April, 1921 
FOREST AND STREAM 
169 
found a good pitch of water in the river 
which was filled with four-foot logs on 
their way to the pulp mills many miles 
below. 
The first day we made a twenty mile 
run down the Penobscot into Chesuncook 
Lake and put up for the night at Ance 
Smith’s camp. In the morning we left 
civilization and paddled up Suncook 
through the field of “dry-ki” at the head 
of the lake and entered Umbasooksus 
Stream. Here we found real wild life 
and watched the “broken wing” antics of 
a mother duck as she tried to decoy us 
away from a flock of little ones. Near 
the head of the stream we had a glimpse 
of a moose as he went crashing through 
the woods. 
During the afternoon we ran into Um- 
basooksus Lake and camped at Mud 
Pond Carry. We had hoped to find Tom 
Henderson’s team for the two mile carry 
to Mud Pond but as we were rather 
early in the season he had not arrived 
so it was only a question of toting the 
duffle to the other side. After supper 
we were enjoying the wonderful sunset 
over the lake when out of the woods 
walked a six point deer followed by a doe 
and two fawns. Before dark we saw a 
number of deer but there was not light 
enough for a shot with the camera. 
The next morning was a busy one, 
Anthony packing the canoe the first trip, 
and by noon we had the outfit over and 
ready to launch it on Mud Pond and 
start down hill. Up to this point the 
waters flow south into the upper reaches 
of the Penobscot but from Mud Pond the 
flow is north through the lakes into the 
Allagash and finally into the St. John 
up on the Canadian border. 
We had not stopped to fish except to 
catch a mess of trout in Umbasooksus 
Stream as Anthony was anxious to get 
to the real fishing grounds beyond. Mud 
Pond is circular, about two miles across, 
shallow and filled with deer-grass. We 
counted twenty-five deer around the 
shores and feeding in the water. On 
the opposite side we were exceedingly 
fortunate in getting close to a big doe 
and snapped her a second before she 
started for the tall timbers. 
In the outlet from Mud Pond to Cham- 
berlain Lake, Anthony had an opportun- 
ity to show his ability as an expert ca- 
noeist, and we dropped down rapids for 
a mile without a scratch on the rocks. 
Chamberlain Lake is a fine body of 
water, very deep and cold, and a fine 
place for big trout and “lakers” as they 
call togue in that country. During the 
paddle of six miles we caught five good 
sized ones by trolling so we had an am- 
ple supply for our supper and breakfast. 
We camped near the head of Cham- 
berlain Lake and figured the nearest 
point to civilization was some sixty 
miles to the east. We were disturbed 
many times during the night by deer 
in and about the camp and discovered 
a salt lick the next morning near our 
camp. The ground was worn down a 
foot or more where the deer had dug 
down for the precious article. 
At the head of Chamberlain Lake we 
carried around the dam into the waters 
of Eagle Lake. Here we met the watch- 
man in charge of the sluice gates and, 
as he had not seen a person for four 
weeks, he was greatly interested in our 
four days’ old news from the outside 
world. He invited us to camp with him 
but we had decided to make Pillsbury 
Island in Eagle Lake so we left him still 
talking to us as we passed out of hear- 
ing. He gave us a lot of delicious wild 
strawberries; no doubt he had plenty 
of time to pick them. 
We remained three days on Pillsbury 
Island and we could not have found a 
better camp site, as it was on a point of 
land jutting out into the lake, with 
plenty of wood and a wonderfully cold 
spring boiling up out of the black sand. 
Near this camp we enjoyed fine trout 
fishing at Smith’s Creek, Haymock Lake 
and Woodman’s Brook. At all of these 
places we caught enough for our needs 
in a short time; then we broke the barbs 
off our hooks and tried to land a double 
catch but it proved a difficult stunt. 
The deer were everywhere; we saw 
them about the camp at night and at 
every bend up Smith’s Creek we could 
see their white brushes as they ran for 
cover. At Woodman’s Brook was an old 
abandoned lumber camp and the deer 
had dug a deep hole around the cook 
house searching for salt. I was sorry to 
leave Eagle Lake but we were limited 
for time and Fort Kent, our final des- 
tination, was a hundred and thirty miles 
up on the Canadian border. 
We had a fine paddle of some ten 
miles up Eagle Lake into Churchill Lake 
and camped for a day and a night at the 
Garden of Eden. Along this stretch, 
wherever the small cold brooks entered 
the lakes, we could catch our limit of 
trout in a few minutes. We enjoyed ex- 
ploring the beaver dams, noting the 
beaver’s skill in construction and in 
felling trees. This is the heart of the 
Allagash trip and one could well spend 
a week or more in this vicinity exploring 
new places each day. 
From Churchill Lake we entered the 
real down hill country and raced 
through Chase’s Carry at a great rate 
missing huge boulders by inches but 
without a scratch to the canoe. It was 
rough water for the fifteen miles run 
to the Allagash Falls where we carried 
around the fifty foot drop and camped 
some ten miles below the falls at night. 
The following day we ran down to the 
junction of the Allagash and the St. 
John Rivers and arrived at Fort Kent 
during the afternoon. Along this 
reach I was surprised to hear mostly 
French spoken as the people are large- 
ly descendants of the early Arcadian 
settlers. 
Here we learned the latest news, and 
said goodbye to the wonderful sunsets, 
the old camp baker and broiler, and the 
black kettle which had hummed so mer- 
rily over the glowing back-logs of our 
camp fires. I still hold in memory our 
faithful guide and friend who had 
never neglected to put out the last spark 
of our fires when we left each camping 
place. 
Edmund H. Jones, West Virginia. 
A SAGEBRUSH EDEN 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream : 
W HILE engaged in surveying on the 
plains of southeastern Montana in 
the early summer I had occasion one 
evening to cross a flat covered by a low 
growth of sagebrush among hills grown 
up almost wholly to grass. When well 
out into the sage-covered flat I saw 
a female sage grouse flutter out from 
the meagre shelter of a clump of sage- 
brush and alight after a short erratic 
flight. I remarked to my companion 
that we might have a look at the nest 
which I felt sure was concealed in the 
clump of sage, and we accordingly pro- 
ceeded to the spot whence the bird had 
flushed. 
Our surprise was genuine at finding 
not a grouse’s nest but what appeared 
to be a snake’s nest in the clump of sage, 
for coiled up in the center of the cover 
we found three large bull snakes or pine 
snakes as they are called locally, closely 
wound among the gnarled stems of the 
sage. Apparently here was latter day 
proof of the downfall of the sex before 
the charms of the serpent. 
Still confident of the existence of a 
sage grouse’s nest in the clump of brush, 
although no nest was apparent to the 
casual observer, I called a surveyor’s 
staff into play and relentlessly bruised 
the heads of the serpents and dragged 
Canoeing down the Allagash River in Northern Maine 
