In the Land of Big Trout. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
As I have just returned from a fishing trip on 
Hollow Lake, in the highlands of Ontario, it has 
occurred to me that some of the Forest and 
Stream readers who have never been in that de¬ 
lightful region may enjoy reading an account of 
what I saw and caught there, and perhaps be in¬ 
duced to forget business for a few moments 
while reading it. 
With a companion who for purposes of this 
artile we will call deck, as that is the name he 
goes by among his friends, we left home in 
Northern Pennsylvania and journeyed to To¬ 
ronto, where we took train for Huntsville, Out. 
There we took the small steamboat through 
Fairy and Peninsular Lakes to North Portage, 
where a little narrow-gauge railroad carried us 
a mile to South Portage on Lake of Bays. This 
road is called in the guide books the “Hot 
Tomali,” but is more commonly known to resi¬ 
dents of that district as the Corkscrew Limited, 
on account of the numerous twists and turns it 
makes in its short mile of length. At South 
Portage we entered the Lake of Bays and an¬ 
other steamer, after stopping at numerous sum¬ 
mer hotels, landed at Dorset, the southeast arm 
of the lake. Here we found our guides and 
canoes and also a team with provisions ready for 
a four-mile portage to Hollow Lake, which lies 
300 feet higher than Lake of Bays. 
Our guides, James Avery and Harry Phillips, 
are sturdy, robust men, and showed their mettle 
at the start by refusing to put their canoes on 
the wagon for the portage over so rough a road 
and paddled them up stream for about a mile, 
then carried them over the hill for three miles, 
only stopping twice to rest on the way. and beat¬ 
ing the team by half an hour. 
These guides belong to the Ontario Guides’ As¬ 
sociation, with headquarters at Dorset, Ont. The 
association has twenty-two members and all seem 
anxious to preserve the game and fish and see 
that the laws are obeyed. They are hard work¬ 
ing, conscientious and companionable men, who 
are willing to do any amount of work to make 
sportsmen have a good time while under their 
guidance. 
Launching the tiny craft on Hollow Lake, 
loaded with tents, provisions and fishing tackle, 
with two men in each, was accomplished in short 
order, and though the load seemed enormous for 
the size of the canoes, we made the voyage of 
twelve miles to Bear River, at the head of the 
lake, without shipping a pint of water and landed 
at our camp ground at 7 o’clock. Then, as it was 
late, we hurried up our tents, got spruce boughs 
for beds, and ate a well earned supper of bacon, 
potatoes and coffee at 9130, shortly after which 
the resounding snores of Gleck were echoing' 
from a bluff behind us, and all felt that a night 
attack of any kind, while that band was playing, 
was not to be feared in the least. 
I woke at 5 o’clock on Tuesday and felt at once 
an uncontrollable desire to go fishing. My guide, 
Jim, was up and readily assented to go, so rig¬ 
ging a trolling rod, we went out in front of our 
tents into deep wat^r and at 6 o’clock we were back 
with three lake trout that weighed 6pounds, 
which were soon sizzling in the frying-pans and 
giving off an odor that, mingled with boiling cof¬ 
fee and potatoes, made me sorry I had not 
caught twice as large fish, for I could see by 
Gleck’s rolling eye that I was not going to have 
all that breakfast to myself. No one who has 
not camped out in the spruce woods and eaten 
fresh caught trout for breakfast can just appre¬ 
ciate the overwhelming desire to eat everything 
in sight that comes over one under those circum¬ 
stances, but I was very glad that we had no dog 
with us, for there would have been nothing for 
the poor fellow to eat when we were through. 
After breakfast we took our rods, the guides 
put the canoes on their heads and we portaged 
over into Kimball Lake one-half mile, caught 
some shiners and made another portage of about 
one-quarter mile to a small unnamed lake, which 
we named Dock’s Lake, in honor of the writer. 
In an hour we got six brook trout that weighed 
9 pounds, and as we had all we could use we 
quit for the day. 
These trout are very heavy for their length, as 
trout bred in lakes are likely to be; they are 
brilliantly colored and the flesh is dark orange. 
Finer specimens of brook trout could not be 
found. 
A colony of beavers had dammed the outlet 
and had a house near one side of the lake, and on 
one shore there was much of their cutting, which 
seemed quite fresh. They are protected at all 
times by the Canadian Government, as are also 
the otter and loon, though why these destroyers 
of fish life are extended protection it is hard to 
see. On the way home I caught a small lake 
trout in Kimball Lake. For supper we had brook 
trout rolled in meal and fried in butter. Jim 
said we could never eat what we laid out for him 
to cook, but we did, and never after that did he 
doubt our ability to stow away all that he could 
cook in three large skillets. 
Deer are very abundant in this section and 
every alder swamp is cut up with their tracks as 
if a flock of sheep had gone through it, and at 
one place I saw the track of a very large bear 
in the soft mud. On the shore of Bear Lake 
about half a mile from our camp is a cliff 380 
feet high and so smooth that it looks as though 
some giant had squared its face with a huge axe. 
At its base are great masses of rock, which have 
broken from the parent cliff in time past. This 
jumble of rocks is overgrown by a dense thicket 
of spruce and cedar and several deep caves run 
back into the base of the cliff, springs flow 
through these caves, and during the long Cana¬ 
dian winter thousands of tons of ice form there. 
By paddling to the foot of the cliff we could 
leave the canoe and by walking a few rods crawl 
into these caves and chop out with a hatchet as 
fine ice as ever was sold. We did this every day 
we camped there and named the place “The ice 
chest.” The supply on July 30, when I was last 
there, was ample for anyone who may want 
to use it this year, and the guides say there 
never was a time in their memory when the ice 
was exhausted. 
Probably no place in Canada has more beauti¬ 
ful and picturesque scenery than this region, and 
to my mind the Thousand Islands are not in the 
same class. 1 he broad expanse of water, dotted 
with islands, large and small, and framed on 
every side by the virgin forest gives one a sense 
of the vastness of the country, and as each arm 
of the lake is rounded by the canoe, new scenes 
of beauty are constantly unfolded. The shores 
of the lakes at this season are thickly covered 
with red raspberry and huckleberry vines, loaded 
with ripe fruit. We stopped one day on a port¬ 
age and Gleck began to put those huckleberries 
out of sight at a rapid rate. I stayed by him 
until he had eaten, as near as I can estimate, 
seven quarts, and then I left him still eating. 
Jim and I went out to try for a big laker in 
Hollow Lake on Wednesday, but though we 
could get any number of 2 and 3-pound fish, we 
did not strike a big one, and came back to camp 
before noon. Gleck and Harry had just re¬ 
turned from exploring a small lake, which they 
christened Gleck’s Lake, and had a brook trout 
22 inches long, which weighed 4J4 pounds, 
strong, and he was feeling pretty “toppy,” as 
this was the largest trout yet caught. After din¬ 
ner we all portaged over into Round Lake and 
three fish came to my rod—2R£ pounds, 2 pounds 
and 1 pound—all brook trout, the only kind in 
this lake. Loons breed there, and we saw one 
with two young ones, one of which climbed on 
the mother’s back and seemed to enjoy the ride 
greatly, while the male kept up a great noise, 
probably trying to scare us away. 
On Thursday we fished Gleck’s Lake and I 
caught a brook trout 23 inches long and weighing 
just 5 pounds, not a record breaker for this 
region, but the record breaker for our trip and 
remained so, though Gleck got another of 21 
inches, weighing 4^ pounds, at the same place 
that day. 1 hese two fish were taken to Dorset 
by us and there prepared for mounting, and I 
hope later to have that 5-pounder hung up in my 
dining-room, where, when I can no longer go 
fishing, I can look at his beautiful proportions 
and again live over the half hour’s fight he put 
up before Jim netted him for me. During our 
trip we caught many brook trout of 2 and 2^ 
pounds each, but these three were the kings of 
the lot, namely 4^2, 4L2 and 5 pounds, or 14 
pounds for three brook trout. It has probably 
been beaten often enough, but our souls were 
content, and we do not care who beats it—it was 
good enough for us. 
fl he saddest thing to me about going camping 
is breaking camp to leave, and on our last night 
everybody seemed a bit depressed that we could 
stay no longer; but a good swim in the lake, a 
hot trout supper and' our cigars afterward, dis¬ 
pelled the gloom, and songs, jokes and stories 
went lound as usual, while Gleck’s flute came 
out of its case and “America” and “God Save 
the Queen” re-echoed over the still waters of 
the lake. 
J. W. Parsons. 
I 
