460 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March 25, 1911. 
A Nomadic Angling Family. 
Two years ago the three of its—Wife, Girl 
anc l 1—took a rather extended tramp through 
the wilds of Marinette county, but last year my 
health did not warrant such strenuous exercise, 
so we cast about in our minds for an easier way 
to see the wilds. 
After spending some time in useless discussion 
we hit upon the following plan: to reduce our 
camp outfit to the absolute essentials and travel 
by train through the wilder portions of the State, 
stopping off wherever trout fishing promised to 
be good, or fancy might dictate. The uncer¬ 
tainty of the plan, the possibility of stumbling 
on good fishing, and the chance that we might 
have what Girl called a “sure enough adventure” 
before the end of the trip led us to adopt the 
idea. The next question was, what portion of 
the Badger State to visit. We learned that the 
northern half of the State offered unlimited op¬ 
portunities for such a trip. From almost every 
town to which we wrote for information we 
would receive some such word as, “Fishing con¬ 
ditions good and gountry wild enough for your 
purpose,” so the form of the problem changed; 
how should we choose among so many attrac¬ 
tions? Finally we decided to go to Armstrong 
Creek. This stream empties into the Peshtigo 
River, and we already knew something of the 
size and gaminess of the rainbow found in the 
Peshtigo waters. So our plan was to journey 
north from Green Bay over the Green Bay and 
Saunders branch of the Northwestern to St. An¬ 
drews where the Soo Line crosses, then journey 
east over that line as far as Armstrong Cieek 
and follow its banks down. 1 he territory was 
new to us and we were well aware that prob¬ 
ably we would miss some good fishing and leave 
the train at points where there would be no fish¬ 
ing at all, but that uncertainty added to the at¬ 
tractiveness of the plan. We held ourselves 
free to diverge from this plan as occasion might 
seem to require. 
Our outfit is the result of a process of selec¬ 
tion and elimination which has extended over 
fifteen years of migratory camping. Each yeai 
we make some slight change, always with the 
idea of reducing weight and bulk. The article 
which is used only once or twice on a trip is 
left at home the next time. We have discovered 
that actual necessities are few, and that luxuries 
are many. Our outfit was as follows: 
1 y / 2 ft. x iV* ft. silk canoe tent. 
2 ten-pound wool blankets. 
2 light cotton blankets. 
1 i^-pound camp axe. 
1 folding 3A camera and eight rolls film. 
1 steel tripod, telescopic. 
1 pistol (luxury) ; 1 box shells. 
3 trunk rods, reels, fly-books and one canvas 
creel. 
1 folding landing net with 18-inch handle. 
Our culinary outfit consisted of the following 
articles, all of aluminum: 
1 folding baker. 
2 kettles, to nest. 
1 fry-pan. 
4 plates. 
3 cups. 
1 pan. 
Knives, forks and spoons for three. 
2 friction top cans for bacon and butter. 
We carried little food, as we did not expect 
to be out of reach of towns for any great length 
of time, but such staples as bacon, tea, coffee, 
butter and a few other things regarding the 
quality of which we are somewhat particular we 
took from home. 
Our personal outfits consisted of one suit of 
duck clothing and change of underclothing. Each 
carried a heavy sweater, for there is nothing 
more comfortable on a cold night or when it 
rains than a warm sweater. We did not carry 
changes of shoes, which was a mistake, though 
each had rubbers. There were several little 
articles of personal equipment which we carried 
in our pockets, not important enough to men¬ 
tion, but which added greatly to our comfort. 
Each had a little bag with name written on the 
outside in which were note books and pencils, 
reading matter and other iittle odds and ends 
which our personal idiosyncrasies demanded. I 
carried a simple tackle repairing outfit, Wife 
some fancy work, and Girl a miniature doll and 
bits of cloth from which to make dresses. Ihus 
we fortified ourselves against the possible rainy 
day. We secured an acetylene lamp, but owing 
to the weight of the carbide, rejected it and 
carried cand.es instead. The folding candle lan¬ 
tern we left at home, a bit of candle thrust into 
a cup filled with sand serving as well. 
When we came to make up our packs, Wife 
had twenty-five pounds consisting of the cooking 
outfit and a day’s food. Girl carried the camera 
and tripod in the canvas creel, but the next time 
we go on such a trip she shall be provided with 
a small rucksack, as the side pack was very 
bothersome. Another thing, next time Girl shall 
be provided with a camp suit like her mother’s. 
She has worn her boy’s suit for the last time. 
My pack weighed in the neighborhood of 100 
pounds, sometimes more and sometimes less, as 
the supplies increased and diminished. I have 
tried many packs and have come to the con¬ 
clusion that my home made affair with its sur¬ 
cingle straps is the most comfortable, com¬ 
modious and satisfactory pack made. If the 
reader is interested I will gladly tell him how 
my pack harness is made. For each of the vari¬ 
ous articles of food we provided a strong sack 
with the contents plainly lettered on the out¬ 
side; therefore, when we wanted salt we were 
not annoyed by getting hold of sugar or vice 
versa. While on the matter of sacks let me say 
that a good rule for the camper is a sack for 
everything and everything in its sack. As an 
illustration, knives, forks and spoons loose in 
the cooking utensil sack are hard to find, but are 
always accessible in a little bag by themselves. 
Articles like kettles and fry-pan must be pro¬ 
vided with cases in order to prevent them from 
smutting everything in the pack. 
The morning of Aug. 12 we boarded a north¬ 
bound freight train, for at the last moment Wife 
refused to face conventional travelers. She in¬ 
sisted that she would not “care a bit” once she 
was beyond the ken of those who knew her, but 
when she might meet women with whom she 
had pink-tea’d”—well, you know how it is your¬ 
self. The locomotive shrieked hilariously, there 
came a jerk that sent Girl flying from the seat 
and piled our packs in a corner of the caboose, 
and we started. The train crew were all atten¬ 
tion and kindness, evincing no vulgar curiosity, 
and this was the attitude of every train crew 
with which we had to do during the entire trip. 
After consulting the conductor we decided to 
stop at a side track called Anderson's Spur 
where we were informed that a fairly good 
trout stream was to be found. It was Friday 
and we desired to find a quiet spot where we • 
would be away from folks and could rest over 
Sunday. 
At last, after what seemed an interminable 
time—for a way freight does not travel as fast 
as the Twentieth Century Limited and stops 
more often and long—the conductor informed 
us that we were nearing our destination. The 
locomotive uttered a short, sharp word of warn¬ 
ing, the caboose bounded up and down in agony 
as the air was applied, the "boys” jumped down 
to help Wife and Girl to the ground—for of 
course there was no platform—and I kicked the 
packs off the step. The conductor waved his 
hand, the engineer responded with two blasts 
from the whistle, the crew sprang on board, and, 
as the train got under way, shouted all manner 
of good advice and kind wishes. As the caboose 
careened around a bend they were all standing 
on the rear platform, waving their hats. 
Sitting down on a pile of ties, we looked 
about us. The view which we beheld was a 
lesson in forest conservation. As far as we 
could see in any direction were bare, denuded 
hills, the result of our destructive methods of 
lumbering. Dead grass, brown and sere, waved 
in the hot wind, for the country was still suf¬ 
fering from the drouth which made 1910 famous. 
Altogether it was a dreary prospect, yet the 
very dreariness had its attractions for us who 
were folk weary. Some distance up the track 
was a half dismantled log shanty, and shoulder¬ 
ing our packs we made our way toward it, 
looking for a place to set up the tent. Follow¬ 
ing the track we crossed the creek of which we 
had been told, a rollicking rapid stream, and we 
felt better. Though high and dry, the immediate 
vicinity of the shanty did not offer a very in¬ 
viting camp site, for the dry grass was too sug¬ 
gestive of fires. Leaving my companions to 
gather the raspberries which grew in profusion 
along the railway embankment, I pushed on. 
Half a mile above the spur, the creek crossed- 
the railway again, and there, well back from the 
right of way, I found an ideal camping ground 
shaded by hemlock trees. 
Why is it that when on such a trip it must 
rain or threaten.rain the first day out? Soon 
after my return to the others, while we were 
feasting on berries, thunder began to mutter and 
grumble in the distance, and we indefinitely post¬ 
poned the berry festival. We pitched our tent 
amid the tall hemlocks close to the creek, and 
when the wind was not making music among 
the hemlock branches we could hear the gentle 
murmur of the water. It was well past the noon 
hour when we sat down to our first meal in the 
open. 
After dinner Wife said, as she gathered up 
the dishes preparatory to washing them in the 
creek: “If anything should happen to call us 
back home our friends would find it rather diffi¬ 
cult to find us, would they not?” 
“Oh, no,” I carelessly answered, for such a 
thing has never occurred on any of our trips, 
“they could reach us easily enough, but we will 
trust that no necessity will arise for their doing 
_ _ it 
SO. 
Assembling my rod I started down the stream 
to investigate its possibilities before the threat¬ 
ened storm made fly-fishing impossible. Imme- 
