Aug. 17, tgoi.l 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
reach a camp on the far-away St. Johns. Far from 
human help, he broke down. Fortunately he did not 
despair, but made a brave effort to extricate himself Trom 
his grim surroundings. After a while he got so played 
out that he blazed tlae trees behind him, so if any one 
chanced along they might follow the marks and come to 
his assistance. Keeping up his fight with the grizzly 
spectre that always confronted him, he finally came in 
sight of a lumber camp on the edge of the woods. It 
took him hours to reach it, more dead than aliA^e. 
Here is another close call: It was in the depths of 
winter that Cram's mate started off alone through the 
woods to reach some distant point. Far back in the 
forest, he lost his bearings. After trying in vain to find 
the lost trail, he concluded to follow his back tracks in 
the snow. The woods abounded with deer, but some- 
Iiow, they managed to keep out of his reach. With little 
or nothing to eat for two days, he plodded along, never 
relaxing his heroic efforts to extricate himself from this 
living grave. Fortime smiled on him. The third day a 
deer fell to his rifle. Driven desperate by hunger, he 
made a meal of its raw flesh. After this truly hunter's 
feast, he braced up and managed to stagger into camp, 
presenting himself before his horrified companion like 
one risen from the dead. The woods have claimed two 
victims lately. One of them, a woman, strolled into the 
woods back of Stacyville and was never seen again; the 
other, a man, was lost on the southern edge of the forest. 
A most determined search was made, but it availed 
would steal forth like beasts of prey from the darkening 
forest, and invade the clearing, to be quickly routed 
at the first glare of the camp fire. We were prodigal 
with our wood, and soon had a fire that roared like some 
monster, casting brands and sparks far into the heavens, 
illuminating the tall columns of trees that encircled the 
camp, like grim sentinels, ready to bar our outward 
progress. The hole in our canvas tent spoke eloquently 
of the danger from sparks and blazing brands. Our 
tent is shaped so as to reflect the heat. This was any- 
thing but a blessing when an extra supply of fuel was 
heaped on the fire. At such times we would retreat to 
the back of the baker, imagining we were human bis- 
cuit. In a short time it would die down and allow us to 
return to our old lounging place on the blankets, where 
I would lie, watching the effects of firelight or listening 
to the guides relate some incident of wood life. 
One evening we paddled up to the head of the pond. 
Here Lyman gave an exhibition of moose calling 
through his hands, commencing with two or three short 
blasts, the same repeated after a pause, or else varied by 
i< prolonged note, ending i'n a muffled roar tnat pierced 
'every crevice of the woods. A weird charm brooded 
over the scene. The forest stood out in dark relief 
against the evening sky, while, ever and anon, the mourn- 
ful cry of the loon rose and fell. After a while the chilly 
air of night asserted itself, so we sped back to camp. 
If I remember rightly, we visited the spot next day, and 
found the fresh tracks of a moose. Moose calling is a 
AT SUNSET IN THE WOODS. 
naught. The woods had swallowed him up and left no 
sign. Let this be a warning to the sportsman to stick 
close to his guides and depart not from the narrow 
path of safety. So much for the dangers of the forest. 
The chilly air of morning that invaded our blankets 
made early risers of us all. After breakfast I strolled 
down the path, keeping a sharp lookout for grouse. At 
the landing I exchanged the rifle for the rod. The sur- 
face of the pond looked very tempting, and we knew 
that its depths swarmed with lakers and speckled trout. 
I had had a feast of fly-fishing the season before in the 
Slaughter Pond country, but now a famine confronted 
me. The magical wand was waved in vain; not a rise 
could be invoked out of its depths. Flies that would 
have brought great, speckled giants to the surface in the 
Big Fish Lake region were worthless here. The reason 
was not hard to find; the pond was alive with little fish 
that resembled small mackerel. After gorging them- 
selves with this dainty fare the trout had little inclina- 
tion for anything else. Seeing they were not disposed 
to rise, I stowed the rod and gave my attention to the 
wild scene before me. This beautiful home of the trout 
and deer is completely encircled by unbroken forests 
that reach out toward the horizon. To see its placid 
surface, bathed in the sunset's glow, with every grassy 
point and meadow thronged with happy deer which know 
not the ways of the hunter, and every atom of forest life 
faithfully shadowed in this mirror of the woods, is to gaze 
on a scene that will live in your memory long after old 
age has barred you out of the wilderness. The almost 
impenetrable forest that closed around the little clearing 
warned me to beware how I followed the skulking grouse 
or vanishing deer. The smoke of our camp fire, ascend- 
ing in the blue, met with no response. We were alone 
in our glory; for narrow is the trail and rough the 
going, and fev,' there be that find their way into this 
haunt of the moose. 
I made many attempts to beguile the lazy trout. I 
sent the feathery cheat in to every spot that seemed likely 
to harbor them. It was of no use. They spurned the 
fly, but not the spoon; we soon found out that by fish- 
ing the pond hard with this deadly implement we could 
generally secure a fair supply of lakers and speckled 
trout. It was pretty aggravating sport, as a large per- 
centage broke away after being hooked. We had in- 
tended bringing in a supply of angle worms from Coop- 
er's camp, but forgot them at the last moment. The 
laker fresh from these cold. Northern waters contests 
the honors of the frying pan with the brook trout. The 
guides had a hard time of it trying to keep the camp 
supplied with fish. Presently I took a hand in the game, 
but soon gave it up in disgust, as it was too long a time 
between strikes. I much preferred prowling around the 
clearing with the rifle, occasionally penetrating as far as 
I dared into the mvsterious woods. At nightfall shadows 
thing of the past in Maine, and soon will be in New 
Brunswick. 
Chinquasabamtook, a few miles to the north, was ever 
in our thoughts. Cram was the only one of the party 
who had ever seen it. The glowing accounts he gave of 
the lonely lake filled us with a strong desire to see its 
attractions; so early one morning we left camp in light 
marching order and started for the head of the pond. 
Leaving the canoe, we plunged into the dense woods, 
with Cram in the lead, and following a trappers' line 
trudged solemnly in Indian file behind our leader, stop- 
ping occasionally to slake our thirst at the icy brooks 
that trickled through the forest. These magnificent 
v/oods are unmarred by the axe; their solid phalanx of 
tree trunks repels the light of day. The denizens of 
the forest fled in dismaj' before the uproar we made in 
smashing our way through thickets and fallen trees; 
after keeping this up for some time, we came to what 
appeared to be an ancient logging road; it probably be- 
longed to the remote past, when the craze for the white 
pine brought prospectors and lumbermen in to cull out 
the choicest specimens. All the old camps, if there 
ever were any. have disappeared. The beaver is the 
only chopper now that haunts the Bamtook country. As 
we hurried along, Cram told us that he had never been 
to the lake without seeing moose. This made us cautious 
in our movements, for the lake was not far away. Pres- 
ently a rustle in the bushes ahead brought us to a halt, 
and quietly mounting a fallen tree I looked around care- 
fully. I was soon rewarded by seeing the head of a beauti- 
ful doe appear from behind a tree. Slowly the sight on 
the rifle fell in line; a slight pressure and her life would 
have gone up in flame and smoke. Not on my life. 
Lowering the rifle, I watched the pretty creature fade 
away into the forest. The gleam of water ahead warned 
us to be careful. One of the guides stole cautiously 
forward and took a careful survey of the lake, and pres- 
ently he beckoned to us. As we joined him he pointed 
out two moose about three-quarters of a mile above us. 
One was standing on tlie shore, while the other was out 
in the lake, feeding. Lyman tried calling, but it wouldn't 
work; if the bull had been alone he might have paid 
some attention to it. Getting tired of this long-range 
acquaintance, we started up the lake shore, keeping well 
under cover. Hardly had we got under way, when he 
left the water and disappeared in the forest; but he was 
not alarmed, as there was no friendly breeze to favor 
him with a scent of the human. Disappointed, we re- 
traced our steps and gathered on the shore to take a 
long, last look at the wild expanse of water set in a 
sportsman's paradise. This lake is wildly beautiful, and 
extends for nine miles through a wilderness that abounds 
with moose, deer and bear. Its waters swarm with the 
choicest fish, as likewise do most of the ponds scattered 
through the woods. A canoe is seldom seen gliding over 
the surface of this lonely lake. In fact, the whole region 
is given 6ver to the wandering hunter and trapper. At 
rare intervals a band of hardy sportsmen hurry through 
the wilderness. It has been years since any party worked 
in to the lake. Many of the moose that are hidden away 
in these forests are no doubt battle-scarred veterans that 
have been driven out of northeast Maine by the army of 
sportsmen that annually invade its choicest hunting 
grounds. There are no wolves in this region to persecute 
the deer, nor Indians to play havoc with the moose. The 
wilderness boasts of no lofty mountains; its chief attrac- 
tion is its vast' expanse of unbroken forests, far from 
the haunts of man. 
It was now about the middle of September. A subtle 
change was stealing o'er the scene, changing the land- 
scape from grave to gay. At the magic touch of frost 
the maple quickly dons its scarlet coat; and its brave 
example is soon followed by the other hardwoods, until 
the forest is ablaze with orange and gold, while from 
every hilltop autumn waves its gay banners, as if in de- 
fiance of the advancing hosts of winter. And so it will 
be until pitiless blasts strip the forests of their glorious 
raiment, while the mournful refrain of wind and waves 
chants the requiem of their vanished beauty. The wan- 
ing light reminded us that miles of dark forests were 
between us and the camp, and it was time to be going 
it we expected to pull through before dusk. So fare- 
well, beautiful lake with the Indian name; may none 
but the brave lover of the woods ever gaze on tiw 
beauty. The woods closed around us. A snapping of 
branches; voices dying away in the forest, and were 
gone on our long journey, leaving the lake to its soli- 
tude and moose. We found o.ur camp undisturbed by 
bears or humans. 
It was getting about time to retreat out of this wilder- 
ness, as our stock of flour was nearly played out, with 
potatoes about gone. One biscuit a meal was the order 
of the day; and help yourself to the pork or anything 
handy. Before leaving, Lyman and I had an experience 
with a spike buck. We happened to be out 01. the pond, 
drifting about, when a young buck was sighted feeding 
along the shore. Silently the canoe approached the un- 
suspecting animal, and only a few strokes of the paddle 
separated us, when up went his head, and we were all 
turned to stone. After a long stare at the strange 
apparition, he resumed feeding, but soon paused and 
looked us over again, with mingled astonishment and 
alarm. The canoe was almost upon him, yet still he lin- 
gered, a beautiful woodland statue set against the dark 
background of forest. The speaking attitudes he threw 
himself into expressed wonder, fear and curiosity, while 
nearer. and nearer came the canoe, with its silent figures. 
Fear at last gained the mastery. Wheeling about, he 
made a few graceful bounds, and waved us a mocking 
salute with his white flag, as the woods closed around 
one of the most beautiful of God's creatures. It is doubt- 
ful if either of us ever before had made such a close call 
on a deer. The buck probably had never seen a human 
being until he sighted us, as Cram had done no trapping 
hereabouts for some time. 
This incident brings to mind the buck that we stalked 
on the Upper Sordahunk last season. We were handi- 
capped by loose stones, that were liable to sound the 
alarm at every footstep. This put us on our mettle, and 
between us it was about as pretty a piece of work as we 
ever had done. Not a sound drifted down to him to 
warn him of our approach, and we got quite close before 
he was aware of our presence. Lyman and I have ac- 
quired the art of stealing noiselessly through the woods; 
in fact, we are both built for the work, as we are of a tall, 
slim, athletic build, fast-gaited and capable of paddling 
and tramping from sunrise to sunset. 
White Deer was the name given our camp. I could 
think of nothing more appropriate, as I was so fortunate 
as to catch sight of one of these albinos from the landing. 
The eventful morning of departure dawned at last. 
Before leaving, I scrawled our names on a convenient 
tree, with an account of the moose we had seen on the 
Big Lake. Silently, like shadows, we stole out of the 
little clearing, down the path to the landing, only to 
be brought up all standing on the shore. The pond 
seemed determined to bar our way out, finding a real 
ally in a strong wind that kicked up a wicked cross-sea. 
Undismayed, we shoved out into it and headed for the 
outlet. Cram had doubts about our getting through, 
as the canoe was loaded nearly to the water's edge. 
Wave after wave tried to come in over the side, but was 
balked by superior paddle work. As we neared the foot 
of the pond, they drew off their forces,' and left us in 
peace. The tough navigation of the outlet and the 
pond, whose name is Mud, were soon left in our rear. 
We took to the woods a short distance below, and 
striking the old trail, arrived at the Forks, with plenty 
of daylight to spare. Leaving the busy guides, I strolled 
off into the woods, to visit a bear trap. Imagine my 
disgust to find that a thief had taken nearly every article 
I had stowed away in it on the up trip. 'While stopping 
at the cabin the guides heard two rifle shots not far 
away, so it seems to be due to our friends who had 
camped on the stream below us to explain matters. 
The next morning I was agreeably surprised to find 
that recent showers had raised the brook considerably, 
and as we floated down stream to the lake, I tried likely- 
looking places, but met with no response. A large brook 
trout that we found dead in the stream showed that they 
were there; perhaps angle worms might have tempted 
them. It was a trout famine here, but a feast awaited 
me at pretty Allegash Pond. But I am getting on too 
fast. Along toward sundown we glided out on to 
Allegash Lake. Parties work in from Chamberlain and 
Cangomgonasc, but seldom or never go further, as the 
condition of the stream that we came out of bears witness. 
There are no choppings west and north of this lake. 
The steady clip we kept up soon brought us to the dam. 
As soon as we had things in shape Cram and I started 
out to make war on the trout. Cram took charge of the 
dam, while I attended to the pool. His pork bait went 
into nearly every crevice where trout were likely to hide, 
and soon he had a goodly lot of them flopping around. 
They were hidden away under the dam out of reach of 
the fly. The bait came out far ahead of the 'fly both in 
numbers and size. This shows how destructive bait is 
compared to the fly. Persistent bait-fishing will ruin any 
