FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 19, 1903. 
northern Michigan I had an unconquerable, "failing" in 
that direction. For three months I had the pleasure of 
preparation. 
Different waters needed diflferent supplies; flies, 
waders, creels, nets, etc., and all must be just right. Let- 
ters were exchanged all. the time, seasoning the gravy 
that has flavored a reality which memory shall retain, 
a palate taste, and friends made that shall last until the 
evening glow of life has gone out — men who have con- 
tributed their share toward the world's betterment by 
having lived in it. 
The Start. 
I find that the actual starting on a camping trip is like 
moving up to the ,fire, the wannth increases, the glow in- 
tensifies, while the gravy of reality reaches that state of 
epicurean detail that it only needs to be served, and the 
over-burdened soul of man is released from its fetters. 
The knife and the watermelon have met. 
I reached Grand Rapids at 5 o'clock Saturday evening. 
At 11:15 the same night Mr. Lockwood and I left for 
Kalkaska. Of course we went to bed immediately, but 
not to sleep. Why sink into even temporary oblivion an 
anticipation whetted by time to a keenness of perfec- 
tion? In the glow of the fire contentment is best felt in 
the waking hours. Then, too, our train should reach our 
destination at 3 :45 in the morning. Surely an unearthly 
business hour ; but we were going fishing. We didn't need 
GOING IN. 
sleep, refreshing sleep. From my berth I heard Mr. Lock- 
wood lecturing the porter on the subject of wakefulness 
in all things in life, and particularly on those events so 
closely centered about Kalkaska at 3:4s the next morn- 
ing, closing with the remark, "Porter, if you carry us past 
Kalkaska, somebody's mother will be without a son when 
I do get up." 
That porter's love for his mother should be com- 
mended; he called us at a very safe distance from the 
danger line. But none too soon for us. We were not 
going to Kalkaska to live. 
As we descended from that train our orientation was 
assured by silvery cast in the horizon, a glowing, though 
silent, yet majestic proclamation — another day is born. 
While the greater part of the world slumbers nature per- 
forms many of its most fascinating changes.^ The sun- 
rise is the beginning of the play ; the sunset is after. 
Near the station we found a comfortable hotel, the 
good landlord of which had been notified of our coming 
by Mr. Harry Widdicomb, and the door was open. Mr. 
Widdicomb had gone on ahead the day before to have all 
things in readiness for an early start shortly after our 
arrival. At five o'clock the tried pioneer put in an appear- 
ance, welcomed us, and told us that everything 
was ready, while from the kitchen there drifted to our 
senses on that morning atmosphere the wholesome, wel- 
come aroma of boiling coffee. 
Mr. Harry 'Widdicomfa. 
It would not take a tailor long to measure Mr. Widdi- 
comb with a tape line for a suit of clothes, nor cause him 
much anxiety as to the fit. How different a task, how- 
ever, do we find it to measure a man in cold type. 'Tis 
the standard of manhood, not the human anatomy, that 
we must fit— the things left undone, the thoughts unsaid — 
that we must applaud with a greater zeal than the things 
dene and said by him, when dealing with our field com- 
panions. In this case should I use my heart as scissors 
it would take too much cloth. To cut with my judgment 
would illy fit him — the pattern would be too small. A 
camera picture always produces the exterior view only; 
that won't do in this case. I can best describe Mr. Wid- 
dicomb as the Nestor of the Forest, the Sage of the 
Stream, and still hold in reserve very many pleasant 
thoughts of him all deserved, but, unsaid. 
The Outfit. 
In reviewing the outfit which left Kalkaska that pretty 
morning in August that was destined to carry us to scenes 
not to be forgotten, T am most impressed with its com- 
pleteness in detail. The two teams were in charge of 
Marion Furgeson, whose knowledge of horses and the 
cnnntry traversed brought comfort to man and beast alike. 
Frank Taylor, of Mayfield, was in charge of the com- 
missary department; his experience in the woods was in- 
surance agninst a broken egg, and a guarantee of plenty. 
Harry Sherwood ("deputy game warden), boatman, aux- 
ilfiry. cook, was always in evidence, always useful, always 
willine; of Sherwood T can best applaud myself for the 
thinsrs left unsaid. The detail of accessories for this en- 
cnmnment was only made possible through necessities, 
mnny needs gathered tog-ether by long experience, dictated 
by careful thought of Mr. Widdicomb. 
Tt was only after reaching camp that T discovered that 
the box of the wn."on that carried the oittfit was a boat, 
built to fit the hounds of the wagon. In this boat were 
packed all the necessities for our life in the woods, be- 
sides many luxuries. At 6:.'?o this formidable c^lvacade 
moved forward, its outrider being Duke, Mr, Widdicomb's 
bl'ie-belton setter dog. 
For many niiles we traveled through a prettily settled 
farming district, so rich in the prodtice of plenty 
that happiness only seemed the lot of all, both wanderers 
and those at home. It wa& not by the side of a turnip 
patch nor in the shade of a f^ch tree,., however, that oui; 
pathfinder proposed pitching our camp. The luscious 
plums hanging beside the picket fence looked inviting; 
so did the red apples nestling in clusters amid their green 
abode; but we were after different fruit. It was the 
wilderness beyond the reach of the plowshare that held 
for us the things that had cost us many hours of sleep, 
things not found in the market places, out beyond a land 
whose only value is the yearly crop of wild blackberries — 
a land devastated of its worth, its beauty, its splendor, a 
land stripped and left to its own decay, and made more 
ugly by the blackened stumps of the monarch pines that 
once had "netted the sunbeams" that warmed their 
growth— a once beautiful forest seemingly stricken of 
heaven. It was to a point through this, and still beyond, 
that our standard of hope was unfurled and waiting. 
From the farms we entered the barrens ; from the bar- 
rens on into the woods, where the hat brims were turned 
up, and the horses shook themselves in their harness 
to cool their parts that were bound. They were watered 
from a brook where Duke lay, showing only his head, 
while we men leaped from the confines of a spacious 
carriage to stretch our legs in the shaded road. Here 
gigantic birch and hemlock trees meet like a flock of 
sheep when the sound of the wolves is in the distance, as 
though in self-protection. The ax and the saw had not 
entered there, a lesser market value had spared those 
trees. Beyond, however, we come again to the skeleton, 
and the horses stop of their own accord, as if loath, in- 
deed, to leave so lovely a spot. Even Duke took refuge 
in the carriage. Out there a chipmunk even would be 
disgusted with life. The teamsters dropped to the road 
and walked. The dray horses' heads were released from 
their reins, and their necks grew longer, as if to meet 
the miles to come. 
At 12 o'clock Duke grew restless, drew in his long 
purple tongue and sniffed the air, then left the carriage. 
Our horses seemed to quicken their pace, and the 
teamsters remounted their seats. At last the Manistee 
River was in sight. Around a bend in the road we saw 
that splendid torrent of hope winding past the alders with 
the quiet grace of a vast serpent. 
Our dullness fell to dust as the wheels passed over the 
unhewn timber bridge and came to a stop on a grass 
plot watered by a nearby spring. Here everybody and 
everything took a drink ; and with the hearty assurance of 
Mr. Widdicomb that "It's only two miles more," we 
pushed on. 
The Camp. 
Where the river loops but does not meet, with a river's 
margin on three sides of us, on a spot once famous as the 
site of a lumber camp, where Jackie played seven-up by 
the camp lantern, we pitched our tents on a site from 
which radiated the minds that directed and the muscles 
that swept the land of its natural beauty— yet happily 
now so long ago that nature has spread over the ruin a 
green mantle of scrub, hiding the black tombstones of an 
ancient glory, and giving a youthful and hopeful appear- 
ance to the rolling landscape. Here, ten miles from 
human habitation, we selected our temporary abode. 
The completeness in detail noticed early in our journey 
was here made manifest, flavored by the gentle and 
thoughtful touch of her who rules. One tent 16 by 10 
sprang into shape as our sleeping quarters; another one, 
\2 hy jo, soon basked in the sunshine for the camp men; 
still another, of the fly variety, fell into shape for culinary 
purposes. One mind and many hands made short work of 
an intricate job. 
The horses, released from their harness, rolled and 
reveled in bunch grass. Duke warned the nearby trout of 
our arri-v'al, and dried himself on the fond master's 
blankets. 
In one hour we were housekeeping. Beds were pimiped 
up and put in hospital order. White blankets with pretty 
pink borders, gray blankets with blue borders, _ red 
blankets with black borders, were brought to view with a 
lavishness that could only have been directed by those at 
home. Even sheets and pillows hove into sight as 'the 
mysterious packages were unfolded. The sheets were not 
WHERE THE RIVER LOOPS. 
used ; we were camping. A closer view revealed a com- 
pact medicine chest with remedies for all legitimate ills 
and some accidents. 
In reviewing the time and the place, when and where 
this camp was made, I am apt to remember in a vague 
sort of a way that the time was Sunday, the place the 
wilderness, and pass on. A supplementary thought that 
almost loses itself in the race with other thoughts, 
balances itself in bold relief long enough, however, to de- 
termine that we ought to have had trout for supper. As 
the darky dances in the moonbeams beside the worm- 
fence, and the fallen dew makes silver ornaments of the 
watermelon leaves, and the crickets make merry, drown- 
ing the noise of his bare feet amid the dewberry vines, 
does conscience check his smile? 
As the sun passed beyond the western hiUs, giving placfe 
to the stars, the care of night, a few of my New Jersey 
neighbors, "pinged" their usual songs; but for a short 
time only. The falling dew dampened their ardor and 
gauzy wings at the same time. A whippoorwill called 
his nine hundred and ninety-seventh note without taking 
breath. The crickets chirped in great glee. Logs from 
the ruins of the Jackies' homes were piled high and 
lighted, making a camp-fire that from a distance looked 
like a premature sunrise, while we sat around dishing out 
the gravy of a ripe reality; breathing, leeling, seeing and 
knowing the fullness of preparation and anticipation. 
The darky, the knife and the watermelon were together. 
On the Manistee. 
The gentle sound of running water as it swirls past the 
end of an old watersoaked log, away from the confusion 
of the habitation of man, gentle though it is, iridescribable 
indeed by any namable sound, in a stillness so intense that 
the discordant call of a wandering 'coon is musical, would 
cure insomnia in the early night and produce the electric 
awakening of a vivid alarm clock in the early morning 
hours. Such are the effects on the human mind where the 
river loops but does not meet on the Manistee. We needed 
no calling on Monday morning; nor did Mr. Taylor serve 
breakfast too early for the animated anglers. Our Sun- 
day inspection had led us to believe that we should catch 
some trout on this the second day of the week, and we 
did. 
Breakfast over, Mr. Widdicomb introduced us to our 
wading attachments for the preservation of our fish. My 
heart was quite broken when I found my new creel could 
not be used. It consisted of a floating creel or live bo.x 
atached to the belt with a rope three feet long. I think 
it was Mr. Lockwood who made the remark that "It 
seemed a wise purpose, but a deucedly awkward one." I 
for myself knew that I would get mixed up in the harness 
within an hour, and I did. My legs were over the traces 
more than once ; but at the end of a week I was "broken," 
THE MANISTEE. 
and not a single trout was killed until we left camp. 
At the end of the day the team always met us on the 
margin of the river ; the boat was placed on the wagon, 
the well in the center was filled with water, and our trout 
were transferred to the well. On arrival in camp they 
were then placed in the permanent live box in the river 
and kept there until we should need them. 
Sensations. 
In referring to sensations, I would that I could corner 
the market in print as I did in feelings. But I am not so 
old, nor yet so foolish, as not to know that others in the 
years sadly agone, and still in the active and thrilling 
period of youth to come and middle age, elsewhere have 
felt, and still feel, and will continue to know the sensa- 
tions that come and are still felt by the angler when the 
water is gurgling around his thighs as he stands alone in 
the middle of a beautiful, active, musical river; on each 
side of him in thick array a variety of foliage and wild 
flowers, dipping as if drinking from the current under 
whose surface lie the speckled trout. The stillness is 
majestic. Expectancy increases the heart beats. By an 
opening in the alders hangs a red flower; on the grassy 
bank, just this side of it, is seen an old log mostly hidden; 
just one end of it rests on a stump. You make your short 
cast and draw the line from the reel ; draw back and cast 
again, always in line with the red flower. Another back- 
ward movement with the graceful rod that takes up your 
forty feet of line and carries it up and back in graceful 
curves. Again the guides are fed and the rod springs 
forward. The red flower seems near ; by it the fly strikes 
the water, turns over on its side, as if the flight had tired 
it; yet it moves across the current and hesitates. From 
beneath the log the greedy eyes of a big trout see the 
exhausted fly, and on murder bent he darts with the 
quickness of a flash, rises powerfully in the air, and with 
head down pounces on his prey. Quicker still do the 
muscles of the arm tighten and gather and strike. The 
suddenness with which that trout is straightened sends 
the water three feet high on either side of him, and the 
contest begins. A "rough house" is created. He mixes 
the fight with muscular endurance and determination; 
churns the pool into foam; tiring of this, he breaks for 
cover, is held in check and sulks. Your heart beats dis- 
turb him again, and he rushes, but is rounded up at the 
end of each go. Your nerves disturb him again, and he 
mixes once more — runs, backs and fills, until your line is 
gathered in, the rod passed over your shoulder, and the 
landing net confronts him. He mistakes it for the gate- 
way to paradise and loses. You have conquered, and en- 
joyed sensations that the selfish would grieve at dividing, 
the generous give to all. The watermelon has been cut. 
T. E. Batten. 
[to BE continued.] 
Whales on the Florida Coast. 
Three whales were stranded the other day on the 
South Beach at St. Augustine. The correspondent of the 
Jacksonville Times-Union writes : 
"The three whales lying stranded on South Beach have 
had their measures taken. The largest is thirty-seven; 
and one-half feet long, the next is thirty-six, and the 
third a little more than thirty-four feet from nose tO' 
tail. They range from seven to seven and one-half feet 
through, and weigh, perhaps, not less than three tons 
each. 
"It was not a difficult task to secure them last night 
when the tide had receded. The three monsters were en- 
tirely out of water, but still alive. Mr. Atwater, the dis- 
coverer, Frank Reddington, Harry Robertson, and half 
a dozen others took part in anchoring them. It was im- 
possible to kill them with a rifle or pistol ball, or to make 
any impression on their hides with shot. Ball and shot 
simply made a slight abrasion of the outer cuticle. 
"When the tide was lowest, Mr. Atwater succeeded in 
passing stout ropes around, their tails. In this work he 
