Sept. 23, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
485 
the remainder and walked nearly four miles 
back to camp. 
Monday we awoke to a gray cold day which 
turned into a miserable southeaster during the 
afternoon. Charlie and Horace went out by the 
longer way to prospect the river to see if it 
would be possible to put the canoes in the water 
anywhere short of Bartlett’s. Lawrence and the 
rest of us crossed the river near camp and took 
the shorter trail to the ox road. On taking 
everything into consideration, particularly the 
report which Charlie and Horace made on the 
mile or so of river they had examined, we de¬ 
cided to make a straight carry to camp. Gurney 
carried the guides’ blankets, one tent, the re¬ 
flecting oven, and dragged in each hand a set¬ 
ting pole; George was loaded with his duffle 
bag, a tent and fly, and one setting pole; and 
my legs wabbled under my own heavy duffle 
After dinner the little cabin was brushed and 
cleaned to the degree of neatness we had found 
it in, Heman’s birch canoe put back in its place, 
our own canoes loaded in water where they 
could float, and we were off. I, who knew some¬ 
thing of the stretch of water between Bartlett’s 
and Crowell’s—a long fifteen miles—counseled 
that it would be wise to go part way and then 
camp, but the others were anxious to get the 
mail which was awaiting us at Heman’s, and 
were inclined to push through. Little did they 
realize that fifteen such miles as we had before 
us could prove quite an undertaking for one 
afternoon’s canoeing. 
At the foot of Bartlett's long savannah we 
stepped out of the canoes, while the guides slid 
them gently through the headgates of the lum¬ 
ber dam, then came two or three rough places 
in swifter water, a longish smooth run, and we 
Bartlett's brook. 
bag, an ax, and the butter firkin. By going 
fifteen minutes or so and resting for five we 
managed to get into camp in about two hours, 
a very tired trio, and before another hour had 
elapsed the guides brought in the canoes. 
We had mastered serious adverse conditions, 
we had met trying physical obstacles and had 
overcome them, we had shown ourselves to be 
men in the face of fatigue and discouragement. 
Nevertheless, we were not proud. We could 
not help thinking what double-dyed, green¬ 
headed idiots we had been not to have had 
Heman meet us on Oakland Lake with the ox 
team. But before this chapter of misadventure 
is closed, in simple justice a word of praise 
must be and hereby is bestowed upon willing, 
hard-working, courageous Horace, Lawrence 
and Charles. They were not responsible in the 
slightest for the situation which arose, but 
when we had gotten into trouble they had 
worked diligently and cheerfully until we were 
gotten out. To the next fellow who goes that 
way—don't forget Heman and his ox team! 
reached the place where, on the previous year, 
we had dragged the heavy flat-bottomed boat 
a considerable distance through the woods. 
This year, with the handier canoes and a more 
expert corps, we got through without much 
trouble by sliding the canoes over the smooth 
setting poles. Then came a mile and a half 
of easy paddling through Wallace Lake, another 
dam and open headgate, and on down the river 
to Pug Lake. From here on we ran into a very 
winding portion of the river through many 
rapids, some of which were narrow and tumultu¬ 
ous, and all of which gave abundant opportun¬ 
ity for expert pole work. Lawrence enjoyed 
this work thoroughly and showed a dare-devil 
disposition in taking precipitous falls which 
was exciting to watch but sometimes discon¬ 
certing to me. Several times when Horace 
would hold up to take a look at a particularly 
bad place, Lawrence would slide in and away 
he would go through the foam and turmoil. 
Once his pole stuck in a cranny in the rocks 
and for a moment he hung perilously near dis¬ 
aster, but he came through with only a little 
water in his canoe. He seemed to take a pro¬ 
fessional pride in running the rapids cleverly 
and sometimes when he had touched or scraped 
he would say, “I could go through that again 
and not hit anything.” 
All of this portion of the Tusket is very 
beautiful, but the weather was so bad with the 
rain and the cold wind that we did not enjoy 
it much. We traveled fast and well along in 
the afternoon we passed the Moose Calling 
Meadows, where on previous years I had been 
willing to call the halt to a day’s journey to 
complete the remaining run to Big Meadow 
Brook next day. But we kept on. Below this 
point the river was very circuitous, mostly in 
short twists and turns. Once in following a 
straight stretch of water I ran into a channel 
which looked like the right course. There was 
some difference of opinion, but, deceived by the 
waves created by the wind, I felt sure it was the 
way until Lawrence and I had paddled up a long 
deadwater until we reached a falls tumbling to¬ 
ward 11s. It was hard on tired muscles, and harder 
still on amour propre to return to the other 
fellows who, in the meantime and by the exer¬ 
cise of a little common sense, had discovered 
we had gone astray by noting the direction of 
the waving eelgrass on the bottom. This mis¬ 
take had put 11s on the Moose Lake stream, 
which heads up near Oakland, but at that time 
I had never even heard ot it. We found the 
continuance of our waterway far off to the left 
and thoroughly concealed until we were right 
upon it. Sometime later we came to a wooden 
bridge across the river. Here I rubbed my 
eyes and felt bound in truth to mention that I 
had never seen it. As a matter of fact we after¬ 
ward learned that it was the bridge for the road 
to Rockingham, and it had been put there since 
I had been over this portion of the river. But 
that after-discov.ered knowledge did not help 
me. All confidence in my ability to guide sank 
to the vanishing point then and there. If it 
had been possible, I would have been handed 
my discharge forthwith. 
The bridge and presently a meadow, where 
some one had cut hay, were evidences that we 
were getting near the settlement, but still no 
Big Meadow Brook. On we went with dis¬ 
couragement writ large on every face. Twice 
all of the others wanted to stop and make camp 
in the rain and cold—and small blame to them— 
but I felt that the shelter of Heman’s house 
would be worth every effort on such a night, 
and that we could reach it. Then came George’s 
Lake and the wind almost finished us as we 
paddled straight into it. Here one of our party, 
who was ahead, went ashore to indicate his 
feelings on the subject of camping, but I 
pleaded so hard for just a little more that I 
got it. Through a Stillwater, down a rapid, and 
the familiar landmarks of Big Meadow Brook 
came in sight. We paddled up the brook a 
short distance, hauled the canoes out, turned 
them over the dunnage, and struck up the trail 
to the road. It was after eight o’clock. We 
were blue with cold, wet despite the oilskins, 
muscle-sore and almost starved, but the two 
miles to Heman’s was quickly covered and six 
tired men w r ere taken under that hospitable roof 
to be warmed, fed, and made comfortable. Here 
we got our letters and the news of the big out¬ 
side world. 
