Jtjne 9, 1900.I 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
447 
is peculiar. Boiled dog and wild rice compose his wedding 
feast. 
There is such a variety of animal and bird life the book 
is too big; one can never read it all. 
The v/ater — look at this lake. Round Lake, this side 
of the Lake Superior divide, one of the Manitowish 
chain. Isn't it an inspiration? 
The lumberman has not damm.ed nor devasted its 
banks. It is as beautiful and perfect as it was a hundred 
years ago, when the Indian held full sway. If it is near 
lunch time and you crave fish with your bacon you can 
have your choice between black bass, wall-eyed pike or 
inuscalonge. and that at any time. There are no pick- 
erel in the Manitowish chain of lakes. 
The largest "muskey" I ever saw? A 48-pounder, and 
when he was opened a full-grown mallard duck was 
found. True as gospel. Judge Sears, of the Cook 
county, 111., bench, was the fisherman, and the event 
happened in Alder Lake, just beyond Spider, and if you 
doubt, ask Buck, the lodge keeper and guide with the 
musical heart, and he will tell you it's true. Who would 
doubt Buck? 
That's a concert you hear just around that bend in the 
wild rice swamp. Bullfrogs, varying in size from 2 
to IS inches. They live in schools. One leader to each 
school. Probably a hundred schools in that particular 
swamp. The leader starts the song. Hear him go one, 
two, three; one, two._ three. Now thev all join. Their 
song vocabulary is limited to one note. This school being 
A STREAM NEAR LITTLE PAPOOSE LAKE. 
born on one day, their key is in B flat, the neighboring 
one in E fiat; this one in G, etc.. and when they all have 
started th_ere is a certain weird musical effect about it 
that is bewitching. Loud and sonorous as Sousa's 
band, in the Auditorium — perfect time and rhythm. Two 
concerts a day, morning and evening. Frogs are splen- 
did eating, and vary the bill of fare. 
But I am running away from my story. Let me begin. 
On Oct. 29, 1899, at 5 P. M., my friend Ed Allen, a 
banker, and the writer boarded the Ashland express at 
the Chicago & Northwestern depot, on tickets entitling 
us to go as far as Manitowish, four hundred miles north 
of Chicago. 
Mr. Allen had never hunted in northern Wisconsm — 
in fact, honest man that he is, candidly acknowledged he 
had never shot at a deer in his life. 
Would be like to? Of course, but doubted my deer 
exploits. But after a little persuasion he agreed to ac- 
company me on the condition that I was to pay all the 
expenses of a ten days' trip if I did not find for him an 
opportunity to shoot at a deer within twenty-four hours 
from the time we struck camp. If Allen did get a shot 
at a deer (mark the term "at") within the specified time 
he was to pay all expenses. 
Upon these terms we started. 
"Manitowish !" cried the porter at twenty minutes past 
five next morning, and we alight with our baggage and 
guns, to be greeted by Billy Johnston, the proprietor of 
the Johnston House. Bill's wife is a jewel— m fact, the 
lumber jacks all know her as the "Black Diamond. 
A good cook, a splendid manager, and it certainly isn t 
Billy's fault that this world's goods are rapidly increasing 
in the Johnston family. . . 
"How about guides, Billy?" I asked after introducing 
Allen. ^ rr- -D X 
"I don't know," says Billy. Joe La Vigne is at Pete 
Vance's, and of course Pete goes with you." 
At the hotel we change our city clothes for hunting 
garments, while Mrs. Johnston prepares our breakfast. 
After eating Billy having hitched up his best team 
and buckboa'rd, we start on our eight-mile drive along 
the banks of the Manitowish River to the Dam. the 
Dam is where the Manitowish River ends and the chain 
of lakes begins. 1 1 . r 
The first, Rest Lake, is a beautiful sheet of water. 
Pete Vance and his good wife own a fine lodge on its 
banks, and furnish good cheer to hunters or lumbermen. 
Pete is an ideal guide. Indefatigable, good-natured, 
knows every foot of ground for thirty miles around, 
a splendid shot, a tireless worker and a good companion. 
He is there to bid us welcome, and Joe La Vigne, a 
French-Canadian, also shows his smiling face. 
Both Joe and Pete are personal friends of mine, and 
are always ready to go into the woods with, me when- 
ever I come up. Joe. when you ask him his profession, 
answers, "I am black-smithing by trade." 
But Joe's great forte is cooking and guiding, fete 
is a humorist, as you will learn later on ^ _ 
Etiquette compels us to accept Mrs. Vance s invita- 
tion to a second breakfast. Johnston departs for home 
after having received instructions to call for us on JNov. 
^°We pack our hunting outfit, fishing rods, guns food 
and spirits, blankets— in fact, every necessary thing— 
into two boats and it is 8:30 as we start for our camp on 
■^wJ'fish on the way, have tolerable luck, aild after 
passing through Rest. Stone, Spider. Mamtowvsh and 
Island lakes and about twenty miles of thoroughfares 
we are up against a high bluff, where Allen and I leave 
guides and boats, walk a trail about one-half mile in 
length, at the end of which Big Lake spreads itself before 
our delighted vision, unquestionably one of the most 
ideal camping locations in the entire .State. In about 
half an hour the guides, having pushed through a narrow 
creek, appear with the boat, and we start across the lake 
to our camp. 
Here is our camp. How do yon like it? It is grander 
than it appears. As we arrive I look at my watch and 
say to Allen : 
"Ed, it's now half-past three. By this time to-morrow 
you will have a shot at a deer." 
Ed winks. We possess every convenience at this 
camp — good beds, stoves, dishes, kitchen, dining room, 
root house (for the preservation of game and fish), 
which, together with what we brought in our boats, and 
the results of our force at arms and pole, put us in a 
condition to live like kings for a month if necessary. 
Pete has already told me that deer were never so 
numerous, partridges are so thick they fly in your face 
when going through the woods, and fish — never was 
there just such a period of absolutely gluttonous fishing 
prosperity as during the past week, and Pete is sure it 
will last until ice covers the lakes. 
Looking around to see if Joe or Allen are within hear- 
ing, Pete comes close to me and whispers just one word : 
"Bears." I s^y nothing. I know Pete. It would be 
useless, so wait until he chooses to say more. No 
efforts are made to do anything that day except to put 
things in order and divide the duties. Joe is cook, 
Pete is water carrier and fuel producer, and Allen and 
I arrange our stuff and make up our beds. After sup- 
per we enjoy a pipe, then go to bed, as we promise to be 
up by 3 in the morning to get an early start for a run- 
way on Clear Lake, and we must be there before day- 
break. 
I noticed a fine doe hanging, on Pete's porch while at 
the Dam. He told me he had shot it the day before. T 
asked him for the hind feel. He cut them off, and 1 
put them in the boat. Allen Avanted to know at that time 
my object in taking them. I told him to wait and see. 
At 3 o'clock next morning we were not only up, but 
eating a breakfast consisting of fried pike, potatoes, eggs, 
bacon and coffee. Lunch for four was put in the basket. 
Fishing tackle, guns (both rifie and shot), ammunition, 
gum coats, were put Into our boats, and by 3 130 we were 
speeding for Clea,r Lake J:ra}l at the lower .end of the Big 
Lake. 
Indian summer in northern Wisconsin is a climate 
of paradise. It is simply perfect; it leaves nothing to be 
desired. Last fall was one of the most ideal I ever ex- 
perienced in this region. Even so early in the day we do 
not find it uncomfortably cold. Bracing, very, every 
breath of air seems to possess all the invigorating qual- 
ities of a Manhattan cocktail without any of the bad 
after effects. 
To the right of the lake, about a hundred rods from 
camp, is Rice Creek, a thoroughfare leading to Round 
Lake. 
As we pass this I motion to Pete to stop, and calling 
to Allen request him to listen. 
Imagine if you can at least 10,000 ducks — mallard, teal, 
redheads, canvasbacks — in a rice swamp not more than 
a quarter of a mile in diameter. I aim my Savage rifle 
into the center of the swamp and fire. Allen has no con- 
ception of what is to follow. Ten thousand pairs of 
wings fluttering, beating, thrashing, making a noise like 
a thousand hurricanes, and the swamp being entirelv 
surrounded by woods, the acoustic properties transmit 
the noise with a hundred times its real volume, until 
Allen is forced to exclaim: 
"Great guns!- There must be a million ducks in that 
place." 
But we are not after ducks. I know we can get them 
THE MANITOWISH DAM. 
at any time at this season, so we continue on our way, 
and in thirty minutes we are at the foot of Clear Lake 
trail. 
The runway is one-half mile into the woods. I know 
its location well. Before we leave the boat I take a 
red bandanna handkerchief, take one of the hind feet 
of Pete's doe, insert the handkerchief between the toes 
and pull it through from one end to the other vigorously 
for a few minutes. I keep turning the 'kerchief, refold 
it again and again, so that every portion of its fiber is 
impregnated with that peculiar scent which the doe car- 
ries between her toes during the mating season. A hack 
will follow the doe by this scent, which she ejects from 
the glands as she walks the woods. I have stood on run- 
ways, hid myself well, and with my red bandanna thor- 
oughly scented and tied around my head, have had Mr- 
Buck come up to within 10 feet of me. 
This rule will hold good from the middle of October 
to the middle of Novem.ber. 
Allen and the guides do likewise, and then every one 
fastens the 'kerchiefs around their heads. It serves the 
two-fold purpose of decoying bucks and as a posl':ive 
beacon to' the careless hunter that a man and not a deer 
is wearing the bandanna, The idea saves funeral ex- 
pense?. 
Allen and I take to the trail, and the guides go further 
down the lake about one mile, separating, come through 
the woods, half a mile apart, toward Clear Lake, and the 
runway, where we will be located. 
Pete and Joe can imitate hounds perfectly, and with 
the noise and howling all deer near either Clear or Big 
lake claiming that neck of woods as their runway will 
make tracks for their haunts of slumber, which we 
happen to know will take them very near to where we 
shall presently be standing. The guides will in half an 
hour start the game, and it will take us nearly that loug 
to get located. 
I inform Allen by going slow and careful we may get a 
shot before reaching the runway. Day is just beginning 
to break, forms take on distinctness, and in a few min- 
utes we will be able to distinguish objects. We had not 
walked more than ten minutes, when, looking to my left 
in a clearing, not more than twenty rods distant, stood 
two 3^earlings — handsome, alert, but not especially afraid. 
They had never . been shot at. Had probably never seen a 
man before. Fascinating beauties, looking us straight in 
the eye. I . motioned to Allen not to move. He saw the 
deer and stood perfectly quiet. 
"Now, Allen, stand quiet; make no sudden motion, and 
do what I say and we will get both. Now raise your 
gun slow — very slow. When you get it to your shoulder 
I will count 'One, two, three,' then aim and say 'Ready?' 
When I say 'Fire,' shoot. You take the one to the left; 
leave the other one for me." 
Allen by this time was thoroughly fascinated; his eyes 
AN IDEAL LODGE IN THE WILD WOODS. 
gleamed like electric lights, his arm shook like a dice 
box. I warned him again to be cool, and asked if he 
understood me. Of course, all this happened in less tiiiie 
that it takes to tell it. 
I repeated my instructions, Allen (poor fellow), sha- 
king worse than ever, jerked his gun to his shoulder, cried 
"One, two, three. Ready? Fire," and if ever four rifle 
bullets were ejected from a gun any quicker than Allen 
pumped his four, I want to see it done. - 
The yearlings winked at us with their flags, and before 
I could get my rifle to my shoulder they had a dozen trees 
between us and were gone. 
"Ed. what time is it?" I asked. 
"Did I get 'em ? Did I get 'em ?" shrieked Ed. 
And then he woke up. He realized he had the buck 
fever. 
Again I asked, "Ed, what time is it?" 
"Time I was being shot. That's all right, I'll pay. the 
expenses of this trip." 
The guides having heard Allen's fusillade, worked to- 
ward us quickly, but it was not our fortune to see any- 
thing more that morning. We followed the trail until we 
arrived at Clear. Lake, worked the shore line thoroughly, 
and at noon we brought up at Pat Devine's shack. Pat is 
a pen-icner of the Government and has lived on his 
Clear Lake clearing for twenty years, and he now has 
a deed from Uncle Sam for his 160-acre tract. There are 
only about five or six acres cleared, on which his squaw 
(Pat married an Indian of the Chippewa tribe) and chil- 
dren raise potatoes and vegetables, and Pat, in imitation of 
his brothers-in-law, furnishes fish or game— if he feels 
like it, but generally he does not feel like it. There is a 
fam.ily of four children; the eldest— a daughter — is hand- 
some. She was educated at an Indian school, and I am 
informed has been fitted for a position of teacher, the 
duties of which she is to assume next week, at the In- 
dian school on the reservation at Lac de Flambeau; 
After lunch we return the way we came, and by 2 
o'clock are back at Big Lake and our boats, and not so 
much as a partridge for all our work. xAllen, however, 
agrees that it is his fault, so getting our rods and reels 
in condition, we determine to spend the rest of the day 
trolling for the bull dogs, of the lakes — muskalonge. 
At 5 o'clock we arrive at camp, and produce between 
us six pike, one 12-pound "musky" and three black bass. 
Thoroughly tired, we waste but little time in preparing 
our dinner, and 7 o'clock finds us all in bed, as we agreed 
to make another early start in order to work the same 
trail at different points. 
Three o'clock again finds us eating breakfast.^ 
The grounds we worked yesterday we again traverse, 
but beyond catching a far-away glimpse of a^war^r ,Qld 
buck, we have no luck. 
The balance of the day is spent in the spruce and hem- 
lock brakes, bordering on Little Papoose Lake, just one 
and a quarter miles by trail from Big Lake. We are after 
partridges, and eighteen fine, fat birds compose our string, 
as thoroughly tired and san-sfied we retrace the trail to our 
boats, and th.eii lose no time in getting to our camp, eating 
dinner and then to bed. 
We sleeo until 6 o'clock next morning, as no definite 
line of action has been outlined. During breakfast Pete 
Vance suggests going to an old deserted logg-ing cam.p 
that. he knows of. eight miles up the thoroughfare from 
Island Lake toward Wolf Lake, and a walk of four 
miles into the woods. No one has used the place for 
four years, and Pete is' positive, time, location and all 
else considered, the thing is ripe for a good plucking. 
