138 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
I 
[July 24, 19c 
of—and making inquiries about the trail, we 
continued our tramp. There is, or was, a trail 
around the pond on which Number 5 is located, 
but lumbering has effectually obscured it. Fol¬ 
lowing the boss’s directions we availed ourselves 
as far as possible of tote roads and when near 
the head of the pond plunged through the slash¬ 
ings for half a mile. Laden as we were with 
packs, it was tough work, but fortunately we 
were soon through it and at the inlet. Here 
we found the trail through uncut forest to the 
upper ponds, which lay only a few hundred 
yards away. As we gazed up the beautiful 
stretch of water and contemplated the unbroken 
forest along the shores, we imagined to our¬ 
selves the sweat and toil necessary to reach 
the inlet, for we knew that there was no trail. 
At our feet lay sundry dry spruce logs and an 
inspiration came to us. Why not transfer our¬ 
selves and our freight by the water route? It 
was still early in the afternoon. We set to 
work. 
Two logs had been cut and launched in the 
muck of the shore, and we were busy hewing 
our way through a third when disaster blasted 
our hopes. The Tyro is strong, he is strenu¬ 
ous, but he became over eager, and in reaching 
out a bit to make the sharpest corner of our 
not overkeen axe bite into the wood, he over¬ 
reached and—crack went the axe helve. With¬ 
out a word, or rather “with never a spoken 
word,” he sank back on the moss still clutching 
the broken weapon. The look on his face was 
so blank in its dismay that I fairly shouted. 
Here was one photograph that I did not get 
that would have been worth all the rest. 
Thus we lost our. visions of a merry trip up 
the lake on a raft. The axe with careful hand¬ 
ling would still cut brush and firewood, and so 
we proceeded to camp in a nice, cozy spot in 
the edge of the woods where a little ledge of 
stone jutted out into the lake. There we built 
our cooking fire and I said, “Tyro, do you want 
some dough boys?” 
“What are those?” 
“Sinkers.” 
“Want to drown me?” 
“Well, I guess you need ’em anyway after 
that exploit with the axe,” and I proceeded to 
make some. The Tyro had apparently recovered 
his appetite, if he had lost any, for he ate seven 
of the fourteen biscuits that we baked. As we 
ate a deer came out on the opposite shore to 
browse on the lily stems and the evening shad¬ 
ows stole softly up the eastern mountains. 
The disaster to the axe helve forced us to 
alter our plans. We needed a new one and 
so decided to stay over a day, set a new helve 
in the axe and incidentally try the stream below 
the Number 5 pond. Morning dawned bright 
and clear, but before we had reached the lum¬ 
ber camp, dark clouds driven by a northeast 
wind had covered the sky. We purchased a 
new helve of the boss and he kindly gave me 
the freedom of the blacksmith’s shop, where I 
found the requisite tools. By the time I had 
finished a hasty job, it was raining hard and 
blowing as well. It was cold work whipping 
that pool just below the camp, and several times 
we were forced to seek shelter in the cook’s 
shack where we watched him bake eight huge 
loaves of bread at once, not to speak of a few 
tins of biscuit, in the great stove. One of these 
loaves we purchased to eke out our supply. (I 
sat on it later, but that is another story.) The 
fruits of our intermittent angling were seven 
nice trout, the largest well over a pound in 
weight. 
How it did blow and rain! The boss urged 
us to stay and occupy bunks in his cabin for the 
night, but we struck out manfully for our tent. 
It was wet work getting there and it was a 
relief to find all snug and dry inside, although 
the furious gale blowing in from the lake threat¬ 
ened to lift everything up into the woods. We 
soon remedied this, however, by weaving a wind¬ 
break among the tree trunks on the lake shore. 
Then we started a fire, put on dry clothes, 
cooked a hot supper, and things looked rosier. 
In spite of wind and rain we passed a most 
comfortable night. By morning the storm was 
past and the lake had risen eight inches. We 
were not sorry to have the rain with all its dis¬ 
comfort, for everything in the vnoods had been 
so dry that we had to use the utmost care in 
choosing our camping sites and building our 
fires lest we start a conflagration. Henceforth, 
with reasonable care, there was no danger. We 
had given up our project of a raft, since our 
delay had made it necessary for us to hurry 
on. While we were drying out we consulted 
the maps in an anxious search for contours. 
The country to the west of the lake appeared 
lumpy, whereas on the east there seemed to 
be an even slope down to the shore. We chose 
the eastern side, and after an early lunch were 
off. 
There was no trail, but the woods were open 
and uncut, and there were many deer runs by 
which we profited considerably. The going was 
not at all bad until we approached the head of 
the upper pond. Here our map showed space 
near the water but either the draughtsman had 
called on his imagination or else the level of 
the lake had been raised materially since the 
map was made. Not even a goat could have 
made that passage. The cliffs pitched straight 
into the lake. And so, perforce, we scaled those 
cliffs, going back some distance to find a point 
of attack. It was a strenuous half-hour. The 
Tyro’s khaki breeches here lost the last vestige 
of their pristine elegance. Trying to join me 
via a large, oozy log, he slid astride the entire 
distance and carried off the major portion of 
its green veneer upon his legs, which thereafter 
presented an interesting and varied study in 
greens and browns. 
But our troubles were soon over. We had 
scarcely left the cliffs behind when we emerged 
upon the trail—and a good trail it was, bearing 
evident marks of recent improvement. More¬ 
over, it was all down hill for several miles, after 
we had crossed a low divide, and we made 
quick time to the big lake which we reached 
at half-past six. There as we halted beneath 
some spruces, the best umbrellas in the woods, 
to let a shower pass, we saw a deer, the sixth 
of our trip, feeding only a few hundred yards 
away in the lilypads. More pathless work 
around the inlet, a dash through the large brook 
which enters the lake, and we found the trail 
that skirts the further shore. Darkness was 
coming on apace and we were just looking for 
a place to camp, when as if for our special 
entertainment, a little log shack appeared by 
the side of the trail. With a sigh of relief we 
slipped our pack straps. Here was shelter ready 
made. 
I shall always remember that little shack, 
so much for its comfort as for the cloud 
midgets which assailed me as I started to 
a fire. The long, wet grass in front of the s 
fairly swarmed with them, and I was force 
last to dive into my pack for a can of fly ( 
A good rub with that invaluable panacea 
the growing heat of the fire routed them, 
it was one of those experiences which is “I 
into the memory.” Mosquitoes, too, were 1 
by the brook in goodly numbers, but we 
cumvented them by suspending our tent ii 
the shack and using the cheese cloth canop; 
The next day was to be our last in the wi 
It was likewise the most strenuous, for we 
to scale one of the wildest and highest p 
in the mountains. But our week and mor 
work had put us in fighting trim, and so 
breakfast we proceeded to strip, so to s 
for the fray. All superfluous food and tin 
were discarded. Our lunches and purchasi 
the lumber camp, together with the Engir. 
unexpected departure, had left us with 
than we needed and we proceeded to suppl; 
cabin with our surplus in the hope that it r 
not be wasted. In this way we reduced 
loads by about ten pounds. Then after m; 
up our packs we set forth about ten o’c 
for we had slept late. 
The Tyro does not like wet feet and he 
carefully clad his nether extremities in 
dry togs. As we crossed the brook the 
time he painfully balanced from rock to 
while I, knowing what was in store fo 
splashed through the water. This process 
repeated several times, but for the first 
or so about all that trail does is to cross 
recross the brook. Finally the inevitable 
to pass; the Tyro slipped from a log anc 
his irreproachable feet. He did not say 
thing, though I did, but there was no mori 
ancing on rocks and logs for him. He re’ 
thereafter in the water. It was just as we 
will shortly appear. 
Soon the trail began to mount, and th 
climb, and finally to stand on end. Over 
ders, straight up the faces of cliffs, wit? 
brook roaring far below, we went. Al 
point I threw the axe and rods up aher 
order to have both hands free to scale an < 
ially awkward corner, and then climbed <1 
fully on. Soon I noticed that the Tyro wt 
following close behind as usual. I w 
When he appeared he said, “Did you look 
when you jumped up that corner back ther 
“No,” said, I, “why?” 
“Well, I did,” he answered, “and it mac 
mighty careful. If you had slipped just 
there was nothing to stop you for about 
hundred feet.” 
After that I was more careful, but we 1 
past the worst of it and soon unshippe? 
packs at the crest of the pass to halt for 1 
We had climbed thirteen hundred feet. 
It was a gloomy day and ragged clouds' 
drifting along the crags above our heads 1 
and then sending down a fine rain. W |! 
still four or five miles of trail and three 
of road to cover before we could reac 
nearest outpost of the settlements, whei 
had planned to spend the night. So at 
went. 
The descent was shorter and far less 
than our recent climb. But the rocks wen* 
