Aug. 19, ign.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
291 
woods with the eager anticipation of youth, 
though the senior Keen was near that age when 
in most men the recollection of former pleas¬ 
ures must take the place of active enjoyment. 
They were very sympathetic and gladly directed 
us to their own choice fishing waters, loaned us 
tents and blankets, helped us to find their own 
guide, made terms in our behalf and aided us 
in compiling lists of personal articles and proven¬ 
der to be taken into the woods. 
Being new to the country we spent more time 
at Digby than really necessary for anyone dupli¬ 
cating our trip, and in this connection we cannot 
speak too highly of George Risser, of the Myrt'e 
House, who set apart a room for us where we 
left our trunks and personal belongings without 
charge while we were away. 
After scouring the surrounding country, we 
finally ran down Joe Pictou, the Indian guide 
recommended by Stanley Keen; and in a few 
hours concluded arrangements to meet him at 
Bear River the following day. The charge for 
his services, including canoe, was $2 per day and 
similar services and canoe furnished by John 
McEwen (Sabadis) his half-breed assistant, were 
charged for at $1.50 per day. 
At the suggestion of Mr. Keen, we outfitted 
at Clark Brothers’ general store at Bear River, 
nine miles from Digby, and here again we found 
that gentlemanly courtesy and attention of which 
home business life seems so barren. Emerson 
Reed, of that firm, took personal charge and 
with the aid of Mr. Rice, the head of the grocery 
department, attended to our wants with expedi¬ 
tion and care, and the fact that we were not over¬ 
loaded with any undesirable articles which we 
personally wished to add to Mr. Keen’s list, was 
due to their watchfulness and timely suggestions. 
We outfitted for an eight days’ stay in the woods 
at a cost of about $12.50 and had more than we 
could use. 
During the preceding afternoon we heard 
much about black flies that cut, mosquitoes that 
sting and little midge flies that bite, and particu¬ 
larly of one ferocious variety known as the 
moose fly which, according to common repute, 
was wont to bite a piece out of a man’s ear and 
then sit upon the nearest limb with a smile of 
contentment on its countenance, while it devoured 
the missing section of one’s anatomy. 
Ira’s ardor was somewhat cooled after hear¬ 
ing this veracious account of the moose fly’s 
sanguinary tendencies, until having thoroughly 
weighed the probabilities and the possibilities, 
the prosecuting attorney in him showed upper¬ 
most, as he expressed his regret that the law 
of the Province was not sufficiently elastic to 
permit of the finding of a true bill for mayhem, 
and the ultimate prosecution of the moose fly 
for felonious assault. After having thus relieved 
himself he appeared more contented. 
The next morning Mr. Reed, having secured a 
buckboard for us at a charge of $4, the two In¬ 
dians, our dunnage and ourselves having been 
safely stowed aboard, we left Bear River for a 
nine-mile drive to Lake Jolly. Arriving there, 
the dunnage was placed aboard the canoes, and 
one of us being comfortably seated in each, the 
Indians paddled off. 
This lake heads off into a long stream, arriv¬ 
ing at the end of which all hands helped to por¬ 
tage to Ninth Lake, the Indians doubling, as they 
did on each carry. Down Ninth, Eighth and 
Seventh lakes, with intervening portages, brought 
us finally to the head of Sixth Lake, where we 
camped for the night. 
Many interesting incidents marked the day’s 
trip. Lazy porcupines that were as large as a 
young bear and would not climb a tree at Joe’s 
request; rabbits that did not seem to heed the 
human presence; partridges which sat appar¬ 
ently unobservant on a limb until approached too 
closely, and mother ducks which seemingly could 
not fly until they had led us a substantial dis¬ 
tance from their hiding offspring. 
The Indian method of bedding the tent floor 
was simple and interesting. Spruce tips were 
selected in quantity, each about 1 14 feet long, 
the stem being forced into the earth so as to 
incline the tip slightly from the horizontal in. 
order to give an effect of springiness to the 
whole, and a more delightful bed no tired angler 
ever slept upon. 
With the entire lake for a tub we were soon 
splashing around in utmost contentment, and 
after a thorough rest, Joe and I spent half an 
hour hooking three trout, which promptly found 
their way into the frying-pan for the evening’s 
meal. During the long twilight we sat about 
the fire discussing the incidents of the day, 
breathing the pure, dry, balsam-laden air, finally 
retiring for a sound refreshing sleep. 
Early the next morning found us on our way 
down Sixth Lake, a fairly long portage brought 
us to a stream leading into Fifth Lake, and it 
was fully two in the afternoon when we reached 
the point where we made our permanent camp, 
which was located on a knoll extending into the 
lake, so that the wind could reach us without 
interception from three directions. We found 
the water exceedingly low and clear, and as all 
the fishing was done from the canoe in dead 
waters, it was difficult to prevent the trout from 
becoming aware of our presence. 
One day Joe induced me to make a long trip 
down Sporting Lake Stream over several por¬ 
tages, along some of which fresh moose tracks 
could be distinctly seen, to a couple of his 
favorite pools. We had but an hour to fish, and 
after carefully dropping the flies upon the sur¬ 
face of the pool in the most approved high school 
manner—my college education in that regard hav¬ 
ing never been completed—I was rewarded by a 
tug which bent my three and one-half-ounce rod 
almost double, and made me think I had hooked 
the grandfather of the tribe. 
While this proved interesting, it was no less 
so to observe the skill with which the Indian 
backed noiselessly into shoal water and away 
from the pool so as not to disturb the remainder 
of the family, nor his quick words of encourage¬ 
ment whenever another twenty-five or fifty feet 
of line rushed out, nor after landing the first 
trout was there anything to be ashamed of in 
A TROUTING PARTY FROM WHITE SAND LAKE STREAM. 
