Apml 8, 1905.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
f 279 
non-shipment of shad in South Carolina. While classi- 
fying this fish as fercE natures, his bringing it within 
the interstate commerce clause of the Constitution is a 
new and seemingly dangerous principle, as pointed out 
above. 
The Bangor Salmon Pool, 
Bangor, Me., March 31. — Editor Forest and' Stream: 
In the closing days of the session the game law bill as 
outlined in my last letter became a law, and now those 
iion-residents who wish to shoot squirrels, rabbits, foxes, 
bears, deer, moose and feathered game, or other wild birds 
or animals cannot think of undertaking it until provided 
with a license tO' "fit the crime." This will rejoice non- 
residents in the main, as they will thus be permitted to 
carry home a handsome bunch of birds, a total of thirty 
being permitted if they can find the birds. Probably there 
will be no difficulty about locating the grouse as long as 
the supply lasts, but the average big-game hunter will 
find it less easy to secure his complement of woodcock, 
unless he shall devote his whole attention to that branch 
of field sport. Of ducks it is but necessary to get on the 
right feeding grounds, and an abundant supply is assured. 
To-day at 11 o'clock in the forenoon a man crossed on 
the ice bridge less than a quarter of a mile below the 
highway bridge across the Penobscot, when, as far as the 
eye could see, there was an unbroken field of ice stretch- 
ing up river to the salmon pool two miles away, and 
down as far as High Head and beyond. Less than an 
hour later the whole field broke up, and in another hour 
there was clear water flowing between Bangor and 
Brewer, with the grinding, crunching, heaving ice cakes 
just passing out of sight around the distant bend at High 
Head, two miles below. The going out of the ice is not 
of itself of much interest to the average sportsman, were 
it not for the fact that this means the opening of the 
Bangor salmon pool on time, with the legal opening of 
the sea salmon fishing — a season which in Maine lasts 
until the fifteenth of September, the latest date at which 
salmon may be caught with hook and line. 
There is general joy among the early enthusiasts at this 
promise of freedom from ice in the very first of the fish- 
ing, and alreadv one of the most skillful as well as one 
of the most enthusiastic of the local salmon anglers — an 
amateur in the best sense of the word, although by no 
means a novice — has his boat on the shore, ready for the 
first chance to cast after the early fish. Indeed, his was 
the first boat to arrive at the pool, although before morn- 
ing — the season opens legally April i- — the several boats 
of the market-fishermen will doubtless be there to prevent 
any lonesomeness on the part of the first arrival. 
A general impression of great hopefulness prevails 
among the salmon-casters this spring, possibly from the 
fact that the season of 1904 was unusually unfruitful, and 
it is confidently expected that this coming season will de- 
velop a greater list of successful strikes than the records 
showed for last year. The wee small hours will find the 
fishermen tumbling out of warm beds and growling at the 
mud as they make their way to the pool, there to sit, 
wrapped in heavy clothing as circumstances will permit, 
while they angle for one of these mighty fish- that fre- 
quent the Penobscot River. Though they may spend 
days^yes, and even weeks — on the watch for a strike, 
when they do^ land a specimen of the king of game fish 
they are abundantly repaid for all the discomfort ahd 
many disappointments that have bestrewed the way. 
If some fish are taken in the early days of April, as is 
not uncommonly the case, they are likely to be fish that 
came up the river on an early run, perhaps in March, and 
perhaps as early as January, and have simply been wait- 
ing for clear water to allow them to get up and over the 
dam. The high tides incidental to the full of the moon 
are argued by many of the older anglers to best serve the 
salmon in leaping the dam (they are said to almost never 
pass through the Bangor fishway), and as the highest of 
April tides do not serve until the 19th, then may the first 
effective run of salmon be anticipated. By that time the 
pool is sure to be well covered with boats, and if the 
same beautiful, warm and delightful weather hold that 
has prevailed for the past fortnight, there will be a good 
many fishermen on hand very early in the month. Last 
year the first fish was not taken the first day, although 
as a usual thing it is that way. 
One of the recent interesting events in Bangor was the 
arrival of the famous Canadian poacher, Pete La Fon- 
taine, whom the Maine authorities have long wanted, i It 
may be remembered by readers of Forest and Stream 
that this man was among the most notorious of the vio- 
lators of the game laws, and that no warden had ever 
been able to catch him in his camp, or if so catching him, 
to make an arrest on account of his swiftness in the use 
of his rifle. He had threatened to shoot on sight any 
warden sent after him, according to local reports, and so 
a certain warden, one of two sent after him, walked into 
his hut with a revolver loaded and aimed, to make sure 
of his quarry. Excitement, fear of the other's quickness, 
or some other emotion, led him to fire as soon as he en- 
tered the door, and La Fontaine fell back wounded, it 
was thought mortally. As the Canadian settlements were 
nearer and he begged to be taken there for treatment, 
the wounded man was hauled out on a hand-sled to 
where better means of travel were available. His won- 
derful physique stood him in good stead, and he didn't 
die, but lived to go back into Maine and gather up his 
traps, and, he claims, forsake forever the Maine woods 
for hunting and trapping. Hearing that he was again 
at his old tricks, the authorities sent two wardens up to 
patrol the border and look particularly for this man, who 
was finally caught in the middle of the St. John River, 
where he had come to get a pail of water. Unarmed he 
was at their mercy, and quietly submitted to arrest and 
the trip to Bangor, where he faced the local court for 
trial for a long list of vioiations of the laws of the State. 
It is claimed that he produced an alleged accurate record 
of all his violations in Maine, showing where and when 
he had taken or shot each of his trophies in a long career. 
Compromising on a fine of $200 and costs, on condition 
that he should be sentenced on the remaining counts 
against him if the authorities .find him again trapping or 
hunting on this side of the invisible boundary, he was 
set free. Although he says that he is entirely recovered 
from the wound that before made him a prisoner and per- 
mitted him to regain as a dying man the shelter of the 
Canadian side, yet he is by no means the rugged, endur- 
ing woodsman who defied the Maine authorities in years 
gone by. Herbert W. Rowe. 
A Voyage to the Golden Cape. 
July 19 to Sept. J3, 1904. 
BY BROOKS H. WELLS. 
Istar was designed and built by the Greenport Basin 
and Construction Company. She was described and pic- 
tured in the Forest and Stream for March 21, 1903. 
She is designed to be 41ft. 3in: over all, 29ft. on the 
waterline, has an extreme breadth of loft., and draws 
6ft. with 8,000 pounds of lead on her keel. She is rigged 
as a yawl with double headsail, and carries a topsail on a 
pole mast. Her construction is unusually strong. She 
is framed in oak and planked with cedar. There is 6ft. 
head room in her main cabin, where there are two berths. 
Forward of the cabin is a roomy gahey and toilet room, 
and in the bow a berth for a man. Aft in the steerage 
is a berth on the starboard, and closets to port. She has 
proved herself a very comfortable, able cruiser. On the 
present trip the skipper carried a man, John Johnson, 
and two friends. Dr. M. and Vincent J. After these two 
left* the ship at Bar Harbor, their places were taken by 
two of the skipper's daughters, who sailed down the 
coast, around the Cape, and home. The total distance 
sailed on this cruise was 1,562 nautical miles. 
Istar had slid across the sea from Greenport to Hyan- 
nis, around the Cape and up the coast to Boothbay, by 
Whitehead, over the West Penobscot Bay to the whistle 
off Fox Island Thoroughfare, and down through Lead- 
better's Narrows and Hurricane Sound by devious rocky 
ways to the isolated fishing village of Carver's Harbor. 
Here, at the outermost edge of the Penobscot group of 
islands, the waves of a cold, gray ocean roll in and break 
sullenly upon the cold, gray granite rocks that thrust 
themselves menacingly above its fog-swept surface. 
Where the rock slopes face the south, and wherever there 
is some protection, cling gray, yellow-green patches of 
discouraged- looking grass. Little, twisted, scrubby 
cedars, with gnarled roots like gripping fingers, hold fast 
to the rock crevices. An arm of a larger islet curves 
about a tiny bay, m.aking a landlocked basin, and at its 
edge the few forlorn houses nestle as if crouching to 
avoid the ocean gales and fearful of the desolate isolation. 
At no other spot along this coast is the feeling and pic- 
ture of desolation so marked. We lay snugly in the little 
harbor all night, our feeling of security and comfort be- 
ing, curiously intensified by the constant growling of the 
surf outside, and the shrill piping of the wind through 
onr rigging. 
In the morning (July 31) we found a clear day and 
fine fresh south wind. At 8 :30, under four lowers and a 
working topsail, we went out by Diamond Rock, south 
of Isle au Haut, and inside of Long Island by Cranberry 
Passage to Winter Harbor. The wind was fresh, and at 
times almost a gale, blowing the spray in little white 
clouds from the wave crests, but running free we man- 
aged tO' hang on to everything, and with backstays taut 
as harp strings, rushed along on our course, making the 
forty-nine sea miles to Winter Harbor in a little less 
than seven hours. The sailing was a bit strenuous, but 
glorious. 
From Winter Harbor we ran up the next day over a 
big round swell, and with a moderate south wind and 
light fog to the cove at Jonesport. Jonesport is a forlorn 
little outpost on Moosabec Reach, which is a useful water- 
i/y^ay, }>pt pip1:v}j-e§q«f PrI^ W narne, August 2 calin 
and foggy, and as a matter of prudence it would have 
been wiser to have remained at anchor, buti the spirit of 
unrest pushed us on. Drifting with the last of the 
morning ebb and a scarcely felt light air, we went out 
south of Mark Island, hoping to get far enough seaward 
to catch the three-knot flood through Grand Manan 
channel. -^^J 
A few miles beyond Mark Island the wind failed com- 
pleteh^, and the huge swells from the stiff southerly winds 
of the previous week set tts so rapidly and danger&usly 
near the black, foam-covered teeth of the eastern ledges 
that we actually wished we had an engine. The skipper 
and John got out the dinghy at the end of a tow-line, 
and with muscle in place of gasolene managed to turn 
Istar's head so that her stern was toward the seas, and 
to_ guide her through a narrow way between the breaking 
of the" ledges and so along and into Roque Harbor. 
Englishman Bay is an indentation somewhat similar in 
extent to Frenchman's Bay. In its center is a cluster of 
rocky, bold, densely wooded islands, which form the 
nearly complete circle of Roque Harbor, a basin three- 
fourths of a mile in diameter and rock-bound, except 
along its northwestern side, where the woods run down 
to a smooth beach of yellow sand. About it there is no 
sign of human presence other than a solitary fish-trap 
jutting out from its western shore. Its woods are fra- 
grant with balsam and birch. Needle-carpeted, broad 
paths lead through the tangled depths of the forest. Here 
we spent the day wandering in the wood or on the shore 
basking in the sunshine and watching the fog clouds float 
over the outer islands, while in the thickness to seaward 
the Libby Island fog signal shrieked its hoarse warning. 
For those who appreciate the beauties of solitude, this is 
an ideal anchorage. 
The next morning, after the usual icy plunge, a leisurely 
breakfast and an hours basking in the still sunshine 
watching the fog wreaths drift over the harbor mouth 
and thin and vanish in its warmer air, a little zephyr blew in 
from W.S.W. At 10:30 A. M. Istar slowly made her 
way by Lakeman's Island to the eastward. The zephyr 
failed, and then the wind came in light from ahead. 
There was a blue, rippling sea, and bracing, cool air, but 
for all that the wind failed again at the point by Cutler's, 
so that a tow-line and a vigorous use of white ash was 
necessary to get into harbor before the swift ebb begin- 
ning to pour out from Fundy through the Grand Manan 
Channel should sweep us seaward. 
Again the day came with calm and fog. At 9 A. M. 
started eastward with the first of the flood. Outside a 
little air helped the three-knot current, and at noon, when 
a mile past Quoddy whistle, and well into Canadian 
waters, we ran sharply out of the grayness into a lovely 
clear summer day, and across a shining, silvery water 
by the Green Wolf to Beaver Harbor. Again at the turn 
of the tide the fickle wind deserted us, and the white ash 
carried us the half mile up to the anchorage. We found 
a berth close in on the western side among a bunch of 
fishermen, by whom Istar was much admired. 
The harbor is a mildly picturesque, oval basin bounded 
by low, fir-covered rocky hills from the southeastern side 
to where a little cluster of square, weather-beaten houses 
with pointed roofs, a conple of wharves and a field of 
fish flakes nestle under the shadow of a tall cliff, a rocky 
buttress from whose summit is a wide view over the land 
and across to the Nova Scotia shore. 
Many delicate wild flowers, fragile bluebells and o-xalis 
clmg to the crevices of the cliff face, and the landward 
side IS brilliant with the scarlet of the bunchberry. To- 
ward the village, close in under the cliff, a small craft 
gets protection from all winds. There are no stores and 
no provisions can be bought. 
During the next four days the fog and calm continued, 
but by takmg advantage of the tides we had groped our 
way to St. John, and now had been drifting from morn- 
mg until nearly midnight on a glassy, leaden, melancholy 
expanse some eight miles to seaward of Partridge Island, 
off the mouth of St. John River. 
At midnight, when the skipper came on deck for his 
watch, he found that the exasperating calms and teasing, 
fickle airs of the seven previous days had gone, for Istar 
was driving along before a fresh W.S.W. wind. There 
was the promise of a good blow, the barometer was fall- 
ing rapidly, the night was dark and cloudy, with scat- 
tered banks of fog. As we rushed along through the 
darkness over the growing sea, there was the usual little 
sparkle of phosphorescence from our wake. At i :3o A 
M. the horfzon ahead became clearly defined by a line of 
light, and soon we had sailed into a marvelous and 
weirdly beautiful sea of fire— the most impressive incident 
of the whole cruise. The entire extent of the horizon was 
clearly defined as a circle of licxht. There was everywhere 
a ghostly, pale, greenish luminosity. The crests of the 
breakmg seas, the lesser ripples and our pathway were 
shivering lines of white fire. Our faces looked round- 
eyed and pallid in the unearthly radiance, and every spar 
and line, sail, seam and reef point stood clearly revealed 
against the inky blackness above. It was a most won- 
derful display. The watch below were waked and called 
on deck. John, who had sailed since boyhood from the 
tropics to the polar oceans, had never seen anything te 
compare with it, and admitted, with the rest of us that it 
piade Jiiro fe^ a bit creepy^ ' ^? . -^•■n 
