June 22, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
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bridge on the Florida East Coast Railway, where 
we met quite a fleet of yachts—Commodore James 
in Lanai, W. J. Matheson in Namona, Hugh D. 
Auchincloss in Nirodha, and the Buffalo under 
charter. We were glad to get a bunch of let¬ 
ters and telegrams from home and anchored for 
the night in Blackwater Bay. 
It was blowing half a gale dead ahead south¬ 
east on the I2th, thermometer 82 degrees, when 
we proceeded under power at 9 a. m. for Jew- 
fish Bush, forty-five miles, and anchored at 4 
p. M. The captain made the launch fast along¬ 
side and kept her engine running full speed to 
furnish additional power. This was a memor¬ 
able date, as we started our first tarpon fishing 
immediately after anchoring, and did not come 
aboard until long after dark. There were plenty 
of fish about and the gunman was the only lucky 
angler, getting one, 100 pounds weight, 6 feet 
2 inches long. He proved a very game little fish, 
piiitting up a long fight. The scribe must shame¬ 
facedly admit to getting five strikes, all of which 
he missed, partly because he was shaking with 
excitement and partly because his old-fashioned 
reel is powerless and out of date. Registered 
a vow to replace it with a modern one at Long 
Key fishing camp. We were all delighted with 
the gunman’s success and sat down in high spirits 
to dinner at 9 o'clock. A heavy thunderstorm 
at night, and the scribe’s skylight being open 
and he sleeping like a log, did not wake up until 
pretty well soaked. 
The gunman was tired after his struggle last 
night and refused to leave his bunk, but the pho¬ 
tographer, scribe and captain went out at 6 
A. M. for tarpon on the 13th. It was a per¬ 
fectly still, dull day, thermometer 82 degrees, 
without a ripple on the water, and we did not 
get a strike. Back to the yacht and under way 
at nine for Long Key fishing camp, ten miles, 
where we spent the morning ashore. The gun¬ 
man left his tarpon, an enormous shark’s jaw 
and barracuda head to be mounted, and the 
scribe invested in a powerful new reel with 
patent drag, which did good service later. De¬ 
parted for Knight’s Key at noon and anchored 
at 3:3o p. M. near Colonel Thompson’s yacht, the 
Everglades, and close to the railway trestle. Off 
we all went for tarpon, and the Scribe promptly 
tied up to a beastly five-foot shark, whose throat 
Bill cut with gusto and a knife. The hatred 
of any sailor man to a shark can only be matched 
by the devil’s dislike to holy water. Also the 
gunman did the shark act, and the scribe ac¬ 
counted for an 18-pound ‘‘horse-eye” jack. After 
dinner the photographer and the scribe had an¬ 
other hack at them with the captain, and the 
photographer struck a large fish in the dark, 
supposedly a tarpon, but lost him. The scribe’s 
fate was a snook or rovalia, sixteen pounds, 
about as large as they come. Glad to turn in 
at eleven after a busy day. The Florida East 
Coast repair and machine shops are about two miles 
west of our anchorage at Marathon on Knight’s 
Key, where the road employs 1,000 men and the 
plant is said to be as complete as any in the country. 
The Lure of the Allegash 
W E have enlarged not only our vocabulary, 
but our circle of friends, for we count 
every one of our guides as such. Some 
one has said, “You will get along all right with 
your Maine guide if you are willing to take him 
at his own valuation, which is 
high,” but why should they not 
value themselves highly if they 
are like ours — honest, intelligent 
and trustworthy, and each one a 
true gentleman at heart. 
But the time came, all too 
soon for us, when we must leave 
our romantic wandering in the 
“silent places” of the forest and 
come down to such commonplace 
things as hotels and railway 
trains. Our hearts sank and we 
knew it was “all over” the 
moment Fort Kent came into 
view around a little bend in the 
river. Our college girl sighs and 
says; “What a commonplace 
ending to such a wonderful trip!” 
with a lingering caress on the 
“wonderful.” It has been a joy 
to us all, but I never saw a girl 
so absolutely happy as she. The 
guides declare that they never 
had such a girl with them before, 
and she a college girl, too! She 
has learned to manage a canoe very credit¬ 
ably, even attempting to pole up rapids where 
her indulgent guide thought it safe, and en¬ 
dured, without complaint, being nearly eaten 
alive by black flies the two or three days 
they descended upon us in clouds. Talk 
about roughing it! These little pests were the 
only hardship we endured on the whole trip, for 
we were waited on like queens by seven willing, 
By ETHEL DORR MELLOR 
Photographs by B. F. Mellor. 
trusty subjects, who did everything possible for 
our comfort. I, for one, have never been waited 
on so much in all my life, even at the best hotels 
in Europe or this country, and all done so sim¬ 
ply and willingly. Truly “guiding” is more than 
an occupation; -it is one of the fine arts. Fortu¬ 
nately colder weather and rain sent away our 
insect pests after a few days, and they returned 
only in such numbers as could easily be man¬ 
aged by smudge fires and head nets. 
If you will take a good map of Maine and 
follow our route for these three weeks, you 
will see what variety this Allegash trip affords. 
Leaving the train at the foot of Moosehead 
Lake, we took a steamer to Northeast Carry at 
the head of the lake, the very last outpost of 
civilization before striking into the woods. Here 
we spent the night in log camps and started next 
morning on a pleasant two-mile walk through 
the woods to the West Branch of 
the Penobscot, where we embark¬ 
ed in the canoes which were to 
bear us to the unknown paradise 
of our dreams. Down the Penob¬ 
scot to Chesuncook Lake where 
we deviated from our course for 
a side trip to Caucumgomac Lake, 
Round Pond and Poland Pond, 
then back again to Chesuncook to 
follow the Umbazooksus stream 
to Umbazooksus Lake. There, 
after crossing the lake, we came 
to a private log camp, uninhabited 
except by the caretaker, who keeps 
a strong pair of horses to carry 
canoes across Mud Pond Carry to 
Mud Pond, a distance of about 
two miles. The walk through the 
evergreen wood's afforded us a 
pleasant change before we took 
our canoes again to cross Mud 
Pond, then along a charming little 
brook to Chamberlain Lake. At 
the upper end of this lake our 
guides had to carry the canoes 
over the Lock Dam into Eagle Lake; next 
Churchill Lake', and then along the fascinating 
length of our lovely, changeable Allegash with 
its beautiful falls, and the three sheets of water 
—Umsaskis Lake, Long Lake and Round Pond, 
interrupting and giving variety to its course. 
Then the broader St. John’s River carried us to 
Fort Kent, where we packed our_ canoes, tents 
and duffle bags to be taken by train back to 
MAKING CAMP AFTER A RAINY DAy’S TRIP. 
