130 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March, 1920 
WILDERNESS DWELLERS 
HUNTING BIG GAME WITH A CAMERA IN THE 
HEART OF THE NEW BRUNSWICK WILDS 
By THOMAS TRAVIS 
HAD long dreamed 
about the real wil- 
derness, dreamed 
that some day I 
would pack my duf- 
fle and work my way. 
be it ever so far, to 
the place where I 
could see the genuine 
wilds. Many an ap- 
proach I had made 
to this fairyland of 
my dreams, but al- 
ways the real thing eluded me some- 
how. I would get to the place where 
the sure enough article was reported, 
only to find something lacking. Did 
I go for bear? Well, all I saw were 
tracks. Was it the lordly moose I sought? 
I got as far as the place where someone 
shot a monster last season. If it was 
salmon the water was wrong this year. 
Something always had kept me from it 
until I got this trip up the Tobique and 
Nepisiguit. Then I found it — found my 
fairyland of the real wilds. 
I happened to meet Charlie Cremin, the 
famous New Brunswick guide, at Fred- 
ericton. With him were two more famous 
hunters, and we began to talk about 
the wilderness. I had just finished a five 
hundred mile trip in the near-wilds, and 
ended it with bitter disappointment. I 
had been shown fine trout streams; but 
could get few big trout; splendid moose 
trails with huge hoof-prints, but no 
moose; fine salmon pools but never a 
salmon, — so I felt I was the disappointed 
wolf and that it was my night to howl, 
which I proceeded to do. Charlie Cremin 
said: “I’ll take you right now where you 
can see all the big game you mention.” 
As I looked into his eyes, I felt my heart 
rise. Here was no bluff and no evasion, 
so I said, with equal brevity, “Right 0.” 
W E started at dawn the next day, 
from the little station opposite 
Fredericton, on the St. Johns 
River, and we rode all that day, reaching 
Plaster Rock late in the afternoon. That 
was the end of the railway. Then we 
took a Ford and rode forty miles to 
Millers, and that was the end of the road ; 
after that came just trails, and the best 
trail was the river. 
So we loaded all our stuff in canoes, 
one guide to each canoe, and started on 
the long pole up the Tobique. Hardly 
had we set pole in the stream before we 
saw two deer just ahead of us, their 
summer coat standing out plainly against 
the deep green of the fir and spruce. And 
as I watched them feeding I began to fe 1 
even more sure that Charlie Cremin was 
to be my jinx, my happy guide to the 
real thing. 
There were trout and salmon in that 
stream, and scarcely had we rounded the 
first bend when a splendid grilse shot up 
from a clear pool, curved in the light, 
and fell back with a resounding smack. 
Assuredly we were getting toward the 
right place, — for we drifted over a pool, 
deep and clear as crystal, with its quiet 
reaches some quarter mile long; we could 
see the salmon lying there in schools, 
drinking, till it made one thirsty just to 
watch them; made one long to cast a fly 
athwart the lovely waters. But we were 
on our way, and could not stop just for 
a few salmon ! Think of it ! 
Smack went the poles, and with the 
Tobique waters purling about our bows 
we worked along, nor had we gone a mile 
before the first canoe stopped, stopped 
all aquiver with portent, — and obeying 
the signal, we crept up as noiselessly as 
the rocky stream would permit, — to see 
a big doe, not fifteen feet away, standing 
poised for flight, her ears twitching, her 
tail flirting, and her dainty hoofs tapping 
the marl of the bank with eager curiosity. 
It was the first genuinely wild deer that 
I had seen stand for five minutes, at pole’s 
length from three canoes, and I drank 
in the scene. When reminded that I had 
a camera, I tried a shot. 
The shot was not a great success from 
the standpoint of the artist. In the first 
A close up view of a calf moose on the banks of the Tobique 
“Clean As 
“Not a spot— practi- 
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C216 
