8 I % 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
['May 3, 1902. 
— &~ — 
Three Girls in the Woods. 
We had talked about it for so long it seemed as if it, 
would never come true, but a date was fixed at last 
which 'suited everybody, and our preparations com- 
menced. 
Such joy as it was; cleaning our guns, looking oyer 
our fishing tackle and arranging the outfit, bought with 
much care and thought. We tried the new tent, a beauti- 
ful white thing, an appropriate shelter in a virgin forest! 
Somebody said, "It was not only dangerous, but 
positively indecent for us to go alone," and this opened 
my eyes to the fact that it never occurs to 'the majority 
of women to go to the woods alone because they prob- 
ably exaggerate the discomforts, know nothing about 
guides, and never think of such a trip as possible with- 
out a husband or a brother. 
If this is the case, perhaps a short stoo r of some joy- 
ous days spent in the wilderness will induce others to 
follow our example, and learn, as we did, some of the 
things the heart and soul of the forest have to teach. 
We each took a .30-30 Winchester rifle; one must 
have a gun in the woods, though we did not expect to 
use them, as it was early in July, and all the "forest folk" 
were bringing up their babies and teaching them the ways 
of the world, so full of dangers; safe, however, for the 
present from any true sportsman's gun. But the fish 
were at our mercy, and we had tackle enough to catch 
them all; fortunately for them it takes more than a split 
bamboo rod and the finest silk line with invisible leaders 
and cunning flies, to land them successfully. 
Our tent, which was a good size, rolled up and went 
into a rubber bag, and our six blankets did the same. 
We had another rubber bag for odds and ends, and a 
carry-all, which last we found much more convenient 
for clothes, as it opened out flat. Three pouches of pan- 
tasote were very useful in the canoes in wet weather. 
The great thing is to take as little luggage as possible. 
Two pairs of heavy boots, very big and as waterproof 
as they can be made, always kept well greased; thick 
woolen stockings, and a pair of moccasins to wear 
round the camp is quite enough foot-gear. I had a pair 
of rubber boots, but only wore them once; they are too 
hot to walk in, and only fit for wading. 
A waterproof short coat and a sweater or a heavy 
jacket, rather than a long coat or a cape of any kind. 
The rest of the equipment — canoes and cooking uten- 
sils — the guides furnish, and the}' bring their own tent 
and blankets. 
It was in the hot days of July that we went in from 
Moosehead Lake, over the northwest carry, with three 
guides, in three canoes, loaded with our "stuff;" we pad- 
dled up the Penobscot River and camped on Big Island. 
It was not an ideal camping ground, as the woods were 
thick and the river just there was rather narrow; we chose 
it on account of a fine spring of clear, cold water, a most 
important thing in a camp. 
The guides' tent was behind ours, a little to one side, 
with the kitchen fire in front of it; we had the big camp- 
fire in front of us, and around this we would all sit every 
evening after a delicious supper of trout just out of some 
sweet-smelling rapids, and the firm, yellqwish-pink flakes 
melted in our hungry mouths. We had flapjacks with 
maple syrup and hot biscuits. Andrew was a good 
cook. Coffee with evaporated cream, a great improve- 
ment on condensed milk. All this was served by the 
guides in the dining room, which was a fly stretched near 
our tent. There were a few drawbacks in the shape of 
crawling things and buzzing, stinging things, but never 
enough to spoil our appetites. We built "smudges" and 
smeared our hands and faces with a beautiful brown mix- 
ture that made us look like Indians and 1 protected us 
from the vicious little black fly. 
The talks around the campfil"~ at night were always 
glowing accounts, by the guiaes, of their own brave 
deeds; I will never forget them or the picture they 
made. 
The white flames from the blazing birch logs, lighting 
up the eager, keen faces of the three trusty backwoods- 
men telling thrilling tales, made graphic by gestures, of 
forest life, lumbering and hunting big game, sometimes 
pausing in the middle of a sentence to turn a searching 
look into the blackness of the woods, hearing a dry stick 
break, perhaps, under some creature's foot. 
Always alert, quick to hear and see, simple-minded, 
but quite able to drive a bargain, with an unconscious 
feeling of equality with all men. They were rough but 
chivalrous characters, and we three girls were perfectly 
safe alone with them in the wilderness. 
I had always imagined fishing to be a most tiresome 
performance — the dropping of a line into the water and 
the hauling it out when a stupid fish happened to take 
a fancy to the other end. 
Not so with the gamy little trout, caught with skill and 
a bright fly when the sky is overcast, and a dull fly when 
the sun is making everything sparkle. 
A little stream ran into the river, so covered with 
alder bushes that you could hardly see it. "Cast yer flies 
up under them alders, right t' th' mouth o' thet brook," 
said Andrew. So I did as I was bid and managed to 
drop the flies where he said, then whisk them out again 
without catching the bushes. 
Pretty soon — splash! A big beauty jumped half out 
of the water, grabbed the Parmachene-belle and darted off 
with it in what seemed to be every direction at once. 
"Play him!" shouted Andrew, quite as excited as I 
was, and he stood up with the landing net ready. 
I played him to the best of my ability; I really believe 
he enjoyed it. He would go to the bottom of the river, 
my rod would doubk up, a dash for the sky and jump 
out; then off to one side and apparently die. We would 
edge the canoe up, reel him in gently, Andrew all ready 
to plunge the net under him, when he would revive sud- 
denly and be off in the opposite direction. 
My arms were beginning to ache. Ah, now he was 
coming! He looked played out; closer and closer I 
reeled him in; Andrew was leaning over as fas as he 
dared. I believe the brute did the whole thing on pur- 
pose. He let me get him within a foot of the net, when 
he took a flying leap in the air, spit the hook out of his 
mouth and departed. 
It was too awful — the idea of his escaping after once 
being hooked had never entered my head. I sat down, 
utterly disconsolate, and very nearly cried. 
Andrew said: "There's more like him in the pool; I 
knew we'd find 'em lyin' in the cold water at th' mouth • 
o' thet brook." So I picked up my rod once more, and 
with a heavy heart cast under the alders again. Hardly 
had the white-miller touched the water when it was 
swallowed whole by another big one. This time we 
landed him safely in the canoe. He was very beautiful — 
every color of the rainbow shining on him, and his lit- 
tle red and green spots gave him such a style. 
We took four more in quick succession after that, all 
a fair size, but of course none as big as the one we lost. 
I was getting great confidence in my powers, and thought 
I would try a longer line. I threw out a lot more and my 
pride had its fall. Andrew shouted, "Look out fer yer 
back cast!" Too late; the extra long line caught in a 
tree behind me, and with a jerk of my arm I snapped the 
rod in two; that ended my fishing for the day. 
We landed to look at some fresh moose tracks in the 
wet mud; they were very sharp and clear, leading up the 
bank at a place evidently much used as a highway to 
the water by many different beasts. 
"If you're a mind to, we could toiler him," said An- 
drew, looking up eagerly, hoping I would have a "mind 
to," and of course I had. 
The tracks took us into an alder swamp. Andrew went 
ahead and tried to break a way for me, but he went so 
much faster than I did that he was not much help. I 
just had to crash along behind as best I could. My hat 
was torn off and most of my hair went with it; I was 
slapped and scratched and tripped up at every step, but 
there were those moose tracks, and a sight of the crea- 
ture would have made up for everything. 
Suddenly down I went, up to my knees in water; I 
had stepped into the brook which curled round through 
the swamp and was entirely hidden by thick bushes. I 
clambered out and called to Andrew to wait for me; 
his voice sounded miles away, but he was not far, only 
out of the swamp on the other side. 
When I finally fell out of the last alder bush, I found 
him studying the ground and peering about. We were 
in the .depths of the forest — dark, still, damp and sweet- 
smelling; the brook trickled along under fallen trees; 
we crossed it on one of these and followed the tracks. 
The going was different now; climbing over rocks, 
trunks of trees and through gardens of ferns. We came 
to a wet piece of ground, all trampled down, in the midst 
of big trees; for some distance updone of them the bark 
had been scraped off, and the roots abovit it were scraped 
in the same way. 
"Thet's a deer lick," said Andrew. "Critters must have 
salt, same as people, and natur' fixes it so's some trees 
have salt stickin' to 'em. I dunno how it's done, 'taint 
no partickler kind of tree; but the critters find it out and 
come and lick it off, and this here is a deer lick." 
I could only wonder in silence; it was just one of the 
thousand little facts of nature one learns in the woods. 
We tramped on after our moose; the woods got 
thicker and darker; presently we lost all trace of him 
and came out on a "tote road," where we started a fanily 
of partridges — a fine pair of old birds and nine little ones 
just beginning to fly. The cock flew past us, straight 
down the road; the others seemed to melt away, but they 
were all about us, only obeying their laws and becoming 
rigid at the approach of an enemy. We looked round 
for them and saw two of the babies, one crouched on a 
branch of a spruce tree, close to the trunk, looking like 
some growth on the tree; another half buried in some 
dead leaves on the ground. The hen was perched just 
over our heads, trying hard to look unconscious. 
"Some critter's just got up from lyin' here," said An- 
drew, pointing to the middle of the road, where the 
grass had been pressed down by the form of some big 
animal; each blade was slowly lifting itself up again. 
"The old bird told him and all the others we was comin' 
when he flew down the road; we won't see any of 'em, 
but they're all lookin' at us — big 'uns and little 'uns — 
they're watchin 5 every step we take. Some of 'em behind 
trees, some of 'era up trees, some of 'em under logs, all 
keepin' still — just watchin' us." 
It was wonderful — almost uncanny — to think of the 
many different pairs of eyes following our every move- 
ment. We walked for a mile or more and came to where 
we had left the canoe. 
I think I would always choose the bank of a river for 
a camping ground rather than the shores of a lake — 
there is so much more variety. 
A long stretch of "still water" branched off from the 
river into the woods, about a quarter of a mile from the 
camp; this looked so mysterious and wild that we decided 
to explore it. The sun had gone down and left a red glow, 
over everything; a little soft, white mist rose and floated 
just over the water. Every leaf and twig, every moss- 
covered fallen tree seemed to breathe forth the most deli- 
cious odors; the whole air was filled with pungent wood- 
smells. Suddenly a crashing of branches and dead brush, 
accompanied by three whistling snorts, told us that we 
had started a deer; as we crept round a bend we sighted 
a big buck followed by two does bounding off into the 
woods. 
A mile up the river there were some falls; these we 
went up one day on a voyage of discovery. I had never 
been poled up rapids before, and I found it quite exciting, 
I could just hear Andrew's voice above the noise of the 
water, shouting to me to sit perfectly still. Everything 
seemed to be rushing by us and we were apparently not 
moTdhg. But no! Suddenly we shot ahead, then stopped, 
while- Andrew, as quick as lightning, shifted his pole to 
the other side to steady us. Then we made another dash 
forward and grounded, balancing on the edge of a hidden 
rock. "Lean a mite to the right," shouted Andrew, and 
we slid off. I clutched the sides of the canoe as we 
came to a rushing bit of brown water that looked like 
polished bronze. Andrew held us still with the pole and 
rested before attempting that smooth, brown slide, with 
an angry lot of clear yellow foam at the foot of it. I felt 
him give a strong shove; we shot into the yellow foam, 
all jumping and splashing about us, hang there for a 
moment undecided, the bow of the canoe bobbing up and 
down as if it was trying to make up its mind for a leap; 
when slowly, then quickly it swung round, we were al- 
most broadside; over came the pole to head us up stream 
again just in time to save the canoe from capsizing, and 
we floated back to where we had started, -to commence 
•all over again. The second attempt was a repetition of 
the first, with the addition of a pail full of water in my 
lap, but the third time we accomplished.it and got . safely 
up into comparatively smooth water. 
"A mite more'n we'd been over. Wonder how Frank'll 
do it?" said Andrew, in a tone which implied that Frank 
would probably upset, 
I looked about me, now that we were once more on 
an even keel, and saw the two other canoes. Frank had 
done it much better than we had and was close behind 
us: Tom had found an easier place off to one side. 
There is a great deal of rivalry and petty jealousy 
among the guides. To be the first to see game and the 
best man in a canoe is what each thinks he does better 
than the other. 
We kept our canoes abreast and paddled along, watch- 
ing for game; round every turn in the river We would 
come on one or two deer, nearly all does. There was 
one beautiful buck, standing up to his middle in the 
water, taking his morning bath. He would go a few steps 
further in, put his head under, horns and all, then back 
out. He did this several times before he saw us. He 
stood gazing with his great brown eyes and his ears 
pricked forward, trying to decide whether the green 
things floating toward him were friends or foes. We 
kept quite still and gazed back; the wind was from him 
to us or he would have been off long ago; but just 
then he must have got a whiff, because he turned, made 
two bounds, splashing the water in all directions, reached 
the bank and went crashing through the bushes, giving 
some whistling snorts for "good-bye." 
We heard a great commotion as we came around an- 
other bend; a black duck with her brood of ducklings 
went — half flying, half running — over the water; sud- 
denly the ducklings disappeared and the old bird flew 
back and flopped along ahead of us, 
"She's playin' she's wounded to fool us 'n lead us away 
from the young 'uns," said Andrew. She circled round 
and went back again, when she thought she had led us 
off far enough; we heard a loud, commanding "quack" 
behind, and all the little ones came scuttling across the 
water from under some bushes where they had been 
hiding, and the family was reunited. 
There is always something to see and hear in the 
woods — they are so alive, yet so overpoweringly still. 
A bit of river, looking like glass, with every tree and 
bush sharply reflected, not a ripple to be seen, until 
suddenly a trout jumps out, making great rings in the 
water; you jump, too, you are so surprised. 
You float on and a kingfisher darts out from a shady 
little cove, flies diagonally across the river in a very 
straight line, sounding his queer notes; he alights on the 
extreme end of an old dead tree fallen into the water. 
And so it all goes on. There is no such thing as time 
in the woods; you never know the day of the week or 
month; if you stayed long enough you would probably 
forget the year. 
For a tired mind the peaceful, wonderful stillness of 
it all is the most delicious rest; for a tired body there is 
nothing like a deep, springy bed of fresh balsam boughs. 
You are made over, and become as free from care as 
the kingfisher, 'the trout and the deer. 
Julia Beverley Higgen's. 
Across Iowa in a Prairie Schooner. 
Much has been written of hunting and fishing in most 
of the central Western States, but I have failed to find 
many articles that in any way touched on these subjects 
with reference to Iowa. Why this should be so is rather 
difficult to determine. The sportsmen of the Hawkeye 
State are as enthusiastic as any I have ever met, and some 
of the best plainsmen and crack shots, old forty-niners, 
claim Iowa as their home. 
, Possibly it is due to the fact that all their brag is 
used in other directions, and a sort of second-wind 
modesty holds them in restraint concerning sporting mat- 
ters. 
Be that as it may, the fact remains that there is first- 
class hunting and fishing to be found there, and it was 
my good fortune to be numbered in a party of six that 
took a long drive of nearly 400 miles through the State, 
hunting and fishing on the way. 
We were all rather green at the sort of busines we 
were undertaking, excepting Mr. Morgan, an old Eng- 
lishman, whom we had with difficulty persuaded to accom- 
pany us. He was a mine boss by trade, but had spent 
much of his vacation time in jaunts to the Rockies, Black 
Hills and the Yellowstone country. 
" 'Arry, me boy, hT don't much like the h'ide' of takin' 
this bloody, bloomin' trip. HT'm gettin' too h'old," he 
had said to me. But I had assured him that he looked as 
young as any of us, and events proved that he could 
withstand more hardship than all of us put together. 
We made our start from Boone, on a beautiful Septem- 
ber morning, with every one in good spirits and confi- 
dent of. having a fine time. As we swung down the 
street and out into the country, I am sure we must have 
presented a rather grotesque appearance. Our traveling 
outfit consisted of an Indian pony for saddle use and 
two orthodox prairie schooners, with white canvas cov- 
ering and all, one of which was drawn by a pair of heavy 
draft horses, and the other by a span of mules. Did 
you ever attempt to drive a mule ? 
If not, you have missed something rare. All that has 
ever been said of the obstinacy and exasperating influence 
of these brutes- cannot more than half express it. They 
are the fiercest proposition that a Christian man ever 
went up against. The only language they can understand 
is the prof ahest of all profane, and I am satisfied that 
should I be compelled to drive a team of them for a 
year, my chances for a golden crown and a harp wouldn't 
be one, two, six. If they happen to be in the lead of the 
procession they will poke along at a three-mile-an-hour 
gait, and tiny amount of physical persuasion does not 
affect the even tenor of their way. But permit them to 
get behind another team and there is a different story. 
They will let the leaders get about a quarter of a mile 
away without the slightest show of interest Suddenly 
