Sept. 16, 1911] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
449 
days off to the westward of our path in a search 
for them without seeing any or finding any signs. 
It is probable that they are extinct hereabout 
and the immunity granted them under the game 
laws has come too late to save these noble ani¬ 
mals. 
All afternoon we paddled and poled up stream, 
finding no special difficulties, but being disap¬ 
pointed in the fishing. On the bank at one p’ace 
we found a record on a tree where the Barrio 
Lake party, who had been there ten days ahead 
of us, had noted catching in the adjacent pool 
two trout each weighing two and a quarter 
pounds. The big fish were there, but not for 
us. Two or three miles brought us to Dunbar 
Lake, or Pine Lake. We used the strong east 
wind at our backs by turning the ponchos into 
square sails and making it carry us over the 
mile and a half of open water easily and quickly. 
Incidentally the sail up Dunbar Lake gradually 
developed into an exciting race which soon 
brought to the surface quantities of latent talent 
and skill in masterly sailing. 
From Dunbar to the next lake, Kahfan, was 
close to three miles, over short stillwaters and 
rapids in a very crooked course. For miles in 
every direction stretched the open country with 
low bushes, and now and then stunted trees fill¬ 
ing the swamps and huge boulders scattered as 
with a mighty hand over the higher land. In 
places the stream was just deep enough to float 
the canoes; at others the channel was so narrow 
that one could step ashore. We saw plenty of 
beaver signs, once a dam and twice large beaver 
houses. Earlier in the day we had noted abund¬ 
ant moose sign, but in this section it was not 
so apparent. Overhead we had seen a hawk with 
a trout in its talons, and had swerved from his 
flight a great blue heron, but the most interest¬ 
ing find of the day came later when Gurney 
discovered on a little island in Kahfan a loon's 
nest with two large dark brown mottled eggs 
it contained. 
We came into Kahfan on its east side, then 
turned north to find the further pathway. This 
was as far as Lawrence had ever been. Horace 
had never even seen this lake, and Charles was 
not able to take up the guiding until we had 
crossed the divide into the Sissyboo watershed. 
Kahfan and the country around it, as we saw 
it that night, was a perfect picture of desolation 
—water, granite boulders and a gray, fast-dark¬ 
ening sky. We were cold, wet, hungry, and the 
east wind was high and piercing. Save for a 
few short, ragged evergreens on the little rocky 
islets, the country was totally bare of trees. 
Horace and Gurney took a course along the east 
and north shores to find the trail which we had 
been told led to the carry to Moosehead Lake, 
while the rest of us searched the we:t shore. 
This search revealed nothing which even re¬ 
motely might be construed into a trail. Law¬ 
rence, Charles and I then went ashore at the 
north end of the lake and walked up a low hill, 
past a fox burrow, to get a wider outlook over 
the surrounding territory. Some distance away 
we saw a Stillwater bending westward which 
Lawrence felt sure led to Buckshot, a little lake 
which he had been told lay somewhere above 
Kahfan. In any event its windings apparently 
pointed toward an isolated clump of evergreens, 
and that meant wood and shelter for the night. 
We found its outlet into Kahfan and paddled up 
it. Several hundred yards from the lake and 
at an angle in its course we found the trail; 
at least, we hoped it was the right trail, marked 
by a stake at the water’s edge holding in its 
split end a rusty piece of tin. But we were too 
intent on making camp just then to let trails 
or anything else interfere, so we pushed on to¬ 
ward the evergreen where we found a campsite 
which offered shelter, warmth and food. 
Fortune decreed that we should spend two 
nights on the Buckshot stream above Kahfan. 
When we awoke it was still gusty and taining 
hard. Lawrence and Charles were assigned the 
duty of a scout to determine just where that 
trail of the night before went, and if it led to 
Moosehead Lake, to proceed further until White 
Sand Lake was reached. The latter lake was 
the furthermost point on the Sissyboo waters 
which Charles had visited or could recognize 
with certainty. The purpose of this was to 
avoid getting the entire party lost or far astray. 
The two pioneers, therefore, went off in the 
rain, each in a canoe, the idea being to leave 
one canoe at the other end of the carry to 
Moosehead if the trail proved to be the correct 
one. 
Nettled by another revolver competition with 
results not a whit better than the one at Peble- 
lugutch, I vouchsafed the remark that I could 
catch trout even if I couldn’t hit a tin can, and 
vaingloriously offered to wager a dollar that I 
could go over to the main stream, catch a fish 
and bring it back in twenty minutes. Gurney 
took the wager with a degree of celerity which 
immediately awakened me to the true propor¬ 
tions of my proposition. It was 3°° yards to 
the nearest likely place, the intervening ground 
was thickly covered with deadfalls, thickets and 
living trees, and then the matter of trout rising 
was uncertain, especially in such weather. I was 
given the time, and off I started at a lope. By 
dint of hard scrambling, abundantly penalized 
by scratches, I managed to reach the stream 
in good time. Then came the test. The first 
few casts were ineffectual, and hopes sank low 
as the seconds flew. Suddenly, close by the 
rock, there was a swirl where the silver doctor 
had flicked the water, and the song of the reel 
sounded the note of a big trout—entirely too 
big a trout under the circumstances. Then fol¬ 
lowed a short, sharp battle, in which the scales 
of fate hung evenly—most evenly, since the 
landing net had been forgotten. But in a few 
strenuous minutes the sturdy rod had done its 
work and the trout was steered into a little 
shallow cove and gently lifted ashore. Without 
removing the fly, trout and rod were seized, and 
the rush back to camp commenced. Bumps and 
bruises and shin-barkings passed unnoticed as 
camp was reached in glory of success. Eleven 
minutes was the elapsed time, and the fish 
weighed a pound and an eighth! 
The two guides got in about 3 o’clock very 
tired and very wet, and reported that the trail 
was the right one and we could go on. In 
the meantime the rain had ceased and the 
sun showed a tendency to smile upon us. 
Whereupon I started out with Horace in a 
canoe with the view of exploring Buckshot 
stream up to Buckshot Lake, and thereby 
achieving the furthermost source of the Shel¬ 
burne. Above camp the stream was small, but 
for a while it was possible to crawl along 
against the current; but presently this way be¬ 
came impassible without a carry. We left the 
canoe and followed a moose trail along the 
swampy borders of the stream, then walked a 
mile to a hill high enough to give a command¬ 
ing outlook. From this point we could see still 
stretching off to the westward bits of still water 
for probably two miles, but no Buckshot in 
sight. It likely was hidden by some little ridge. 
Some days later, when we were talking over 
; . „ 
SPORTING TAKE STREAM. 
