890 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Nov. s, 1904. 
past rose before me like a dream. I saw the steam- 
boats with their great stacks belching huge clouds of 
smoke and their paddies ■■••churning the placid bosom of 
the lake, fade away in the golden sunset of another- 
era;.I saw the beautiful cottages that stand so majes- 
tically on the rocky isles, transformed to the teepee "" 
of a barbarous age; I saw the handsome canoes of the 
present day merge" into, the little bark that floated grace- 
ful as a swan under the deft and skillful stroke of the 
savage; I saw the camp-fires along the shores and 
the weird and uncanny figures that danced arid howled 
around them in a frenzy of fanaticism; I followed the 
red man on the hunt, and sat by his side, as he drew the 
struggling fish from the stream; I saw him steal softly 
out in his canoe and paddle to a friendly camp, there 
to woo the dusky maiden of his heart. And I thought 
that, after all, he knew how to live. Savage though he 
was, he knew the secret of happiness, and contentment 
was his lot. When he arose in the morning, just as 
the tender light of dawn was purpling the distant hills, 
he knew that he had not to face the stern realities of 
business. The rise and fall of stocks; the petty quib- 
bling, confusion and consternation everywhere found 
in the busy marts of trade; social caste, and the worth- 
less badge of distinction were alike unknown to him. 
The surge and swell of ambition, that sea upon whose 
rocky shores lie stranded the fortunes of the many 
great, did not agitate his bosom, while over the great 
domains of forest and stream hung no limitation of the 
law. Free and unrestrained, he was close to nature's 
heart — he was a partner of nature. He hunted, fished 
and tilled the soil, and the smoke curling upward from 
his pipe was like incense of gratitude to the Great 
Spirit. And as the lengthening shadows fell across the 
land, twilight faded into gloom, he retired to his wig- 
wam to sleep the dreamless slumber that comes from 
perfect health. 
The next day had been selected as moving day, but 
as the weather was very threatening, a general de- 
murrer was entered against breaking camp. However, 
after breakfast, although the skv was still overcast, 
there was no rain forthcoming, and as we were anxious 
to get into Lovesick Lake, it was decided to run chances 
of getting wet and strike out. Accordingly the tent 
was quickly taken down and rolled, the duffle packed, 
and with a last, long, lingering, loving look at the 
beautiful cove, we dipped our paddles and were off for 
Lovesick. There was a strong wind sweeping down 
Stony, but by hugging in back of islands and working 
like hired men in the open reaches, we managed to 
make good headway, and in a couple of hours we swung 
into the charming bay on which are located .the big 
summer hotels of Mt. Julian and Viamede. Here we 
stopped to write some letters and lay in a few stores, 
and then we were off again. By this time Phoebus 
had triumphed over the hosts of clouds, and his shafts 
of gold glimmered joyously on the dancing waters as 
we sped noiselessly along the devious paths that lead 
to Burleigh Falls, where we stopped for dinner. 
The scenery around Burleigh is magnificent. Num- 
bers of little islands thickly covered with trees and 
underbrush, picturesque ravines and yawning chasms, 
at whose bottoms percolate little streams that look 
like ribbons of water from the dizzy heights above, all 
contribute to the entrancing beauty. Great cliffs of 
clay and granite hang menacingly over the water, and 
instinctively you guide the canoe further out into the 
stream as you drift along. And rocks, rocks every- 
where. Burleigh proper is a riot of rocks; little rocks 
and big rocks; shapely rocks and ugly rocks; the 
ground is covered with them: the walks are lined with 
them; acres and acres of rocks, where not even a blade 
of grass can get a foothold, and where no green thing 
is ever seen except the moss that freckles and patches 
the stony waste. 
Here the guide sought out a man with a horse and 
wagon, who, for a nominal number of shekels and a 
phenomenal number of drinks, was persuaded to trans- 
port our canoes and dufflle over the hill to Lovesick 
Lake; and once into this body of water, we struck out 
for Squirrel Island, about two miles from Burleigh. 
Fortunately, we found an ideal camping spot on the 
island, and" from appearances a party had just vacated 
it. There was a rustic table, with seats, a fireplace and 
a good supply of firewood. We soon had the tent up, 
fresh balsam boughs cut, and in an hour the camp was 
replete with all the comforts of home. Then Elliott 
and Farber went out trolling for 'lunge, while Beck 
and I amused ourselves chasing scores of impudent 
little red squirrels away from camp, and finally, tiring 
of this sport, we went for a ramble around the island. 
Lovesick Lake is not a large body of water, being 
about two and a half miles long by a little over a mile 
in width. Just above our island, not over half a mile 
away, the waters of Deer Bay come rushing down into 
Lovesick in a series of rapids, whose roar boomed 
down to us on a clear night with the thunder of a 
young Niagara. There is an old Indian legend con- 
nected with these rapids to the effect that a white man, 
enamored of an Indian princess, was commg one day 
down from Deer Bay to see his bronzed Dulcmea, and 
the canoe, not speeding along fast enough to suit the 
primeval Lothario, he essayed to take the rapids at a 
jump. He was seen no more, and the princess in the 
first wild throes of her grief, rushed to the brink of the 
stream that had claimed her lover, and with a wild cry 
of anguish and despair, cast, herself far out into the 
seething billows, thus completing a double tragedy that 
has given the name of Lovesick to the relentless 
W After mouching around the island for a while, we 
returned to camn for a pipe and novel and to await the 
return of the guide and Farber. After supper we 
dragged all the available driftwood to the water s edge, 
and stacking up the logs in a kind of a lean-to struc- 
ture a roaring bonfire soon illuminated the surround- 
' W islands and water for half a mile. There is always 
somSg^asckatini about a fire,, whether it be a 
ten story block burning in sardonic defiance of the 
hfro c efforts of firemen, or the little fires of leaves 
kSd by children in early autumn. Grown persons 
are drawn by some strange and irresistible force to 
contemplate the former with eager and expectant eyes 
i -st as the youth in childish glee circles around the 
atter And y so were we, as the long^ tongues of flame 
Sliot- upward from the pyramidic pyre, attracted by the 
crackling logs as they emitted huge sparks, which 
floated, off far beyond the borders of illumination. In 
the glare of the flames, nature took on a weird and 
-grotesque appearance; the trees, bathed in the lurid 
light, seemed painted by the disappearing rays of the 
setting sun, their. Titanic shadows merging in the 
gloom, while the waters of the lake shone with phos- 
phorescent brilliancy. 
That night, shortly . after we had retired, the wind 
came .. up, and gathering force with each succeeding,, 
gust, it soon took on the dimensions of a small hurri- 
cane. The trees swayed and creaked under the mighty ! 
influence; the tent strained at the ropes as though 
anxious to free itself and float away on the wings of the 
racing gale, while the waves threw themselves 
with tremendous impact upon the rocky shore. 
All night long the wind howled, and when the morn- 
i"g broke, it was still blowing. So strong were the 
gusts that it seemed rather uncertain whether we would 
be able to get breakfast or not; but Elliott, in his 
own ingenious way, soon had a wind-proof fireplace 
constructed, which enabled him to cook without mixing 
miscellaneous pieces of leaves, dead wood -and other 
inedible atoms into the food; and then we rigged up a 
wind shield for the table. After the morning meal, 
Farber, with his customary sarcasm, suggested that it 
would be a good time for Beck and me to go out on a 
sail-stretching trip; but one glance at the angry waves 
sweeping down the lake was enough to check any 
enthusiasm we may have had in that direction, and as 
it was far more comfortable inside the tent, we be- 
guiled the morning hours in a game of poker. 
There is a psychological side to poker that simply 
bafflles all attempts at explanation. The one that 
feigns the most ignorance of the game usually gets 
away with the largest stakes, and the man that plays 
most cautiously is sure to .suffer the greatest loss. And 
there was no brilliant exception to this rule that morn- 
ing. How long the game would have continued' heaven 
only knows, but it came to an abrupt end after Farber, 
who had been endeavoring for two hours to get some- 
thing better than a pair of nines, suddenly flashed three' 
queens on Elliott, who was the only one in. The latter 
said he had only two pair, and Farber in an uncon- 
trollable burst of glee, started to rake in the pot, when 
Elliott's two pair manifested themselves in the shape of 
four kings. Then Farber said he had a wife and sev- 
eral small children dependent on him at home and 
withdrew from the game. 
After dinner, Elliott and I paddled down to Burleigh 
for the mail, and on the return trip, we got in back of 
some islands, where the water was comparatively 
smooth, and managed to hook a few bass, for which 
our appetites were sharpened to a fine edge, by the 
paddle against a fierce headwind. The wind, increasing 
along toward sundown, made it dangerous to build the 
customary bonfire, so we retired to the tent for our 
evening smoke, and as we sat there puffing our pipes, 
and listening to the raging storm and the pounding qf 
the surf, some one casually mentioned the fact that he 
had noticed a number of good-sized black snakes 
crawling around the island that day, which put Elliott 
in a reminiscent mood. He said that not many years 
ago he spent a winter logging in the Georgian Bay 
district, and one night, in company with two others, 
while going down a river in a double-oared boat to 
visit another camp, the man in the bow of the boat sud- 
denly gave a low startled cry. Instinctively the other 
two rested on their oars, and directing their gaze 
toward their companion, were horrified to see two 
small green balls of fire about two feet above the 
water and not over a hundred feet away, coming 
toward them. In a flash they put the boat around, 
and straining at every nerve and muscle, they made for 
home as fast as two strong men can row, but at every 
sweep of the oars it seemed as though those glittering 
eyes were gaining on them. Fortunately their camp 
was only a few hundred feet away, and by the liveli- 
est kind of work they reached it just as the monster 
seemed to raise half his body from the water and dart 
forward in a final effort to strike the boat. 
"You can better believe," said Elliott in conclusion, 
"that we didn't lose any time in getting to the cabin, 
and we didn't come out all night again either." 
"What was it?" I asked innocently. 
"Snake!" replied Elliott, with some asperity, "and 
twenty-five feet long if he was an inch, with a body as 
big around as a young sapling." 
Now, I don't like to contradict a snake story any 
more than I do a fish story, and as I had heard Elliott 
spin that same yarn two years before, using the same 
locale and details, I recognized that to question him 
further would simply inspire within his truthful breast 
some sort of vague unrest, that, while sedulous m atten- 
tion, we were not credulous in retention. And satisfied 
that' this story had met with the profound respect due 
and accorded to old age, he again lit his pipe, actuality 
and figuratively, and gave us a few more personal 
memoirs of logging days, in the course of which he 
told what a predilection snakes had for a warm place 
on a cold night, and especially how fond they were of 
crawling in under tents and anchoring alongside the 
campers — that often he had awakened in the morning 
and found a six-foot snake reposing peacefully^ and 
unconcernedly by his side. And with such naivete did 
he relate these interesting anecdotes, that at the con- 
clusion of the entertainment, I was not quite certain 
whether I would lodge at the tent or put up at Burleigh 
Falls Hotel for the night. If that hostelry had been a 
mile or two nearer, I am reasonably sure that my 
name would have gone on the register. 
The next morning the wind continued unabated. We 
had already begun to chafe under the restraint of being 
cooped up on the island, and Beck dared me to. try out 
the lateen in the gale. I accepted the proposition, and 
Farber allowed that he would go down to see the fun. 
We towed the canoe around to the lee of the island, 
I slipped the gaff ring on to the mast pin; Farber, the 
imbecile, shoved us off, the jawhook slipped the mast, 
a puff of wind hit the sail, the main sheet was free, and 
about the most ridiculous looking craft ever seen was 
ours. That sail was carried forward and draped itself 
around the mast in loving embrace, and every time the 
wind got at it, the little canoe trembled from stem .to 
gudgeon, Finnaly Beck got it headed back to the 
island, where Farber was doubled up in a paroxysm of 
laughter. He seemed a little disappointed because we 
didlTT -cap sire? " buff barriifg that,; the prOgrarnrne was 
all that could be desired. Then we made another start, 
this time attending to the shoving off process our- 
selves, and catching the wind dead astern, we flew down 
the lake at racehorse speed. Swinging out into the 
main channel, we discovered the Ogeemah, a big lake 
steamer, bearing down on us not a hundred feet away. 
Directly in her path we laid our course, while hundreds 
of excursionists crowded forward on her decks to view 
r the race: Over the heaving billows went that canoe, 
leaping forward with the agility of a greyhound pro- 
pelled by the mighty force from the cave of yEolus, 
and at every bound she fell slap into the waves, jarring 
skipper and crew in lively fashion. A stone logging 
crib rose suddenly in Our course and seemed in grave 
danger of being split in twain, but the trained eye of the 
man at the helm, missed it by a fraction of an inch and 
110 time was lost. By it we flew, the sail bellying out in 
a mighty effort to do or die, and tugging like a demon 
. at the main sheet, which I had twisted tightly around 
my hand, not daring to snub it to the thwart lest a 
sudden gybe should knock us over. . Presently , the 
deep-throated notes of the Ogeemah's whistle re- 
sounded on the morning air. 
"What does that mean — Burleigh Falls, or get out 
of the way?" I asked, turning half around. 
"Blamed if I know," yelled the skipper, "and care 
less. Trim in on the sheet a little." 
I looked back. The Ogeemah was still a good hun- 
dred feet away. I trimmed in slightly, and the little 
craft seemed fairly to skirt the troubled bosom of the 
lake. Directly for the narrows that lead to Burleigh 
and which would mark the finish line, she poked her 
razor-edged prow in open defiance of the measured 
panting of the monster following swiftly in her wake. 
"Get ready to douse sail," yelled the skipper, as we 
drew near the narrows and prepared to hike under 
cover. "Be lively, now! Slack away! Steady, there! 
Now drop the jaw." _ And quickly he brought the little 
shell up into the wind. Down went the sail and up 
went our caps on the ends of the paddles. We had 
outstripped the fast Ogeemah. 
It took us the rest of the forenoon to paddle that 
canoe back to Squirrel Island, and after dinner it was a 
clear case of an afternoon's rest. 
It was now getting along toward the fag end of our 
camping trip, and so the. following morning (Saturday) 
we packed up and made an early start for Clear Lake, 
the scene of our last camp. The heavy wind still pre- 
vailed, but we were going with it, so it made no material 
difference. At Burleigh, of coure, we had to portage, 
and as it was down-hill work, Elliott opined that we 
might just as well do it ourselves. He said the proper 
way was for each man to put one end of the canoe on 
his shoulder and stroll down hill, and then come back 
and get the duffle. And by way of illustration, he and 
Farber started off with their canoe. So Beck and I 
tried it, and we didn't get any further. When I at last 
got one end of the canoe on my shoulder, it felt as 
though it was made of pig iron (the canoe, not the 
shoulder). We walked about ten feet — not more than 
that— and every foot seemed a mile, and when it be- 
came a case of having my collar bone sawed in two 
or my legs buckle under me, I very gently and very 
firmly refused to become a party to my own maiming 
and forthwith deposited my end of the boat on the 
rocky ground with just a little more force than ele- 
gance. When the idyllic pastime of canoeing resolves 
itself into horny-handed labor, all the gentler instincts 
of my soul rise in solemn protest. I am no Atlas. So 
when Farber and Elliott came back I said we would 
carry the duffle down — it would " necessitate two or 
three trips, but we didn't mind — we liked exercise — and 
they could tote the canoes. 
An hour or so was spent at Burleigh taking snaps 
at the scenery and schnapps at the hotel, and then we 
shoved off for Clear Lake. Going down the splendid 
reach of water that stretches from Burleigh to Stony 
Lake, by stepping a paddle well forward and bending a 
raincoat over it, we were able to skim along faster 
than our companions could paddle. Farber said, why 
not use the sail, but we had no consuming passion for 
breaking out a lateen rig with a boat full of provisions. 
In Clear Lake, however, we bucked into the nastiest 
sea ever experienced by any of us. The waves were 
rolling in long, foam-crested combers, and the wind 
was making it lively for everything it could reach. 
And for the first time in my life, the charms and 
pleasures of canoeing did not appear to me as they had 
so often done before. It is all very well to float gently 
and lazily along the winding course of some romantic 
stream 'neath the great overhanging trees, whose inter- 
lacing branches cast fairy shadows in the pellucid 
waters; it is all very well to dip your paddle non- 
chalantly by the side of the canoe and feel the bark 
glide forward as though propelled by some unseen 
power, but it is quite another thing to be out in the 
middle of a lake with the water boiling all around you 
and every other wave climbing into your lap. You 
glance at the landscape and pick out some object by 
which to mark the progress of the boat. You paddle 
industriously for ten minutes and ten look around to 
see how far you have gone, and you find yourself still 
abreast the mark. Then you look back at the man in 
the stern, as much as to say, "Well, what's the mat- 
ter with your working a little?" And the only response 
you get from him is advice in no uncertain language 
to face about and dig in. Half the time, as you dip 
your paddle, it sinks into the great trough of the sea, 
and the lurch you give nearly upsets the canoe. It is 
like going upstairs in the dark and forgetting where the 
last step is, your foot suddenly plumps down with 
great force and you clutch wildly at the nearest thing 
to save yourself. . 
Somewhat in this manner, and by dint of hard work, 
we slowly made our way across Clear Lake and ran 
the noses of the canoes upon the sandy beach. And 
here, on the grassy plot of an eminence overlooking 
the lake, near the blackened ruins of what was once 
a handsome cottage, we pitched the tent for the last 
camp of our outing. A few yards away a sparkling 
spring scintillated in the sunlight, and for the first time 
in a week we' enjoyed the luxury of a cold drink. 
