G66 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[April 23, 1910. 
brown waterproof canvas bags was heaped on 
another truck standing by the boats, with rod 
and rifle cases, paddles, etc., protruding here 
and there. 
For fifty weeks these four had looked for¬ 
ward to the day when their next cruise should 
begin, and their faces betrayed the pleasure 
and excitement of the hour. One young fellow 
went by. saw the canoes and duffle bags, 
stopped, joined the waiting crowd of passengers, 
and then, becoming bolder, piped out: “Where 
to?” 
“St. James.” was my laconic response. I dis¬ 
close, here, my identity as the individual 
formerly mentioned as the Captain. 
“With those girls?” continued he. 
“Uh, huh.” 
“You can’t make it. You’ll ship in from 
Steeleville; first time ye get near the railroad.” 
From nods and whispers, plainly seen and 
heard, this seemed to be the consensus of opin¬ 
ion of those present. Well, they did not know 
the Schcolma’m and Boots. 
“Ship in from Steeleville—well, I guess not,” 
said the Schoolma’m. 
Foolish question No. 632 (Boots kept count) 
was asked the Schoolma’m by a traveling sales¬ 
man,- who wanted to know what the ladies 
would do if some sort of wild beast was en¬ 
countered en route. She assured this inquirer 
that we were all equipped for just such an 
emergency; in fact, she told him. the Smith¬ 
sonian Institution was behind our expedition, the 
real purpose of which was to secure for that 
institution a specimen of the Ozark Flippo, an 
immense beast, now practically extinct. 
A few minutes before train-time a wagon 
loaded with canoes from the club pulled up, and 
a dozen of the boys from the club joined us. 
They were going to Moselle, a short ride up 
the road but sixty miles back by river. To 
make this from four in the afternoon, Saturday, 
to eight in the evening, Sunday, would mean 
some hard work, but they seemed confident 
they would make it. 
A watched pot will finally boil, and an 
anxiously awaited train will finally pull in. 
When our train arrived, we had some work 
cut out for us. To put a dozen canoes in a 
baggage car already comfortably full of trunks 
and express required some maneuvering, but at 
last all were finally aboard, and the first lap 
of our journey was begun. The girls were glad 
to escape the compassionate glances of the 
station crowd. 
We crossed and recrossed the Meramec four 
times en route to St. James, a distance of 
eighty miles t and each time we viewed the 
stream eagerly and wondered on what day and 
in what condition we should reach that point 
on the return trip. At each crossing we 
noticed that the water was of a different hue. 
At Valley Park it resembled muddy coffee; at 
Crescent it was much clearer; at Pacific the 
water was green, and at Moselle, it began to 
take on a bluish tinge. 
The girls made a discovery en route. Jim 
Westrich, another canoe enthusiast of the club, 
was on board with his bride of two weeks. So 
was their canoe, the Owasso. The “Newly¬ 
weds,” as they were promptly christened, were 
bound for permanent camp on the upper Mera¬ 
mec, at the mouth of Courtois Creek. We 
helped them off at Leasburg, and, after accept¬ 
ing an invitation from them to a camp chicken 
dinner when we should pass their camp on the 
float down, we got aboard for the last few 
miles of our railroad journey. We soon 
reached St. James, and were at once busy un¬ 
loading bags and boats and storing them, with 
the assistance of the agent, in the freight room 
of the station. We were then taken charge of 
by Mr. Robson, builder of sportsmen’s resorts, 
erstwhile gold digger, but always a fisherman. 
He had a splendid dinner of fried country 
chicken ready for us, and we were early to bed. 
After a comfortable night in Robson’s hos¬ 
telry, we loaded our things on the wagon for 
the seven-mile drive over the hills to the spring, 
and made an astonishing discovery. Presenting 
our baggage check to the station agent to se¬ 
cure our chest of provisions, which had been 
checked out of Saint Louis on an earlier train 
to insure its being on hand, we were informed 
that no such piece of baggage had been un¬ 
loaded at,St. James. Confusion—consternation! 
Four people cannot dictate a telegram as 
quickly and as clearly as one. This we found 
out. A telegram o£ uncertain quality and at- 
tonishing length was finally forwarded, and we 
drove away, leaving instructions for a wagon to 
follow us with the grub box as soon as it 
showed up. 
We were objects of curiosity to the villagers. 
The Sunday morning was beautiful and the fair 
weather had brought out a large church follow¬ 
ing. All stopped on their way to worship to 
inspect the expedition and its equipment. 
Our drive was through a forest of oak, 
hickory and walnut, and a beautiful drive it 
was. Half-way out we crossed Dry Fork, a 
diminutive stream at the ford. I was in a little 
hot water at this point. Some months ago, 
while trout fishing in this section, I was de¬ 
layed returning by a freshet which put Dry 
Fork out of its banks. When Boots, my wife, 
saw Dry Fork, my excuse for tarrying two 
extra days came to her mind. 
“Is this the raging river that prevented you 
from coming home On time in the spring?” 
“Uh, huh.” 
Fortunately for me, old Brock was driving. 
Brock was on deck that May day when Dry 
Fork, which now failed to wet the horses’ 
hocks, was a mile wide and a half-hundred feet 
deep. Brock told Boots how Jake May, who 
managed the club house at the spring, tried 
the boat to see if his guests could be ferried 
over—how Jake’s boat was capsized by the 
roaring flood and Jake himself flung up against a 
sycamore. How he “dumb” up the sycamore, 
divested himself of his clothing, hung up his 
watch and purse, containing several hundred 
dollars, and then, plunging in the torrent, which 
was ice-cold, too. swam to shore. How we ran 
him a race to the nearst tie-whackers’ shack 
and warmed him up, internally and externally. 
Brock’s sincere recital of those stirring events 
satisfied Boots. 
As the hack crossed over the last ridge, the 
river could be seen, like a silver ribbon, wind¬ 
ing through the forest. We came down the last 
incline at a fast trot, a pretty steep incline it 
was. and very rocky, past the decaying cabins 
of old Meramec, at one time a thriving mining 
village; rattled over the corduroy bridge which 
spans the dry creek bed in front of the club 
house, and. with a whoop, roused Jake May 
from his den to welcome us. And welcbme us 
he did. 
The personal bags were thrown out, and the 
girls shown to their room. The wagon with 
the canoes hove in sight then, and Siwash and 
I went with it to the river, where the outfit was 
unloaded and covered with the boats. As Brock 
drove away he was admonished not to delay 
the grub box. Conrad Lueke, Jr. 
[to be continued.] 
Central Division Banquet. 
The Central Division of the A. C. A. opened 
its season on April 16 with a banquet at the 
Fort Pitt Hotel, Pittsburg. 
The men present represented eleven local 
canoe clubs having a combined membership of 
over 300. A great deal of enthusiasm was shown 
and a number of the men expressed a desire to 
attend the National meet in August. It is hoped 
that the Pittsburg men will enter a war canoe 
team in the mile race at Sugar Island. This 
team will consist of fifteen men and each man 
in the winning team will receive a belt buckle' 
made up of his«club flag crossed with the A. C. 
A. flag. It will be the most important paddling 
event of the meet and will bring great honor 
to the team that wins. The prize is donated by 
ex-Commodore F. S. Thorne, familiarly known 
as “Dad” by the A. C. A. boys. “Dad” has 
reached his four-score years, yet is one of the 
most active men in the association. Those who 
heard his enthusiastic speech at the banquet 
could hardly believe that he had passed his six¬ 
tieth year. Local interest centered in the re¬ 
gatta at Verona on July 9, when the athletes of 
each club will contend for the pennants to be 
added to those already decorating their club 
rooms. Last year many of the races were 
strenuous, but this year indications point to their 
, being more closely contested than before. Each 
club is adding to the number of its racing canoes, 
so that the men will be on an equal basis. Skill 
and strength alone will win. 
Ex-Commodore F. S. Thorne and Lyman T. 
Coppins, of Buffalo, were present and made 
rousing speeches, telling of the purposes of the 
A. C. A. and the racing at Sugar Island. 
Mayor Arthur, of McKeesport, who presided 
as toastmaster, read an original poem written by 
one of his friends. Vice-Commodore H. D. 
James told of the activities of the Division of 
1910. He appointed the following committees: 
. Regatta—H. R. Hyndman, Chairman; S. W. 
Prosser, K. A. Simmon, John Buchanan, Benj. 
Williams, Carl Feick. 
Entertainment — Alton Brown, Chairman ; C. 
A. Rowan, O. S. Schairer, Frank Graf. 
Dr. oyce made a humorous speech which was 
greeted by many a laugh, and Harry Murdock 
rendered two selections on the banjo. 
Alton Brown, commodore of the Duquesne 
C. C.. spoke of the social events and suggested 
that the clubs give a minstrel show to raise part 
of the expenses of the war canoe team. 
The toastmaster read letters from Commodore 
Chp*;. P. Forbush, ex-Commodore John A. 
Berkey, Pursers J. S. Wright and Wilson and 
Frederick Andreas. 
The men adopted a resolution sending their 
best wishes to Commodore Forbush and hoping 
for his speedy recovery. 
A. C. A. Membership. 
NEW MEMBERS PROPOSED. 
, Central Division.—Charles R. Jones, 302 Gray 
Building, Wilkinsburg, Pa., by F. D. Newbury; 
Robert E. Dennis. 814 Portland street, Pittsburg, 
Pa., by F. D. Newbury. 
Eastern Division.—Harry C. Luce, P. O. Box 
224, Arlington, Mass., by B. F. Jacobs, Jr. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
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