IN THE NEW ALLENWATER COUNTRY 
>* 
YOU WILL APPRECIATE BETTER WHAT THIS FINE ONTARIO HUNTING 
.COUNTRY HOLDS WHEN YOU FIND ONE OF THE AUTHOR’S OLD TIN CANS 
By M. L. GOCHENOUR 
W ITHOUT doubt the most accessible 
of the virgin big game country in 
Ontarib lies between Hcarst and 
Superior Junction on the Transcontin- 
ental line of the Canadian Government 
Railroad. It takes more daylight than 
there is in an October day to ride on the 
train betwen these two points, so you see 
there is plenty of country to choose from, 
once you have decided to spend a vaca- 
tion in this vast North Land. When I 
decided dm-ing the early summer of 1918 
to spend the following October, or most 
of it, somewhere in this region, I wrote 
Mr. F. C. Armstrong, Chief Sportsmen’s 
Guide for the Canadian Government 
Railways, wdth offices at Cochrane, On- 
tario. Our correspondence extended 
throughout the summer and early au- 
tumn of 1918. The result was that I 
chose the Allenwater region of which lit- 
tle was known by sportsmen, as it had 
been hunted but the previous season, and 
that only near Allenwater trading post. 
Armstrong recommended Ed Troke, 
trader, at Allenwater, as the source of 
more information. Troke proved worthy 
of Armstrong’s confidence. Whatever he 
tells you can be depended upon. Both 
Armstrong and Troke advised me to come 
October 1, while the moose were yet in 
the water and bear were feeding' upon 
blue-berries prior to dening up. I deter- 
mined to follow their advice, but owing 
to unavoidable delays October had nearly 
passed from the calendar when I stepped 
from the train at Allenwater, just at 
daybreak one crisp morning when the 
cutting chill told of winter’s near ap- 
proach. I had written Troke that I was 
coming alone and preferred a white 
guide, for few of the Allenwater In- 
dians can speak English and are un- 
communicative companions before the 
campfire at best, though many are 
good woodsmen. The night before 
“Boomer” alias Thomas F. Lee, a Ca- 
nuck prospector and trapper, had come 
to the trading post for supplies 
and Troke at once engaged him for 
me. They had worked late that 
night filling my order for a “grub- 
stake” and supplementing it where 
they thought wise. Between the 
three of us nothing was forgotten. 
They had everything packed in two 
egg cases — the most convenient 
sized and shaped box for a tump 
line yet made — and had them with 
the canoe, tent and folding camp- 
stove at the station, intending to 
load all into the baggage coach and 
take me on to Harvey, only one- 
half day from Boomer’s main 
shack. The conductor would not 
permit their plan to materialize — 
because Harvey was not a regular 
stop. This meant two days’ pre- 
cious time and hard work paddling 
^d-portaging to reach the country 
P RACTICALLY all the best 
hunting coimtry around Allen- 
ivater can be reached by canoe vnth 
sli 07 't portages. Our longest portage 
was less than a mile. It is a height 
of land region and none of it is im- 
possible to negotiate like the mire 
and lob-lollies, so often associated 
with moose hunting. Where there 
is not sufficient water to afford good 
draught for a canoe, the footing is 
solid and the going exceptionally 
good for a new country. It is a pic- 
turesque region, consisting either 
of good, clear open water or solid 
land, mostly rock, of sufficient ele- 
vation to make good stalking pos- 
sible. Finally — and what is most 
impoj'tant — the game is there. The 
old natives informed me that this 
is the best caribou country between 
Winnipeg and Quebec, altho moose 
have frequented there only dmung 
the last eight or ten years, and the 
advent of deer has been even more 
recent . — [Author’s Note] 
into which Troke and Lee had planned 
for me to hunt. The water route re- 
quires one day north of the track and one 
south, doubling back and recrossing the 
railroad about twelve miles west of Allen- 
water. In consequence, both men were in 
an ugly mood toward the Canadian Gov- 
ernment Railway w'hen they came up to 
me, seated on my duffle bag, as the limited 
rumbled on toward Winnipeg. They 
quickly told of their spoiled plans and we 
carried the canoe and outfit to the shore 
of Lake Kawaweogama, about sixty rods 
distant. It was a mile and a half to 
Troke’s trading post where we had break- 
fast of moose steak, pan cakes and other 
good things galore — none of which got 
more than a passing glance, however. 
By nine o’clock my traveling clothes 
were carefully reposing, with everything 
I felt could be dispensed with, in my suit 
case under a bed in Troke’s comfortable 
cabin. Cheered by the jolly trader’s good 
wishes, we shoved off down the Allen- 
water River, reaching Barrington Lake 
portage by noon. The first night we 
pitched the tent at Heathcote Lake por- 
tage, very tired from bucking strong head 
winds all day. It was not yet dark when 
all was ready for the night and Boomer 
paddled the canoe noiselessly around the 
shore of several little bayous on upper 
Barrington Lake, but we were not re- 
warded by the sight of any game. 
Next morning on Heathcote Lake, we 
were favored by still water all the way to 
the Canadian Government Railway track, 
and made up much of the time we lost 
the day before. As the sun rose over the 
rocky bluffs, carpeted with caribou moss 
that form so much of the shore line of 
that wonderfully beautiful lake, I felt re- 
paid for my two thousand mile journey, 
and every stroke of the paddle revealed 
virgin scenes, seeming to surpass each 
other in natural beauty. 
We reached the railroad before noon. 
No game was seen north of the track. 
The Canadian Government Railway 
crosses Heathcote Lake at the narrow 
point on a fill. It was beginning to rain 
when we completed the short portage 
over the track, but we kept on up Heath- 
cote Lake to the inlet, a small creek only 
a few feet wide in places but full of rap- 
ids and swift water. “Frogging” up this 
creek a mile or so and unloading t« make 
a two rod portage around a new beaver 
dam, while it continued to rain vigorously, 
took all the joy out of the morning. A 
few hundred yards above this, dam the 
flooded outlet of Elbow Lake, spreads out 
into a flat, grassy marsh. Here Boomer 
had prophesied moose to spare. Sure 
enough, we saw where three large moose 
and two smaller ones had crossed the 
shallow channel and climbed the 
east ’oank only a few moments 
ahead of us. There was no time 
to follow them if we were to reach 
Boomer’s shack that , night, al- 
though the wind favored , pursuit. 
Continued rain made us glad we had 
kept on our way, for we arrived at 
the old shack at dark. It rained 
all night and did not slacken until 
noon the next day. About one 
o’clock the guide decided to make 
a short portage to Richan Lake and 
paddle around the low shore line of 
this lake where he said we were 
sure to see moose. The bush was 
too wet for land hunting. I never 
saw more promising countrj’. and 
earlier in the season I am sure his 
prophecy wmuld have held good, but 
although we saw no game on this 
little trip we noted some signs p| 
IThe. author and his fine trophy 
