262 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Aug. 30, 1913. 
camp and add to our stock of frogs and fire 
wood. The fishing part of the trip going up was 
a failure, as we trolled nearly the whole way 
with two or three spinners out without getting 
a strike, but the lovely day and the scenery of 
the upper lake more than compensated for the 
poor fishing. 
Above Long Point the lake widens out to 
perhaps a mile and three-fourths to two miles, 
and the shores present a bolder and more rugged 
appearance, having a background of quite pre¬ 
tentious and thickly wooded hills. Along the 
east shore three or four clearings notched into 
the woods mar the landscape, and on the west 
a nursery and another clearing break the charm 
of utter wildness that would greet the eye of 
the lover of primitive nature. 
We missed the swamp belt as we proceeded, 
but the change was a pleasing one, and we neg¬ 
lected our trolling to admire something new and 
beautiful as each bay and headland came into 
view. 
A turn around a point brought us in sight 
of Central Lake, much to Jim's joy, as it was 
his turn at the oars. The heat of the day and 
the hard work he made for himself at the oars 
on account of his lack of skill in handling a 
boat caused sundry rivulets of perspiration to 
trickle down his beaming countenance, and when 
the Scribe proposed that the writer take the oars 
and that “we go into port with some style about 
us,” the smile that reached clear back to Jim’s 
ears endorsed the proposition plainer than 
speech. As we changed places he offered to 
wager that in the last straightaway mile he had 
rowed over more water than both of us had 
since leaving camp in order, as he claimed, to 
give us a near view of both shores of the lake. 
“A broad view of a short distance,” muttered 
the Scribe, as we gathered headway. 
Pulling around to the landing we stepped 
ashore and were right in the town. The village 
numbers ten or twelve wooden houses, and is 
pleasantly located right at the head of Inter¬ 
mediate Lake. It boasts of a general store, at 
which you may obtain almost anything in the 
way of dry goods, boots and shoes, groceries, 
drugs, or a stick of striped candy. You can be 
supplied with a chunk of salt pork, a can of 
Boston baked beans, or a troller for bass or 
mascalonge; a yard of calico, a cane fish-pole, or 
a dose of physic. In the store is also the post- 
office. The place flourishes a small hotel, cap¬ 
able of accommodating twelve or fifteen guests, 
presided over by mine host, W. W. Smith, who 
sets a fair table at reasonable rates, catches bait 
for his guests, who may wish to wet a line, 
keeps a dozen or more boats for hire to anglers 
and tourists at prices that will not cause the hair 
to turn prematurely gray, and knows where and 
how to fish. It may be said of him "he is a 
landlord of many parts.” The store is kept by 
Messrs. Wadsworth and Thurston. We found 
Mr. Thurston to be a clever, intelligent gentle¬ 
man, well posted in regard to the country and 
its resources, and keenly alive to every move 
tending to its development. While resting, we 
spent a very agreeable hour listening to his de¬ 
scription of the upper lakes and streams, which 
created such a desire on our part to pay them 
a visit that we have resolved to build our camp¬ 
fire somewhere up there next year. Mr. Wads¬ 
worth is an old settler. He has lived there for 
years; has surveyed over a large portion of 
that section of country, is said to be authority 
on distances and localities, and knows every bush 
and brake and stream and lake for miles and 
miles all over that part of Michigan. He has 
hunted and fished its forests, streams and lakes, 
and knows them like an open book. He loves 
his rod and gun, and is, therefore, of course a 
gentleman. 
Intermediate is connected with Cedar Lake 
above, by a narrow shallow little river, quarter 
of a mile long, overhung with trees and bushes, 
which in places reach out over the water to the 
serious inconvenience of the oarsman, who has 
neglected his early aquatic education. This was 
the case with our editor, and it was not without 
material aid rendered him by us in the shape of 
yelling, “Pull on your left! Pull on your right! 
Ha-r-d on your-r—pull—there he goes into that 
treetop,” etc., that he was enabled to make head¬ 
way against the current and rest on his oars in 
the quiet water of Cedar Lake at the head of 
the river, whither we were bound in quest of a 
bucket of minnows. Smith had preceded us in 
his boat to show us where to fish and help 
catch them, kindly furnishing minnow tackle and 
“wumS”-—the latter a scarce commodity in all 
that north country. 
Cedar Lake is a very small and beautiful 
little sheet of water, affording, Smith said, fair 
bass and pickerel fishing, which we did not stop 
to verify, but turned our attention to the min¬ 
nows. After fishing nearly an hour in all the 
good places pointed out by him, we had only 
secured about two dozen small shiners, the sun- 
fish and barred perch being so numerous and 
ravenous that they “barred” the others out. 
Before starting, Smith said we could ‘ ketch 
a hundred around the head of the river in no 
time,” but after yanking out two or three dozen 
perch and sunfish, he “guessed the minifies had 
gone some'ers else,” and casting his eyes sky¬ 
ward—the sky was cloudless—he added, with a 
weather-wise shake of the head, “Guess it ain’t 
a good day for minifies,” to which the Scribe 
echoed back, “Good day for minifies,” and we 
pulled back to the village to wait for dinner. 
To while away the time, Thurston advised 
a visit to Mound Spring, and pointing across the 
river, said we would find it over there in the 
woods about eighty rods. Crossing the stout 
wooden bridge spanning the mouth of the little 
river near the store door, we took our way up 
a hot, sandy road in search of the trail lead¬ 
ing to it, and on asking at a house by the road¬ 
side, a very small midge of a boy volunteered to 
show us the way. The Scribe gave him a nickel, 
which the very small M. of a B. immediately 
shoved far down into a wonderful and appar¬ 
ently fathomless pocket, and started ahead with 
a broad grin on his freckled, intelligent face that 
convinced us that the Scribe had made another 
friend. Going through a small patch of sickly- 
looking corn and robust thistles before reaching 
the woods, we frequently lost sight of our guide 
behind a corn hill or thistle stalk, but by scat¬ 
tering out, we managed to catch a view of him 
at intervals till he dodged into the “bresh” and 
disappeared from sight. At the point at which 
we lost sight of him, we struck into a dim path 
and were soon at the spring. 
We found the spring just where we did not 
expect to find it—on high, level ground, right in 
the thick woods, and perhaps fifty feet or more 
above the level of the lake. The Mound, from 
the apex of which the water boils and bubbles 
up, is eight or nine feet higher than the sur¬ 
rounding ground, and evidently owes its forma¬ 
tion to the action of the water, the earth and 
sandy marl thrown out by it settling and build¬ 
ing up through countless years into this shape. 
The whole structure is miry and shaky, but by 
the aid of a few “chunks” and a strip of board 
thoughtfully placed by former visitors, we 
climbed to the top and drank a tin cup of the 
clear, cold, iron-flavored water bubbling up in 
the little basin in the center, and felt amply paid 
for our eighty rods’ tramp. The water, form¬ 
ing a tiny rivulet, flows away through the woods 
and is lost in the river connecting the two lakes. 
Altogether it is a curious and continuous 
boil on the face of nature, and is well worth 
the walk from the village to see. Our little 
guide had vanished in the bush, but as we passed 
the house going back, we saw his bright face 
peering timidly around a corner at us from under 
a well frayed straw hat, and no doubt wonder¬ 
ing how many sunfish hooks he could buy with 
that nickel. 
Central Lake is a good base to reach out 
fromi either up or down the lakes for good 
sport. From the outlet of Intermediate clear 
around to the head of St. Clair Lake is called 
Intermediate Lake on the guide maps of that 
section, but from the outlet mentioned to the 
mouth of the little stream flowing into the head 
of the first small lake of the chain there are 
eleven distinct lakes all connected by little nar¬ 
row winding streams of from a few rods in 
length to four miles. Two of these lakes, St. 
Clair and Six-Mile, are of goodly size, and all 
of them will gladden the heart of any brother 
of the rod who has a weakness for bass and 
pickerel fishing. 
The general shape of this waterway from 
Long Point on Intermediate to Six Mile is that 
of a fish hook, suggestive at least of sport, the 
foot of Six-Mile representing the point, and St. 
Clair Lake the bend' of the bowl. 
A very pleasant trip may be made by a party 
of two or three by loading a boat on a wagon in 
the early morning at Central, crossing the coun¬ 
try eastwardly by a fair road to Echo Lake, 
about six miles, and from there coming back 
by water through Scott, Six-Mile, St. Clair, 
Bowers’, White's, Sissons, Hanley's and Cedar 
lakes to Central, over thirty miles, all in a long 
summer day, provided they do not stop too long 
on the way to fish. 
From Echo Lake the variety-loving angler 
may haul his boat across country six miles to 
Jordan River, one of the best trout and grayling 
rivers in the State, from whence he may paddle 
down into the south arm of Pine Lake, or down 
to Charlevoix and back up Pine Lake to the 
mouth of Boyne River, another excellent trout 
stream. Six miles from the mouth of Boyne, by 
a good road, is Boyne Falls, on the G. R. and 
I. R. R. A dollar pays the fare between these 
two points in a good stage—no Mancelona hack 
—that connects with daily steamer for Charle¬ 
voix, the South Arm and Jordan River. An¬ 
other pleasant trip for a party of not more than 
a dozen is to charter the little steam yacht Wah- 
wataysee—^whatever under the canopy that may 
mean—owned by Wadsworth and Thurston, 
leave Central Lake in the morning, steam to the 
head of Six-Mile, which is as high as the boat 
can ascend, and back to Central in time for 
