July 8, 1905.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
2S 
But it matters as little how we get there as it does 
whether we start at Blue Mountain Lake or at some 
other lake in the circle. If we do, however, make this 
lake our starting point, it will be enjoyable to go in 
by the stage route and out by the boat, or vice versa. 
Then a day can be given to climbing Blue Mountain, 
from which a splendid view of the lake region is at- 
tainable, and all this time is most enjoyably spent, 
without reference to the trip before us. A good guide 
must be procured. The guides are members of an as- 
sociation. They may be engaged at the rate of $3 
a day, besides their board and lodging. The guide 
furnishes the guide-boat without extra cost. The best 
arrangement calls for one guide for each member of 
the party, thus allowing two people to each boat, al- 
though two people may accompany a single guide with 
but slightly less comfort. 
From Blue Mountain Lake, a start is made by a six- 
mile drive, with the boat along on the wagon, to Long 
Lake, to the dock at the Grove House. Put the boat 
in the water here, yourself and luggage in the boat, and 
you are off for the water trip. Long Lake is twelve 
miles in length and empties into the Racquette River. 
Mid-day should find you midway upon the lake, travel- 
ing north. Lunch is eaten from the pack-basket, as it 
is best to push on rapidly through this thinly settled 
country. You should get eight miles up the Racquette 
River by nightfall, where the guide shoulders the boat 
for a mile and a half on land, around the falls, to the 
Racquette Falls House. This is the only house within 
a ten-mile radius and affords a welcome haven for the 
first night out. 
The second day takes us to the famous Saranacs. 
Let us not go into too much detail. We turn east across 
the foot of Upper Saranac Lake, row through Round 
Lake and the length of Lower Saranac. Nightfall over- 
takes us here, and we may find it convenient to stop 
at one of the hotels in the village, a short distance back 
of the lake. The Ampersand at the head of the Lake 
welcomes us, if we care for its magnificence. 
If time allows, an interesting diversion for the next 
day may be arranged by leaving our boat behind and 
taking the train to Lake Placid, where we may hire a 
boat, explore the lake and climb Whiteface Moun- 
tain, to enjoy the commanding view of faraway 
Keene Valley, and of the high range of the Adiron- 
dack Mountains. Lake Placid is one of the most 
beautiful of all lakes, and its neighboring heights com- 
mand the grandest of mountain views. All of the high 
eastern peaks, including that noble trio. Haystack, Sky- 
light, and cloud-splitting Marcy, and the rugged slides 
and lofty summits of the Gothics are unveiled by the 
uplifting clouds. If we do not need to hurry, we may 
well spend a couple of days at Lake Placid. 
Upon returning to Lower Saranac Lake, place the 
boat upon the early train for Paul Smith’s Station, and 
from there drive four miles over to the St. Regis Lakes 
in time for breakfast. A big day’s journey is in pros- 
pect, so row quickly through the beautiful St. Regis 
Lakes and through Lake Clear. Here you will be met 
by a team and a boat-wagon, for which you must tele- 
phone ahead from the St. Regis Lakes. Four miles 
of an excellent road leads to Saranac Inn, at the head 
of Upper Saranac Lake. After dining here, board the 
Lake Steamer, for it is nine miles down the lake to 
Wawbeek Lodge, and advantage may well be taken of 
this quicker method. Wawbeek Lodge is at the foot 
of the lake just above where you first saw the lake 
two days before, on the way to Lower Saranac. Con- 
sequently, at Wawbeek Lodge the first circle of lakes 
is completed. Now branch off to the west upon a 
three-mile carry to the Racquette River, and follow it 
about eight miles toward Big Tupper Lake. A friendly 
farm house offers a night’s rest, a welcome shelter in- 
deed, for forty-seven miles has been traveled since 
dawn. 
The next day is spent in. rowing through the wild 
waters of Big Tupper Lake, the roughest lake in the 
whole region, in laboring under the short rows and 
longer carries at the end, and finally reaching Little 
Tapper Lake where it is necessary to spend the night. 
Here a kindly hospitality may be offered at the cottages 
of Mr. William C. Whitney; there is no other settle- 
ment within a half day’s journey. The following day is 
pretty well taken up with getting back from Little 
Tupper to Long Lake by a route, due east, of lakes 
and carries. A five-mile carry must be made upon this 
trip, and lucky you are if you can get a wagon to help 
you out. At Long Lake is completed the second circle, 
in the wildest, least settled section of the Adirondacks. 
• From Long Lake the course lies southward, through 
Forked Lake and Racquette Lake, into the historic 
Fulton Chain, which is reached by a row of four miles 
in and out of the mazes of Brown’s Tract Inlet. With 
carries between Lakes, proceed from Eighth Lake to 
Fourth Lake, where the night should be spent. The 
scenery of Big Moose Lake which is reached about 
noon the next day is so unusually beautiful that it will 
repay one to rest here a half day, preparatory to a long 
jaunt homeward. Doubtless there are prettier lakes 
than Big Moose, but we know not where to find them 
in this whole western half of the incomparable Adiron- 
dack mountains. The trip home by way of numerous 
ponds, stretches due east, to Racquette Lake. Well 
does memory recall the trip from Big Moose Lake to 
Racquette Lake. One of the carries is three miles 
long, over a mountain, and through a woods so thick 
that the boat can scarcely turn between the trees. 
Fallen logs to climb over and swamps to wade through 
add spice to the monotony of the carry. It is doubt- 
less late when you finally reach Racquette Lake, and it 
may be well to board the steamer for Blue Mountain 
Lake, whence the start was made some eight days 
before. 
Dry reading to the uninitiated is such a narravite. But 
does it not suggest some new ideas for vacation time. 
A man will take more kindly to such a trip than will 
a woman, although the gentler sex by no means find it 
a hard earned pleasure. No man who wants the real 
benefit of the trip should avoid the initial understand- 
ing with his guide that he intends to do his share of the 
work. Half the rowing and half the carrying are to be 
his share. _ The Guides’ Association has established 
horse carries, and it is expected that they will be used. 
Almost every long carry has upon it a boat-wagon and 
team. This is a great convenience to the traveler, al- 
though it adds to the expense of a somewhat costly 
trip. Perhaps ten to twelve dollars a day may be an 
outside estimate of the expense from start to finish of 
the tour of the lakes. So much is this Adirondack 
region patronized by tourists that all of the hotels have 
separate houses for the accommodation of guides, who 
pass through for half rates. Not so with the tourists. 
We recall entering the beautiful dining doom of Sara- 
nac Inn, in our mud-stained clothes and flannel garb and 
feeling quite at home, so used are the guests to the 
unconventional attire of tourists. 
A hint or two as to how to prepare for the guide- 
boat trip may not be amiss. To be unburdened, carry no 
■* clothing excepting perhaps a woolen sweater. The 
guide’s pack-basket is taken along to hold little articles, 
a few compact provisions for emergencies, and a few 
yards of rubber or oil-cloth sheeting to throw over 
one’s self in case of rain. So conveniently are the 
hotels situated among the lakes that articles likely to 
be needed may at the start be mailed to hotels en route, 
self addressed and marked “to be called for.” It is 
very important that hardly anything else should be 
carried along excepting a small kodak. Better leave 
everything else behind, but by all means carry a kodak. 
There are numerous trips a little • different where 
luggage is necessary. If the intention were to camp 
out, stopping a few days at each of various places, or 
to spend time in fishing, it would be necessary to carry 
more baggage. Fishing in the Adirondacks is not much 
pleasure late in the season; June is the last month 
for good fishing. And fishing on a touring trip is 
only availed of by those who have much time. Camp- 
ing may be enjoyable, but it is much apart from tour- 
ing and would be only a hardship if not an absolute im- 
possibility, where there is so much ground to cover. 
It is because camping is unnecessary in the Adiron- 
dacks that our trip is so admirably adapted to afford 
pleasure to those who do not wish too much to rough 
it. However, every method has its advocates, and each 
may suit himself. H. C. G. Barnaby. 
Naw York city. 
Expense incurred in a trip actually made by the author, 
starting Saturday morning and returning the following 
Saturday evening — one man and guide : 
Guide $24 
Hotel bills 28 
Boat carries ’. 20 
Carriage rides over carries 6 
Extras • 7 
$8s 
The cost would be greater if a circle were not com- 
pleted as the guide would have to be paid for his time 
and the carries in returning. 
The distance covered was 215 miles, of which 128 miles 
was traveled by rowboat and we carried our boat twenty- 
five miles. Of the balance, we used horse carries for 
twenty-seven miles, the steamer on Upper Saranac for 
nine miles and the railroad from Lower Saranac to Paul 
Smith’s for twenty-six miles. T. C. G. Barnaby. 
Floating Down the Mississippi. 
The Ice Ron Out. 
When I reached Rosedale most of my revolver 
cartridges — .38-40 — had been used up in practice, of 
which some river tales had made me feel in need. My 
companions were individuals about whom there might be 
said to exist, as the judge says in an excise case, a “rea- 
sonable doubt.” They were perfectly friendly with me, 
but with each other they were on vicious terms of intoler- 
ance. They agreed to separate at Rosedale, but the boat 
was in both their names. The Medicine Man had no 
money, and complained to me that the Gambler had 
beaten him in purchasing the boat at Paducah. The 
Gambler was reticent in regard to the deal, saying that 
it was a matter of business with him, as an explanation 
of the Medicine Man’s open accusations. The Medicine 
Man claimed to have furnished the money which went 
into the boat and its furnishing. This was denied by the 
Gambler. It was at Rosedale, when I learned these de- 
tails, that I heard some further things in regard to my 
companions. My notes heretofore were superficial as re- 
gards the hearts of the river people, and all that I knew 
of them were fragments of the “home” and of the 
“present.” I had not been close enough to any of them 
to get their confidence, and hear the details of their plans. 
They would talk freely in response to questions, but not 
spontaneously— Mrs. Haney told me she had a hundred 
dollars or so on her boat, but she was uneasy the mo- 
ment she_ spoke of her past life, and of her family she 
said nothing. I had to learn weeks later that one of her 
daughters was a noted river girl of the most independent 
and bravest sort— a girl adapted to her environment of 
river pirates, desperadoes and storeboat folks. No river 
man, drunk or sober, would venture to impose on that 
daughter of Mrs. Haney. She was of the Amazon type, 
of which type many stories are told regarding their tak- 
ing unloving husbands by the nape of the neck and slack 
of the trousers to throw them overboard. 
However, I was getting an insight of river life, travel- 
ing v/ith a gambler and a confidential medicine man. So 
I went up town at Rosedale and bought a box of cart- 
ridges and kept my revolver handy on my hip during 
most of the next two weeks, because appearances indi- 
cated the wisdom of the precaution. It was a mile up 
town, most of the way along a levee, on one side of 
which was a lumber yard and a public highway was on 
the other. I bought the cartridges of Rice, a burly big 
man, who said he couldn’t .see much of interest for a 
man to write about there. Two minutes later he was paw- 
ing the air vehemently as regards politics and negroes. 
The Gambler wanted to get into a game of cards in 
town, and half an hour after going up he located the 
“club room.” Binding that it was a swell affair he in- 
vested $15 of his $90 in a new suit of clothes and bought 
a No. 14 celluloid collar with an opening in front like a 
“policeman’s solid comfort.” As his neck was four 
inches long, and a No. ii collar would have surrounded 
It, the weather beaten cowboy was a remarkable looking 
“swell” to say the least. 
“What do you think of this?” he asked me, kicking out 
one bony leg in its flapping cover. I said, truthfully, 
that it changed his appearance marvellously, after the 
river corduroy garments. He bought a hat, too, and 
went jauntily up town to the club to make an impression. 
He succeeded. 
In the meantime the river ice was coming. Day by day 
we heard that the ice flow out of the Ohio had come 
down to Hickman, New Madrid, Memphis, Helena and 
Friars Point. It was a remarkable thing to know that 
a vast mass of broken ice was swooping down the river 
hundreds of miles up stream, but would inevitably come 
to Rosedale. The cabin boaters ran into the eddies, and 
hugged the banks, tying in, and studying the drift, trying 
to make out whether the stuff would strike the boat 
heavily enough to damage it. We did as the others did. 
Our boat was run into a sort of pocket, into which the 
drift could not come. 
The river was rising steadily, and each morning we 
took in the slack of the lines, and pulled the boat fur- 
ther into the pocket, and were finally safely sheltered 
arnong some small tree tops, over submerged brush. In 
mid stream a snaky line of drift gradually widened into 
a wonderfully broad mass of timber, brush and other 
flotsam. This was flecked with white — the advance of 
the ice. It was awe-inspiring to see the amount of ice 
increase hour by hour, and know that it would continue 
to increase to an unimaginable fleet. 
On the afternoon of Feb. i there was a cessation of 
the drift flow, scarcely any appearing. Night came on 
with the river almost clear. I wondered if it was the 
end of the pack, and felt disappointed, thinking the ice 
which had been tearing coal barges and steamboats loose 
of the upper river must have melted. I went to sleep 
early that night. Toward morning I was awakened by a 
dull roar. It was a strange sound, broken by intervals 
of sharp rasping noises while the boat quivered and 
jarred heavily at times. 
Only half awake I did not know what was the matter. 
The sounds were not ominous to me, and I soon went to 
sleep. Later one of my mates awakened me by step- 
ping over my hammock, going to the stern of the boat. 
He said something in a low voice and the Medicine Man 
answered by springing out of bed. Thereupon I strug- 
gled out of the canvas hammock bag and went to the 
stern to see what was the matter. 
A gray mist was over the river, and the gloom of 
night enshrouded all but the near scene. The surface 
of the water was slightly luminous, and the down-stream 
current was only twenty feet distant. Gn this we could 
see gray masses darting past, while in the eddy were 
whirling chunks equally gray and ghastly. The air 
seemed dragged by the floating stuff, for we could feel 
currents as though the jagged onrushing surface was 
tearing the still atmosphere. We took a look at the side 
of the boat, whence came the scraping noises- and found 
that the stuff was banked against it, but not dangerously. 
Returning to bed we awaited daylight, which came an 
hour or so later. 
A marvellous change had taken place. The gray mass 
was a river full of ice. It reached almost from bank to 
bank, and, because the mass was involatile, the spectacle 
was one of irresistible power. Hard, grinding, gloomy 
and rushing on at the rate of six miles an hour, I can 
imagine no more impressive spectacle than this of the 
running ice in the Mississippi. The sounds it made were 
thunderous. There were constantly appearing evidences 
of the terrific force being exerted. Trees went by which 
had been torn in two. Fragments of barges and cabin 
boats were visible frpm the bank with the naked eye. 
Moreover, the edges of the ice cakes were rounded off 
and the rims forced up so that they were saucer-shaped 
on top. 
Out in the center of the floe there were visible the ef- 
fects of the awful crushing to which the whole mass was 
being subjected by its own power. The edges of ice 
cakes heaved up and vast beams sometimes were cramped 
and made to stand on end like logs in a broken jam. 
Tragedy was there, too. We were told that an old 
fisherrnan had started to cross the river up the stream a 
few miles on the previous night. After a time his cries 
were heard off Rosedale, and still more cries. Appar- 
ently he was being carried down stream. He disappeared 
and, although we were at Rosedale for many days after- 
ward, no word came from him. The cabin boats, four 
of which were seen passing in one day, may have con- 
tained the corpses of whole families for all we knew. 
Many a river man has lost his life in the Mississippi ice 
and drift — and no one knew the difference until the buz- 
zard-mangled corpse was found thrown up on a sand bar, 
if it was known at all. 
There was one break in the flowing of the ice which 
lasted several hours. It was then said that the “ice had 
sunk,” but it resumed, with the size of the cakes larger 
and the steadiness of the flow more regular. With the 
second mass fine logs began to appear close to the bank, 
and the Medicine Man turned drifter for a time, catching 
a few logs which he swung in by means of a small rope 
and a skiff. _ A short, lean and sharp wedge tied to the 
rope was driven into the top of the log and then violent 
rowing toward the shore brought the log slowly to the 
bank, where it was tied to other logs or to big ropes. I 
helped get a couple of logs in this fashion, and found the 
work exceedingly exciting, for at times the ice crowded 
around us, and once nearly swept us against the side of a 
cabin boat, threatening to crush our skiff. 
The cabin boat belonged to a widow and her daughter. 
She had been a widow nearly ten days, and she was 
penniless. The boat was only a foot clear of the cur- 
rent, and every once in a while a projecting log or cake 
of ice would pound along the boat in a fashion that was 
frightful. The Medicine Man and I, having escaped, 
rowed up past the boat in an interval of open water, 
going to our boat. We had little more than landed wheri 
there was a scream from the landing below, and ten sec- 
onds later half a dozen of us were fighting to save the 
widow’s cabin boat from the ice that a shift in the cur- 
rent had hurled against it. We succeeded, and when a 
lull came, towed the boat up to a safer eddy. 
A trapper had left a little boat in charge of the widow 
with injunctions to sell it if possible. The little boat was 
fifteen or sixteen feet long and seven wide, but it was a 
