June 29, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
819 
bass fishermen who have had far more experi¬ 
ence on the Delaware than I have had or hope 
to have, confirm my opinion that a really big 
bass is rare, and a four-pounder is something 
to talk about for years. The biggest Delaware 
bass I ever saw looked like a four-pounder; it 
w'as estimated to weigh a half pound more than 
this, but I did not see it weighed, and do not 
know what its weight was. It was taken troll¬ 
ing in the river at Pond Eddy. 
Another short trip nearby is the Rancocas, 
taken over Decoration day by members of the 
Atlantic Division of the American Canoe Asso¬ 
ciation. Buy your ticket to Browns Mills in the 
Pines, N. J., and the canoe may be taken along 
as excess baggage for a dollar extra. On ar¬ 
rival, purchase a few necessities and start down 
Rancocas Creek, taking it easy in order to fully 
enjoy the beauties of that winding stream. And 
after you reach the Delaware River you can 
turn up stream and go as far as time will per¬ 
mit, or go down to Philadelphia or any nearer 
point before returning home. 
Still another short trip attracting canoe¬ 
ists down the Ramapo River, from Suffern, 
N. Y., to Pompton Lake, shipping home from 
Pompton Junction, or leave the outfit at the 
boathouse, at that village, going back for an¬ 
other week end of poking into picturesque spots. 
The Ramapo is a fine stream, pouring along at 
The Land 
P IERRE GAULTIER DE VARENNES, 
Sieur de la Verendrye! 
Did you hear of Pierre, Mr. Smith, as 
you paddled from the boat house to the point, 
had your lunch, and drifted back in the moon¬ 
light? 
Did you hear anything of Sieur de la Veren¬ 
drye, Mr. Jones, when you took that three-day 
trip down the river, your paddle strokes in 
rhythmic accord with the chugging of motors, 
your day’s journey ended when the whistles 
sounded six? 
Did you, Mr. Brown, when you made that 
two-weeks’ trip into the Canadian wilds, with 
the two guides, the well loaded canoes, the air 
mattress and waterproofed tent—did you, as 
you stepped from the train into the canoe, hap¬ 
pen to hear anything of Pierre Gaultier de 
Varennes, Sieur de la Verendrye? 
The chances are that none of you canoeists 
ever heard of Pierre, yet he was the pioneer 
of you all, the first of the many who, two hun¬ 
dred years later, journey to the North country 
for a trip of a week or a month across the 
lakes and down the streams of Canada or along 
the northern border of the United States. 
Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, Sieur de la 
Verendrye, was the original canoeist. He 
should be an honorary, and honored, spirit 
member of every canoeing organization in the 
country. For Pierre did things that, while not 
so important historically, overshadowed, in ob¬ 
stacles met and overcome, the journeys of those 
better known canoeists—Father Marquette, La 
the foot of the mountain of the same name, now 
deep and sluggish, now purling over riffles in the 
open. There is fair fishing toward the lower 
end, but pollution has spoiled the best of it, both 
in the river and in Pompton Lake. 
Esopus Creek is the old standby of men 
who prefer trout fishing to other amusements. 
The fishing in June should be good, for the 
stream has been high and fishing unsatisfactory 
through May. The crowd goes to Big Indian, 
while others scatter along the stream as far 
down as Boiceville, stopping at Shaiidakin, 
Phoenecia, Mount Pleasant and Cold Brook, ac¬ 
cording to personal preference. There are satis¬ 
factory stopping places everywhere; in fact, 
there are few places where you can hang up 
your fishing hat in any man’s house as you can 
generally do along the Esopus, with the assur¬ 
ance of meals and a bed. Of course when the 
summer boarders begin to flock there, the story 
is different, but in June one seldom finds a crowd. 
Take along full length waders if you have them 
and a five- or six-ounce rod, for the Esopus is 
a strong stream. 
A fine tramp may be made from Stony 
Point on the Hudson back over the mountain 
to Cedar Pond, following the brook of the same 
name to the divide, thence down the west side 
to Harriman and the Ramapo valley, and home 
by train. It is not a long or difficult tramp and 
of Pierre de la 
By ROBERT E. PINKERTON 
Salle, Du Luth, Joliet, Father Hennepin, and 
that pioneer nature faker, Jonathan Carver. 
Pierre Gaultier de Varennes was born in 
France in 1685, came to this continent when a 
boy, entered the service of the king, was sent 
into the extreme West—Sault Ste. Marie—and 
there gained the confidence of his superiors in 
the scattered army that guarded the outposts 
of the New France. 
Daring, adventurous, Pierre longed to go 
further into the unknown West than any of his 
countrymen. Finally he obtained a commission 
from another Pierre—Pierre Francois Rigard, 
Marquis de Vaudreuil, governor of the New 
France-—to penetrate the Western and Northern 
forests, establish posts, and, if possible, find 
the Western ocean. 
Pierre started on the first of his wonderful 
canoe journeys. It was in the first quarter of 
the eighteenth century, in the days when, if a 
man wished to go from Montreal to Green Bay, 
Wis., for instance, the only means of travel was 
by canoe up the St. Lawrence and the length of 
three of the Great Lakes and a part of a fourth. 
It meant being gone six or nine months, more 
probably a year. 
Pierre knew he might be gone a long while. 
So did Father Marquette when he discovered 
the Upper Mississippi, or the other great ex¬ 
plorers along the great river. But their route 
was almost definitely known before they started. 
Information from the Indians told of the one 
big river flowing on smoothly until it reached 
the greater river, and of the greater river flow- 
may be made in one day, but if you carry a small 
outfit and camp one night at the pond, the addi¬ 
tional time may well be devoted to exploring and 
fishing. There is also some grand country for 
tramping trips west of the Ramapo River, among 
them one from Suffern over the mountain to Big 
Bear Swamp and on to the Wanaque River, Post 
Brook or West Brook, Macopin Lake and Butler 
or Newfoundland. Good fishing along the way. 
Take Government maps along. 
Greenwood Lake and Lake Hopatcong are 
of course fine places for short trips, and the 
fishing is good as a rule, considering how much 
this is practiced. Small boating js good fun at 
both lakes, and if you like you can ship a canoe 
up there and come back under a spruce breeze 
to Communipaw, via canal. 
There is much fairly wild tramping ground 
within two or three hours’ travel by train from 
New York city, and it is good fun to buy several 
of the Government maps, study them and lay 
out little jaunts. Send five cents to the Bureau 
of Publications at Washington for each one of 
the maps covering the country west of the Hack¬ 
ensack River, with Greenwood Lake for the 
northern, Newark for the southern, and the 
Delaware River for the western boundary, and 
you will find many interesting places, most of 
them well worth investigating. 
Verendrye 
ing on until it met the sea. Exploring is a 
comparatively easy task when you float down 
one stream, into another and on and on. 
But Pierre, from meager reports received of 
the great country to the north and west of the 
greatest of the Great Lakes, knew he was to 
enter a land cold and rugged, of innumerable 
lakes of all sizes, of countless streams large 
and small, of twisting, devious routes, of endless 
chains of lakes and rivers which led on and on, 
even the Indians not knowing where. He knew 
there would be countless portages, a journey 
so much slower than those of his countrymen 
in the region of the great river to the south 
that it would be impossible to carry supplies 
for any length of time—a journey that would 
necessitate his living for two or thiee years as 
did the savages. 
But Pierre started. He went north from 
Sault Ste. Marie along the east and north shores 
of Lake Superior until he came to a point 
where the shoreline turned toward the south¬ 
west. Then he struck inland, straight west, 
guided by the Indians in his party. Paddling 
up small streams and across lakes, toiling ovei 
long, high, rocky portages, enduring the chill 
of the nights and the rain of the days, Pierre 
and his little band of red and white men finally 
crossed a low divide to find streams that flowed 
westward. Down these and across lakes they 
went, until the white men were lost in a maze 
of rocky shore and dense forest, of lakes so 
countless that even Pierre could not remember 
the way. 
