426 
FOREST AND STREAM 
April s, 1913 
a mite tired, from exertion with the pole on the 
swift water, and the paddle on the dead water; 
but there was no trace of weariness, the con¬ 
stant change of scene on the river bordered with 
verdure, stretches alternating with sand inter¬ 
laced with ferns and wild flowers, and stretches 
of innumerable rocks, with foaming wild cas¬ 
cades, and again with patches of pond lilies 
whose fragrance, with that of the woods, filled 
the air. 
If there is anything that carries the mind 
back to the creation, it is to float on a river, 
and knowing as you look that it has been there 
for ages, and that the water that flows from 
these springs was there from the beginning of 
time. 
On a high bank overlooking the salmon 
pool was built a log camp well stocked with 
provisions, all the necessities, and some of the 
luxuries of life. The latch string was outside the 
door, and all that was wanting was a few trout. 
a series of small log cabins, and a main dining 
camp and headquarters, above which was a big 
bell to call the guests who were sojourning 
there to assemble for dinner—it could be heard 
for miles in that still clear air. 
There were many log cabins on cut out 
trails, situated on various lakes, ponds and 
streams, within a radius of twenty-five miles, 
and at the end of each trail could be found a 
canoe conveniently located. So there was little 
carrying to do on the trails, and one could choose 
from about fourteen different locations, all 
under the control of one proprietor, and per¬ 
sons going there could remain on the territory 
and have the freedom of the place, and the run 
of your teeth, by paying a modest sum per day 
to the proprietor. 
It was a dry summer on the Aroostook, and 
after a spell of warm weather the water was 
low, and the fishing poor, which often happens 
in August. We tried diligently at the spring- 
first course consisted of trout and fritters, the 
second fritters and trout, and the third more 
trout and fritters. 
It was a delightful summer, and the days 
went along merrily and swiftly. I could not 
say that I was tired of the fishing, that has not 
happened; but the season had advanced on the 
calendar and thoughts of bear came into our 
minds. We had seen signs where they had 
been clawing the trees and shrubs, and also 
around the brambles and raspberry bushes, so 
we carefully tucked the rifle in the canoe every 
time we went away from camp, hoping to have 
a contest with bruin. 
It is a rather tame hunting country that 
has not got a selection of bear stories, and 
Aroostook is on a plane with the average. My 
experience during thirty years of vacations spent 
in locations more or less liable for their bear 
stories, is limited to three venial offenses, one 
of which happened on the Aroostook River, on 
AUTHOR, AROOSTOOK GUIDES AND TROPHY. 
AROOSTOOK SALMON POOL. 
to complete an Aroostook voyager’s repast, and 
on that occasion, with the setting sun yet pour¬ 
ing his radiance through the overhanging pines, 
flecking the pool with gleams of light, uncoil¬ 
ing my leader and letting loose my flies, I cast 
them over that pool and succeeded in getting 
enough to complete the supper. At the break of 
day I took eleven as pretty trout from that 
pool as it has ever fallen to my lot to see. I 
remarked to my guide how even they were in 
size, and expressed wonder that I had not 
hooked some larger ones. “Why,” said he, “these 
little fellows are too quick for them, but if you 
will allow your flies to sink an inch or so under 
the surface of the water, you will be likely to 
get the big ones,” but the current was too swift 
for that. 
Above thi'^ pool there was several miles of 
dead water, where we could occasionally see a 
cow moose, with perhaps a calf by her side, or 
a few deer feeding, or standing in the water to 
be safe from flies and mosquitoes. 
On the evening of the second day of our 
canoe trip on the river, we reached little Mill- 
inockett Lake, where on an island, a little gem 
of beauty some ten or twenty acres in area, was 
holes, the mouths of the small brooks where the 
bright fresh green grass was, put on our most 
attractive flies, and changed them often, but all 
without much results until a rough northeast 
storm set in, lasting for some days. Finally 
subsiding we went up to the head of the lake 
to a pool in Caraboo Brook, a beautiful clear 
stream fed by cool springs. In this pool I cast 
my flies, and there followed what, to enjoy again, 
I would cheerfully travel twice the distance 
from New York to repeat. It was a contest 
that required all the skill the fisherman pos¬ 
sessed to keep the plunging trout away from 
the logs and fallen timbers that surrounded the 
pool, in which should they become entangled, 
the gut leader would break like a spider’s 
gossamer. The little five-ounce H. L. Leonard 
rod that I cherished as an old friend, almost 
bent double as I gripped it tightly, not giving 
but a few inches, the pliant rod almost form¬ 
ing a bow under the strain. My guide, who was 
looking at the quivering tackle, exclaimed, 
“That rod is the real thing!” after securing 
twenty-one nice trout, all of which were required 
for the table at the home camp. That evening 
the meal was served up in three courses; the 
the pond below Millinockett Lake, while pre¬ 
paring for a siesta. The partridges that consti¬ 
tuted our dinner had soiled our fingers, and to 
remove the stain, we went to the edge of the 
stream, which was our only available finger 
bowl, and where we had made a cheerful little 
fire to broil our simple luscious meal. Look¬ 
ing up stream I observed a black, loose-jointed, 
plantigrade creature shamble along the river 
for a few yards. He paused, sat on his haunches, 
sniffed the air, changed his course and 
disappeared in the thick underbrush, while the 
gun, carefully loaded, lay safely in the canoe a 
hundred feet away quite harmless. 
Most of the persons who spent the warm 
months of the summer fishing here had returned 
to their city homes, and a few hunters had 
taken their places. The woods had commenced 
to take on the russet hue of autumn, and the 
deer shooting was the attraction. We had 
seen many large deer feeding in full view dur¬ 
ing our fishing excursions, and had heard of 
others having seen some very large deer at 
Beaver Ponds; but as there were few fish in 
them, we had not gone there. It was a hard 
trail of three miles, but as the weather was 
