690 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 4, 1907- 
turned in 1614 to the French River country in 
company with Father La Caron, and spent 
the remainder of his days in the lake country, 
being finally murdered by a jealous Indian at 
Osasane, not very far from the mouth of the 
French River. 
It was in the vear 1615 that the great thing 
happened in the history of the French River 
On April 26 of that year, Champlain set sail 
from Honfleur, France, arriving at Tadousac 
May 25, at Flochelaga June 23, and at Black 
River, a branch of the Ottawa, July 9 - -^ e 
lost his astrolabe* near here, and his later 
reckoning of latitude was somewhat inaccurate 
on this account; for Champlain was careful, 
accurate and very painstaking. On July 25 the 
party camped on the westerly end of Trout Lake 
and portaged to Lake Nipissing early on the 
day of Tuly 26. 
“We entered,” says Champlain, “the lake of the 
Nipissing, latitude 46% degrees north, and m 
the afternoon visited the cabins of the Indians, 
where we tarried two days. They gave us a 
kind welcome, and there were a considerable 
number of them—six or eight hundred.” After 
resting two days, Champlain, on July 28, con¬ 
tinued his journey down the French River, of 
which he writes: “I did not see ten acres 
of tillable land. At the mouth of the French 
we found a small quantity of corn and some 
squashes growing. It is true God wanted to 
give these frightful desert regions something 
for the refreshment of man, for I assure you 
there is along this river a great quantity ot 
blueberries, a small berry very good to eat, 
and a great many raspberries and other small 
fruits in such quantities that it is remarkable. 
Champlain was not satisfied to return by 
the route he came, but paddled down around 
Georgian Bay, landing at Matchedasch Bay, 
from there by land to Couchiching Lake, to 
the Indian- village of Cahigua, where there 
were perhaps thirty thousand Huron Indians 
one of the largest Indian villages on the con¬ 
tinent. 
The city of Orillia now stands there, from 
here he journeyed to northern New York and 
back to Orillia (Cahigua), and next spring 
(1616) returned to France by way of Lake 
Ontario and the St. Lawrence River. On this 
trip Champlain mapped the Temagami Lakes 
and the country north of the Ottawa up to 
Hudson’s Bay. (See copy of this early map.) 
I had heard frequently while in Canada that 
La Salle had made the journey down the 
French River. I have not been able to verify 
this, although it seems from a map he made 
at this time, he may have come down the 
river. I find he made a trip down the Severn 
River. Marquette, Jolliet, Brebouf, came down 
this river, and it was the stamping ground for 
the coureur des bois. a band of free-booters, 
who did not enjoy the restraints of either law 
or religion. 
Soon after we passed Frank’s Bay, some 
one announced he could see the eagle s nest. 
By using the captain’s glasses, we could see 
the nest about a quarter of a mile to the south. 
A half mile further down the river we saw 
another eagle’s nest that our party visited the 
following Sunday, and Miss Ella Jacobs at- 
temped to make a photograph of it. It was up 
about 60 feet on a large white pine tree, and 
would measure six or eight feet across, and 
must have been at least three feet high. These 
nests are very large. An examination of the 
ground at the base of the tree convinced me 
that the nest had had young eagles, as there 
were many feathers and debris to be found at 
and near the foot of the tree. The eagles add 
somewhat to the nest every year until it 
eventually becomes as big as a cart bed. These 
nests are used for years. If the male bird be 
killed the female hunts a mate and returns to 
the nest; if the female be killed the male bird 
does the same. From this fact many have been 
led to overestimate the length of the life of 
an eagle. 
I had arranged to have Charlie Brittain build 
me a summer house on Island No. 140, and we 
were all very anxious to see our cottage. Pres- 
♦This instrument was recovered some thirty years ago. 
ently the boat whistled to land, and as we 
swept around the bend there, in plain view, 
was our new summer home. The carpenters 
had left the doors open and a family ot por¬ 
cupines had taken possession, nearly ruining 
our mattresses and bedding. 1 hese quaint 
animals gave us trouble all summer. I hey 
o-nawed the handles from the saws and axes, 
and nothing was safe if left within their reach. 
They kept us awake at night by clambering 
up the side of the house. At almost any time 
we could hear them crawling over the sides 
of the house from window to window, attempt¬ 
ing to enter. Finally Mr. Coen took a shot- 
gun and slipped out into tht moonlight an ^ 
shot old porkie at the eaves of the root. A 
half dozen others were killed at various times 
during the summer. They are really very an¬ 
noying. We fear they may gnaw their way 
into the house and destroy our boats, which 
were stored in the dining room when we left. 
We landed at 2 P. M., and by dark we had 
our beds up, tables made, and celebiated the 
Fourth of July by taking a boat ride around 
the island. I shall never forget those long 
moonlight nights that followed oui arrival. 
I never imagined there could be such moon¬ 
light. It was as clear as day. We saw, 
sharply defined, the owls and cranes push their 
feathery pinions through the whiteness of the 
night, and felt that weird, uncanny feeling 
born of deep silence, clear moonlight and 
lonesomeness. 
The next morning Ella Jacobs, Ben Norris 
and the boys tried their hands at fishing, and 
soon came home with a nice string of bass. 
We worked around the house making tables 
and benches and cutting wood,, until Saturday. 
Then Coen and his son James, myself and my 
boy Scott, started out on an exploring expedi¬ 
tion down Satchel’s Bay. As we pushed out 
into the long stretch of water south ot our 
house I put out a troll, and soon had taken 
a fine 3^-pound bass. We paddled our canoes 
up a narrow bay to its head, and tried for bass 
in some very likely looking water, but only 
succeeded in taking sunfish. The sun was 
broiling hot, so Scott and I landed to gather 
blueberries. The warm and dry weather had 
dried up the berries on the bushes, and our 
search was a vain one. 
When Coen came up he had two io-pound 
pike As we paddled across the mouth of a 
very weedy bay Coen lost a ’lunge that would 
have been the talk of the town had he taken it 
aboard. As a misfortune the loss of this fish 
takes a high rank, and is only to be mentioned 
with the burning of a home or the loss of an 
arm. 
A few days after this, Ben and I rowed over 
to a deserted lumber camp on Twilight Bay. 
While there I met some splendid gentlemen 
from Buffalo who belonged to the Bison Club. 
While lying at the mouth of a little creek one 
of the Buffalo men cried out, “Oh, see that big 
bass!” I saw it and tossed ovef my hook, or¬ 
namented with a large angle-worm, and in an 
instant I realized there would be trouble. 
When I set the hook, a big bass that put at 
least four pounds pressure on the law of gravi¬ 
tation shot out of the water and came down 
with a crash. I thought I would lead him into 
deeper water, and in doing so ran on to a 
shallow reef of rocks. The bass shot under a 
shelving rock and fouled the line. The water 
was clear and shallow, and I could see the 
rock, the line and the fish. I saw no other 
way than to dive for him. My clothes were 
being hastily removed, when the bass dragged 
the line free. After forty minutes’ battling I 
landed a fine four-pound bass. I immediately 
returned to the mouth of the channel, which 
was no more than ten feet wide, and cast up 
the channel, drawing the bait slowly down. I 
cast again and got a splendid strike. Finally 
after an unusually gamy fight, I hauled home 
a 334-pounder. Ben had succeeded in landing 
a 3-pounder. Well satisfied with the catch, 
we leisurely rowed home. 
As we crossed Twilight Bay, an old mer¬ 
ganser duck that was leading her brood across 
the channel to a small swampy bay beyond 
came into view. We gave chase, and found 
the mother duck a veritable Admiral Toga in 
feathers. She directed the operations of her 
little flock so that it became very hard for us 
to separate any one from the rest of the brood. 
Finally one was separated, and with feelings 
of sadness I relate the results of our thought¬ 
less sport. We pursued the poor duckling until 
it was quite tired and its dives grew shorter 
and shorter, until there was a last dive, a 
swirl in the water and our feathered fugitive 
was no more. We figured that a big pike had 
duck for dinner without the usual sauces that 
accompany that dish in other circles than fish- 
dotn. 
The next day I paddled over to the Lumber 
Camp Bay to try conclusions with the bass. I 
trolled around many rocky points, and taking 
a numbsr of fine fish, dropped into the bay at 
the camp, where a genuine surprise awaited. 
As I came into the bay I saw sitting on the 
rocks a fine green frog, just the right size for 
bait. I caught him and fastened him to the 
hook and cast over against a high rock. Get¬ 
ting no response, I jerked the bait, and after 
the retreating frog rose a giant muscallunge 
that shot clear over the stern of our boat and 
came down with a crash. I tossed froggie over 
the stern of the boat and felt the tug that told 
of doings at the other end of the line. I 
waited until he had gorged the bait, then set 
the hook, and the fight was on. 
Trembling in every fibre, I conducted my 
campaign with the odds against me. Old mus- 
kie made a mad rush for the weeds a hundred 
yards down the bay and took out almost sixty 
yards of line. I gave him the butt of the rod, 
he turned, and I retrieved fifteen or twenty 
yards. When the line tightened, he made a 
leap of at least three feet out of the water, and 
I saw then how splendid a trophy he would 
be. I had played him for twenty-five minutes 
on a light silk line and an eight-ounce rod, and 
felt that the prize would soon be mine. But 
my great expectations came to naught, for 
the guardian angel of all wild things again 
interposed; old muskie made a feeble leap, the 
line fouled in a snag and he was gone in an 
instant. My lamentation was great. The next 
day, Dr. Rosselle, of Williamsport, Pa., and I 
again determined to try our luck with the 
muscallunge. We dragged that scintillating 
spoon over many a weedy lair of the lunge, 
but without avail. Rosselle grew impatient 
when I lost his favorite spoon. With a con¬ 
trite heart. I suggested that we go home, to 
which the Doctor agreed. With the true spirit 
of the angler, the Doctor put out a troll for a 
last try. The longest wait has its end, for as 
1 pulled by a rocky point Rosselle got a strike 
that fairly stopped the boat. The sadness soon 
fled from his face, replaced by enough “look 
pleasant” to do a photographer for a year. As 
he hauled in his hand line I saw the fish rise 
to the surface, and saw also what a splendid 
one he was: but the bluish spots showed him 
to be a pike, and not a member of the royal 
family of muscallunge. With Hiawatha he 
wailed, 
“Esa! Esa! shame upon you, 
You are but the pike, Kenozha; 
You are not the fish I wanted; 
You are not the king of fishes.” 
When we reached home we weighed our 
prize, which tipped the scales at sixteen 
pounds. . , . 
On arising next morning I found Coen doing 
battle royaf with a bass across the bay. As 
his silken string was a bit weakened from age, 
he handled his quarry gingerly, and finally 
lifted into the boat a splendid prize. He rowed 
over to arouse our envy by exhibiting a five- 
pound bass. He was nearly one hour in land¬ 
ing this fish. . ^ f 
I have fished for bass in many waters tor 
fifteen years, but nowhere else have I form 
them so gamy or with such powers of,endur¬ 
ance. So many, when hooked, succeed in ton 
ing the line under rocks and thus escape. 
In the evening of the same day, Rosselle an 
I rowed over into Satchel’s Bay to see the sin 
0-0 down behind the towering pines. We saw 
the sunlight filter through the green foliage 0 
big balsams and glorify the secluded nook ir 
