10 
FOREST AND STREAM 
January 3, 1914. 
returned more than two or three days’ fishing in 
early spring, suddenly became filled with trout of 
a much greater size than had previously been 
taken there. This original stocking was religious¬ 
ly and carefully repeated each spring for some 
years by these veteran enthusiasts, neither of 
whom ever cast, a line. The G. A. R. man’s 
“giddiness” only extended to an occasional shot 
at a predatory crow or hawk with the ’Squire’s 
old muzzle-loading musket. 
Now, a cub reporter on a great New York 
daily and his Canadian night city editor visited 
that section about twenty years ago during the 
early summer, and the former, stealing down to 
the little cold spring brook in the horse pasture 
one day, took in rapid sequence four of the larg¬ 
est brook trout that were ever taken in that town 
from a meadow rivulet. Their lengths were 
exactly 16 inches, “one foot four”; 15, 12 and 9 
inches, respectively, and the total weight was up¬ 
wards of eight pounds. A true story of this 
capture was published in this journal during the 
fall of 1899, under the title, “A Trout Quartette.” 
Stimulated by the example of the ’Squire 
and Major O., the then postmaster at Ti., brav¬ 
ing that same snowstorm, took the first consign¬ 
ment of young rainbow and brown trout to the 
old “Grizzly Ocean,” a retired little pond under 
the shadow of old Mt. Pharaoh, assisted by his 
friend Abe, a local farmer trout fisher, at Chil- 
son. The plant was drawn across Put’s Pond on 
handsleds and carried through deep snow to the 
waters which since have been the Mecca of all 
anglers pursuing rainbows, brook and brown 
trout. It is said that these brave fellows nearly 
perished with cold before accomplishing their 
task. Both the Ocean and the streams referred 
to have contained many trout since, although the 
fishing in the latter has run down of late years, 
because few have taken care to put out a supply 
of fingerlings each year to meet the great amount 
of fishing. A brook trout just a foot long was 
taken in August last where the quartette lived, 
and the mountain pond brook yielded a mess of 
fish last June which a local storekeeper described 
as the “prettiest basket of trout I ever see." It 
is worthy of note that this early work so care¬ 
fully done, and which has since shown such splen¬ 
did results, took place in cold weather, which 
reduced the loss of fish to nothing. It might be 
well for the Conservation Commission to take 
into consideration the advisability of an early 
distribution of fry or fingerlings before the 
spring freshets, so that the young fish may be¬ 
come used to their homes and locate a proper 
food supply while the brooks are in a quiet and 
natural condition. The ice in the streams will 
do no harm to the plant, of course, which only 
dread hunger and warm water, somewhat like 
other tramps. Those interested in stocking pri¬ 
vate waters will have plenty of time to attend 
to the work, if they can take it up before plant¬ 
ing and hoeing begins. 
Whether fish put out during the heat of June 
and early July will do as well as those introduced 
into streams earlier in the season, before the 
snow water goes out, may be decided by experts. 
The writer is convinced, however, that in the case 
(Continued on page 28.) 
About A Quinault Paddle 
By EL COMANCHO 
E D had strung his one fathom of individuality 
along a convenient soft spot of ground, 
lit his short “dudeen” and was flat on his 
back looking up at the sky. I cluttered 
around camp, “fixing up,” the way a fellow will 
once in a while when things get so mixed up 
you can’t find your way into the tent without a 
chart and compass, unless you do something- 
desperate like this. 
A cool breeze blew up stream, rustling the 
maple leaves into a woodland song in which the 
midday chirp of the bird voices mingled quietly. 
Swallows tacked about, high overhead, like va¬ 
grant boats in the clear air. Big white patches 
of cloud drifted and expanded in the blue dome, 
throwing a patchwork of gray shadows on the 
waving grain that clothed the hillside standing 
across the horizon where the river swept away 
to the east in a great bend. 
The canoe lay swinging idly in the gentle 
current until such time as we chose to send its 
curved prow against the stream again. 
“Going to trim this up, Ed?” I asked, as I 
picked up his favorite paddle, of Quinault In¬ 
dian make, and held it so he could see it. 
Its edges were “furred” from pushing on the 
sandy bottom in a shallow water voyage of the 
day before, and needed trimming before using 
again. Ed likes a paddle to slip in and out of 
the water without a sound except that “phisht 
of the blade in steady motion, the song it sings 
when traveling, so he sat up, produced a huge 
knife from some angular recess about his per¬ 
son, and went to work. Carefully he trimmed 
away the offending “fuzz” and then tried the 
’“spring” of the blade by putting the point against 
the ground and bending the shaft a few times. 
I had seen the paddle many times and knew 
it to be of Quinault make, but had never inquired 
in particular about where he got it, and when I 
saw Ed handling it with that affectionate way 
we all exhibit, more or less, with our favorite 
tackle which we have tried and found true, I 
was prompted to ask where it came from, and 
why he liked it better than the rest of his blades. 
“Well, tell you,” said Ed, leaning against a 
‘convenient tree trunk, and crossing his long legs, 
■“Injun” fashion so his elbows would have some¬ 
thing to rest on in supporting his chin. A far¬ 
away look came into his kindly eyes as he gazed 
across the rippling surface of the river and con¬ 
tinued, “R’member when you’s down ’n Nebraska 
grindin’ out newspaper stuff ’n I’s out’n th’ Quin¬ 
ault country on th’ coast?” 
“Well, I got ’quainted with a purty decent 
ole Siawash up there ’n th’ river, name ’o ‘Soldier 
John.’ Just John I called ’im fur short. He’s 
’bout th’ whitest Injun, er ruther, th’ best Injun 
I ever see outside a cemetary, ’n th’ ole feller 
took a shine to me some way, dunno why, but 
he did, ’n he gimme thet ole paddle. John was 
purty old ’n this was his best paddle, ’n I didn t 
want to take it ’count ’o his not bein’ able to 
make many more good paddles ’t his age. When 
I come avvay ole John gimme this blade ’n thet 
big sea otter pelt I’ve got down ’t th’ house, spite 
’o all I c’d do er say. 
“See, it was like this: Ole John lived purty 
well up th’ river, good long ways fr’m th’ nearest 
settlemunt all alone ’cept fer a little squaw ’bout 
ten or ’leven years old ’t stayed ’n done his 
cookin’ ’n one thing a-nother fer him. John’s 
squaw was dead ’n they only hed one boy, grow’d 
up, marri’d, ’n then he died. Purty soon his 
squaw follered suit ’n left this little gal fer ole 
John to take care of, ’n nach’ly he thought a 
heap of her, thet is in a Injun way. She was a 
good lookin’ little thing, too, fer a Injun, ’n kind 
’o shy like when strangers was around. 
“I got purty well a-quainted with em both, 
droppin’ in to hev a little wawa ’ith ole John 
once ’n a while. You know my claim was only 
a couple ’o hundrud yards fr’m ole John’s shack 
’count ’o bein’ in a bend like, so we vis’tud back 
’n forth consid’r’ble evenin’s, ’n wet days n jawed 
a lot ’o Chinook ’tween us. 
“Well, things run along this way tub fall 'n 
a swish ’0 snow cum down out ’0 th hills one 
night ’n kind ’o made things sloshy underfoot ’n 
nasty overhead, you know how it does up there 
’n them fir woods when you can t step n under 
a tree ’ithout gittin’ a barrel er so ’o snow down 
yer neck. , 
“Th’ kid run ’round ’n got purty wet n cold, 
same’s all them Siawashes does up there, ’n next 
day ole John cum over ’n says, ‘Nika bebe hias 
sick.’ ‘Baby sick, is she, John?’ I said, n went 
over t’ his shack with him. Th’ kid was lay in 
on a pile o’ mats ’n stuff, lookin’ kind o flhghty 
’bout th’ eyes ’n burnin’ up with fever, ’n I see 
they was somethin’ purty wrong some way, so I 
told ole John she’d better hev sum med’sun right 
quick er she’d sure go memaloose. 
“Ole John wanted tu git a tah-mah-na-wis 
man livin’ ’bout three mile up th’ river, ’n I 
know’d ’f he did th’ kid’d sure go over th’ range; 
so I talked Chinook purty swift fer a little while 
’n he fi’n’ly ’greed we’d fix her a bed ’n th’ canoe 
’n take her down’t mouth o’ th’ river, where they 
was a doctur livin’. 
“Thet was about ’leven o’clock ’n th’ mornin’ 
’n we got th’ canoe out ’n put in some mats ’n 
skins, ’n I got my blankets ’n tugether we fixed 
th’ young ’un up good ’s we c'uld ’n started out 
down th’ river. 
“Ole John was in th’ bow ’ith a push pole 
’n I steered ’ith this same ole paddle here. We 
flew along purty rapid, fur th’ river was up ’n 
biled down there like all p’sessed, ’n tain’t no 
slow river when it runs nat’chel, so we was purty 
well out 0’ ’th worst of it by night. We took 
along a snack ’11 a camp outfit, but we didn’t stop 
tull near midnight, juss kept a-shootin’ along 
down th’ dark river, ole John standin’ ’n th’ bow 
like a statue, clearin’ us ’o logs ’n rocks, ’n how 
he c’d see ’em in time is a mystery to me yet. 
Seem’d like th’ ole feller didn’t know how to 
git tired. ’Fore we got there th’ kid commenced 
to talk kind o’ wild ’n ole John thought th’ skalla- 
toots sure had her ’n he was purty skeart, but I 
told him th’ Bos’n man ’ud fix ’em plenty, so he 
kind o’ quieted down ’n didn’t git rattled like I 
was ’fraid he would. 
“’Bout midnight we fetched th’ settlement ’n 
packed th’ kid up to th’ doctur’s ’n I told him 
what was th’ row ’n he went to work. He 
egzamined her ’n sed it was a bad case o new- 
monya, but he thought he c’d fetch her through. 
“Well, him ’n his wife nursed her ’n tuk care 
of her ’n fin’ly she got well ’n cum back up river, 
her ’n ole John, ’n when I left she was bright ’n 
chipper’s ever. 
“Ole John thought th’ Bos’on med’sun man 
was ’bout right ’n told me conf’denshul, he was 
goin’ to give him a charm ’gainst th’ evil eye, 
sost his kids wouldn’t none 0’ ’em git sick. I 
didn’t ast him why he didn’t use th’ charm to 
