Aug. I, 1903.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
91 
Avoods beauty found her counterpart in the stream below, 
along with the gliding birch and voyageurs. Here and 
there a likely bit of swift water was encountered that 
I suggested trout, but the rod slumbered until the head 
of canoe navigation had been reached. The creek had 
changed from grave to gay, 'twas now a laughing brook, 
. vaulting over the rocky barriers that opposed it and romp- 
ing down the slopes with all the gayetj' and abandon of 
I youth. The shadow of the angler and his rod had never 
been cast across its virgin pools, no eyes had ever gazed 
upon this beautiful i"ivulet, except, perchance, the timid 
doe, who wades amid the purling shallows of the brook 
and quaffs its molten silver. Its mimic pools and rapids 
looked the fit abode of finny beaut>', and so it proved' as 
the first cast brought to light one of its speckled denizens. 
I soon towed him into the waiting net and cast into the 
pool above, expecting to score immediately. To my sur- 
prise the feathered cheat was spurned. I fared no better 
in the swift water, so passing the rod over to the boy, I 
watched him tickle the sullen surface of the stream ; he 
did his prettiest, but failed to draw the old mossbacks 
from their cool retreats. Twilight would soon invade this 
forest sanctuary; 'twas time to depart before night closed 
in around us. As I passed by the pool that had queered 
me I relieved the boy of the rod and made a farewell 
cast, a fish sprang at the fly, my little steel rod ;.soon 
conquered him, and I passed him over to Joe. The net 
results were nothing to boast of, but as only a small por- 
tion of the stream was flogged, it served its purpose. 
Trout were here and no angler had preceded me up the 
brook. All the joys of a discoverer were mine. The trout 
of these hidden streams have their freaky streaks, but 
when thej'^ are on the rise 'tis often an embarrassment of 
riches. The little brook near our camp was alive with 
square-tails, that seldom refused to respond. 'Tis an 
arduous task and not devoid of danger to penetrate to 
the source of one of these wild waterways. The trout 
of these forest brooks are diminutive in size, according to 
the Nepigon standard, but considering the exquisite 
beauty of their environment, a trout of a pound of two 
creeled where the wild sweet song of falling waters 
throbs upon the air, will cause the angler's heart to thrill. 
Vain is the effort to enter into these woodland joys at 
middle life, the worshipper at the shrine of the beautiful 
in nature, like the poet generally, comes into his heritage 
in the golden dawn of life. 
One day I gave our nearby brook a look in, but alack! 
'twas bank full and swollen from recent rains. I managed 
to decoy one good one to the net, but failed to raise an- 
other. There was nothing to do but back out. Instead of 
returning to camp, the guides took out down the lake ; I 
asked no questions, as I knew they had something that 
they would produce in due time. The lake seemed bar- 
ren of animal life, no deer were sighted, feeding along 
the shore or wading in the shallows ; in fact, nearly all 
the wild game has been driven back into the wilderness 
by Indians. The endless succession of primitive woods 
and pebbli' beaches unrelieved by mountain ranges, caused 
me to lapse into a state of dreamy ease that harmonized 
with the low wash of the waves breaking on the rocks. I 
was soon aroused from this feeling of languid indiffer- 
ence by the magical trans ccrmalion that was gradually 
taking place along the lake front. Towering masses of 
rock loomed up ahead of us. As we drew near they took 
on the weird semblance of castles, spires and other spec- 
tral shapes ; it was the enchanted precipices of Bay View. 
Huge battlements of rock tower to the skies, their stony 
faces decorated with splashes of ocherous red, arranged 
in a variety of grotesque patterns. Vast columns shoot 
upward to dizzy heights, the fitting abode of the eagle 
and his mate; immense rocky platforms jutted out from the 
summit and hung threateningly above us, mocking the 
efforts of the daring climber to scale the rocky wall, while 
detached masses of rock of every conceivable shape and 
size, threatened to overwhelm the rash mortal that dare 
disturb their grim repose. I gazed with mingled wonder 
and awe on this masterpiece of nature that only needed 
the finishing touch of a war canoe filled with painted sav- 
ages, from which arises an ominous chant breathing 
red death to their foes, scalps and victory for the con- 
quering Huron. Slowly-, like the figment of a dream, this 
wonderful pageant faded away in the distance, and the 
forest that had been rudely thrust aside by the stony giant 
crept timidiv forth to line the lake shore with its dense 
array of foliage. We were now in a part of the lake that 
is rarely visited, except by the Indians, many of whom 
are but a few removes from their savage forefathers. 
You are likely to nm across an Indian most anywhere 
between the lake and Hudson's Bay, but seldom or never 
a white man. As our birch, impelled by muscular arms, 
sped on its way, Joe cast searching glances ahead ; pres- 
ently he discovered the object of his quest, a break in the 
distant shore line, where the cold waters of a brook lost 
themselves in the lake, its coffee-colored flood frowned 
on the fly-rod, but helped float the canoe. As our birch, 
under the skillful handling of the guides, wriggled its 
way upward, I was impressed by the utter absence of 
animal and bird life along the stream; the sweet songsters 
of field and meadow shun the grim Canadian wilderness. 
The brook gradually shrank to a bed of boulders and 
gravel bars littered with fallen timber. Finalij^ the canoe 
came to a halt before a menacing arraj' of nature's forces 
that barred our passage up the roaring brook. Here we 
abandoned the birch and took to the woods; I made a 
languid attempt to penetrate the tangled undergrowth that 
lined the banks, but soon gave it up, as the turbid water 
of the brook derided the efforts of the fly-rod. The In- 
dians had disappeared, the rod and canoe slimibered, but 
the glorious forest that towered far above me, its foliage 
freshened by the recent showers, w^hile stray gleams of 
sunshine invaded the dim recesses of the woods, bringing 
to light with the deft touch of the artist exquisite effects 
of light and shade, put the finishing touch to all this wild- 
woods beauty and held my wandering thoughts captive 
until the guides returned. They had secured one diminu- 
tive trout, but failed to connect with others. The rough 
handling that they experienced between the brook and the 
tangled network of vines and all manner of forest debris, 
must have been a caution. The high water gave them the 
choice of floundering through deep holes or thickets. The 
Indian is at home in the woods, and recks little of hard- 
ships and dangers that would phase many a paleface. 
Embarking on the mimic flood, we soon exchanged the 
pusical gurgle of the brook for the solemn wash of waves 
against the base of the painted precipices of Bay View. 
These grandly beautiful scenes of lake and forest will be 
remembered forever and aye. The summer had departed, 
Liut no maples flung their red banners to the breeze; the 
prevailing autumn tints are dull orange shading off into 
yellowish green. 
The trout fishing of 1902 would soon be a thing of the 
past, so it was up to me to strike camp and return to the 
river for a few more casts before the warden made his 
last rounds. As the huts and clearing faded away to an 
iridistinct blur, the mighty lake opened out before me ; far 
away in the northwest sky and water meet. Lovely isles 
clad in purple haze seemed like fairy craft floating on the 
blue expanse of waters; below there is a wealth of finny 
life that insures good angling in the river for many years 
to come. 
We slept that night in our old camp at Virgin Falls. 
My stay was not prolonged, as I was eager to wet my litie 
in Long Rapids, the place par excellence for fly-fishing. 
The day of departure came at last; regretfully I stole 
away from pleasant scenes that will not be forgotten while 
memoiy lasts. The rapids at Camp Minor were negotiated 
for the last time. As the swift current bore us along, I 
cast farewell glances at the moving panorama of rocks, 
sky aiid water. I was using the fly on the down trip to 
the utter exclusion of bait. All sneers at Pine Portage 
failed to swerve me, as I was banking on having a good 
time with the trout. At Long Rapids the trout were be- 
ginning to work up on to the spawning beds. Fly-fishing 
does little to thin the ranks of the big spawners, but bait 
plays havoc. Quite a crowd of fishermen were hanging 
around the edges of the pools at Pine Portage, getting 
ready to lift them oft' the beds before they had a chance 
to deposit their spawn. The only remedy is to allow 
nothing but fly-fishing from the first of September to the 
close of the season, and make it obligatory to return all 
tish hooked under a pound. The best trout exhibited at 
Pine Portage looked about four pounds, a verj' common 
size in the old days, but a prize now. 
I soon bade adieu to the noisy conglomeration of guides, 
anglers and pot fishermen, and dropped down the river 
and camped at the Narrows. Here the boy managed to 
secure a nice one with bait. One rise was the best I could 
do before darkness set in. The weather looked threaten- 
ing for the morrow. Sure enough, at daybreak a driz- 
zling rain had set in. LTndaunted bj' the dreary prospect, 
we glided o\it on to ihe troubled waters. I whipped them 
thoroughl}', but no sign of life appeared upon the ungrate- 
ful surface. The pattering rain drops were am'thing 
but a pleasing accompaniment to the swish of Joe's paddle 
as we pushed out into Lake Jessie and headed for the last 
station on the river, in company with another birch con- 
taining two young enthusiasts whose acquaintance I had 
picked up coming down from Pine Portage. The guides 
kept up a steady clip for nearly two hours before the far 
away sound of rapids throbbed upon the air. Instead of 
following the usual custom of unloading at the landing, 
the canoe was allowed to follow' the drift of the current 
and draw near to the white water. The prospect was de- 
cidedly ticklish. The human freight and camp stuff 
caused the canoe to sit low in the water, inviting disaster 
from careening in the grasp of the angry torrent. To 
oft'set all this, it was manned by two of the youngest, 
bravest and most resourceful guides on the Nepigon. 
There was no margin for clumsiness, as all along the 
watery track sharp rocks lay in wait, like assassins, ready 
to deal deadly stabs at the fleeing birch. Like a thing of 
life the canoe romps down the siding with the speed of a 
racer. P'aster and faster it flies, while the sublime chorus 
of fighting waters shakes the air. presently to die away 
to a vague far off sound as our birch glides victorious 
out on the peaceful expanse of the pool, while scarce a 
hundred yards away, at its outlet, the dreaded Long 
Rapids lift up their strident voice, threatening amiihilation 
to the reckless fool that dares to brave their fury. 
The other canoe wiselj' withdrew to the landing; at any 
rate no canoe shot the upper rapids during our stay. It is 
not eveiy guide that cares to take the risky chances of 
running this wild piece of water with a loaded canoe. 
They generally take the safer course and hand the camp 
stuff over to the tender mercies of Pat and his team. 
We pitched our tent near the outlet, close to a burnt 
patch that fortunately did not extend fan; the lowering 
storm had drifted away, so I sank to rest with bright 
hopes of the morrow. The weather turned out all that an 
angler's heart could wish for during our brief stay. We 
had lively times with the trout, as the merry music of the 
reel mocked the kingfisher's rattle. We worked this beau- 
tiful pool along with two strangers. No one left unre- 
Avarded. It was trout galore. For all that, it takes an 
experienced rod to win success among the two and three- 
pounders that haunt its depths. There is a fine cast from 
off the island close up to the white water. The season 
was flickering, ready to vanish, so Ave moved off doAvn the 
river, and after making a few casts opposite Cameron's 
Pool that failed to draw% I bade adieu to the delights of 
the rod and the reel. The camp-fire flared for the last 
time at Alexandria Bay, bringing into strong relief the 
supple forms of the Indians and their Avild surroundings. 
My Nepigon guides deserve more than a passing men- 
tion. Young, ambitious, and clever, their cheerful presence 
and merry laughter Avould stampede the worst case of 
blues in existence. Joe Salt has quite a reputation as a 
hunter. They displaj'ed marvelous skill in using an or- 
dinary landing net, to capture the curious whitefish and 
laker. 
A favorable breeze set in next morning, but we did not 
get the full benefit of it until we glided out on to Lake 
Helen. Utilizing the tent cover for a sail, Ave sped down 
the lake humnn'ng. The guides for some reason 
shunned the landing, and dropped down the outlet and 
fetched up at the Railroad Pool. This relic of ancient 
times is quietly recuperating, as Joe informed me that 
parties hurry by, imagining it is a dead one. It is only 
a short walk from the village to railroad bridge. Drop a 
line here, brother angler, and the answer you Avill get may 
astonish you, as large trout are liable to work up into the 
pool from Gilchec Gummee at any time. The attractions 
of this mighty river have been lauded to the skies by in- 
te rested parties and derided by others. The beauty and 
size of its trout, the sublime precipices of Caribou Moun- 
tain, its magnificent rapids and loA^ely gems of pools that 
mirror their rocky setting, and the glorious forest, along 
with the entrancing vieAvs on its upper lake and waters, 
are a sufficient answer to its carping critics. May the 
time be far remote Avhen the angler Avill cast his fly in 
vain in the waters of the noble Nepigon. 
W. C. Squier, Jr. 
R\Hw*y, N J, 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST^ 
A New Sporting Rivef. 
Chicago. Ill, July 23, 1903. — Mr. W. H. Talbot, of 
NeA^ada, Mo., is in town this Aveek for a fcAV days' 
visit. Mr. Talbot is well known as a maker of fine 
casting reels and is moreover an enthusiastic fisher- 
man. He offers a bit of news on high class angling in 
a little known part of the country. Mr. Talbot says 
that his ncAv sporting district is along the Niangia 
River, Avhich in his case was reached by a sixty mile 
drive from the toAvn of Bolivar, Mo. This same 
stream, Avell towards its head Avaters, can also be 
reached from Lebanon on the 'Frisco road, at a dis- 
tance of about thirty miles, or from the town of Bagnel 
on the Missouri Pacific, by means of a drive of some 
fifteen or tAventy miles. The Niangia River has two 
forks and the united stream floAvs into the Osage River. 
One Avould hardly expect to find small-mouth bass in 
this part of the world, let alone rainboAV trout, yet 
both arc to be taken in this stream in heavy A\'eights 
and full of the best sort of sporting quality. The 
stream itself is a A'ery crooked one, the bend on Avhich 
Mr. Talbot's party encamped having a distance of some 
tAventy miles' fishing in tw-o and a half miles' distance 
across the head and foot of the bend. The banks of 
the stream are high and Avell Avooded and the current is 
SAvift, although the stream is very crooked. It can be 
fished from a boat or in part by Avading, as there are 
shalloAv and graA'elly riffs alternating Avith the deep 
holes on the bends. In part the bed of the stream is 
strcAvn Avith boulders, and in these fast Avaters the 
small-mouth bass and rainboAvs lie. Mr. Talbot told 
me that without exaggeration he belicA'cd a good bass 
fisherman could take one hundred bass in a day on that 
river at this time of the year. He himself fished until 
he did not care to take any more, most of the fish 
being returned and a fcAv being given to the neighbors 
along the stream. One gentleman of the party got a 
4^ pound rainbow trout. Mr. Talbot saw a thirty- 
fiA^e pound "salmon" Avhich was caught in the Niangia. 
This is the same fish as our Northern Avall-eyed pike, 
and this Aveight is a very extraordinary one. The 
natives sometimes catch channel catfish in the Niangia 
and these put up a game fight, as any one knows Avho 
has angled for them. Mr. Talbot says he thinks there 
is no riA'er in the country Avhich is more attractive to 
llie angler Avith either bait or fly than this same stream, 
Avhich is practically unknown in this part of the world. 
Its remoteness from raihvay points of access is of 
course the immediate cause of this state of affairs. The 
rainboAV trout Avere introduced there some years ago, 
and ill these swift and well aerated waters they thrive 
extraordinarily. 
Mr. Talbot says that they had a perfectly peaceful 
trip on the Niangia except in one instance. Their 
camp Avas pitched on the opposite side of the river 
from a gentleman Avho makes his home on his planta- 
tion there, and the latter Avas disposed to go on the 
Avarpath because the entire party did not pull up stakes 
and go and live at his house. Th« planter had eleven 
men at his table one day and he had only seen tAvo of 
them before at any time in bis life. He considered it, 
hoAvever, his province to take care of all strangers ap- 
pearing in that neck of woods. Mr. Talbot Avas fishing 
peacefully at a seductive part of the stream Avhen he 
heard a couple of reports of a shotgun on the bluff 
above him. Climbing up to see Avhat Avas the trouble, 
he discovered that one of the hired men of the afore- 
said planter had been sent out to get a couple of tur- 
keys for this dinner. He killed two Avild turkeys Avith 
the two shots, without any difficulty. There are a 
good many turkeys along the Niangia, and where there 
are turkej'^s there are, of course, usually deer in these 
Southern hunting grounds. All in all, this situation 
seems somcAAdiat arcadian in its attractiveness, and it 
is certain that many sportsmen of St. Louis and other 
Missouri cities will be apt to avail themselves of its 
advantages. The best of this stream lies in Camden 
County. It is without question a much better fishing 
stream than the better knoAvn Current River. The 
Current is broad and rapid, and the Niangia is rapid, 
crooked and alternately deep and shallow. Mr. Tal- 
bot's wide experience as a bass fisherman gives weight 
to his enthusiasm in regard to this ncAvly discovered 
About MuscalluDgr. 
On the 8th of August Messrs. F. PI. Wolff and Fred 
Hedgeland Avill start from Chicago on a novel fishing 
trip. They go in an automobile and purpose making 
a journey of 450 miles north into the muscallunge 
country of Wisconsin. They Avill try to get in as far 
as Trout Lake, Avhich is some twelve miles from the 
tOAvn of Woodruff, Wisconsin. Their return will be by 
automobile, and the AA'hole tour will probably cover at 
least 1,000 miles, if all goes Avell. 
Mr. Wolff has frequently fished in the muscallunge 
lakes north of Trout Lake, and is to-day getting to- 
gether his outfit for a little of his favorite sport with 
the giant pike. He says that he has found very good 
fishing in the Gresham chain of lakes, three in number, 
Avhich are accessible by a short portage north of Trout 
Lake. He also thinks very well of Boulder Lake, from 
Avhich stories of very good fish come doAvn now and 
then. He says that the most successful muscallunge 
fisher who goes into that part of the country is Mr. 
Marion Lambert, of St. Louis, Avho spends a good 
part of the muscallunge season every year in that vi- 
cinity. On his last trip Mr. Lambert took 21 mus- 
callunge Avhose Aveights ran from 18 to 32 pounds. He 
returned a number of smaller fish to the Avater. Mr. 
Lambert's method is not that of trolling, and he 
catches his best fish in casting live bait, and Mr. Wolff 
and friends ha\'e also found that bait casting is more 
apt to be productive than trolling in these days of edn- 
