June 25, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
B19 
smilmg on seeing tliese signs, imagining the profound 
thinking the animals must have, exerted in trjdng to 
lignrc out a plan lo reach the toothsome stuff under 
that hard, ghized surface. 
At other seasons of the year a good cache is made 
by cutting and peeling a long live tamarac pole. Place 
this balanced over a strong crutch, tie what is to be 
left secure to the small end, over which place a birch 
bark covering to keep off the rain (or failing the 
proper place or season for getting bark, a very good 
protection is made with a thatch of balsam boughs 
placed symmetrically as shingles), and tying all in place, 
tip up the small end, weighting down tlie butt with 
heavy logs or stones; and possess your mind in peace. 
Two of the best auxiliaries to a short supply of pro- 
visions that a party can take on any trip in the wilds 
of Ontario or Quebec, are gill-net and snaring wire. 
As food producers, I place these before a gun. Most 
of the interior lakes contain fish of some sort, and a 
successful haul one night can be smoke dried to last 
several days without spoiling, even in hot weather. 
So long as they are done up in a secure manner in 
birch bark to keep out blue flies, the greatest danger 
of their going bad is prevented. 
Another very good way to preserve and utilize fish, 
is to scorch a small portion of flour (about one-third 
the quantity) and mix with pounded up, smoke dried 
ber. New Brunswick offers an excellent opportiiiiity to 
the fisherman, but one must merely admire the big bull 
moose and leave his rifle in camp until September 15. 
The speckled square-tails of the Upper Dam at Rangeley 
are as plentiful as ever, and salmon still rise at the 
Bangor pool; but Maine's thousands of deer cannot be 
legally termed venison until the leaves have commeiiced 
to turn, and chill fall frosts have nipped the pond lilies 
and sent swallows and warblers well on their southward 
journey. , The little fresh water salmon of Lake St. 
John, the ouananiche, is still hungry for the fly at Grande 
Decharge; but the Montagnais have made the immediate 
vicinity of Lake St. John anything but a good game 
region, and the Indians even then were repairing traps 
and canoes for their long winter in the Northland. 
Twelve years ago, before a railroad turned the Adiron- 
dacks into a summer resort, I caught 2-pound trout 
m the south branch of Moose River, and killed my first 
buck at Shy Pond, near Little Moose Lake. After an 
absence of ten years, I went back again to have a look 
at the old spot, but did not stay long. The Adirondacks 
have changed somewhat since the days of the early nine- 
ties. The sportsman is passing on before the vanguard of 
the summer hotel man ; the old brooks and pools are for- 
gotten, and now golf balls whiz over the wild meadows 
v/here deer came down to feed. Where, too, are all the 
old regulars of the Moose River country — Ed, Smith, 
' THE NEW CABIN. 
Plioto by Shelly W. Denton. 
fish, previously cleaned of bones. This makes a light 
and sustaining pemmican, easily warmed up in a frying- 
pan, and, if a little fat can be added in the warming pro- 
cess, one can work on it as well as on a meat diet. 
Admitting that there are years of plenty and years 
of scarcity with rabbits, there must be a dearth indeed 
when one or two cannot be snared in some creek bot- 
tom near , the flight's camp. A gun on the other hand 
may be , only an incumbrance on a long journey. A 
chance shot may well repay the person carrying it, ' 
but very frequently a gun is quite useless. 
We- crossed the country some years ago between 
the St. Maurice and Lake St. John. It was at the very : 
best time- of the year to see game, being in the month 
of May, when every living thing is full of life and 
moving about. The trip took us seven days going; 
coming back by another route we gained one day. 
On the whole of that journey through bush, lakes and 
rivers we only fired two cartridges, whereas our small 
gill-'net gave us splendid fish each camping place. 
Another trip I remember, this time in the winter, 
accompanying the men who carried the winter des- 
patches between Pic River and Michipecoten, a dis- 
tance of 120 miles each way. I was prevailed upon to 
take a rifle, as the route went over a very high moun- 
tain where deer (caribou) were seen every year by the 
men. Well, I suppose they told the truth; but I carried 
that gun 240 miles without firing a shot. No, as a 
possible help to stave of? starvation, commend me to 
a net and snare in preference to a gun. 
Martin Hunter 
Canada. 
A Summer in Newfoundland,— L 
Early in the summer of 1903, I found myself the for- 
tunate possessor of three months' leisure time to be spent 
as I chose. I had already made brief hunting or fishing 
excursions to several localities in Canada, as well as to 
the woods of Maine and the Adirondacks; but here was' 
the long awaited opportunity to spend three whole 
months in the forest, to get away out of the beaten paths, 
away from tourist and sportsman alike, but above all, 
once again to sit around the evening carnp-fire listening 
to the whirl of the rapids, and once more to breathe the 
fresh, fragrant odors, and hear the strange voices of the 
wilderness night. Just where to go was the perplexing 
question to decide. It always is a difficult problem with 
sportsmen who desire a variety of sport, who must enjoy; 
the best of the fishing as well as big-game hunting, and 
yet be back again in the office by the middle of Septem- 
Jack Boyd, and Doctor Blake — men who could shoot 
straight, and, after the day was over, men who could fill 
your ears and brain with true stories of the woods? 
All gone— but whither? Have they, too, changed the 
habits and customs of a lifetime under different condi- 
tions and a new environment, or have they moved on- ' 
ward to remoter waters, leaving far behind their old and 
blackened camp-fires? Yes, to-day many old scenes in 
the North Woods of New York State have passed. The 
sound of the ax rings loudly, and the trails are well 
blazed and well traveled, but we will always remember 
them, not so much for what they are, as for what they 
have been. 
I wanted to find a spot where the trout were not all 
fingerlings, and were still comparatively uiieducated; 
where a millionaire, friend was not a necessity in order 
to kill a salmon; and where, after rods had been put 
away and the old fly-book closed for the season, I could 
pack my venison into camp — venison with antlers — and 
v/here the whole forest was my own. 
It was not until after a visit with A. Radclyffe Dug- 
more, companion of many a day in the woods, that a 
locality was chosen. A day spent at his picturesque little 
home in Newfoundland, N. J., with rain pelting against 
the panes, and with maps and game laws spread out on 
the table, decided me. We planned the trip in detail, 
listed outfit and provisions — even speculated on "the 
luck" — and finally ended with an amicable discussion of 
that old, well-worn topic, large vs. small bores. The 
more we conversed, the greater our enthusiasm became, 
but at midnight everything was arranged. The interior 
of the island of Newfoundland was to be the place, and 
I was not going alone — we were going together. 
I had traveled over the bleak hills of Newfoundland 
before, but merely for hunting purposes, and in the fall, 
when big trout are difficult to locate, and salmon, thin 
and weak from spawning, have ceased to rise. But this 
season alb summer was before me, and even as we talked, 
ouananiche and speckled trout were waiting for me in the 
ponds and streams, and fresh-run salmon lying ready in 
the lower pools. Sea trout, out in the ocean, were 
already playing about in the river mouths, while far back 
in the interior caribou stags were growing their new 
antlers in solitude as they cropped the young spring 
shoots laid bare of winter snows. 
We left New York by rail on the night of June 27, with 
an outfit light and compact, and as nearly complete as 
possible. Lightness is the most desirable quality in an 
outfit, as anyone who has traveled over the hills and 
barrens of the interior will readily; testify. The island 
is literally filled with lakes, and it has ibeen computed 
that at least one-third of its area is water, but the ponds 
are often isolated and unconnected, the distances between 
them are great, and during the hunting season many of 
the streams are too shallow for navigation. Of course, 
such rivers as the Exploits, Humber, or Gander,' are 
always open for dories long distances in from the coast, 
but as a rule the smaller streams, after a few miles, be- 
come _ too low and rocky for boats or canoes of any 
description. And this is just the reason why Newfound- 
land will remain well stocked with game for years to 
come. The interior is almost inaccessible, and everything 
must be packed in from the railroad or the nearest 
navigable river. Few sportsmen ever penetrate any dis- 
tance into the island, simply because it is difficult travel- 
ing, and usually unnecessary. Nine-tenths of the salmon 
are killed within ten or fifteen miles of the ocean, while 
in autumn during the migration, hundreds of caribou are 
shot as they pass southward at the eastern end of Grand 
Lake, or, in fact, all along the northern line of the rail- 
road. At that season great herds of the animals cross 
the tracks between Howley and the Topsails, where they 
were formerly slaughtered by the carload. 
Our tent was small and of the very lightest possible 
material. No attempt was made to insure it against the 
attacks of flies or mosquitoes, as that is next to the im- 
possible; for no matter how carefully you crawl in or 
out, even with an insect-proof tent, a few of the pests 
will always work in, either around the flap of under the 
sod cloth, and at night a few seem like a legior^ Mr. 
Dugmore took a light cheese-cloth canopy, 7 by (5 by 3 
feet, which could be suspended in a twinkling from four 
upright stakes driven in at the four comers of th»- tent. 
On warm evenings this became very useful, and was 
absolutely proof, not only against the attacks of the 
mosquito, but it completely baffled the efforts of those 
wicked little sand flies that make the early morning hours 
so miserable. This canopy, however, was necessary only 
on the warmest nights, for usually the evenings were 
cool enough to drive all such pesky vermin in hasty re- 
treat to the top of the tent. Fortunately the black fly 
does not still-hunt in the dark; it is his one redeeming 
quality; but on calm, sultry days toward sundown, fre- 
quent applications of the strongest "dope" are not only 
necessary for comfort, but essential for the enjoyment of 
life itself. 
The. Newfoundland guides, for the most part, are 
shockingly poor and can add nothing to your oi^tfit, and 
I would advise the sportsman to procure everything, ev-en 
to ax or hatchet, before landing on that desolate coast. 
Of course all necessaries can be purchased at St. John's; 
, but should the usual route via North Sydney be taken, 
St. John's will be distant some five hundred miles by 
r;ul, with not , a respectable store between. A very few 
of the guides are well equipped with tents and outfit, and 
they command good wages ; but by far the majority can 
furnish nothing but their services, and a never-failing 
willingness to work hard. Few have had much ex- 
perience with sportsmen, and they are far below the 
standard set by the Maine or New Brunswick guides in 
u.nderstanding sportsman's needs. But give a Newfound- 
lander a dollar a day and plenty of tea, "baccy," and 
bread, and he will show you more game in one week than 
could be observed in Maine during the entire hunting 
season. He will show you salmon as well, ^ut he can- 
not tell you how to catch them, when they will rise best, 
or why they will not rise. All his experience has been 
v/ith the nets. He will take you to lakes filled with trout, 
but you' must search out the retreats of the big fellows 
for yourself. He wants tO' be directed, and he expects 
it; and whether you do or not, he always gives you the 
credit of knowing ten times as much about fishing as 
he does or ever will. He never assumes the lordly air, 
but is ever content to be the servant ; aiid no matter what 
position the sportsman may have occupied in other hunt- 
ing localities, in Newfoundland, at least, he may rest 
assured that he is boss of the camp. He believes all your 
stories without a question, and, strange as it may seem, 
is singularly reticent about his own exploits. Illiterate 
and uneducated, he is as simple and credulous as a child; 
often mentally dull and unintelligent, but thoroughly tem- 
perate in speech and habits alike. I have rarely heard a 
Newfoundland fisherman use a profane word, and never 
heard one grumble or complain, no matter how heavy the 
pack or how long the portage might be. Reared amid 
the toil and hardsphips of a barren coast, his life is one 
long struggle for existence — a battle against poverty and 
the elements — where only the brave and strong survive. 
Inured to hardship and suffering, he quietly plods along 
at his labor, often beyond his strength, never beyond his 
endurance. To read the past history of Newfoundland, 
or to know the lives of her people, seems like watching 
a losing battle fought against the forces of fate. 
Before leaving New 'York, I was advised by a friend 
who nad fished many seasons in the colony, to omit the 
long double-handed salmon rods used so extensively in 
England and on the broad rivers of eastern Canada. 
Rods of eleven or twelve feet were of sufficient weight 
and length for casting the narrower Newfoundland 
streams, and the flies par excellence for salmon were the 
silver-doctor and Jock-Scott, tied on small hooks. This 
advice I found to be that of a man who knew what he 
was talking about, and fortunately followed it; but at 
the same times discreetly added several light trout rods 
and many dozen flies of all sizes and combinations of 
color. Subsequent events proved _ that more_ than three- 
quarters of our salm®n were killed on either of the 
above-named flies. Among the second raters might be 
mentioned the fiery-brown, blue-doctor, black-dose, dusty- , 
miller, and professor, but as a rule, salmon would rise to ; 
a silver-doctor, Jock-Scott, or nothing; while trout struck 
vigorously at almost any fly, prefering, however, those 
containing red. The Parmachene-belle, scarlet-ibis, 
Montreal and professor, the hackles, coachman, and 
white-miller, with many others, all did good service 
during the suinmer, and, with the exception- of the first- 
named, could hardly be ranked in any order of prefer- 
ence. The above selection of salmon flies may be at 
variance with the experience of others who have fished 
in Newfoundland, but during the season of 1903, at the 
places and under the conditions in which ■ I fished for 
six weeks, there was no doubt as to the preferences of 
the salmon. 
Dugmore carried no rifle, as his trip Was a short one, 
