Sept. 2, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
371 
Salt-Water Campers in the Woods 
By “JACK’ 
The day was one to linger in our memories. 
The Keejeemacoojee River was at its best 
stage and mood, softly rippling in the light 
southerly breeze through long reaches of still 
water, or running at quickened rate in shallower 
places, where we caught glimpses of the stream¬ 
ing eel grass on the clean rocky bottom, or 
yet again indulging in falls and rapids to add a 
spice of apparent danger, as we slid down, the 
slope of curling, foaming white water. The 
river banks were unblemished by human dis¬ 
figurements, the trees and bushes in their fresh¬ 
est spring leafage, while overhead a sun-flooded 
blue sky furnished lights and shades of marvel¬ 
ous loveliness as we meandered, care-free and 
happy, down the stream. And all day long we 
caught gamy hard-fighting trout. At the head 
and foot of every bit of running water were the 
speckled trout lying await in the clear dark 
water for the drop of the fly. Sometimes they 
would rise to the carelessly dangling and troll¬ 
ing flies while we paddled through quiet still 
waters, and always were we able to get them 
while running the swifter water of the rapids, 
provided, of course, that the guide could snub 
the canoe long enough to permit of a cross¬ 
current cast. And it was such sociable fishing 
—no need to cautiously stalk the likely places, 
no need to curb any exuberance of spirits or 
to subdue expressions of joy. What we did 
not catch might stay, and welcome—and any¬ 
how. the ones we took went back. A more 
nicely devised little river, the Keejeemacoojee. 
for three anglers could not be imagined, as we 
could always be close enough to the other fel¬ 
low to see what he was doing, and many times 
we fished three abreast. Besides, there was so 
much room overhead that no fear of a back 
cast lodging in over-hanging trees bothered us 
for a moment. Our total catch was 140 trout, 
and two baby salmon. 
We only made eight miles that day. Even 
the names of the places of interest sounded at¬ 
tractive—Black Rattle, Squaw Camp Brook, 
Pescawess Stillwater, Pescawess Ledges, Whale-, 
back, Arthur’s Ledges, Big Boom, and finally 
Trout Rock, where our fine little river lost its 
identity in the broad surface of Lake Rossignol. 
Of course, we had adventures. Eight shel¬ 
drakes were stirred up one by one during the 
day, and once a black duck flew out from a 
thicket in evident dismay. We searched for 
the nest we suspected she had jumped from, but 
could not find it. 
At another place further on a turn in the 
river brought into view a great owl sitting on a 
dead tree close to the water’s edge. Immedi¬ 
ately, Gurney, who had the only firearm, was 
seized with a desire to slaughter that owl, and 
while the guide maneuvered the canoe he pro¬ 
ceeded to get his gun. First he felt in his hip 
pocket—it was not there. Then he recalled it 
was in the pocket in his khaki jacket, and that 
article of attire was stowed away in the waist 
of the canoe. Presently he got it out—to find 
it unloaded and the cartridges somewhere in 
his duffle bag—and the duffle bag securely 
locked up. Meanwhile, the owl was perfectly 
serene, and after a thorough survey of the 
highly agitated gentleman beneath him, he un¬ 
concernedly flew off up the river. But Gurney 
had some compensation in catching the record 
fish that day, a nice one weighing a pound and 
three-eighths. 
I T was on a Saturday night late in October, 
at our regular week-end camp, that Bill. 
Jack and Ted found themselves seated 
’round a roaring camp-fire, the sole occupants 
of this usually well-attended retreat. 
The conversation drifted, until finally the 
main topic centered on where we were going 
to spend our next vacation—eight months 
hence. After a good deal of discussion. Jack 
proposed a trip through the Adirondacks. to 
which every one agreed, and the latter part 
r :s 1 . 
THE TUMPLINE STIFFENS THE MUSCLES AT FIRST. 
of June following was set as the date of de¬ 
parture. At every weed-end camp throughout 
the spring and summer months the main topic 
was in reference to outfits and the section 
through which to travel, until eventually we de¬ 
cided on the Fulton Chain, Long Lake, 
Raquette River, Saranac Lake and Tupper 
Lake regions. 
After a long wait, which to us seemed ages, 
the middle of June arrived, and, according to 
previous arrangement, the outfit was taken by 
canoe to the pier and checked for our destina¬ 
tion; then on the following day we arrived at 
the pier in due time, and with the cry of “all 
aboard’’ ringing in our ears, bade goodby to 
one of our campmates who had been so 
thoughtful as to come and wish 11s “bon 
voyage,” and, incidentally, to supply 11s with 
several good maps of the country through 
which we were to pass. 
With joyous hearts we left New York on 
June 17 on the steamer C. W. Morse. Al¬ 
though we were faithfully promised by the 
baggage-master on the boat that our luggage 
would be put on board our train, when Bill had 
given the baggage-car a careful examination at 
Albany next morning he reported that it was 
not there. 
At Old Forge, while waiting for the outfit, 
we went about purchasing supplies and viewing 
the fish hatcheries, at the same time getting 
all the information possible from the natives' 
regarding the character of the country and the 
fishing. Four hours later the outfit came, and 
we lost no time in getting started on our way. As 
the sun was now nearing the horizon, we planned 
to make camp on First Lake, and on arriving 
at the campsite were received in a brotherly 
fashion by black flies, but after a good meal, 
we went to rest on the side of a slope which 
we had partly leveled by spreading out a 
quantity of balsam twigs. 
We made an early start the next morning, 
passing through First, Second, Third, Fourth 
and Fifth lakes of the Fulton Chain. At our 
first carry, about half a mile, the necessity of 
reducing the weight of our outfit was strongly 
brought to our attention. We stopped at the 
opening into Seventh Lake for a light lunch. A 
short paddle brought us to our second carry, 
one mile. Portaging did not appear so easy 
now, as the condition of our outfit made it 
necessary for one of us to retrace his steps 
and we decided to make a final “cutout” at the 
next railway station. 
Our carry led us to Eighth Lake, which is 
about a mile in length and entirely free of 
dwellings. Flere we concluded to stay a day 
to rest, as carrying heavy packs long distances 
with the aid of a tumpline had stiffened our 
necks a trifle. We felt that we were now really 
on our way, and after putting in a day of loaf¬ 
ing and fishing, packed our outfit and proceeded 
northward, making the mile-and-a-quarter carry 
between Eighth Lake and Brown’s Tract in 
fairly good time, although with some little dif¬ 
ficulty. First ducking our heads in the water 
to refresh us, we paddled through Brown’s 
Tract stream, with its snake-like windings, from 
which we emerged into Raquette Lake. Here 
we sent back twenty-five pounds of the. outfit. 
We purchased more provisions, had a cool 
drink, then pushed on up Raquette Lake to 
Indian Point, where we had lunch. While fish¬ 
ing off the point Jack landed a couple of black 
bass, which were carefully packed away to be 
eaten later. 
An hour’s paddle against a strong wind and 
we found ourselves facing a half-mile carry into 
Forked Lake. While preparing the packs we 
spied several black bass and further progress 
was delayed until Jack had whipped the spot, 
with good results. 
Camp was pitched that evening at the north¬ 
ern end of Forked Lake, near the Raquette 
Falls, where we received a very enthusiastic re- 
