450 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 16, 1911. 
our adventures with Heman Crowell, he told us 
that we could have gone from Kahfan to Oak¬ 
land by this route. From Buckshot Lake there 
is a carry to Clearwater Lake, which drains by 
the Oak Knob branch of Tusket running into 
Oakland branch above Bartlett’s, and from 
Clearwater Lake there is another carry over to 
Cranberry Lake, which flows by its own stream 
into the deadwater between Little Dish and 
Oakland. Buckshot, Clearwater, and Cranberry 
lie almost in a line between Kahfan and Oak¬ 
land. He could supply no information as to the 
length or character of the carries, or tell us 
much of the intervening streams. It is highly 
probable that had we known of this route we 
could have saved time and distance by going 
that way; but then we would have missed the 
very interesting, though roundabout trip we 
took. 
The next day was one of carries—five in all. 
It opened clear and cool, with the wind in the 
west and not much of it. The carry from Buck¬ 
shot stream (700 yards above Kahfan) runs 
straight north over the barren divide for two 
miles to Moosehead on the other watershed. 
The trail is good throughout and was formerly 
an Indian pathway leading up from the Bear 
River region. On reaching the summit of the 
long rise, we had magnificent views to the west, 
south and east. Pine Lake and Kahfan and the 
communicating stream lay before us like a won¬ 
derful map, and the bare, bleak surrounding 
country was seen for miles in its picturesque 
solitude. Close at hand, the dry, stony ground 
was sparsely covered by tough, short heather, 
and monumental boulders had clinging to their 
sides dry, somber-colored lichens. 
We were all carrying or resting from 8 o’clock 
until nearly 12, but by that time we were on 
the shores of Mooshead, ready to eat luncheon 
before taking to the water route again. Moose- 
head Lake, so called because of its fancied re¬ 
semblance in outline to a moose’s head, is 
nearly three miles long. Like most of these 
inland lakes, a colony of sea gulls had their 
nests on the great granite rocks which rose 
from the surface of the water at several places 
on the lake. As a rule, one pair of gulls have 
a rock to themselves, and the nest is a primitive 
affair lodged in a crevice on top of it and of 
just enough material to keep the eggs and 
young off the rough surface. Our course took 
us into a deep rocky cove at the northwest 
corner, and from there through three-quarters 
of a mile of winding Stillwater. Then came a 
quarter-mile carry—two trips for everybody— 
followed by nearly a mile of rather broad dead- 
water, which brought us in turn to carry No. 3, 
also a quarter of a mile. By this time our in¬ 
experience in carrying packs began to count, 
and when, at the end of the next short still- 
water, we came to a half-mile carry over a 
rough, slippery trail, we decided that one trip 
would be quite enough for us. This threw three 
trips on the guides, and the same was true at 
the next and last carry of the day, a hard one 
of a mile. 
They have a saying in Nova Scotia in speak¬ 
ing of distances that a certain place “is a mile 
and a piece away,” but the piece may be longer 
than the mile. We were deeply impressed by 
the soundness of the maxim as applied to car¬ 
ries. Of course, any trail seems long after a 
certain time to an inexperienced man carrying 
a heavy pack, and there is no doubt that going 
back light for another load shortens the dis¬ 
tance considerably, but when all is admitted, 
there still seems to be an innate conservatism 
—I was about to say parsimony—in liberating 
land miles, which made us wonder if the stand¬ 
ard length of a mile in Nova Scotio and in the 
United States might not be different. 
The strength and endurance of the guides was 
an excellent example of what trained muscles 
could do. Of course, all of the heavy packs were 
provided with broad straps, which went across 
the shoulders and chest and enabled the man 
to carry the weight mostly on the lower back 
by bending forward; but when on top of this 
main pack was placed another substantial 
bundle and he carried an ax or something of the 
sort in either hand, the aggregate weight was 
anywhere between sixty and a hundred pounds. 
To carry such a load far over a rough trail, 
stepping from stone to stone, or sinking half¬ 
way to the knees in crossing bogs or balancing 
along slippery logs, was a feat in strength and 
co-ordination of no mean proportions. Par¬ 
ticularly was the handling of the canoes ad¬ 
mirable, as a canoe is an awkward thing on the 
shoulders, especially in high wind or in the 
forest, and the weight not inconsiderable, the 
ones we used weighing 80 pounds when new. 
The part which fell to us, if we wanted to work, 
was to carry the lighter packs, together with the 
odds and ends. As to the latter, I estimated 
before the trip was over that I personally had 
carried the butter firkin nine thousand miles. 
The figures still look moderate. 
About 5:30 we came out on White Sand Lake, 
a perfect gem, approximately two miles long 
and beautifully symmetrical in shape. It was 
the first good-looking lake since Irwin. In the 
main the shore was abruptly rocky, but toward 
the eastern end there were wide beaches formed 
of white sand and granite pebbles. We camped 
on the south shore at the end of the carry, 
having come since morning ten or eleven miles. 
After the evening meal was over we jointed the 
rods. A trout and a rise or two served and we 
caught enough for breakfast, when a passing 
shower sent us scurrying to cover. 
Our camp here was one of the most satis¬ 
factory of the pilgrimage. The tents faced the 
north and looked out across the lake toward a 
charming vista of water, rock and sandy shore, 
backed by low hills, thinly covered with ever¬ 
greens and birches. Once again we were get¬ 
ting into a wooded country, though on our 
shore it was still bare enough. The water was 
very clear and had only to a slight extent the 
brownish tinge which all the Nova Scotian 
waters get from the many muskegs. The night 
was chilly, the morning clear and refreshing, 
the wind blowing in light zephyrs from the 
west, and just enough cloud effect to add charm 
to the cerulean dome. 
After breakfast the guides white-leaded once 
more the scratches inflicted on the canvas covers 
of the canoes by the rocky bottoms. Within 
a hundred yards of the tents were the fresh 
tracks of a cow moose and her calf, showing 
that they had passed us during the night, and 
on the sandy beach of the shore were the tracks 
of two wildcats. 
The close intimacy of canoe and camp had by 
this time made us well acquainted with the qual¬ 
ities of our guides, and we were fully prepared 
to subscribe to the statement that no party of 
visiting sportsmen were ever better suited in 
this respect than we were. Straightforward, 
clean-minded and clean spoken, energetic and 
resourceful, always cheery, always helping us 
and each other, never a cross word in difficul¬ 
ties, never any shirking of an unpleasant duty, 
no profanity or dubious stories—in truth, they 
may be characterized as gentlemen, and gen¬ 
tlemen in the best sense of that much abused 
word. Horace, the leader, was about thirty 
years old, slimly built and of medium stature. 
His quick, cat-like movements in everything he 
did spoke of trained muscles and perfect co¬ 
ordination. He was the merriest of compan¬ 
ions, constantly whistling or bursting into a 
snatch of song, or lightly chaffering with Law¬ 
rence or with one of us. He had a good voice 
and a natural talent for music; lie seemed to 
catch the refrain of a song with the greatest 
ease, and we never did get to the end of his 
repertoire of popular songs. He might not 
know the words exactly, but the tune was always 
right. Lawrence, the youngest of our corps, 
was a constant delight. He was only twenty- 
three and long of limb and face. In many re¬ 
spects he was a true boy with a boy’s love of 
risk and adventure, but with this ever-present 
phase he had many of the characteristics of an 
older man—the thoughtful consideration of 
others, a capital knowledge of the creatures of 
the woods, an almost innate sense of location 
and direction, plenty of common sense, and a 
splendid canoeman, the best among our men. 
Like the others, lie had served an apprentice¬ 
ship in the lumber camp and on the trail, but 
his especial aptness in observing the birds and 
animals had its origin in a wide experience in 
hunting and trapping. Furthermore, he was 
the possessor of a perennial font of whimsical 
humor, which never failed to raise a laugh. 
Charles, the eldest, was the sturdiest and 
strongest, having a short, stocky, well muscled 
frame, which bespoke the great strength and 
endurance which was his. He, like the others, 
was always polite and willing, but he was more 
quiet and not as communicative as either 
Horace or Lawrence. Nor was he as adroit 
in the canoe, and always preferred to make a 
carry rather than to take a chance through 
doubtful rapids. In camp he was a yeoman 
for work, and tackled the hardest part of it with 
rare cheerfulness. He and Lawrence had 
spent the previous winter in running lines of 
traps for otter, mink, fox and muskrat, and at 
the current market prices for fur, this had 
proved far more profitable for them than work¬ 
ing in a lumber camp, the usual winter occupa¬ 
tion of the Nova Scotian guides. We followed 
the excellent plan of changing guides each day, 
thereby securing the well-knit comradeship 
which is so important for a successful camping 
trip. 
We started on the two-mile paddle down 
White Sand Lake as late as 9:30, shaped our 
course west by northwest in the face of a light 
breeze, and ran out of the lake into a winding 
Stillwater. Almost at once we roused a loon 
from her nest. She dove into the water with a 
resounding splash. The nest was a rough, hap¬ 
hazard collection of small twigs a couple of feet 
from the water’s edge in the low bushes, and 
contained two large eggs. After following the 
Continued on page 469. 
