12 
anxiety to see a raw, right-angled log-jam at a bend, 
I came sontli. breathing a fervent vow never, while 
in full possession of niy senses, to seek further ac- 
quaintance with one. It has puzzled me to see what 
possible beauty or poetry the sight of one contained 
for Mr. Kipling, the time the Red Gods called him 
out with his rods and lines and traces. Once, as with 
the canoe on our heads, we staggered through the 
overgrown bush to pass a jam, I asked Hector his 
opinion about it. His answer was short but to the 
point. 
"He had the silent, smoky Indian that he knew to do 
the portaging." he replied. 
We passed four falls that day. We camped just 
above High Falls, and there, as usual, was a jam ready 
for us to commence work upon the next day. 
On Tuesday morning we were at it bright and early, 
and had carried past the jam before the sun was hot. 
This jam proved to be the last we were to encounter. 
We still continued to meet logs, but in a difTerent and 
less troublesome form. They floated down stream with 
the current, in twos, and threes, and dozens, and con- 
stant care was required to avoid collisions. Some- 
times, where the river was shallow, we came upon 
stranded logs, and now and then we narrowly escaped 
disaster upon snags. . The Muskoka is an interesting 
river to travel by in the logging season! But we 
paddled without mishap, and by noon had covered half 
the distance between Port Sydney and our camping 
spot of the previous evening. 
We met a gang of river drivers that day. They were 
working down stream, freeing all the stranded logs and 
cleaning up the river generally. After reading "The 
Blazed Trail," Hector and I had come to look upon 
the river-driver as an almost supernatural being. There 
was a charm, a romance about his calling, which existed 
in no other occupation that a man could follow. We 
had never hoped to meet him elsewhere than in the 
books, and when the opportunity presented itself, we 
eagerly seized upon it. But the reality we found to 
be sadly different to the driver of fiction. There is 
nothing romantic about him. He is merely a laborer, 
working for his $2, or whatever it is, a day. 
They left their work as we drew near, and strolled 
toward us, their clothes dripping water as they walked, 
Fall on the North Branch. 
for they had been working waist-deep. Sociable fel- 
lows, they were, and required no introduction. 
"H' are you?" they said. 
"H' are you?" we replied. 
"You aren't very busy," I added. 
"We ain't what you call workin' overtime," one of 
them answered. "The boss has gone down the river 
a ways." 
Then, as we showed no inclination to go, they sat 
down upon the bank and lit their pipes and talked to 
us. Presently the cook left his half-washed dishes and 
joined them. Apparently the boss was making a pro- 
longed stay "down the river a ways." 
"H' are you?" he said. 
"H' are you?" we answered. 
A dull, lazy kind of man the cook was. He re- 
garded us out of half-closed eyes, and didn't speak after 
his first greeting, except when spoken to. 
"What do you feed them on?" we asked him. 
"Oh, eggs, and potatoes, and canned goods. _ Bread, 
maybe, and sometimes some pie, or somethin' like 
that." 
We were .surprised and somewhat hurt. "Don't you 
give them pork and beans?" I demanded. 
The men looked offended. "Pork!" said one. "Pork!!" 
remarked another. "Pork, did ye say?" inquired a 
third. 
"Not much!" replied the cook. With emphasis. 
"Does a lumbernian kick about his food much?" 
Hector put in. 
"No one quicker!" 
We drew attention to their wet appearance. 
"Yes," replied one man. "Yes, sir. You've got to 
be quite a bit spaniel for this job. Quite a bit spaniel, 
and what ain't spaniel ought to be bulldog. You'd 
better get back on the job, boys. Harry'U be back 
any minute, now." 
We paddled away, cornpletely disillusioned. Evi- 
dently there were two kinds of river-driver: the •'ne of 
fiction who floats grandly down stream, standing on 
a saw-log; and the Other of real life, who spends his 
aays— when the boss is watching— up to his waist ift 
ice cold water, starting logs on their way with peevy 
and pike-pole. 
I would rather drive a coal wagon in the city than 
be .one of the kttei- kind. . 
yff.- h^d currents -to confend witli 111 that " afternpon, 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
It was early in the season, and the river was high. 
Sometimes we had to keep close to the bank, and 
creep up in the back water. We were always glad to 
do a little poling when the water was shallow enough 
to permit of it. But sometimes we came to places 
where the river came down in great swirling rings— al- 
most in rapids. Then we steadied ourselves on the 
bottom, ground our teeth, braced our backs, and shoved 
on our paddles with every or:nce of strength we had. 
And then, after five minutes' killing work I would hear 
Hector coolly remark, "We aren't going at what could 
be called break neck pace," and looking up, I would 
see the spot on the bank, opposite which we had 
started, half a dozen canoe lengths behind. Then we 
would land and tow for a while, until we had regained 
our breath, and the current had slackened. 
There were but five portages to be made that day. 
There are in all nine "regular" portages on the North 
Branch. Several of these are half a mile long, and 
Did a little bush-ranging. 
all are more or less difficult to the novice. But by 
making two trips — one with the canoe, and the other 
with the baggage — and using pack straps, the work is 
lightened wonderfully. But no one should go up the 
Muskoka unprepared to work, and to work hard. 
We reached Port Sydney on Tuesday at six o'clock 
and camped there. 
We were now at the head of the river, and the 
route lay through a string of little lakes — Mary, Fairy 
and Peninsular. There were no logs to pass and no 
currents to paddle against. So we had an easy day 
on Wednesday. We started early and paddled slowly. 
It was early in the afternoon when .we reached the one- 
mile portage from Peninsular Lake to Lake of Bays, 
and there we met a young fellow who was driving an 
empty wagon across. He asked me for a match, so 
I gave him four, and then he expressed an earnest 
wish to carry us and our stuff across the portage, 
without charge. This seemed a laudable desire on his 
part, and deserving of encouragement, so we lifted the 
baggage and canoe on to the wagon, and climbed up 
ourselves, and he drove us over to Lake of Bays. 
It was while on that wagon that we saw an Indian. 
He was, to all appearance, a white man, except that 
he was a little dirtier, a great deal drunker, and dis- 
played an infinitely greater degree of stupidity when 
spoken to than the average white of his class. I 
pointed him out to Hector, thinking that he might 
like to see him, but he did not enthuse at all. He 
shook his head sadly and didn't say anything. 
That night we camped upon a little island near a 
little portage — forty rods to be exact — the crossing of 
which, we were told by the man on the wagon, would 
Where the deep, cold water was. 
"save quite a bit o' paddlin'." To one bound for 
Dorset, as we Vv^ere, taking this portage, will save five 
miles. 
We took life easily on Thursday. We paddled down 
to within a mile of Dorset, and there we stayed for the 
rest of the day. We traveled only seven miles all day. 
But the sun was hot and we felt lazy, and_ the next 
day we had the four-mile portage to cross into Hol- 
low Lake. 
On Friday morning we paddled into Dorset and up 
the creek to the beginning of the portage. But we 
were reliictant to begin it for some reason. The path 
begins at a slope of forty-five degrees, and, they told 
US in the village, went up hill' until ijg j^ght of the lake. : 
$0 I looked at Hector, and shook my nead, a;id He^- 
[JAN. 2, 1904. 
tor looked back at me and grinned. So we sat down in 
the shade to talk and think over it. 
And there it was that we met old Tommy Harper, 
the famou.s old Tommy, the best guide in the pro- 
vince, and the strongest man in six townships. It is 
something to be proud of, to have held conversa- 
tion with old Tommy, for he is a silent man and rare- 
ly speaks unnecessarily. The fact that he should have 
stopped and talked to us I cannot explain, except he 
thought he was performing a charitable act. But after 
old Tommy had addressed us, I felt as years ago, 
when the teacher patted me on the head, because I 
alone, of sixty boys, could stand-upon the floor and in- 
struct the class, in the correct way of spelling "scis- 
sors," I think the word was. 
"Goiii' acrost, boys?" inquired old Tommy. 
Yes, we were going across. 
"Wagon?" 
No, we intended to carry. 
"You'll do good if you carry acrost — boys like you," 
continued he, "I'm in the business, boys, and I'm tellin' 
you, she's a stiff old portage. Now, you take your 
turkeys, and carry them in for a qiiarter of a mile. 
Then you come back and carry your canoe a quarter 
of a mile past your turkeys. Then carry them so far . 
past the canoe and so on, do ye see? All the time 
you're comin' back, you're restin', and there ain't no 
time lost. I'm in the business, boys, and I'm tellin' 
you." 
This was a long speech for old Tommy. We thanked 
him, and determined to use his advice. I believe all 
guides portage this way when forced to make two trips. 
So we carried the bags first, for a quarter of a mile. 
We walked slowly, for it was up hill. Then we carried 
the canoe, according to directions. It seemed much 
heavier than the bags, we found, but the next time the 
bags seemed heavier than the canoe. Curiously 
enough they each increased in weight, the farther we 
went. When we dropped the bags at the end of the 
carry, it was with a sigh of relief as the sharp ache in 
the - shoulders suddenly lessened, but when we had 
carried the canoe for fifty yards, anything seemed more 
endurable than the "telescope" sensation in the head 
and neck. It was an exceedingly hot day, and there 
was no drinking water en route. With our heads en- 
On Lake of Bays. 
veloped in the canoe, we could see nothing but the 
path for loft. ahead. Soon we began to carry for 
greater distances. We began to count i.ooo steps to 
a carry. Nine ninety-eight, nine ninety-nine, one thou- 
sand," we would say, and the bags would drop to the 
ground. 
It took three hours and forty minutes to cross that 
portage, and then we had our first sight of Hollow 
Lake. 
Loon Bay was a beautiful sight. The water was 
black and transparent, the bay is surrounded by hem- 
lock and is connected by a narrow inlet to Hollow 
Lake. But the inlet is hidden, and to all appearances 
Loon Bay is a complete, perfect little lake about a 
quarter of a mile in diameter. It is a magnificent place 
for echoes. I dropped my paddle on the gunwale, 
and the sound of it came back to us three times, as 
distinct as could be. - 
But it was getting late, and we felt that we required 
pork and beans more urgently than beauty.^ so we 
paddled out of Loon Bay into the calm, quiet lake. 
Hollow Lake is large (it is ten miles from end to 
end) and here and there and everywhere are islands. 
There are big islands and little islands. . But all are 
covered with green hemlock. 
Near the lower ena we came upon a small one. 
A little cabin stood upon it. We paddled toward it 
and found it to be uninhabited, so we landed upon 
the island and made an exploration. It was a curious 
place to build a house. Why should a man want a 
house built on Hollow Lake, and why. having built 
it. didn't he live in it? We were puzzled. But under 
the verandah we found fourteen empty bottles, and 
then we understood. A fishing club owned the place. 
We put the tent up on that island, and determined to 
stay there. There was no one to tell us we mightn't. 
No one was within miles. ^ We were alone. The clear, 
black water of Kahweambeluwagamog lapped a gentle 
welcome on the granite shore of our island. There 
was no other sound. 
But we weren't quite alone. 
I was awakened by a peculiar long, mournful cry, and 
then a dog barked, miles away. Hector heard, toOf 
and chuckled. "Humph!" he said. . " '"^ ' 
. "Wolves/' L -remarked briefly. : ■ i - ^ 
"Wolves," he responded sleepily, 
