eight miles from the lake. From 
the east another tributary stream can be traced for a 
distance of five miles or more. 
For ten miles to the eastward and almost as far to 
the west the principal feature of the landscape is the 
broad valley, bounded by high mountain ranges. In 
general this valley drains to the north, though at its 
western edge it falls off rapidly to Lake Lindeman. 
The White Pass chain of lakes enters from the south 
almost on a level with the plane of the valley. Between 
Shallow and Middle lakes there is a fall of about 20ft, 
while in the mile and a half of stream separating Middle 
and Summit lakes the drop is certainly not in excess of 
100ft. 
Boats were taken through both the connecting streams 
last fall, though they were badly battered up as a result. 
As Summit Lake lies within a few hundred feet of the 
headwaters of the Skagway River, emptying into Lynn 
Canal, and only 50ft. or so below the highest point of 
the pass, it will be seen that the difference in elevation 
between Shallow Lake and the summit of White Pass — 
fourteen miles to the southward — is very trifling. Prob- 
ably it does not exceed 200ft. The same level continues 
six or eight miles further north, and if any feasible 
descent to the lower level of the navigable waters of the 
Yukon could have been found this route would un- 
doubtedly have proved vastly preferable to any other. 
As it is, however, I believe the White Pass trail, un- 
der the most favorable conditions, to be more difficult 
to cross than Chilcoot, and with the crush of last fall 
it was 100 per cent, worse. 
By availing one's self of Lake Lindeman, which so 
far has been practical in most cases, the Chilcoot route 
is shortened to twenty-six miles, and of this only about 
four miles is very bad, and except for the half mile 
south of the summit horses were used for packing 
the entire length of the trail. In February we walked 
from Lindeman to tide water in a little more than seven 
hours, whereas it was then said to require two days to 
cross White Pass. 
At Lindeman I- ran upon Tappan Adney, of Harper's 
Weekly, brown, rugged and looking more like an In- 
dian than a white man in his red toboggan cap and 
moccasins. Adney had the wisdom to pack over Chil- 
coot, and was rewarded by reaching Dawson. He and 
his companion, Brown, who is a Pacific Coast champion 
oarsman, shot the rapids between Lakes Lindeman 
and Bennett with great eclat the following day, taking 
the bad drop at the end that even the Indians, who are 
familiar with the stream from time immemorial, portage 
round. Adney and Brown stood erect in either end of 
their dory-shaped craft, each with an oar used as a pad- 
dle, and guided their boat through a slather of foam 
past boulders that permitted only the narrowest margin 
with a nicety of judgment and execution that gained them 
the enthusiastic regard of the miners watching the per- 
formance. 
Retrospective. 
We had mementoes from the remaining members of 
the party on leaving. Herington gave us some tinned 
meats, Sheriff supplied one or two important tools which 
were lacking in„our outfit from his very complete kit, 
and Billy Baskerville baked us a big batch of biscuits, 
the kind that only Billy could make. 
Billy was the privileged member of the party. _ He 
could point out individual shortcomings in the plainest 
and most unvarnished language, and no one would take 
offense. It was impossible to get mad at the great big 
good-natured six-footer, for no one ever suspected him 
of a personal or biased motive. 
His good nature was unfailing, and he laughed at 
times one would rather have expected tears, and when 
he complained there was never any bitterness about it. 
The time he was lost on the Summit and slept all night 
in a mud hole in company with the little white horse 
that had fallen into it, and I came upon him half-starved 
and soaked with mud up to his ears, he remarked in 
his big hearty voice: "Well, this ain't like going to 
Coney Island." 
After living a while on some particularly bad grub 
Billy said: "Bet a fellow would make himself sick eating 
if he got out into civilization and had the money; hope 
we get money enough to live well and die of the gout." 
He was a man who won instant popularity, and every 
one on the trail knew him. He and McKercher have 
since joined forces and are probably in Dawson City 
at the present writing. 
McKercher was the latest addition to our party, and 
a word about ray companion on the river trip may not 
be out of order. He is a Canadian of Scotch ancestry 
and a graduate of Toronto University. His chief char- 
acteristics are persistence, grit and a desire to deal 
squarely with everyone. He is a fellow who will never 
accept an iota more than his share in a division, or in 
a matter of work or danger permit any one to do a 
stroke more than himself. It is his pride to always 
