Forest and Stream 
Terms, $3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy. 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 1911. 
. VOL. LXXVII—No. 8. 
I No. 127 Franklin St.. New York. 
“seeing the wilderness in our own way." 
On the Trail of the Salmon and Caribou 
By THOMAS TRAVIS 
In Two Parts—Part One 
C HARLIE, you’ll never make that,” said the 
Doctor and Lieutenant in concert as we 
rounded a bend in the Grand Codroy and 
faced a mile of roaring, tumbling rapids. “You 
never in the world can pull that dory up there.” 
Charlie paused a moment and surveyed the 
heavily loaded boat. Meditatively he rubbed his 
chin and then with a grunt of determination 
slowly proceeded to push off. There was a long 
line of slack water and for this Charlie headed, 
his long legs tucked up almost to his chin, the 
sweeps gripped in his powerful hands. Slowly 
he crawled up under the lee of the crag, inch 
by inch he made his way while we watched the 
struggle. Then a change in the stream forced 
him out into the current. His jaws snapped to, 
the atmosphere became tense; silence almost 
profane fell on the scene and the Doctor turned 
his back while the Lieutenant soberly, solemnly 
pulled at his pipe. For Charlie and the dunnage 
hilariously waltzed; that is the exact word— 
waltzed down the rapids and into the pool once 
more, to land a little below where he had started. 
This was our third attempt to get up the roar¬ 
ing Newfoundland river on the trail of the 
salmon. So, the afternoon being well spent, we 
decided to camp right there and try the pool we 
could not leave behind. 
We had excellent trout tackle, but nothing for 
salmon save two dozen flies. So with my light 
rod and a big Montreal fly I whipped that pool 
for hours. Here we had been informed the 
salmon fishing began. So every kind of fly, trout 
and salmon, we tried, then spoons and minnows, 
and at last, in desperation, worms. The sun 
dropped behind the forest. From a tall tree a 
small hawk chattered. The first, second and last 
call for supper sounded from camp; the two 
came to escort me back and then, just at the 
last moment, a strike. 
For ten minutes I played that fish, while all 
of us cheered. It was a big one, but whether 
salmon or not none of us knew, till at last it 
came to the net, a beautiful sea trout some 
three or four pounds in weight. And with this 
for our first catch we slowly wended our way 
back in the sunset to camp and supper. 
Soon the flames rolled about a bucket of 
chowder. Daylight still glowed bright at g p. m., 
and to a roaring fire out on those glacial cobbles 
of Newfoundland we sang o’d camp songs, while 
