'[April a, 1904. 
grandfather is he, who has fished and hunted and 
trapped and guided in these woods and waters for 
many a year. Johnny, his youngest boy, a child of 
nature, was with him. We guessed why, before the 
final handshake; as, during the trip, our thoughts often 
joined those of the old guide as he fondly gazed at 
the boy's face, and we, too, saw therein the wistful, 
silent features of the squaw mother who had departed 
for the happy hunting grounds a dozen summers since. 
The three cedar canoes, trim craft from "clew to 
earing," i6ft. long over all, were loaded to within a 
couple of inches of the "gunnel" when we weighed 
anchor. Despite our attempt to "go light," and the 
fact that before leaving we did discard about one-third 
of the canned luxuries on our anti-hunger list, we had 
about all we could carry, and were somewhat fearsome 
of _choppy weather on the northerly lakes. 
' Merrily we dipped our maple paddles into the water, 
gently floating with the current down the Scugog, and 
tjhen paddled through a submerged marsh, full of 
fallen timber and tree stumps, into Goose Lake. 
Though somewhat early in the afternoon, we com- 
rhenced to troll for "lunge," using a medium-sized 
copper spoon. For an hour, we struck nothing but 
snags and weeds, and then a smile o'erspread Zack's 
kindly face. His trolling line was wound around his 
knee, in order to facilitate paddling. Concurrently 
with the smile that enwrapped his visage, I, who was 
in his canoe, observed a suspicious twitching of his 
knee. 
"I've got him!" he whispered delightedly, and com- 
menced to pull in his line, hand over hand, while I 
stood- ready with the gaff. 
To land the first fish is one of the honors of any 
angling trip that all try to achieve. Until then, every 
one is on the qui vive and keeps eyeing the other craft 
with anxiety, lest one of them should win the prize. 
Strikes are kept religiously dark, until one knows 
whether it is the real goods or some sophistry. I had 
gaffed. a magnificent maskinonge before our triumphant 
howl reached the ears of the occupants of the two other 
canoes. The sobriquet "lunge" is a fitting one for this 
fish, as they are, most assuredly, fierceness personified 
while they last. -They swallow the bait with a venge- 
ance, and it is often necessary to cut one's line and wait 
until supper time before one's favorite spoon may be 
secured for further service. 
A two-pound small-mouthed bass by ye noble Casker, 
and a ten-pound "lunge" by ye humble Cinders, com- 
pleted the day's score; and we put up our canvas at 
Camp Pleasant, on the Fenelon River, about half a mile 
below the falls. 
The Gaflfer always slept late. We could never root 
him out before 5 o'clock. The first morning was the 
exception to the rule, for, at about 4:30, an unearthly 
howl of terror emanated from the tent. Out jumped 
a squirrel, and made for the nearest tree. Then came 
Gaf?er, panting as though he had been wrestling with 
a bear. The squirrel had been squatting on his ch&t. 
-We did stunts that day, portaging over Fenelon Falls, 
and then hustling across Cameron Lake to the sHde 
iii. Rosedale River, which was reached at noon. It was 
here that Casker caught his bass — three of them, ag- 
gregating ten pounds, all from the one pool, and with- 
in ten minutes. All you've got to do now is to whisper 
"Rosedale" to Casker, and he'll kick up his heels like 
a ;young colt. 
Balsam Lake is an ugly one on a windy day, so, in- 
stead of camping on Bald Island as intended, we took 
advantage of the pleasant weather and consequent 
smooth water, and hiked across and up Gull River to 
Camp Whippoorwill, dropping anchor about a mile 
below Coboconk. 
The next morning — 'twas Monday — we raided Cobo- 
cbnk for supplies. We asked for bread, but couldn't 
get a crust. They bake once a week in Coboconk, and 
that on Monday afternoons. We invested in a sponge, 
and a can of white lead, too, as one of the canoes 
showed signs of porosity. After plastering any ap- 
parently dilated seams of this Jonah craft with ,the 
lead, we lifted all three canoes across the dam, loaded 
them, and prepared for the mile of stiff paddling up the 
Coboconk River to the north of the town. Canoe poles 
would have been desirable implements for that little 
stretch, but, not having them, we took our comfort 
from the knowledge that we would come back that way. 
We had heard at Coboconk that there was a log 
drive' in the Norland River, and, as we were anxious 
to make time on the outward-bound trip, we didn't 
waste much of it in the Little and Big Mud Turtle 
. Lakes. 
At the mouth of the Norland River, there is a 
peninsula about a mile in length, and it is much rnore 
convenient to portage across this strip of land than to 
indulge in a two-mile paddle around the point. At 
least, we thought so. Before doing so, however, we 
reconnoitered as to the navigability of the Norland 
River, and found that we could approach to within 100 
yards of the falls. On the way up, we passed the log- 
driver's raft, and the ubiquitous aligator. Zack par- 
leyed with the cook as he passed the raft, and ex- 
changed three fine bass for three pies. Oh, those. pies! 
What cast-iron stomachs log-drivers must have! Never- 
theless, we negotiated them, and added the three tin 
plates to our stock of culinary articles. I especially 
was thankful for these extra plates, as I never did 
take kindly to eating niy dessert off an unwashed meat 
plate. 
We landed at the foot of a steep bank on the right- 
hand side of the stream about 100 yards below the slide. 
To those unaccustomed to watching a drive of logs 
shooting a slide, there is something most fascinating 
about it. Above the slide, all is quiet and gentle, and 
the logs float l-'zily along toward the brink. ' They 
gather momentum down the incline, and then take their 
plunge into the noisy tumultuous water, often ap- 
parently turning a double somersault in their mad and 
frantic career. Small hope there'd be for any frail 
canoe that perchance was drawn down one of these 
slides, although some super-venturesome paddlers turn 
the trick once in a while, either voluntarily, or because, 
on their way down stream, they were too careless in 
approaching the brink of the slide, to make a safe 
landing. 
If there's one thing that a log-driver prefers to his 
liquor or his cards, it is a chance to fool a canoeist. 
Inquiry on our part as to the probable duration of the 
drive developed the information that the stream would 
be clear in two hours, and yet not for three days. The 
time varied according to the informant. We finally 
learned from a farmer, who had just driven into town, 
that the end of the drive was about two miles up- 
stream, and this information made us decide to portage. 
For this purpose, we hired a hay wagon. The heavy 
stuff was loaded in the bottom of the wagon, and one 
of the canoes placed in the center on top of it. The 
two other canoes fitted nicely on the overhanging 
sid^s of the wagon, and all were securely bound and 
tied and paddled with one cushion and soft stuff. 
[to.be continued.] .• 
A* C» A, Membership. 
The following have been proposed for membership 
to the A. C. A.: 
C. A. Temple, Robert L. Manning, Albert W. 
Thompson, Remson Varick, J. B. McCrillis, Frederic 
S. Nutting, Harry C. Coulter, Edgar L. Martin and 
Mendon P. Moore, all of Manchester, N. H.; George 
C. Cheney, Dedham, Mass.; Clifton T. Mitchell, Phila- 
delphia, Pa.; H. M. Morse and Fred B. Williams, 
Trenton, N. J.; Harry L'Hommedieu, Ray B. Kurtz, 
Conrad L. Baer, Raymond L. Watt, Frank T. Day, all 
of Buffalo, N. Y.; R. W. Allen, Kenosha, Wis.; J. G. 
Tyssowski, of Chicago, 111.; William Becket Harding, 
of New York City. 
Fifteen-Footers from a Massachu- 
_ setts Standpoint* 
N all the history of yachting, the 
distinctly small boat has never 
been so popular or so prominent 
as it is to-day. And by "small 
boat" I mean what is now under- 
stood by those words. Only 
a few years ago anything under 
forty feet waterline length was 
thought "small," but at the pres- 
ent time the average yachtsman 
of New England considers a 30- 
footer tremendously "shippy" and 
palatial. 
The ever increasing length of 
overhangs has, of course, been 
one factor in the trend of the 
yachting world to smaller and 
smaller boats, for many a modern 30-footer has as much 
deck space as an old forty-five. 
Another factor is the ever increasing cost of yachts. 
The man with but $1,000 for a boat could once have 
obtained a 2S-footer for that sum, but must now em- 
ploy a cheap builder if he desires even an i8-footer. 
Still another element in the growth of the wee classes, 
is the fact that young America is no longer content 
to learn in a rowboat with a sheet for a sail,, but 
must have a craft essentially as "yachty" as that of his 
father. This is quite as it should be, for it develops 
pride in his boat. 
■ Then, too, the fathers have found that there is as 
much sport and more independence in racing a small 
boat than a much larger one. It is certainly keener- 
racing where one meets fifteen competitors than \yhere 
one has but two or three antagonists, and this wealth 
of rivals is more surely to be found in the" smaller 
clS-SSCS. 
■ The result has been, that while the 21-footers fur- 
nished a good sized fleet, and the i8-footers fhe^ larg- 
est class in our history, the i5-footer6 are destii>ed tQ 
eclipse everything in point of numbers, aud probably 
in closeness of competition. 
Jlic i5-footer5 received their fifst ^rejit Ijoo^i^ i;^ 
Crane l§-(ooter, 
189s, when the first races for the Seawanhaka cup 
were held. Although technically known then as half- 
raters, they all approximated isft. length on the water- 
line, and the way they "caught on" was truly marvelous. 
The class seemed to spring up over night. 
It is not the purpose of this article, nor does space 
permit me, to trace the cause of the speedy decline 
of the half-rater class. Suffice it to say that our 
clever designers, as is their wont, speedily murdered 
the class by demonstrating that under its rules, a 
perishable, shingle-shaped article and not a staunch 
boat, was the prize winner. 
But brief as was the popularity of the half-rater, it 
was sufficient to sow good seed, since it demonstrated 
the practicability of sport in so diminutive a boat. The 
class was the direct forebear of the many one-design 
classes of is-footers which have since then appeared 
upon our waters. 
Nowadays, if one wishes to be assured of an ap- 
preciative audience, he has but to burst into abuse of 
one-design classes. Nearly all the yachting writers on 
both sides of the Atlantic, have their regular monthly 
slap at the idea. 
But what if they are hard on the designers who did 
not get the order? And what if they do contribute 
little to the general advance of nautical science? If 
they furnish sport to a small army of men; if they 
produce boats where otherwise there would have been 
nothing but freaks; if they create more yachtsmen and 
better seamen; and (parenthetically), if they give the 
editors something on which to indulge their fine art 
of whole-souled denunciation, have not the one-design 
boats accomplished all that mortal can ask? 
Take the "Water-Wags," a one-design class in Dublin 
Bay that has flourished for over twenty years, and is 
still very much alive; take the Newport thirties, or the 
Seawanhaka twenty-ones^ — what general measurement 
rule has produced better results? 
Two great objections to one-design classes which 
have not been exploited by yachting critics (and which 
I mention here for their benefit), are the facts that 
most men want something a little different from every- 
body else's, and that (alas! that it should be so) where 
one is beaten because the other fellow is too clever for 
him he has to take it out on some one, and as he cannot 
lay it to his boat, he is apt to vent his feelings on his 
rivals (N- B. — By protests, bickerings and innuet^does.), 
