June 7, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
717 
How I Found a Salmon River 
I N the cove, on the gravel, where we lunched, 
two moose—a cow and calf—had just left, 
their recent tracks along the sand being 
sprinkled with the water dropped from their 
bellies, they evidently having swam the river 
and got our scent, as we had been approaclnng 
them from windward. Our river now widened, 
and for a long way we paddled the reaches with 
plenty of water under us, when all at once we 
were in civilization again, for the Nova Scotia 
snake-pole fences appeared and the cow bells 
tinkled in the pastures. With an occasional 
pause to take a cast for some exceptionally 
large rising trout, and in which the boy was 
usually successful, we reached Harrington’s 
Dam. From here the heaviest and longest 
rapids stretched below us, and it was with much 
reluctance I agreed to take the chances of 
shooting through. Flowever, we were out for 
fun and adventure, so trusting to our expert¬ 
ness with the paddles, and a whole lot more to 
luck, we pushed off. The next second trees 
on the banks were rushing by. 
Now there can be no more delightful sen¬ 
sation than shooting rapids in a canoe when 
you can keep her straight and the skilfully 
wielded paddles control your flight. A canoe 
surely is peer of all floating things, as she cuts 
through the white water of a rapids, sending 
spray out from the bow, while she jumps and 
skims over rocks scarcely a foot beneath her 
bottom; but there is nothing meaner when 
slanted ever so little sideways to the surrent. 
We nearly came to grief on a flat boulder. The 
next instant a pole bridge loomed up ahead. 
It looked scarcely three feet above the water, 
but we had no alternative except to try and 
shoot under. I shouted, “Get down flat!’’ All 
would have been well had the bow paddler not 
become rattled. He ducked, and then thinking 
there was not room enough to pass beneath, 
raised his arm and caught a pole in the bridge. 
Round we spun. Seeing a spill was coming, 
I shouted, “Swim!”’ as the water poured into 
us amidships, and over we went. I found my¬ 
self bumping the bottom of the river with the 
canoe on top of me and my legs caught under 
the end thwart. At last I freed myself and 
rose to the surface. There below me was tbe 
canoe bottom up, traveling down with the 
mighty current. Not seeing the Kid. my heart 
sank as I surmised he must be underneath her. 
Half full of water I swam after the canoe, 
when right in front of me the Kid's head 
popped up. Both being excellent swimmers, we 
swam side by side until our feet touched the 
welcome sand of the river’s bottom. With 
hands clasped, we waded and staggered to the 
bank. I said—Oh, well; it doesn’t matter what 
we said standing there under the trees, but I 
shall always remember how proud I felt that 
the Kid had been tried out in a tight place and 
not found wanting. In years to come, if ever 
we get into another scrape where quick action 
and a cool head count, he can be deoended 
upon. The nearest house was Harrington’s, a 
By H. A. P. S. 
(Concltided from week before last; page 652.) 
mile away, and evening was falling as we two 
half-drowned sports at last dragged our tired 
and wet bodies to the door. A warm welcome 
the good people gave us, and as we sat in the 
farmer’s borrowed clothes and thawed out over 
the kitchen stove, we were sights to behold. 
Next n',orning we found our canoe, still 
bottom up, in an eddy two miles or more down 
the river, and wonder of wonders, we eventu¬ 
ally fished up nearly all our duffle, and to the 
great joy of the kid, his rod intact. The blaz¬ 
ing sun soon dried our outfit, and by 10 o’clock 
we resumed our passage, reaching Saulnier’s 
Mill at noon without further adventure. As the 
mail team jogged along tbe dusty road, we re¬ 
gretfully thought of the nice basket of big 
trout we intended sending home. It was all big 
river and clear sailing from Saulnier’s to 
Doucet Lake. Paddling through the “Nar¬ 
rows,” we were in the beautiful Salmon River 
Lake with its white sand shore and meadows 
and hay fields sloping down to the river. Farm¬ 
houses here and there, and men plowing the 
uplands. 
The people living here are all French de¬ 
scendants of the Acadians, who scattered along 
St. Mary’s Bay at the time of their expulsi(.)n 
from Grand Pre and the Annapolis Valley, a 
thrifty, well-to-do. hard-working people, re¬ 
taining all the traditions of their race. The 
women still wear black silk handkerebiefs for a 
head dress, while their spinning wheels btizz 
and home-made looms click in the houses. All 
talk their native tongue. It was at one of these 
farmhouses we were to stop, and as I had on 
previous occasions made this place my home 
when on business, we were sure of welcome. 
Within fifty yards of Henry’s (now called 
“Melanson House”), and where the river leaves 
the lake, is now about the best pool on the 
river for salmon. 
Henry and his good wife were delighted to 
see us, and after supper I told him of the ob¬ 
ject of our visit and our plans for the morrow. 
In answer to my inquiry, Henry said he had 
not seen or heard of any salmon being in tbe 
river. So when my old salmon rod was put 
up, the next morning, and I explained to him 
the use of the gaff and flies, he had but little 
faith in the result. However, at 8 o’clock I 
made my first cast in Salmon River, beginning 
where the river left tbe lake in the “Upper 
Pool,” an ideal spot from which to fish—not a 
twig to catch your back cast. The river here 
is about fifty yards wide, pebbly bottom and 
some six to ten feet deep. How good the kick 
and pump of the old rod felt as the enameled 
line laid out and the No. 4 silver-doctor 
dropped in the most likely looking swirls and 
eddies! But nothing • moved. So I continued 
down past the river’s bend, fishing all likely 
looking water until tide head was reached. 
Long before this the Kid. and Henry had be¬ 
come tired of watebing for a rise and had re¬ 
turned to the house, so when 1 walked in late 
for dinner, 1 was not surprised to find they 
had gone to Gaspereau Brook for trout. 
In the afternoon I drove up stream to 
