July 29, 1905,] 
They reached camp the evening of the second day 
after that, the Professor stiff, sore, his flesh as tender 
as a baby’s, and Pete talked to us worse than he did to 
the Chink every time he saw us grinning at the 
stranger, who did not know on which foot to limp. 
E. E. B. 
[to be concluded.] 
Camping in the Mississaga Region 
It would be difficult to find a wilder and less explored 
region than tlie land for 200 miles along the shores of 
the Mississaga River. A canoe trip down that river 
starts north of the watershed at Winnebago, on the main 
line o-f the Canadian Pacific Railway, and thence runs 
south to Lake Huron. A few miles after leaving Winne- 
l)ago, which is absolutely wild, not having even a single 
settler’s shack, a great forest reserve of 3,000 square 
miles is reached. In this reserve no one may build (un- 
less it be a fishing and hunting camp), and no clearing of 
the timber can be done. Only the ripe timber will be cut, 
and that under the supervision of Government officials. 
For 200 miles there is no habitation along the river. Then, 
a few miles before reaching beautiful Lake Waquekobing, 
an odd settler’s house can be seen from the banks. Half 
of these are now deserted as the wild country has been 
found to be hardly fit for agriculture. Our illustration 
on page loi is a typical bit of forest and stream in that 
Mississaga region, which for boldness of outline and 
infinite variety of scenery is unexcelled. 
The camp in the picture is at the spot at the Narrows 
of Lake Minnesinaqua, where that peculiar fish, the red 
pike of the Mississaga, and the great Salvelinus namay- 
ciish abound in greater numbers than anywhere else on 
the route. On either side of the river the country is ab- 
solutely unexplored, except such exploration as was 
necessary in running the boundary line of the great forest 
reserve. A day’s journej' by canoe beyond the reserve 
will bring the tourist to Aubrey Falls, 165 feet high, and 
then follows swift water, in which fifty-nine rapids are 
“run” in one day. This feature above all others is des- 
tined to make the Mississaga canoe trip popular. An- 
other most important feature of this great trip is that its 
beginning is taken direct from the railway train at the 
upper end, and the train is again easily reached at the 
other end. There is no weary poling up stream, except 
a short day’s paddle up the Winnebago to its source at 
the commencement of the trip. A further great con- 
sideration, particularly to the men who- are putting on 
weight, is that the portages are comparatively easy. 
There is never more of this work than is sufficient to 
give variety to the day’s occupation. 
Lewis WetzeFs Fjintlock. 
Morgantown, W. Va. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
There has recently been received at this place what is 
perhaps one of the most interesting relics of pioneer days 
in existence, and is the property of Mr. H. Maxwell, 
historian and editor of the Morgantown Chronicle. It 
is the old rifle used by the great scout and Indian fighter, 
Lewis Wetzel, with whose exploits all who are interested 
in pioneer history are familiar. It is the rifle w'hich was 
carried by him in his solitary raids through the Indian 
country. The arm remains as it was when he used it 
except that the flint lock has been replaced by a percus- 
sion lock. The barrel is now^ fort3'--tw'0 and a half inches 
in length, but has probablj^ been cut off at the breech at 
the time of making the change to the percussion, and 
with its great clumsj' full stock w'ould seem now to be a 
very burdensome weapon tO' carry through the woods, 
fl'he initials of the great scout, L. W., can be plainly seen 
on the barrel, and there is a very noticeable gash cut 
in the barrel which it is said was done by the tomahawk 
of an Indian at the time Wetzel had a hand to hand en- 
counter with one of the three Indians which he killed at 
one time in a running fight. 
This was the gun which the Indians declared was al- 
ways loaded, owing to the fact that Wetzel had learned 
to load his gun while running at full speed, and was 
thereby able to wipe out several pursuing Indians in a 
single race. We do not know that this feat was ac- 
credited to any other of the early-day Indian fighters, and 
considering the weight and length of the gun, the man- 
ner of loading and the nature of the race, when chased 
through the woods by savages, it was indeed a feat which 
excites our admiration. 
' Born about 1764, Wetzel came upon the stage of action 
right in the thickest of Indian hostilities in what is now 
West Virginia, where the Wetzels moved in 1772. When 
his father was killed by the Indians in 1787 Lewis and 
his four brothers swore eternal vengeance on the Indians, 
and the life of Lewis especially was thereafter devoted to 
tlie execution of that vow. He has well been called the 
“Boone of West Virginia,” and we West Virginians feel 
more than a passing interest in his life and exploits. 
Many incidents of his life are recorded, but no doubt 
others which have never been written would fill a large 
volume of most interesting reading. One story will 
serve to show the fearless man he was. 
In 1786 the Indians became so troublesome in the 
[neighborhood of Wheeling that a subscription was made 
up and $100 was offered to the man wdio wmuld bring in 
the first Indian scalp. A company of about twenty, 
among whom was Wetzel, started early in August to in- 
vade the Indian settlements to inflict punishment upon 
ihem for their depredations. The advance scouts discov- 
ered a camp of Indians far too numerous for them to 
attack. A consultation was held and an immediate re- 
treat was determined upon. During the conference 
Wetzel sat upon a log with his gun resting across his 
knees. When the party started in hasty retreat they 
noticed Wetzel still sitting on the log, and asked him if 
he was not going along. He said he had come out to 
hunt Indians, and now that they were found he was not 
going home like a fool with his fingers in his mouth. He 
said he w'ould take an Indian scalp or lose his owm. All 
iheir arguments were unavailing, and they left him, one 
Bnian in a wilderness surrounded by an enemy vigilant, 
|;ruel, bloodthirsty and of horrid barbarity. 
I After he was left alone he started on his stealthy hunt 
|to find a savage or a srnall party which he might suc- 
essfully attack. Not until late the next day did he find 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
what he was looking for. A smoke was discovered, and 
going toward it he found a camp, but it was tenantless. 
It contained two blankets and a small kettle which he 
knew tO' be the camp of two Indians who were doubtless 
out on a hunt. Concealing himself nearby he awaited 
their return, intending to kill them as they slept. About 
sunset one of them returned with a deer on his shoulder 
and set about preparing supper; soon the other came in, 
and they ate their suppei', but about 9 or 10 o’clock one 
of them wrapped his blanket about him, shouldered his 
rifle and took a chunk of fire in his hand, doubtless with 
the intention of watching a deer lick. 
Of course Wetzel w^as disappointed but waited in the 
hope that the absent one would return before morning. 
He w'-aited until the birds announced that morning was 
near at hand, then he crept to the sleeping Indian, killed 
him with his knife, scalped him and set out for home, 
where he arrived one day after his companions. He 
claimed and received the reward. 
We have a peculiar feeling of reverence as we handle 
the old weapon, and think of the wild savages who were 
sent to the “happy hunting ground” by the great scout, 
and of the great unwritten and unknown history in which 
it played some part in the long ago. This rifle and a pipe 
are the only relics of Lewis Wetzel that are known to 
exist. The pipe is the property of Mrs. Cranmer, widow 
of the late Judge Cranmer, of Wheeling. The gun be- 
came the property of Mr. Maxwell in 1S81, and in Sep- 
tember of the next year was placed on exhibition at the 
Fort_ Henry Centennial. It was left in Wheeling for ex- 
hibition, and the flood in February, 1884, washed away 
the building it was in and all trace of the gun was lost. 
It has long since been given up for lost, but now, after 
twentjf-one years, _ it has again come to light, and has 
been restored to its owner at this place. 
Emerson Carney. 
Lake Tahoe* 
^ Sacramento, California. — Lake Tahoe was a distinct 
disappointment. Not as to scenery; “grand,” “wild” and 
“rugged” are merely pygmian attempts at description. 
Walk in any direction whatsoever and down to your 
ankles you bog in soft lush, sweet-smelling pine needles, 
gum leaves, and other flora covering the earth with a 
carpet more exquisite of design, more velvety of pile than 
ever grew in loom of Turk, or Persian, or Daghestan. 
The woods fairly shout aloud the “call of the wild.” More 
than once, dog-like. I threw myself upon the pine needles 
and rolled upon my back, kicked up my legs and writhed 
and twisted in w'anton exuberation upon my belly. It 
took me back to my boyhood days among the red hills and 
tall pines of Georgia, when “we young ’uns” proudly fash- 
ioned rough sleds, and, in lieu of ice and snow, tobog- 
ganed joyously down the needle-covered hillsides. 
The lake ; did you ever hold a real blue diamond under 
an arc light and drink in its liquid violetness? That’s 
Tahoe; a giant cup of distilled violet juice nestling in the 
peaks and crags of mountains whose empurpled heights 
are as a cup rim. Half a mile deep, twenty miles and 
better long, a dozen miles wide — mayhap more. I am a 
poor hand at statistics when the aroma of the wilderness 
invites my senses. Every step we took — the Novitiate and 
I — we found new material for camera. Precious moments 
we squandered on sundry flashing and bright-eyed chip- 
munks. The Novitiate discovered — all unassisted — a pair 
of scolding, chattering gray squirrels, who, saucy as mag- 
pies. skurried from their tree-home to within a few feet of 
her picture hat, described by a glib-tongued milliner as 
a “poem in autumn shades,” and . curving their radiant 
tails into living interrogation points, seemed to ask: 
“What in thunder do you wear a squirrel-nest on your 
head for, anvway?” A single step off the veranda of our 
tavern and into the depths of uncivilized nature we 
plunged. And the tavern at Tahoe— as meet in a land 
where appetite attains full growth every three hours — • 
proves to be no mirage of the desert. The Blisses, two 
grown generations and a younger one already well started 
—have long owned miles of timber, land surrounding 
Tahoe, having purchased much of it’ from the original 
Indian owners. Many of these latter linger about, adding 
to the picturesqueness of the scenery. 
The.v — not the Indians — first broke into this Arcadian 
preserve with lumbering ox-team; the “mule-skinner” 
displaced the ox-driver. The latter has now given wa5' 
to a powerful narrow gauge, equipped with pretty, wide- 
open, observation cars, whose destination is that truly 
marvelous place of rest and recuperation and recreation-^ 
the Land of Nowhere. The road arrives at its destination 
by way of the Truckee, a river without childhood or 
youth — born full-grown of its blue-eyed mother. Lake 
Tahoe. _ Lumber was the object of the elder Bliss. When 
you _ alight from the Union-Central Pacific “Overland 
Limited’) at Truckee you need no Baedeker to learn that 
you are in a lumber camp. 
It’s fifteen “pipes” to Tahoe City— a “pipe” is a mile, 
that is, if you don’t loiter on the way and don’t “smoke 
up” too vigorously. The run up from Truckee to the place 
in the woods where nature assumes sway, is made in an 
hour and a half, and the leaving time is “any delightful 
old time” that will get you there in season for a piping 
good dinner with silver trout— not a la maitre d’hotel, 
but camp style — as the piece de resistance. There was a 
congestion of ’“overlands” on the main line the morning 
we arrived, and a trivial delay on account of a “hot box.” 
We could not get our trunks transferred, and, would you 
believe it, that charming conductor (the Novitiate’s 
language) just held his train. United States mail and all, 
till that precious baggage was safely run to cover. This 
accommodating official cheerfully discharges the duties of 
chief baggage agent, train dispatcher, express agent and 
messenger, brakeman and train man; he finds time be- 
sides to answer hundreds of questions of curious passen- 
gers. And the way these Blisses and their hired help dis- 
miss the title “Mr.” and get down to “Buck” and “Harry” 
and “Tom” made one really feel that he was in a lumber 
camp where men were “sized up” on their merits, whether 
in blue denim or black Tuxedo. 
When visitors began to invade Tahoe City beyond its 
power of accommodation, the Blisses built a modern 
caravansary, placed it in the hands of a competent man- 
ager and continued their simple lives in their simple 
homes in Tahoe City, pursuing their old calling of “saw- 
ing wood” and converting it into that silence which is 
golden and passes current at all commercial and savings 
banks. 
Of course, reader mine, you have already seen that 
iahoe could not have been altogether disappointing, but 
we had journeyed from far-off Colorado, over the great 
snow-covered diyide, for the purpose of toying with some 
of those masterful specimens of Salmo iahoensis, Salmo 
clarkii or Salnio. henshawii, and no amount of scenery, 
bracing air. or well prepared dinners could console us. 
Um case of willowy rods, tried and proved true over 
many waters, our new Vom Hofe, our carefully tied and 
n' P' tested leaders were to avail us nothing, 
ihe Novitiate,” whose inoculation with the serum of 
lhing.s wild was not yet complete, consoled herself with a 
second portion of “sure enough” ice cream and admon- 
ished me not to cry, little boy, don’t cry.” 
season over? No. Had the trout quit biting? 
No. Were none being taken? Yes, indeed; the fisher folks 
of the village were coming in daily with boats laden. Then 
why not hire a, boat and do likewise. Gh, that was the 
rub. Hand-line fishing has no charms for me, and every- 
body tells me this is the only possible method of connect- 
^'^8- Just imagine substituting for light, springy lance- 
wood, delicately balanced reel, light yet strong cuttyhunk 
and leaders capable of standing the severest strain any 
leader ever stood; imagine, I say, discarding this sort of 
toggery for three or four pounds of electric light cable, 
wound round about a double-crank windlass of the “old 
oaken bucket” brand, and a hook capable of yanking an 
eighteen-foot South American caiman clean to Kingdom 
Come without turning a hair. Wouldn’t that disappoint 
you— and jar you a bit, too? I once helped turn the 
crank of a pile driver for the Colorado Fuel & Iron Co., 
but they paid me $3 per day for the use of my portion of 
the aforementioned jackass power. No, I side stepped, 
suiafished and bucked at the proposition of derricking 
those silver kings from the depths of Tahoe with a tele- 
graph line. 
Yet, tons, aye a hundred tons of these royal Tahoe trout 
are taken — slaughtered seems to be the meet expression — 
every season by the mercenaries who patrol the deep 
waters and ply their trade ruthlessly. It is work with 
these rough, hardy fellows; I decided it would have been 
work for me. Hence the disappointment. Again, I have 
personal and private ideas about the manner of my final 
taking off. I should no more care to die an ignominious 
death than to lead such a life, and would not a Tahoe 
trout — a truly blue-blooded piscatorial Castilian of the 
bluest extraction, gasp with added anguish at the thought 
of being gibbeted out of his native element like a com- 
mon malefactor? To fight the good fight, to pit skill 
against skill, that were one thing; to murder in cold blood, 
ugh? So I journeyed to one of the score of small lakes 
within five to a dozen miles of Tahoe City and had some 
rare sport with the pretty little brook trout which so 
plentifully abound. Of these one may keep taking till 
the limit is had. Nor is there danger of waste — ^you al- 
w'^ays find other guests to help you digest them. 
A strange thing about the people one meets at Tahoe; 
they remain strangers no longer than it takes bread to 
rise — good humor and good cheer are in the atmosphere. 
But I am digressing frorp the main issue which was to 
give other.s the benefit of my experience, so that those 
who later fare Tahoeivard may profit. 
1 here is a smiling and blond Scandinavian at Tahoe. 
Ihe blood of Vikings most likely courses in his veins, but 
he IS a. good fellow “for a’ that an’ a’ that.” He is Chris. 
Nelsen, Coipmodore Nelsen if it please you, captain of 
the staunch little steamer Tahoe, which makes a daily trip 
of some seventy miles around the lake. “Chris” has 
charge of a flotilla of rowboats, hence knows the regular 
habitues of the lake. One of these is a Californian, resi- 
dent in Chicago, Mr. William Kent, of a charming and 
quite ambitious bungalow on the shores of the lake; also 
a serviceable launch. 
A couple of years ago, according to “Chris”, Mr. Kent 
made up his mind that he could take these kings of all 
tiout on light rod and light spoon troll in the right water 
with the right spoon, under right conditions. “Chris” has 
trequently acted as Mr. Kent’s boatman and displays 
photographic evidence of the prowess of the latter in the 
shape of three handsome fellows of 9, 9^ and 3%. pounds, 
all taken before one July breakfast just off the Point’ 
which is not more than one-quarter of a mile from the 
tavern. The “cut-throat” (Y. clarkii), “pogy” (Y. hen- 
siiawii), and silver ti^ut (Y. tahoensis), are all one, so 
one of the fish sharps at the hatchery in Tahoe City told 
me. Their apparejit . differences is the result of merely 
local conditions; p^jkinally I had not the opportunity to 
study them very extensively in life. Some of the attaches 
■ of the local hatchery insisted that the scientific name of 
the Tahoe trout isr,Ya/;/m mykiss, but Dr. David Starr 
Jordan,^ in his invaluable “American Food and Game 
Fishes,’ states that the latter fish is only encountered in 
the waters’ of Kamtchatka. The same authority has cata- 
logued the silver trout as Salmo tahoensis, and I am 
willing to let it go at that. What’s in a name, anyhow, if 
the trout fights like a thoroughbred? 
The principal thing— at Tahoe— is to entice him from 
his depth of one, or two, or three, or more hundreds of 
feet, or fathoms, or find him when he is surface feeding 
and take him on light tackle. Mr. Kent has done this ; so 
has another certain enthusiast, a lawyer of San Francisco, 
Mr. Archie Treat. In trolling, as near as I could learn, 
Mr. Kent uses a steel salmon rod, a Kentucky reel, bass 
size, a light cuttyhunk line and a red-star spinner at- 
tached to a selected nine-foot leader. He trolls with two 
such rigs, crossing the butts and resting them under each 
leg._ I understand the spinner was weighted with the 
equivalent of a Rangeley sinker No. 5. The troll follows 
the boat at about sixty feet. 
There is much local testimony anent the stirring fights 
that this lure led Mr. Kent into last summer and the sum- 
mer preceding. When the silver trout strikes he does it 
so emphatically that it’s dollars to horseshoes you’ll 
imagine you are snagged. And the fight that follows is 
a battle of both endurance and skill. 
The only other successful manipulator of light tackle 
so far known to' the people of Tahoe is Mr. Treat. Mr. 
Treat got his ideas from Mr. Kent and then went him 
one better. .1 am going to try the Treat method when 
I can revisit Tahoe. I have great faith in it from the het 
that that veteran angler, rare good fellow and globe- 
trotter, Judge D. C. Beaman, of^Denver, has tried it re- 
peatedly and always successfully. But for my limited stay 
