440 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Down the Tomorrow 
A Fishing Story—And Something About Floods, Fogs and Barb-Wire Fences 
R EADERS who have followed the experiences 
of Wife, Girl and I will remember how we 
packed for two summers through different 
sections of northern Wisconsin, carrying our bed, 
board and lodging on our backs. That was hard 
work; my back aches even now when I think of 
it. Yet in the light of our recent canoe experi¬ 
ence I think we will go back to packing for a 
rest. Perhaps we were unfortunate in the selec¬ 
tion of a theatre for our drama; at any rate I 
know that we were unfortunate in the matter of 
weather. It rained—but that is anticipating. 
When it came to selecting a river for our at¬ 
tempt we naturally turned to some of the wilder 
streams, those flowing through the northern wil¬ 
derness. Wisconsin has scores of ideal rivers for 
tlK ■ zanoeist, but various reasons made us seek 
one in a settled part of the country. Girl was 
not well, and we did not care to get beyond the 
reach of a physician. Then, too, I did not like to 
shoulder the responsibility of entering the wilder¬ 
ness via the water route with two women on my 
hands. I presume that to the average reader my 
position will seem illogical. Illogical or not, I 
would willingly set out into the wilderness with 
my pack on my back, two women in tow; but a 
canoe, that is different. Not that I am exactly 
what you would term a duffer with water craft, 
having been brought up on the shores of a lake, 
and I have used boats all my life. Yet the possi¬ 
bilities of accident with a canoe seemed greater 
than the chances of a broken leg, and therefore 
I hesitated about going into the wilder sections of 
the state. No, the river must make its way 
through settled country. That decided, we cast 
about for the particular stream. 
I had an inspiration, or rather I thought that 
it was an inspiration. Later I had reason to doubt 
its supernatural origin. I thought of the To¬ 
morrow (“waupaca”), the trout stream concern¬ 
ing which I wrote an article appearing in Forest 
and Stream last August. That stream rises in 
Portage county, some nine or ten miles from the 
city of Steven’s Point, and flows in a generally 
southeastern direction until it loses itself in 
Wolf River, down in the southeastern corner of 
Waupaca county. As the crow flies, the distance 
by the map would be somewhere in the neighbor¬ 
hood of forty miles, though when you take into 
consideration the crooks and turns I am sure that 
you could multiply that number by three. I said 
the general direction of the stream is southeast, 
but between the “Forks” and the Wolf the 
water runs in almost every direction. For miles 
below the place of its birth it is trout water, good 
trout water, both native and rainbow being 
taken. The upper reaches are rocky, wild and 
tumultuous. Below Waupaca it is a quiet, sedate 
sort of river, with deep pools where both large 
and smallmouth bass are to be had for the casting. 
So you see it was an ideal stream for our pur¬ 
pose, all sorts of water and all kinds of fish. 
Anywhere below Weyauwega, in addition to bass 
and pike, there are catfish, sometimes large ones, 
By O. W. Smith. 
too. Between Waupaca and Weyauwega I had 
made the trip once, and between the latter place 
and the Wolf I had made the trip several times. 
But from the “Forks”—where two creeks unite 
to form the main stream—to Waupaca it was 
almost virgin water for me. Certainly I had 
fished different portions of the stream, but there 
is a vast difference between fishing a stream from 
the bank and following it in a canoe. 
I have told the readers of this magazine again 
and again of our camp-outfit, from aluminum 
cooking utensils to “silk” canoe tent, so may be 
permitted to dismiss it with a word this time. Let 
me say right here that few substractions have 
been made from that outfit, and for this trip but 
one addition, a large carbide bicycle lamp. Of 
course we carried a few candles for quick lights, 
but for the evenings we had the strong light. One 
night we were very thankful for that lamp, of 
which I will tell you in due time. As we ex¬ 
pected bass fishing we carried casting rods, reels 
and a selection of lures in addition to the regular 
trout outfit. We wore our outing clothes, of 
which I have written before, carrying a change 
of underclothing and heavy sweaters for cold 
nights. The matter of food did not bother us, 
as we were to travel through a settled country, 
and as small towns were numerous along the 
Tomorrow, we could secure needed food from 
day to day. 
In the matter of canoes we were all at sea. Not 
that I did not know exactly what I preferred, the 
regulation cedar, canvas covered, but the express 
or freight rates were so heavy that we looked 
longingly in the direction of those folding canvas 
affairs so extensively advertised. At last I yield¬ 
ed to their attractiveness and invested in a well- 
known folding boat. When it came, a small pack¬ 
age weighing some ninety pounds, including pad¬ 
dles, seats, etc., I was surprised, and set it up with 
not a little trepidation. When we launched it on 
the river near our home, and saw how fragile it 
was, our trepidation increased. It seemed like 
putting to sea in a bladder. But the way the boat 
acted on the water reassured me. However, be¬ 
fore we shipped it to our starting point, I invest¬ 
ed in a pair of air-chambers, a bit of forethought 
for which I later devoutly thanked my lucky 
stars. Taking it “by and large,” as my neighbor 
says, I was quite well satisfied with the “Canvas- 
back,” as we promptly christened her. 
It was the first week in August when we found 
ourselves unloading our duffle from the wagon 
which had brought us in, somewhere north of 
Nelsonville and about a mile and a half from the 
“Forks”—a famous spot, as we soon discovered. 
The day was Saturday, and we went into camp 
in a cow-pasture a few rods from an obliging 
farmer’s house, the little Tomorrow slipping 
quietly along just below us. Before we went to 
bed that night we invested in a nice, fat chicken, 
for which we paid in hard coin, also arranged to 
secure a pint of cream every morning so long as 
we lingered in that locality. Oh, that was de luxe 
camping I assure you. After supper I wandered 
up stream a little way and secured three medium- 
sized trout, proving to my own satisfaction that 
once acquainted with the water I would have no 
trouble in getting enough fish to eat, and more 
we did not care for. 
Well, we went to bed, and as soon as we start¬ 
ed up that carbide light and the thin tent began 
to glow like an illuminated mound, the cattle and 
horses gathered from the four corners of that 
pasture to gaze and snort. With noses out¬ 
stretched they would slowly approach until they 
touched the silk, then, snorting and bellowing, 
would dash away, only to return again in a few 
moments to go through the same crazy tactics. It 
was amusing at ten o’clock, but by one in the 
morning it began to grow tiresome. Then I at¬ 
tempted to drive the friendly stock away, which 
I did every thirty minutes until the dawn found 
us wan and sleepless. Sunday morning, Sabbath 
though it was, we moved over the fence into a 
calf pasture, and though we camped with them 
five days they never made themselves trouble¬ 
some. Hereafter between calves and cows I will 
take the calves every time. 
Monday morning dawned hot, close and sultry, 
just the sort of a day on which trout and mos¬ 
quitoes always bite. After a hearty breakfast of 
cream of wheat and rich cream (I almost forgave 
those cows the miserable night they caused us, 
for the sake of the cream), I set out upstream, 
my destination being the “Forks.” Perhaps a 
mile and a half above our camp I came to a place 
where two small creeks came together, and I 
knew that I had reached the spot of which I had 
so often heard. 
As this is not a trout fishing story I can only 
say that I found the fishing all that it had been 
reported to be and soon had the number to which 
I had promised to limit myself. I found the fish¬ 
ing very good in the little “North Fork” and all 
the way down to our camp. Some pastures were 
open, and there I used flies, finding the dry fly, 
I think, on the whole, more successful than the 
wet, though the latter brought the fish from the 
deep pools. About half way between the forks 
and our camp I found some truly elegant holes, 
the like of which one seldom sees in so small a 
stream. That night when I returned to camp we 
had our first feed of trout, but we did not do as 
we once did, overeat at the first opportunity. 
That night we were greeted with a terrific 
thunder-storm along in the wee sma’ hours, ac¬ 
companied by a gale of wind. We had suspended 
our tent from a branch of an elm tree, as we 
usually pitch it when opportunity offers, but the 
wind whipped the great tree about almost as 
though it had been a spray of grass, and the man¬ 
ner in which our tent swayed and billowed, 
snapped and cracked, was enough to frighten 
anyone. Sometimes the peak would hover just 
above us as we sat there upon our beds and 
looked at one another with scared faces. I lit the 
bicycle light, for I fully expected that we would 
