162 
FOREST "AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 28, 1903. 
— ♦ — 
Camping Near a Minnesota Lake. 
The place where we made our camp was on a ledge of 
the steep bluff that led down to the lake. There was a 
great deal of underbrush that we had to clear away, but 
when at last we set up our tent poles and stretched the 
brown canA'^as over them, we were sheltered from the 
wind and driving rain that we knew was sure to come. 
Our camp furniture consisted of five fur rugs, half a 
dozen blankets, two cots, two big army chests, and an 
oil' stove. 
When our things were dumped from the baggage car 
on to the platform of the little station a good two miles 
from our camping ground we tried everywhere to get a 
wagon of some kind to haul our stuff, but without su;:- 
cess. There was nothing left for us but to pack the 
things ourselves. We were all of the morning and part 
of the afternoon doing this, but at last the bundles and 
boxes were all carried to the place we had selected as a 
camping ground. But Heard and I were nearly ex- 
hausted from the work, so we dropped upon the long 
grass beside our camp equipage and ate the lunch we had 
brought along. Then we turned over on our backs and 
enjoyed a pipe in solid comfort. When the muscles are 
tired" from good healthy outdoor work, and you lie on 
your back looking up at a blue sky with a pipe between 
your teeth and a cool lake spread out at your feet, the 
world does not seem such a bad place, after all. 
"I don't think we damaged the canoe any when we 
dropped it," said Heard. Getting up he looked over the 
canvas canoe. "No," he added, contentedly, "she's all 
right." 
We knocked out our pipes and went to work clearing 
away underbrush, and in two hours had our camp pitched 
and were getting supper. We found two boxes that 
would just do for chairs, and we made some backs and 
nailed them on. One of the army chests we used as a 
table and the other as a storing place for provisions. It 
was a very home-like looking camp, indeed, and things 
looked neat and clean. A cool, fresh breeze was sweep- 
ing across the lake into our faces, and the little Ameri- 
can flag we had run up was snapping like a pistol as it 
tossed and unfurled. 
"Don't think it's likely any microbes will collect into 
a disorderly mob around here," said Heard, as he looked 
things over with complete satisfaction. 
The June day was drawing to a close by the time we 
had finished supper and washed up the dishes. The sun 
had sank so low that the island west of us nearly hid his 
kindly old face from view, and the long, dark green 
shadows of the bluffs were reflected in the water. The 
face of the waters commenced to take on the colors of 
the sunset sky, and these were most beautiful indeed. 
The breeze had quite died away and it became so calm 
that the little flag hung limp and lifeless from its staff. 
We lit our pipes and smoked in silence as we watched 
the dusk gather upon the further shore. We could hear 
the distant quacking of ducks from the direction of the 
railroad bridge. This bridge cuts across a corner of the 
lake to the west, and near it grows wild rice in 
abundance. 
"Let's take the canoe and go over and see the feast," 
said Heard, starting down the hill. I followed him down 
and we untied the canoe and paddled until we got within 
cover of some tall reeds. Then we waited. Suddenly 
we heard the "quack, quack" quite plainly. It came 
from somewhere about two hundred yards to our left. 
We paddled ahead slowly. I peered between the reeds 
and could just see the railroad bridge not far in front. 
We were going very slowly now, and the water slid 
noiselessly under us and a reed would scrape upon 
the canvas side of the canoe. We stopped paddling and 
let the canoe drift. I looked at Heard and he silently 
shook his head. We were both looking carefully for 
ducks, but not a duck could either of us see. I gave a 
little push with my paddle. The canoe moved softly 
ahead into a little open place among the reeds. We 
could see three fat ducks diving for wild rice just in 
front of us^ and several on each side of us had their 
heads under water or were holding their bills in the air. 
Heard and I sat like statues, and the canoe drifted 
quietly toward the ducks. For a full second nothing 
moved, not even a reed. Then suddenly there was a 
startled "Quack, quack-k-k!" This was quickly followed 
by a great whirr of wings and over a hundred ducks rose 
from the water and into the air and went sailing away 
into the invisible distance. 
"We're Indians," said Heard, as he commenced filling 
his pipe. And so with our pipes burning a cheerful glow 
we rowed back to camp. It was quite dark by the time 
we secured the canoe and climbed the hill to camp. 
Bright stars were shining and whip-poor-wills were call- 
ing in the woods. 
That night when we turned in we fell asleep almost 
before our heads touched the pillows. But we sank to 
peaceful slumber with a fine sense of knowing that our 
hard work of establishing a camp and packing huge 
bundles of canvas and boxes of provisions for two miles 
was a thing of the past. 
When I awoke the next morning. Heard was still 
sleeping quietly. Golden sunlight was stealing in through 
the flaps of the tent and a beam was playing across the 
foot of my cot. I dressed without waking my campmate 
and ran down the hill and jumped into the canoe and 
pushed off. It was a most beautiful morning, with_ a 
fresh wind sweeping across the great lake and clear skies 
overhead. I paddled over to a point of reeds near the 
island and there threw in my hook and line. How the 
fish bit that morning ! And how I pulled them in ; small 
mouth bass, and sunfish, and pike! The green tree line 
on the shore sparkled with dew as the bright sun 
touched it, and the reeds looked dusky golden. In the 
bottom of my canoe lay a dozen sparkling beauties. It 
was all so beautiful and so real that I was lost in a day- 
dream when I heard a shout from the shore, and look- 
ing back toward the camp I saw Heard running up the 
little flag. "Bang!" went his revolver in a morning 
salute to our colors. 
"Get anything?" he called. 
"No," I shouted back. "Haven't had a bite even." 
"Come back," he called. 
Slowly I paddled back to shore. Heard met me at the 
water's edge. 
"Strange you didn't get anything," he commenced quite 
seriously. "What kind of bait did you use?" 
"Worms," I replied, holding up my string of beauties. 
Heard gave a warwhoop and danced up and down the 
shore in joy. 
"I'll fry some for breakfast," he said, "while you go 
over to the farmer's and get some cream for the coffee," 
The day before we had noticed a farmer's place a mile 
from our camping ground and just across the railroad 
track. So I started off with a glass jar to bring some 
cream. When I looked back I saw Heard busy cleaning 
my fish. It was a fine walk through the woods, and it 
was still early, not later than six o'clock. Birds were 
flitting about among the trees and Sending call after call 
to their mates, and a gray squirrel went clattering up a 
tree beside the path. When 1 climbed over the farmer's 
fence I saw him just going into his barn. He was rather 
surprised to find that anyone was camping on his side of 
the lake, as he said that most of the campers used the 
ether side, as it was more populous, and they liked the 
presence of neighbors. But I told him that this was 
just what we didn't want. He gave me the cream, but 
lefused to take any money for it, and made me promise 
to come over and get some every morning as long as Ave 
stayed in camp. I told him I would dp so if he would 
promise to let us take him out fishing in our canoe and 
so allow us to return the kindness. He seemed very 
much pleased with this and said he would come over that 
afternoon if we didn't mind. He showed me around his 
place and gave me some radishes to take back with me 
lor breakfast. Before I left I made him promise to keep- 
cur camping place a secret, and this he said he would do. 
When I reached camp Heard had. a fine breakfast all 
cooked and on the table. I have eaten many a breakfast 
that I consider good, on dining cars and steamships, in 
great country houses in old Maryland, and in famous 
eating houses in Washington, where Senators and Cabi- 
net officers smacked their lips in appreciation, but none 
of these, I think, could compare with our first breakfast 
in camp. 
"Where did you learn to cook, Heard?" I asked. 
"I never learned," said Heard, innocently. 
"Indeed," I said. But the breakfast was too good and 
I was too hungry to talk, so we ate in silence, and when 
at last we could eat no more I went over and laid down 
upon the rugs and rolled a cigarette. Heard did the 
same, and we smoked in silence and looked out over the 
water below. Only the day before we had left behind us 
the vast city, with its hustle and roar and crowding life; 
its smoke and grime, and its narrow, dark streets. This 
morning we were in the boundless wilds, with God's 
illimitable skies over us and the clean, pure soil under 
us; taking our breakfast from the clear lake and eating 
it out in the open air and sunshine. We were indeed 
Nature's children, and Mother Nature was showing us 
her most beautiful side; the one all her town children 
love best but which so many of them never see. 
It is not every year that one can spend two months 
camping upon the shore of a fresh water lake. But each 
of the sixty days was a golden one, even when the sky 
was gray and there was no sun. One morning we awoke 
to find the sky overcast with black clouds edged with 
light brown. However, there was no wind, and the lake 
was quite smooth, so we pushed off in our canoe for the 
island to fish. It was cool and the fish bit fast. We 
caught several bass and a pike, when the sun burst 
through the clouds and it looked as though it was going 
to clear up and be a fine day. But the fish didn't seem 
to bite at all in the sun, and Heard said that we had bet- 
ter paddle to a new place. We both took the paddles 
and sent the canoe along the edge of the island until we 
had circled around to the other side. We found a place 
where the trees overshadowed the water, and by the time 
we had dropped in our hooks the sun again disappeared 
and a light wind sprang up from out of the west. Al- 
most as quick as our hooks entered the water we each 
had a bite and when we hauled them in we found we had 
hooked two beautiful bass three or four pounds in size. 
While we were admiring their beauty as they lay gasp- 
ing their life out in the bottom of our canoe, a sudden 
gust of wind whirled us half around and whipped the 
water into spray about us. Great round drops of rain 
splashed against the sides of the canoe and plowed up 
the water. It had suddenly become quite dark. The 
l?ke turned into huge waves and our light canoe was 
tossed about like an eggshell and nearly swamped. 
"Shall we land on the island?" cried Heard. "Or shall 
we head for camp?" 
"Head for camp," I answered, doing my best to keep 
the wind and waves from beating us against the rocky 
edge of the island. We both worked with the paddle, 
and the great waves rocked us up and down and the wind 
drove the soray into our faces. By the time we rounded 
the island and started across the lake toward camp the 
rain was falling in torrents and the waves were so high 
that our canoe was in danger of filling every minute. 
The white spray was flying from the paddles every time 
we lifted them in the air, and the wind caught off my 
hat and blew it half way across the lake. That was the 
last I ever saw of it. Half a mile in front we could see 
the dark green bank with the woods behind it. A vivid 
flash of blue lightning showed along the edge of the 
shore and then seemed to leap toward us. Simul- 
taneously came a loud peal of thunder. The wind and 
rain seemed to increase tenfold there, and the waves 
tossed our little canoe from one to the other, as 
though they were playing ball with us. 
"Do you think we can make shore?" asked Heard. 
"God knows," I answered him. "Do your best." 
Heard shook his head and smiled. 
"Rough water," he said. 
We were both doing our Very best, but we could make 
very little headway. But at last the tree line in the dis- 
tance seemed to come nearer, and we could see our tent 
and the little American flag tossing and struggling in the 
wind. Just then a big wave broke over us and left three 
inches of water in the bottom of the canoe. 
"One more like that and I see our finish," said Heard, 
as he bent grimly to the paddle. 
, Ten minutes later we ran the canoe ashore and carried 
it to a safe place. We were so exhausted by the strug- 
gle with the storm that we could hardly drag ourselves 
up the steep bluff to camp. When we reached the tent 
we found it open in front as we had left it. The wind 
and rain had beat in through the open flaps and drenched 
everything in the front of the tent. 1 hauled down the 
flag and carried it in with me, and Heard lit the oil 
stove and closed and fastened the flaps. The wirid 
howled and roared around the tent, and outside the vivid 
flashes of lightning were glaring on the face of the 
waters and showing along the edge of the island. The 
rain came against the roof of our tent with a noise like 
a waterfall, and the flame in the oil stove would flicker 
suddenly and go nearly out. It was the worst storm of 
the year, and it lasted until nearly night. In the mean- 
time, Heard and I prepared and ate a good dinner and 
smoked many pipes. 
"Got anything to read?" asked Heard. 
I went over to a pile of books and papers and found 
"Little Rivers," by Henry Van Dyke. So all that after- 
noon Heard and I lay upon our warm rugs, and smoked 
many pipes, and fished the streams of faraway Scotland 
with Mr. Van Dyke, while outside the wind and rain 
beat against the canvas walls of our tent. 
That gray solitude of the far North, where the wood- 
land caribou has his home, could not have been more' 
lonely than our lakeside camp. No one ever found us 
out; and we enjoyed the quiet life, and the fish, and the 
living things of nature undisturbed. One day was much 
like another, and yet we found that time did not hang 
heavy upon our hands, and that each day came to an 
end hours too soon. One day toward the end of our 
stay Heard and I paddled up the eastern channel between 
the island and the mainland. As we drifted slowly along 
I saw something red among the green of the bushes on 
the island. 
"What is that. Heard?" I asked, pointing. 
Heard looked hard at the island. Then he shook his 
head sadly. 
"It means," he said, "that our stay here is nearly over." 
"What do you call them?" I asked. "You know — the 
leaves that turn red first?" 
"I forget," said Heard, sullenly. "Besides," he added, 
"I don't want to remember. I wish leaves never turned 
red." 
In spite of the loveliness of autumn I, too, felt like 
Heard in regard to the leaves turning. If one stays in 
the city all the long hot summer one is glad to see the 
leaves commence to turn red and gold and brown, be- 
cause then he knows that soon the days will become 
cooler and life more pleasant. But if one has spent the 
summer upon the shores of a fresh water lake in a tent 
and a canoe, he will regret to see the summer slipping 
away and the bright coat of fall announcing the approach 
of winter. 
We stopped paddling and let ourselves drift and 
dream. It was cool enough for the fish to bite well, but 
we had not brought the rods along and we didn't feel 
like doing anything but dream. The woods along shore 
seemed to be cleaner than they had been earlier in the 
season, and the skies were so clear and the water so 
smooth and deep and also clear that we seemed to be 
floating in midair. 
"Shake it off," said Heard. "What's the good of sit- 
ting here like two fools because summer's gone? Any- 
how, we've got to go back to the city to-morrow. Let's 
go over in the reeds and look for ducks. I saw a floc'ic 
fly over in that direction this morning. We'll try to 
come back here and do some shooting in a few weeks." 
Heard dipped his paddle into the water so vigorously 
that he splashed me from head to foot. Then I came to 
life and splashed him, and we both felt better. In a few 
minutes we were among the reeds, just as we had been 
the first evening we set up our tent. We stopped and 
listened. Again we heard the "Quack, quack, quack" of 
the ducks. It was a very satisfied sound that came to 
our ears, and we knew that they were having a grand 
banquet off the wild rice. Heard stopped paddling and 
held up his hand. I looked in the direction in which he 
was staring and saw a wonderful sight. Among the 
reeds and in the open water between were hundreds of 
ducks ; the place was black with them, and as many more 
must have been hidden from sight. 
"I don't believe anyone ever shoots here," said Heard, 
suddenly. "Let's go away." 
So back we paddled to camp. 
"Never saw anything like it," said Heard. "Great 
Scott! man, we'll get hundreds of them. How I wish it 
was the middle of September!" 
Why," I said, "I thought you were wishing a little 
while ago that September would never come." 
"Was I ?" said Heard, innocently. And then he com- 
menced getting dinner and refused to say anything 
further upon the subject. All the same he looked very 
eager about something. 
That evening we sat up until after midnight because 
we fully realized that this was our last night in camp. 
We talked of all the things that had happened since we, 
had first stretched our canvas over the tent poles, and 
of the many things we had left undone. We planned 
to come back every year and camp in the same old place ; 
but we never did. We went to sleep without saying 
"Good night." 
The next morning we dropped our tent and made it 
into a large square bundle. A wagon came to carry our 
stuff to the railroad station and we helped the .man to 
load it. The little flag was still flying, and when I low- 
ered it Heard fired all seven chambers of his revolver in 
a last salute. The sky and water were as blue as blue 
could be, and the little island was still green, and every- 
thing was so fresh and beautiful that I hated to look at 
Heard and give the word to start. When I did look at 
him he was frowning and blowing the smoke out of the 
empty chambers of his revolver. 
Robertson Howard, Jr. 
