June 17, iSgp.J 
one called for a pint of claret, and the bulging blue eyes 
oi ^ our German friend, Trimpi, bespoke astonishment. 
You call for wine and expect the rest to pay for it," he 
said. "You have been drinking ramwater at home all 
winter, and glad to get it, and now you call for wine — 
wine— wine. This is no junketing trip of aldermen; you 
go without." Trimpi is an odd genius and very serious in 
some things, and several times he hurt my feelings. 
We resumed the stage ride, and the sixteen-mile drive 
brought us well up into the Adirondacks. Just over the 
iron bridge at Indian River two double buckboards were 
■waiting, as previously arranged. Now about buckboards. 
They look as innocent and as calm as an army mule, and 
like the mule, thej-- act like the mischief in a tight place. I 
have ridden buckboards and bucking broncos, and don't 
know which was named for the other, but do know that 
one will throw you as far as the other in their gayest mo- 
mtncs, We followed the course of the Indian River as 
near as the rough country would allow for four miles, 
and if we had moved directly in its channel we could not 
be rnore wet or muddy, inasmuch as it was raining 
heavily. Tlie off hind wheel had a scoop like a steam 
dredge, and I was the scow that received the contents 
when that scoop came up. Trimpi was beside me, and be- 
side himself with delight when a mud plaster hit me in the 
neck, but his joy was brief, for I was quietly transferring 
the deposit to his pockets, and had them nearly full when 
"Hi, there!" my wheel went into an abyss and his 
climbed a ledge with a suddenness that left no time to 
catch at straws. As he went past and over me he grasped 
me lovingly around the neck with both arms and we 
went on our w^ay down that soily hillside and into the 
brush in fond embrace as though nothing but death could 
part us, and that seemed possible. A valise sailed by, 
then a bundle of fishing rods and umbrellas, and Trimpi' s 
hair trunk hovered in the rear as though to telescope us. 
We brought up against a rocky stump, and when still in 
deadly embrace, Crippen yelled, "Hoch der Kaiser." My 
little knowledge of German came to my aid, and under- 
standing that "Hoch" meant elevating or high up or 
something of the kind, I rolled my Teutonic antagonist on 
top. I was "the under-dog in the fight," yet there was a 
"method in my madness," for the hind' wheels of the 
buckboard were playing teeter above as though undecided 
whether to drop back into the ruts or to crush the re- 
maining life out of us. In the latter case I needed pro- 
tection more than a RepubHcan, Referee Crippen said 
"break away," and we did it. We got up and eyed each 
other like a pair of game cocks; 1 called him a gray- 
haired old blunderer, and he called me a bald-headed pile 
driver, and we were ready to clinch again, when Crip- 
pen stepped in and parted us. Trimpi said, "Blessed are 
the peacemakers," and I thought of the other blessed ones 
who shall inherit the earth and wished they might call for 
that portion that I had accumulated in my peregrinations 
down the muddy hillside with that flying Dutchman. 
Easy now, Mr. Trimpi, don't get angry; 3rou know that 
you were to blame. 
We righted things and resumed our way, and when 
again bad places appeared ahead Trimpi would dismount 
and command me to lie down. We changed from the 
course of Indian River to that of the Cedar, and at the 
base of Dun Mountain decided to climb over rather than go 
around with the teams. Trimpi was in the van, and with 
a German's love of music his rich tenor voice cheered us 
on as he sang "Onward, Christian Soldier." Then he 
would whistle or chaff back at the hoot owls. "There's a 
pleasure in the pathless woods" (in the day time). What 
poetic natures call the gloaming had merged into one of 
Egypt's plagues, and we slid, stumbled and blundered 
down the slope until at last the surface of the Third Lake 
Of the Seven Chain Lakes and the lights of Landlord 
Hutchins' log cottages were "forninst" us. The bright 
fire cheered and dried us, and our pelts were stretched 
around the festive board. After supper we unpacked and 
spread our canvas, corduroys, rubber coats and boots 
about. If creased trousers indicate style and taste, and 
patches mean poverty or penury, you could take your 
choice. The creases ran in all directions, and patches 
were where most needed. To-morrow will be rag time, 
and we will have a rag-time dance on the waves or a May- 
pole dance on spongy green moss and around some tower- 
ing spruce. The beds yawned and the contagion spread to 
six fishermen. Taps are sounded and we dream of ti'out 
and trailing arbutus till reveille. I often have to "take 
water," but prefer the land, so while the others fished I 
hunted among the trees and hillsides for wild flowers, and 
found them too : cowslips, the magenta and white blos- 
soms of the birthroot, dutchmen's breeches, violets, win- 
tergreen berries, arbutus, mountain laurel and scores of 
others with names unknown to me were in the bunch, 
and as I sat on the lake shore admiring them and wishing 
that others could enjoy them also, the clear notes of a 
bobolink burst out from the blossoms of the swamp 
maple^ at my side, "Bobolink, bobolink, spink, spank, 
spink." Many years had elapsed since I last heard one 
sing, and often had I hoped my defective ears could once 
more register that song. It carried me back to the days 
when, as a little freckle-faced, pug-nosed, bare-footed 
country lad, with one gallus, a battered straw hat, the 
hives and a stone bruise, a peeled alder fish pole and a 
mustard box full of fish worms in my pocket, together 
with marbles, jackknives, nails and twine, I wandered 
do wn the brookside after pickerel. Those were days 
when they cut my hair with sheep shears around the rim 
of an inverted tin pail, as it rested upon my ears; days 
when Rube Hendley drove m.e from his land and said 
to me, "Ef I ever ketch yer here ag'in I mil shake yer 
till the taller flies all around taown." In those days we 
boys made black finger rings from gutta-percha buttons, 
baskets from peach stones, and kept our extensive library 
of Beadle's and Monroe's dime novels up on the beams 
of the Baptist horse sheds. In the winter we rode on the 
ox sleds Avhere the side-hill plows were fastened when 
the roads were broken out. We jammed each other in the 
snowdrifts and pelted the schoolmaster with snowballs. 
When the skating was good we stuffed the schoolhouse 
stovepipe with paper and smoke closed the school, and 
Jim Clare, the tinman, never went back on us — but "that 
is my private business." 
Next day I fished, and Kit Clarke isn't the only one 
who knows "where the trout hide." Most anyone can 
tell big fish lies, so I will only take a little space and that 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
is shadowed in the valley where the Second Lake water 
seeks the first. It tumbles and filters down through the 
wind-fallen tree trunks, over stones and into swirling 
pools beneath the overhanging brush. There is not room 
enough to cast, and whether the troiit would rise to a fly 
or tumble to a worm, I did not know, but they were 
there, and the rod with only 4ft. of leader and snell was 
poked under branches, and as soon as the lure touched the 
ripples I felt a tug, and then snapped the hook well in. 
The trout tried to dart under the log, but was led away 
and down the stream, and eventually into the net. If you 
were fold the same thing sixteen times in less than an 
hour, you know it all, and if you could see where the 
loop of the net rested, just enough above the water to keep 
the trout in and alive, and then should you expect, as I 
did, to hear some oracle say "enough," and with a sense 
of fairness help me to restore the smaller ones to the 
stream and still have lolbs. left, you would know what 
joy is. Oh, climb up the bank with me, breathe in the 
balsam-laden air, bite at it, get all you can, for it is rare. 
Out there on First Lake where the stake stands up 
from the surface, we tied the boat. The spot was baited 
with chopped chubs, and with a live one on a double 
snelled No. i sproat I soon hooked a heavy "laker." He 
made the steel rod form parabolas, and as he darted 
hither and yon his own kind around him must have 
thought him erratic. I think most of us mistake in peering 
into the water for a hooked fish. Just watch the spring 
of the rod and direction of the exposed line and study 
the science of it all. 
Mr. Crippen is a fine gentleman and angler, and one of 
those open-hearted men who enjoy the success of others 
fully as much as his own, and it pleased him greatly to 
think that we could so enjoy ourselves in accepting his 
invitation to the trip. I had not met Mr. Trimpi before, 
and may not meet him again, but I place him in memory 
as the jolilest type of sportsman I ever met — one that 
can give and take a joke, and to even up with him I want 
to say that as he sat in his boat off shore in the even- 
ing and lit his pipe with "vind" matches, and as the 
flames lit up the scene, the outfit looked like a German 
tramp steamer in distress and burning Coston lights. 
Flashing parties divide usually, and the others were away 
on Cedar River most of the time. They propose to erect 
a grand stand there another season and charge for tickets 
to the exhibit of skill. The landlord's daughter landed a 
4^\h. brook trout, and praptically whipped us all when 
she whipped that stream, 
. There is too much that is grand in that wild country 
to stay in one place long, and to improve the chance to 
see more I left the others with regret and started on a 
long jaunt through to the western exit of the region. 
They call it going in and coming out, and it reminds vou 
of the words in Sol Smith Russell's .song, "And the 
worms crawl in and the worms crawl out." 
A buckboard ride of twelve miles to Indian Lake, lunch, 
twelve miles more on a good road with a light team, and I 
was at Blue Mountain Lake at 3 P. M. Often on the drive 
I stopped at some cabin or farmhouse to obtain a glass 
of milk, and invariably the good woman who answered 
the driver's knock hid behind the door as she readily com- 
plied with his request and handed out the best pitcher in 
the house. Coin would be left with her and a message 
of thanks, and as we drove off I would turn around and 
see the kindly face peering at us from behind window 
shades. Others have noticed this. Why do they do so? 
They need not fear the sportsman. These good country 
women are the salt of the earth, and their mothers, grand- 
mothers and great grandmothers have furnished the back- 
bone of this blessed country of ours. The little tots 
hanging timidly to their skirts are the stuff that Lin- 
col ns, Grants, Deweys and Roosevelts are made of. Come 
out and see the sportsmen. We do not expect to see the 
latest styles or to see artificial formations. What we ad- 
mire is the plain, simple life — the manners free from 
artifice or affectation of any kind, and the faithfulness to 
home duties. 
Fortunately one of the best Adirondack guides. Will 
Kelly, was at leisure, and entering into the spirit of the 
idea and his canoe we started off to bring up where 
night and conditions might allow. It was a May day, sun- 
shiny and warm. Not a ripple on the lake other than 
those caused by skimming swallows or leaping fish. The 
gigantic upheaval of rock and earth on the right called 
Blue Mountain conveyed no impression of the bkies. The 
trees on the shores are reflected in the water and seem 
to be growing downward from their real stateliness. I 
was thankful to the "powers that be" that I was alive and 
endowed with at least a partial sense of appreciation of 
nature undisturbed by man's meddling. Man's work does 
not always deface, however, and in proof thereof we 
passed under the bridge spanning the connecting link be- 
tween Blue Mountain and Eagle lakes. Costlv granite 
abutments support a rustic bridge, and underneath on the 
facade of masonry rests a bronze tablet fittingly com- 
memorating the efforts of Durant in projecting the first 
transcontinental railway. As we glide through Eagle 
Lake the beauty does not fade; it improves rather, and 
thoughts come to me of the feelings of one born and 
reared among the city confines and suddenly dropped 
upon yonder peak without having previous knowledge of 
these surroundings. When he first looks upon the won- 
ders of nature his untaught imagination gives birth to 
weird fancies. The living things peopling the air, the 
streams, the forests and the mountain chasm are to him 
unknown, and he shrinks from them in timidity. Just 
awakened, as it were, and feeling his helplessness, he is 
ready to cry out for succor. As his gaze falls upon the 
clear surface of the lake and he sees his own kind upon 
its face, he borrows calmness from it. Gazing above him 
into the blue expanse, he sees an arch that to his here- 
tofore limited vision seems endless. As the bright clotids 
flit along the skies and the pure air kisses his face, he, if 
his soul is in it all, exclaims, "God is good." 
In thinking of others, I forgot myself, and the sight of 
two lads fishing from off a shore boulder cautioned me 
to look about. With a whoop like that of a dismissed 
schoolboy, one of them with a pole fit for log driving, 
yanks a splendid trout into the air over his head and into 
^the forest behind him. How I longed to get at those 
boys and initiate them into the mysteries of a 50Z. rod. 
But they might resent it all and call me names. 
From the western portal of Eagle Lake we enter Uto- 
463 
■ - - — ... 
wana and find it the equal of any. The guide hears deer 
passing on shore and recounts to me tales of many seasons 
of his vocation, and as he talks vividly, I understand that 
his pursuits are not all mercenary. Such men are the 
best of guides. At the end of the lake there is a half- 
mile carry. I bear the canvas pack and grips; the guide 
bears the yoke and his canoe, weighing 7Slbs. With a 
heave and a swing we start off on a pilgrimage to a shrine 
of golden sunset somewhere beyond the Marion River. 
On the path and in the shade of oaks rested a cow and 
young calf, and probably they belonged to the owner of a 
lovely hillside house on the left. I was struck with the 
apnearance of the calf, and nearly struck by its mother. 
The little fellow was whiter than "beautiful snow," ex- 
cepting on each end, and I walked carefully up to him to 
extend a caress and look into the soft eyes. I did not 
get close. Something in the eye of the watchful mother, 
such as you have seen in the look of a prospective mother- 
in-law before you had declared your intentions, ad- 
monished me to retreat, and I did so, but not in good 
order. Let me tell you that it is no Cakewalk when you 
flee from a maddened cow, when you hear the prods of 
cloven hoofs behind you, and see lowered horns and 
erect tail over your shoulder. But the good guide saved 
me, and I believe the sight of a native, or perhaps the 
boat in midair, soothed the beast, and then I panted in 
peace. Will Kelly said, "You seemed interested a mo- 
ment ago. What was the trouble?" "Mr. Kelly, I was ad- 
miring that white calf. You don't see them in white 
often nowadays. They are mostly multi-colored or in 
black, fast black, too, and warranted not to crock. Mr. 
Kelly, 'twas ever thus from childhood's hour; I've seen 
my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a young gazelle — 
oh, I am away off; this was a calf." 
From the dock where the little steamer leaves, we en- 
tered the Marion River — a river that for sinuosity beats 
a snarled fish line, or for crookedness the machinations of 
Mephistopheles. Twisting in and out, running north, 
east, south and west, and with imaginable shores, it is 
the home of millions of bullfrogs, and they keep up a 
perpetual carillon of croaking, as if in greeting to the first 
city swell ( ?) to pass mto the hands of preparing hotel- 
keepers. Muskrats, blackbirds and otter abide there, and 
for jacklight cruelty it is an ideal place. 
Across the lower part of Racquette Lake we saw the 
Antlers, and I wondered if Landlord Bennett would take 
me in. T was in rough dress, sunburned and unshaven, 
and I pictured myself as old Hoss Hoey in "A Parlor 
Match." On the landing there were boatmen and boats. 
In one boat, half filled with water, there were scores of 
fish that to me were unplaced in name. They had a 
different appearance from any heretofore seen. If you 
wish for information and care to disclose ignorance, ask 
questions relating to other matters, and you will be told 
what you really wish to know. They were suckers, and I 
learned that they w^ere chopped up and used to bait the 
buoys for lake trout fishing. At Racquette Lake they 
use suckers for bait; in New York City they use bait for 
suckers, and the racket is different, but they bate the 
boys just the same, and inasmuch as we are told that a 
sucker is born every minute, the process will probably 
go on until the "game laws" intercede. 
I approached the oflice of the Antlers, and as I stood 
before the Boniface Avith uncovered head, he scanned 
me and consented to keep me. I believe my expanse of 
brow, or reach of forehead, saved me, and I ate at as 
clean a table (and I cleaned it more) and slept in as nice 
a bed as can be found anywhere. This is an elegant spot 
for good Americans to pass the summer months. Ben- 
nett could earn a big salary as a landscape gardener. The 
cottages are little castles. Someway I like the man: he is 
a sportsman too. I think, if trophies, guns and ears that 
have been frozen mean anything. It was grand to hear 
him speak in praise of Fred Mather — some kindness of the 
Colonel's in years past. I think. Did your ears tingle 
out there in Winconsin, Colonel, about the middle of 
May? We were talking about you then. I also met a 
young Government surveyor, Mr. Bumstead, whose work 
is around and about this locality, and enthusiasm and 
correctness were ' plainly disclosed as he described his 
labor to me. 
We went away the next day and passed the hut of old 
Trapper Dunning. Eighty-six years old, and as lively 
as a cricket; he pulled a I7lb. "laker" from Eighth Lake 
of the Fulton Chain the week before; he shot the last 
moose in the State, and believes that he has trapped the 
last beaver. Through the labyrinths of Brown Tract In- 
let for four miles we passed, and then carried one and 
one-half miles from there to Eighth Lake, and I ap- 
proached my old deer hunting haunts. A drive of seven 
miles to Eagle Bay on Fourth Lake and a telephone mes- 
sage around to Hess Camp brought a boat to take me 
over, and I knew "where I was at." If you wish to go 
where I did and in an oppo.site direction, take the Adiron- 
dack Railroad to Fulton Chain, change cars and a few 
minutes' ride lands you at Old Forge. In season steam- 
boats will carry you through a paradise to the head of 
Fourth Lake. If you wish to drive over the new road 
to Eighth Lake, stop at Eagle Bay; but if you prefer to 
pass Fifth, Sixth and then Seventh lakes, stop at Hess 
Camp. 
My good friend and guide, Delmarsh, met me, and we 
planned for October hunting days. He is to build a new 
camp away out in the forest for me, and says that I may 
have a box stall. I will be wid ye, Archie, in October — 
Divine Providence and cash permitting. 
A little mite of a woman caught a 6^1b. lake trout, 
while my largest catch at Fourth Lake was less than lib., 
and I quit fishing. Everywhere I went I ate trout; I 
had to. They did not ask what you desired. I simply had 
them thrust upon and into me till I wanted to swim all 
the time and my sides began to be speckled. The scales 
showed a gain of lolhs. in ten days, and I took the back 
trail for home and codfish. 
After a few days spent in gathering neglected ends, I 
was on the firing line once more, and had time to read. 
In perusing late editions of Forest and Stream I noticed 
that some of its readers commented most kindly regard- 
ing the little brochure in reference to the schoolboy. I 
did not expect that what I wrote in an unstudied" way 
would move anyone to the extent of carrying them back 
to earlier days. It seems that some were so moved, and I 
think no harm was done. When we reach a certain age 
