Jan. 31, 1903.]' 
^FOREST AND STREAM. 
were none too plentiful with the two ambitious fisher- 
men who wei'e making their first plunge as sahnon 
anglers, and it was a matter of necessity that an ef- 
fort should be made to combine sport with economy — 
a combination that usually ends in reduced sport and 
increased cost. 
We starred in a single canoe, poled by two men; 
we seated in the middle, the stores, in two boxes, re- 
posed at the feet of the canoe-men, one in the bow, 
the other in the stern. When we reached Price's Bend, 
a few miles above Boiestown, we made the discovery 
that, beyond a certain point, economy would not com- 
bine with sport, and after a consultation on ways and 
means, we concluded that "in for a penny, in for a 
pound," was a saying peculiarly applicable to our 
case. We sent the men back to Boiestown for another 
canoe and two more hands, while we made our first 
essay in the fine pool at the bend, which was then and is 
still, famous for the number of grilse which make it 
their haunt. While waiting, let me describe the canoes 
which were then and are now the vehicle best adapted 
for traversing the upper waters of the Miramichi. The 
birch-bark canoes of the Indians require too much 
care in their handling among rocks, rapids and shal- 
lows and consequent loss of time to suit anglers. 
The dugout is made from a single pine log; the 
length as great as the log will allow, generally from 
20 to 25 feet ; the depth fifteen to eighteen inches ;, 
the gunwale is not more than two inches thick; the 
sides gradually increasing in thickness toward the bot- 
tom,- where they are about three, and the bottom itself 
is usually left three and a half to four inches thick, 
which allows of occasional planing when the wood be- 
comes rough from contact with rocks and shallows. 
This shell is strengthened by small knees placed at 
intervals along 'the inside and bottom. To those un- 
accustomed to them, they seem the must frail and un- 
safe shells that could be contrived; but in reality they 
are very strong, more steady than a birch, and admir- 
ably adapted for the rough and rapid waters in which 
they are employed. They are propelled by poles in- 
stead of paddles, and the skill with which they are 
managed by those who almost live in them, is really 
wonderful. To the dweller on the banks of the upper 
Miramichi, his canoe is both horse and wagon. Cap- 
able of carrying a large load when properly stowed, it 
is his usual mode of transport, and is to the white set- 
tler what the birch is to the Indian, with these ad- 
vantages: the log canoe is steadier in the water, and 
from its greater strength is better adapted for pass- 
ing over the rough bed of the stream and shooting 
among sunken rocks that lie hidden in dangerous 
rapids. When the writer was last at Burnt Hill, in 
1885, good canoes were getting very scarce on the 
river, and suitable trees to make them growing scarcer 
every year. Pirougues, made from two smaller logSv 
each furnishing half, joined by dovetails across the 
middle of the bottom, and flat-bottom boats called 
skififs, were fast taking the place of -the old single 
canoe. With the log canoe will be lost one of the fine 
arts of frontier life. Already the art is confined to a. 
few of the oldest inhabitants, and these do not equal! 
their fathers in producing canoes of graceful lines 
and easy propulsion. As a curious coincidence, Abe 
Munn and Tom Hunter were again my men in a 
canoe of their own making, elderly men, but still 
among the best on the river. Alas! the companion of 
my first visit with Abe and Tom and most all of those 
who were the companions and canoe-men of many 
subsequent visits, have paid the debt of Nature and 
the Octogenarian, while awaiting his call, oft in mem- 
ory reviews the pleasures of past days and the faithful 
services of his old guides. 
While waiting at the Bend for the canoes we had 
each caught our first grilse and ungrateful dogs that 
we were, had grown impatient to reach the Clearwater 
pools, in which salmon are sure to be found all sum- 
mer. At length they arrived; dividing the luggage, 
each had a canoe and two men at his disposal, all of 
whom knew the river perfectly and every pool where 
a salmon rested; they started for Clearwater at their best 
speed. Our men were all young and among the best 
on the river. Each was equally good in boAV or stern. 
The former must possess a good knowledge of the 
river, the several rapids with their hidden rocks; he 
must be quick, skillful with the pole and sure-fo'oted; 
the latter must have thews and sinews of iron; strength 
to force the canoe over water too shallow to float 
her entirely, and dexterity to second the quickest 
motion of the bow-pole, who sees the hidden danger 
and intimates its presence by the motion of his pole. 
Our men took as much pride in their canoes as city 
swells take in their horses, and plumed themselves as 
much on their management as the latter do on their 
driving. The post of honor is always in advance; it 
is comparatively easy to follow in the wake of a good 
leader — and each of our crews strove for the honoi-, al- 
though it involved more trouble and labor. We ar- 
rived at Clearwater rather late for evening fishing; 
but while the men were pitching tent and getting fir 
boughs for our beds, we had reached the height of our 
ambition and the fulfilment of many a dream; we were 
casting our flies over a pool which never fails to hold 
salmon from June till September. We soon had each 
a fish on the line; but truth compels the confession that 
we lost both and our flies as well. Next morning we 
were early at work. We had not then learned what 
subsequent experience taught us — that salmon Avill rise 
as well between nine and eleven o'clock as they will 
between seven and nine. After several more "losses 
of flies and leaders, which is pretty sure to be the 
footing the novice must pay — we each succeeded in 
catching our first salmon, and congratulated each other 
on the gratification of many youthful longings and 
the realization of many day-dreams. No matter how 
cool and skilful the angler may be when casting for 
trout and bringing them to creel with scarcely a loss 
or an accident, he will get flurried and nervous when 
for the first time salmon rise to his fly. Accustomed 
to strike as the trout shows, he instinctively does the 
same when he sees the swirl of the salmon. Generally 
he strikes too quickly and always too hard. The con- 
sequence of the first error is that he does not hook 
his fish; of the second that he loses fly or leader. No 
other instruction can be given in these cases except 
the oft-repeated "don't do it!" A good many years 
after, the Old Angler was fishing the same pools at 
Clearwater in company with that "all white" man, ex- 
cellent actor and enthusiastic angler, the late J. W. 
Lanergan, whose too early death many hundred read- 
ers of Forest and Stream learned with sincere regret. 
He had gone through all the lower grades with gad, 
twine and worm on the brooks of Massachusetts and 
Vermont. He had taken double-first with rod and 
reel on the lakes and streams near St. John; he had 
graduated with honors among the landlocked salmon 
(ouananiche) of the St. Croix lakes; and now he was 
up in exams, for his M. A, diploma among the Salmo 
Salar of the North Shore of New Brunswick. He 
stumbled just where we all do and must if we would 
penetrate the arcanum of angling. ITe found it very 
difficult to avoid striking too forcibly, and the writer, 
standing behind him, took hold of his rod and gave 
the indescribable turn of the wrist which tightens the 
line without jerking it. 
"Can't you do it so, Jim?" 
"If T could, do you. think I'd be throwing away my 
flies and leaders here?" 
In camp, after dinner, he related an anecdote of the 
great actor, Edwin Forrest, somewhat as follows: 
"When I was quite a novice on the stage I had a small 
part in a scene with Forrest which always 'brought 
down the house' at his splendid acting when he played 
Spartacus. At rehearsal I made a sad mull of my 
lines, which aroused all his irritable humor. Con- 
trary to his usual habit, which was not amiable at re- 
hearsals, he placed me in position and speaking the 
lines said, 'Can't you do it so?' 'If I could, I'd not 
be wasting time here at ten dollars a week!' Mr. F. 
appreciated the subtle compliment of this reply, and 
was always kind to me afterward." Dear old Jim ! He 
lived to kill many a salmon on Nepissiguit and Mirami- 
chi, and some years after hooked, played and gaffed 
a salmon "all his lone" from Governor's Rock, below 
the mouth of Burnt Hill Brook- — a feat never done be- 
fore and but seldom since. But to return to older 
memories of Clearwater when the Old Angler himself 
was passing his novitiate. 
Fish were plentiful in the river; we were the only 
anglers that had been on the stream for several years, 
so we had good luck and fine sport. We stayed two 
days at Clearwater and had several fine fish in the 
smokehouse. Just here let me mention that Clear- 
water is a very considerable stream, which takes its 
rise in a large lake fed by several brooks. At its 
mouth, along its course and in the lake, are fine trout, 
running from one to three pounds. These are the 
sea trout which, a month earlier, were in the tideway 
and at Indiantown. We moved up to the pools at 
Rocky Brook which Abe assured us had not yet been 
disturbed by spearers. Here we had fine practice, and 
before leaving for Burnt Hill — the goal of all anglers 
who visit the river — sent a dozen salmon to swell the 
contents of our smokehouse at Clearwater. Between 
Rocky Brook and Burnt Hill are Three-Mile rapids, 
where the stream is so swift that continuous and pro- 
longed efforts of the canoe-men are necessary to ascend 
them. Very often poles are broken or lost, when others 
must be seized at once. There are generally spare 
poles made before entering this rapid, the whole pas- 
sage of which is exciting both to men and passengers. 
The country bordering this part of the river is hilly, 
the banks are steep and the scenery wild and impres- 
sive. The hills were then well wooded; but the lum- 
berer has since culled every trunk that could be made 
into a merchantable deal. We did not reach Burnt 
Hill until the shades of evening were falling and we 
missed the afternoon fishing. But the evening was 
soft and balmy; the moon would soon rise and add its 
beauty to the sylvan scene. The murmurs of the 
stream mingled with the louder music of the river 
rushing on its downward course among the rocks and 
boulders which make the pools at Burnt Hill a favor- 
ite resort for salmon. We sat around the door of the 
camp, smoking and anticipating great sport for the re- 
maining two days we had to spend on the river. While 
thus engaged my companion called attention to the ris- 
ing moon which, seemingly, had just become visible 
above the trees some distance up stream. A single 
look assured me that our fishing was done for that 
season. The rising moon proved to be a "grille" with 
flaming pine knots in the bow of a canoe on its first 
spearing trip down the river. We asked the men to 
spare the pools at Burnt Hill, as those below would 
give them all the fish their canoe could carry. They 
wanted ten dollars, which, unfortunately, we were not 
then in a position to give them, as our expenses home 
would exhaust our finances. "We hadn't the boots 
in those days." All that night the best pools _on the 
river were gone over several times and in the morn- 
ing the spearers left with their canoe half full of the 
largest salmon in the river. As it was useless to fish 
the pools for a week at least, we followed them down 
river with sad hearts at the sport we had lost. The 
only halt we made was at Falls Brook, an insignificant 
stream in summer. About half a mile from its mouth 
it pitches over a perpendicular ledge of considerable 
height, making a very beautiful miniature fall. Ages 
ago it must have been a large and deep stream; at the 
fall was a circular basin 100 yards in diameter, with 
almost perpendicular sides of crumbling rock. While 
we were examining this relic of a past age, two of our 
men climbed the cliff and by means of levers launched 
over the edge a fallen tree lodged on the brink. In 
its fall it brought with it large masses of rock, which 
came thundering down, giving us a faint idea of what 
an avalanche in the Rockies might mean. At Clear- 
water we took aboard a dozen smoked fish, the car- 
riage of which, by stage, cost more than they were 
worth before we reached St. John — everyone our 
friends received cost us at least five dollars. To-day 
the sport is even more costly, for the whole river is 
monopolized by lessees of the Provincal Government, 
and its best pools are held by wealthy Americans, 
vvlio, ihc writer was informed this summer, charge 
five dollars per day for the privilege of fishing a single 
pool. The facilities for reaching the rivers now con- 
trast strongly with the difficulties of former days. Leav- 
ing St. John by a morning train, the tourist can now 
step off at Boiestown and in the evening camp on the 
river, or he can leave St. John in the morning, step 
off at Matapedia station, camp on the Restigouche the 
same night, or go on to New Richmond and the Grand 
Cascapedia. But unless he is the fortunate possessor 
of "the boots," he cannot fish a single pool in the 
Provinces, 
Among the various and ingenious arrangements and 
combinations by means of which the millionp'res have 
always been masters, they have made an "angling 
trust," and none but those who possess "the boots" 
can now aspire to angle for salmon. The Restigouche 
and its club house is not the only example of the mil- 
lionaire's idea of sport. They have grabbed the Cas- 
capedia,^ the Bonaventure and all the salmon streams 
about Gaspe, and have introduced on these fine rivers 
the same dilettantism in fishing, that some of them dis- 
play in art. Before the Old Angler, as he pens these 
lines, is an edition de luxe of a small book describing 
two visits to the Grand Cascapedia. One of the full- 
page illustrations depicts an angler (?) seated in an 
armchair beside a salmon pool, one leg crossed over 
the other, a cigar in his mouth and an Indian standing 
behind his chair with a birch bough, brushing the 
flies away from the luxurious sybarite! The hne is 
fast to a fish, and the text thus describes the situation: 
* * * "Sitting down as coolly and unflurried as if 
he were casting up the interest on a long note [he is 
a banker] instead of fighting a hard battle (?) with 
a forty-five pound salmon." Of course he lost the 
fish, and the author moralizes thus: "I had always 
admired the serenity with which my friend had Ijorne 
the crosses of life; but on this occasion his serenity 
touched the verge of the sublime! Happy man, who can 
thus lose a fifty-pound salmon without intermitting 
a single puff of his cigar!" Ho! ye of the Old Guard. 
See how the jeunesse dore have improved on your anti- 
quated ways! The Old Angler used to be somewhat 
vain of his skill with rod and line, acquired by many 
3'ears' hard practice on the Miramichi, the Nepissiguit, 
the Restigouche and the Cascapedia; but — 
"Chapeau bas! Chapeati bas!! 
Honneur a Marquis de Carrabas!!" 
he humbly doffs his hat to the millionaire who, on his 
first visit to a salmon river (so says the text) tackles 
forty-five pound salmon seated in an armchair with his 
legs crossed and a cigar in his mouth! But perhaps 
it is presumptuous to suppose that the Jioi polloi, with 
only a limited supply of "the boots," could in any way 
compete in skill with multimillionaires ! However that 
may be, the Old Angler confesses that he never in his 
best days killed a salmon with a cigar in his mouth; 
and he may add that he never attempted the feat! Nor 
could be, in his palmiest days, though fairly skilful 
with rod and line, capture "sixteen large trout (from 
half a pound to three pounds) in thirty minutes, with 
an eight-ounce rod, without a landing net." If he 
could do it and indulged in this kind of slaughter, which 
he is glad he cannot, he would certainly lack the "gall"" 
to proclaim himself an angler. But he still retains 
the old-fashioned opinion of Dame Berners and Father 
Izaak that 
Angling is not alone to fish. 
Nor sport mere kiting game. 
Were the mere killing of fish the sole object of the 
angler's outing, all whom the writer has ever met 
\vould have to yield the palm to the habitan he saw at 
tide-head on Cascapedia. He had a long sapling fir 
pole, twenty yards of mackerel twine for line, at the 
end of which was a bunch of domestic mallard feath- 
ers tied with black thread on a mackerel hook, whose 
shank was wound with red yarn. He scorned reels and 
leaders; but he could slash out the full length of his 
line with considerable skill; when he hooked a fish, 
which he did at almost every slash of his line for a 
time, he hauled it into his canoe with as little cere- 
mony as he jigged makerel in the midst of a school, 
at which he \vas an adept. But Messieurs les Million- 
naires are waiting. Not content with their wheat and 
corn trusts and corners; steel and iron trusts; sugar 
and oil trusts; cotton and wool trusts; tobacco and 
cigar trusts; hard and soft coal trusts, that raise the 
price of all the necessaries of life, the millionaires 
have now made a "corner" in salmon fishing and raised 
the price of its luxuries! On the principle that "might 
makes right," this may be all correct; but it grates 
harshly on the Octogenarian, who, in behalf of his 
brother anglers whose stock of "boots" is limited, 
would submit the question, whether they are not, in 
fairness, entitled to a reasonable share of those pleas- 
ures which Nature provides for all her votaries with- 
out money and without price? 
We have before us a problem which affects not alone 
our pleasures but our very existence, should the million- 
aires so manipulate the "Coal Trust" that great masses 
of their fellow creatures must perish of cold. Perhaps the 
Octogenarian's mind has not kept pace with the rapid 
progress of these latter days ; but to his plain "horse-sense" 
it seems clear that there must be some linch-pin loose in 
our much-praised Car of Progress. Progress ! when the 
rich are becoming richer and the poor poorer with every 
revolution of its wheels. Whether our "Progress of 
Civilization," taken in some of its aspects, is a blessing or 
a curse is an open question. While we must believe that 
Progress is the Order of the Universe established by the 
Infinite, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that to the 
masses it has brought a curse rather than a blessing; 
that only the favored few reap its rich rewards, while 
the great majority of mankind are no better off, if, in- 
deed,- they are not worse oft' than ever they were before. 
The Car of Progress seems to be rolling over the heads of 
the niilliong instead of under their feet, crushing into the 
dust those it should bear into heaven. Capital is the child 
of Labor, but the creature has become lord of its creator. 
On every hand wc are beset by problems which must be 
solved; but by far the most important — the oire which 
tnay be said to embrace all the others — and to which the 
Octogenarian respectfully calls the grave attention of 
Messieurs les MiUioiinaires, is simplv this: "How can the 
masses secure a more equitable division of the wealth that 
labor produces, and assure to every able-bodied man will- 
'ing to work an opportunity to earn an honest living?" 
The working classes are, thanks to our free-school sys- 
tem and the spread of knowledge, fast coming to under- 
