il» MMMME 
A Nomadic Angling Family.—HI. 
We lingered about the town next day, objects 
of curiosity to the inhabitants, until the passen¬ 
ger train arrived. When we attempted to board 
the train we found a photographer awaiting us, 
but if he took our pictures I am quite certain 
that he did not get our faces. 
We left the Northwestern at St. Andrews, 
where the Soo Line crosses, and promptly set 
out east along the Soo road, our destination 
being Cavour, three miles distant, where the 
railway crosses the Peshtigo River. T he after¬ 
noon was hot, our packs heavy, and owing to 
the dense woods on 
either side of the track, 
what little breeze there 
was did not relieve us. 
The perspiration rained 
down our faces but we 
struggled on. Had we 
found a respectable 
creek crossing the right 
of way, I am sure that 
we would have gone in¬ 
to camp at once, as I 
was about exhausted 
and Girl almost dis¬ 
couraged, though she bit 
her lip to keep from 
crying while she main¬ 
tained that she was not 
the “least bit tired.” 
Wife stood the drilling 
best of all. We would 
sight a tree, stump or 
other object some dis¬ 
tance down the track 
and promise one another 
that we would reach it before stopping, then how 
good to slip out of the galling straps and rest! 
If Heaven is anything like those first few mo¬ 
ments when I threw the heavy pack upon the 
ground and stretched myself beside it, I shall 
be satisfied. 
At last, after what seemed an interminable 
time, we saw Cavour and welcomed its few 
desolate buildings, for they indicated the end of 
the day’s journey. The station-master proved a 
good fellow and informed us that we would 
find a good camping spot close to the river 
half a mile beyond the station. Again we 
shouldered our packs, and though every muscle 
cried out with agony, we did not set them down 
until we reached the place of which we had 
been told. Probably whoever first selected the 
spot for a camp did so because it was upon high 
ground and close to the river, but is was also 
very beautiful. Our tent was surrounded on 
three sides by tall spruces, while the fourth was 
open to the river. Once the tent was up and 
firewood collected, I jointed my rod and follow¬ 
ed the river bank a little way, but as fish were 
not rising I returned to camp to rest my aching 
bones upon soft, fragrant spruce browse. 
The next day the sun had been about his 
business for some time when at last we 
emerged from the tent, stiff and sore from our 
unusual exertions. That morning I would have 
been glad for a high range to cook on—it was 
so difficult to bend over the fire. Girl, with a 
child’s ability for felicitous expression, said, 
“There is something in my back needs oiling. ’ 
Knowing that there was nothing like action 
to cure my ailment, I jointed my lightest fly 
rod and went down the bank of the stream, 
determined to limber up and secure enough 
fish for dinner. I found a number of likely 
looking pools, deep, dark and well shaded, but 
no rainbows were stirring. In all my rainbow 
fishing I have found the forenoon the poorest 
ANXIOUS MOMENTS. 
time of the day for casting, unless the day was 
stormy. Not until three o’clock do the fish be¬ 
gin to feed, and from six to dark is a better 
time. At a little rapid I hooked and landed 
three rainbows and was forced to be content 
with that number. On my way back to camp 
I walked into a bunch of ruffed grouse and the 
birds did not seem in the least alarmed. My 
first wish was for the .22, forgetting that it was 
the closed season, then I wished for the camera, 
to have taken a picture would have been easy. 
Some of the birds were within eight feet of me, 
but as I remained perfectly still they did not 
move, and eyed me unblinkingly. At last I 
found it impossible to stand the strain of so 
many eyes, so I started to walk away, upon 
which the birds burst into instant flight and 
disappeared. 
After a hasty dinner we took down the tent 
and shouldered our packs once more, making 
our way back to the station. The agent in¬ 
formed us that the east bound train did not leave 
until 7 o’clock and for that we must wait. With 
five hours and more at our disposal we looked 
about us for amusement. Not far north of the 
depot we discovered the remains of an old dam, 
through the wreck of which the murky waters 
of the Peshtigo seethed and boiled, the certain 
promise of a deep pool below. Out came the 
fly rod, but the pool seemed literally alive with 
voracious chubs and I soon turned the rod 
over to Girl, who likes to catch chubs. Hardly 
had I retired from the projecting timbers of the 
ancient dam before Girl had hooked a fine 
rainbow. I shouted to her to keep cool and 
take her time, but before I could reach her 
side the fish had escaped, simply because the 
child was too much in a hurry to bring it 
within reach of the landing net. Those large 
rainbow must be played until exhausted before 
one attempts to reel them in. I then took the 
rod and soon hooked and netted a fish that 
weighed slightly over 
two pounds. Later Girl 
landed a smaller one. 
So the afternoon sped 
and as night shut in 
we took the train for 
Armstrong Creek, which 
takes its name from a 
stream, one of the 
confluents of the Pesh¬ 
tigo, justly noted for 
its rainbow trout fish¬ 
ing. 
It was so late when 
we reached Armstrong 
Creek that we perforce 
went to a hotel, which 
we did not like to do. 
The next morning we 
were early astir and set¬ 
tled with our host, who 
was greatly disappointed 
when he found that 
we intended to dispense 
with his services as 
guide, for he takes fishing parties to and from 
the river. He insisted that we would be unable 
to find the trails without help and vouchsafed 
no information about their whereabouts, but 
nothing daunted we set out. Just to prove that 
I bear the man no ill will: if you would like to 
try some of the best, if not the best rainbow 
fishing in Wisconsin, write to A. Pinkowsky, 
Armstrong Creek, Wis., who will make all 
arrangements and satisfy you in every particu¬ 
lar. The best fishing is not found in the creek, 
but in the main Peshtigo. 
It is a short mile from the station to the 
creek, reaching which we decided to make a 
permanent camp in some secluded spot from 
which to make day-long excursions. It would 
have been better to have followed a plainly 
marked trail to a bit of rough water we dis¬ 
covered three or four miles down stream and 
named for our own convenience, “Lower 
Rapids.” 
When we had settled upon a position for the 
tent, the ground was leveled and the tent set, 
and we gathered a great heap of hemlock 
browse. It always pays to build a good bed. 
We dug a cellar in which to store our meat, 
butter and milk, and lest some may not under¬ 
stand what I mean by a cellar, let me describe 
