4 S 4 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 23, igti. 
From Rossignol to Tusket—IV 
By M. B. MILLER 
Illustrated from photographs by J. Gurney Taylor 
A T the terminus of Oakland deadwater, where 
it narrows and breaks as it runs into the 
woods, is Reeves’ Camp. It is a simple, one- 
room frame shanty with a tiny porch, but that day 
it assumed high importance in our eyes as the 
first building of any sort which we had seen since 
leaving Maitland. We went ashore and satis¬ 
fied our curiosity by prowling around it and 
peering into the windows. By this time it was 
after three o’clock and the matter of reaching 
Camp Bartlett and the supplies had to be con¬ 
sidered. 
From Reeves' Camp, indeed all the way from 
Oakland Lake, there is an ox-team trail which 
leads down the Tusket, sometimes near and 
sometimes far, to the first settlement near 
Heman Crowell’s home in East Ivemptville. It 
passes close to Camp Bartlett. It may save 
frequent interruptions to explain that on former 
visits I had made it my practice to have hauled 
back to Bartlett’s on the ox-team a flat-bot¬ 
tomed boat and camping material, and with my 
guide to walk the seven long hard miles. Ex¬ 
cept for the two miles near Crowell’s the entire 
road was execrably bad, almost unbelievably so, 
and impassable for any beast of burden save 
oxen. 
With the comfortable camp at Bartlett’s 
for headquarters, I would make day’s fishing 
trips up and down the main stream and along 
its tributaries; and when the allotted period 
was over the boat would be called into use for 
the return by the longer but far more beautiful 
and interesting waterway. In this manner I 
had acquired a moderately good idea of the 
Oakland branch of the Tusket. Twice I had 
gone on foot as far as Reeves’ place and once 
to Oakland Lake; I had fished up the stream 
from Bartlett’s for a mile or two and at isolated 
spots beyond, but never bad attempted to follow 
the water route clear through. With this ex¬ 
planatory digression the chronicle of the day 
may proceed. 
It w’as decided that we should walk and leave 
the job of getting the canoes down for the next 
day. After turning the canoes over the greater 
portion of our equipment, we packed the food 
remains, the blankets and some necessities, and 
with each man carrying his load, we started 
down the ox road to Bartlett’s. It was reputed 
to be four miles away, but I had been over it 
and mildly suggested that those miles were long 
ones. At first the road was not bad and we 
swung along at a goodly gait, but soon it com¬ 
menced to live up to its evil reputation. Over 
rocks and down gullies, across moose bogs, 
where we had to walk as though through heavy 
snow, on to bits of slippery corduroy, past 
watercourses, where a misstep meant a bruised 
shin or worse, through swamps and over high, 
dry, gravelly land—in faith a choice variety. Off 
to the east could be seen, now and then, patches 
of blue water of the Tusket, beyond it a hard¬ 
wood ridge, while still further beyond were the 
Blue Mountains. Along this stretch of river 
pours in from the eastward the Oak Knob 
branch, which has its source in Clearwater Lake 
somewhere near Buckshot, but we never caught 
a glimpse of it. Once we got off the beaten 
track in a vain endeavor to find a short cut 
which I knew existed somewhere. Finally after 
hours of trudging, with shoulders raw and 
feet sore, we forded the river, then Dog Brook, 
and presently Camp Bartlett stood before us. 
It had taken us three hours and it was unani¬ 
mously voted that the four miles should be 
changed to six. 
Never did that beloved old place look more 
beautiful. The broad stretch of water curving 
away toward the west, the brook on one side 
and the river with its tumbling falls on tne 
other, the maples across on the point and 
further on the evergreens bordering the savan¬ 
nah as far as the eye could see, the fast setting 
sun lighting the sky into flame afar, and throw¬ 
ing near at hand lovely shadows. Commanding 
the scene on the knoll where we stood was the 
wooden camp with its primitive comforts. And 
best of all, Heman bad not failed us—our sup¬ 
plies were there, including fresh butter and 
eggs and several loaves of Mrs. Crowell’s de¬ 
licious bread. Horace immediately took ad¬ 
vantage of the camp cook stove and the 
abundant new supplies to get us up just the 
kind of supper tired men need after such a day. 
How good it felt to crawl into those bunks on 
the soft meadow hay! 
Our chief concern was to get the canoes and 
duffle down to Bartlett’s. As no one knew any¬ 
thing about the waterway from Reeves’ down, 
and as I felt some responsibility by reason of 
having planned the trip, and, furthermore, as I 
had some curiosity about those portions of the 
stream which I had never seen, I decided to re¬ 
trace those six miles and come down the river 
with the men. George and Gurney were muscle 
sore and wanted to rest up, so they decided to 
keep camp and just potter around while we 
were gone. 
The four of 11s were off by seven o’clock and 
two and a half hours later had reached the 
canoes. First we viewed the stream for a dis¬ 
tance and found that a carry was necessary. 
Three hundred yards brought us out on a rock- 
studded deadwater down which we paddled. 
The easy going was short, and in a few minutes 
we were again in the midst cpf difficulties. There 
seemed to be enough water, but as soon as a 
rapid was reached the stream separated into 
BARTLETT. 
three or four half-hidden channels, and, as 
Lawrence soundly observed, a greased snake 
couldn't float down such water. And with every 
rapid there came a thicket. No one knew the 
country, and hence there had to be a recon¬ 
naissance with every stoppage to determine just 
where the next deadwater was and how best to 
get to it. To work like slaves to get through 
a rough place, then to load everything into the 
canoes again and start paddling to find that 
around the next bend the deadwater disap¬ 
peared into another snarl, was the disheartening 
experience which was repeated again and again. 
Once we went out to the ox-road three-fourths 
of a mile away, carried a mile and then got 
back again to the water; and once we cut a 
trail straight through the timber for a mile. 
To add to our misery the day was warm and 
the black flies scored unmercifully at every op¬ 
portunity. By four o’clock we bad made three 
and a half miles by water and were still up to 
our necks in trouble. We then took some of 
the dunnage in packs, turned the canoes over 
