Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1912. 
VOL. LXXIX.-No. 19. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
“My Guide Ephraim” 
S OME years ago on reaching one of the well- 
known Maine fishing resorts a little after 
the early arrivals in September, I found the 
house nearly full and all the available guides 
engaged. As the fishing there was all to be done 
from the bow of a canoe, I agreed with the house 
manager, Barnes (his name was not that, but we 
will call him Barnes), when he said: "Wall, you 
got ter hev a guide,” and I was pleased to have 
him, “and ef you'll git inter the waggon ’th me, 
we’ll go and hustle one up down t - the village.” 
Arriving there he said: “There; see that big 
feller standin’ over there in the tavern door? 
He’s a good guide. He’s a pretty good bragger 
and he’s fond o’ whiskey, but he don't git drunk, 
and he’s a good willin’ feller and a good fisher¬ 
man. His name is Eph Barker.” I said: “He’s 
just the man we’re looking for. If he’s a good 
fisherman I’d like to hear him brag sometimes, 
but I’ve only a smallish flask of whiskey, and I 
suppose I can't get any more in this State of 
‘no license.’ ” I looked at Barnes. He didn’t 
say anything, but looked off at the distant sky. 
An experience which I will mention later, in the 
matter of getting whiskey there, recalled that 
look to my memory. 
We called Ephraim. His name was not 
really Ephraim or Barker, and so we put the 
misnomer fiction on Mr. Barnes as aforesaid. 
“Ephraim” was a red-faced, stout-bodied “spirit 
of good humor.” He was soon engaged, and 
before morning he was up at Barnes’ getting 
things ready to meet me after breakfast. Some 
of the guests whom I had met elsewhere told me 
that I had come to the poorest fishing “ever,” 
and that there hadn’t been a fish on the table for 
more than a week. When I mentioned this to 
Eph, he said: “Oh, I’ll git you fish all right. I 
c’n alwers git ’em. I c’n put you right on top 
of ’em.” So we pushed off on the lake. Surely 
enough, he did put me on the fish, and we had 
taken fifteen or sixteen when he said in a re¬ 
flecting way: “Mr. -, I think you’re a putty 
lucky man.” I had been flattering myself that 
it was more skill than luck, so I said : “Why so, 
Eph?” “Wall, haow you happen to git me for 
a guide?” This was his first specimen of brag, 
and not a bad one. “Do you always bring luck, 
Eph?” “You bet. The boys all think tain’t no 
use to go for moose unless Eph Barker goes 
along. They’ve learned that. Now, I know all 
the places for fish, and I'm gonter tell you some¬ 
thin’. I don’t like all the other guides to know 
what I know about the places to get trout; big 
By ALBERT M. BIGELOW 
Photographs by IV. S. Beilis. 
ones, too. The other fellers are always a-watch- 
in’ me tryin’ to find out. I’m goneter take you 
to a place that I don’t want you to talk about.” 
So he took me to a fine looking pool and said: 
“Now, I’m goneter leave you here on this rock, 
and I’m going up on the side hill to keep a kind- 
a-watch-out for these other guides who’re al¬ 
ways tryin’ to get on ter my pools.” 
I thought him very suspicious, but as at my 
first cast I hooked a fine fish that afterward 
proved to weigh four and a half pounds, I didn’t 
find any fault, especially as soon after that I took 
another weighing four and three-quarters. 
Eph suddenly appeared with the canoe and 
said: “We’d better be gettin’ along back now; 
I know another good place. You’d better kind 
o’ put your rod down so’s not to let any ’f the 
guides we’re likely to meet think we’re fishin’; 
only kinder lunchin’ or suthin’.” 
After getting a little distance away from 
where we had been fishing, we began fishing 
along back. The fishing proved very good, but 
the weather was pretty bad. A September fog 
and rain. I pulled out my flask of whiskey. It 
acted on Eph's eyes like a magnet. They were 
glued to the flask for a second. With a strong 
effort he closed them and then opened them on 
the distant landscape and waited. “Eph, will 
you have a drop?” “No sir No whiskey for 
me. I tell the boys here that they’d be a good 
deal better off if they’d let whiskey alone. I 
don’t believe in it.” 
About a minute’s silence (surprise caused it 
on my part). He was waiting for me to say 
something. I didn’t speak, so he did, rather 
hesitatingly. “Sometimes — waal, sometimes, it 
ain’t bad as a medicine, when a man’s cold or 
wet; it kind o’ prevents trouble in bad, rainy 
weather—say, waal, something like to-day.” And 
his eyes had got around to the flask again with 
a very interested expression. I handed the flask 
to him. He turned out and hastily swallowed a 
good big drink. “That ain't bad whiskey. Didn’t 
git it around here, I guess.” That was the last 
temperance lecture I ever had from Ephraim. 
When we got to the camp that afternoon our 
catch, which was sixty-four fish, including two 
weighing over four pounds each, there was much 
ROCK RIVER CAMP IN THE ADIRONDACKS. 
