The Novice on the Northern Trails 
Leopold’s Visitor—Exploding a Looiv Myth The 
Priest’s Shod Moose 
By THOMAS TRAVIS 
Concluded from page 610. 
A FTER noon the rain cleared, but the wind 
was blowing almost a gale, so Cave Man, 
the Doctor and Leopo.d started for a little 
pond hidden away in the forest from the sweep of 
the wind. A short trail along a roaring stream and 
we were at Mud Pond. Again and agaiin we cir¬ 
cled, edging where the stream poured in swirling 
eddies over the rocky entrance and foam hung 
in wreaths over ideal pools. Cave Man did his 
best and that few can better. Like wisps of 
milkweed, down the flies flew, curved and set¬ 
tled, but no fish rose to the lure, though that 
little pond was full of them. Coax you may 
when the fish God su.ks, but he will answer 
only when it sees him good. 
So we moved to Horseshoe Pond, three-quar¬ 
ters of a mile away, and found the trout there 
crowding to the fly. At every cast they leaped, 
sometimes in couples or in threes. One I re¬ 
member under a pine log with snags spread 
abroad to catch the veering fly. Again and 
again he rose, and always I' missed him till a 
gust of wind threw my fly over the log. Then 
he rose superbly, took the dropper and freed 
me. When he came reluctantly to the net, we 
freed him again with thanks, only to have the 
fly taken by a landlocked salmon. There was 
no mistaking this fish. Up in the air and under 
the boat, in water and out of it he proved him¬ 
self a fighter, till gathered with the net, we 
turned him loose as a badge of courage. 
But here we saw something that for a time 
eclipsed even the fishing. Beavers were every¬ 
where in evidence. Here was an old lumber 
dam built up by these industrials until it threat¬ 
ened to topple over. Trees by the score had 
been cut down; some more than a foot in diam¬ 
eter. Houses, chips and runways were all about. 
And those houses were a remarkable piece of 
work, too. With a great deal of labor we pene¬ 
trated to one of them. A big wagon would 
scarcely hold aT the lumber of this one house. 
Sticks two to four feet in length composed it, 
and these were all peeled and gnawed as by 
some prehistoric man with a rude, though sharp 
stone tool. Careful and cleanly animals, too, 
these are, as Leopold pointed out the special 
places for toilet purposes. Several of these cut¬ 
tings we considered worth carting home. One 
of them was a rough spiral piece of gnaw work 
that took the shape of a bust, crudely executed, 
yet clear even to eyes, nose and mouth. We 
named it Beaver Man. Perhaps some Darwin 
would see in it the dawn of idol worship. Who 
knows? Perhaps even these furry watermen 
have their gods, and what more natural than that 
they carve them after the pattern of these 
strange beings that hover about their homes 
waving wands futilely in the air, or who smite 
with fire sticks at a distance, or hew down great 
trees far beyond the beaver brothers strength? 
With the wind howling through the forest, the 
crack and roar of the great trees, we made our 
homeward way. Over the trail Leopold would 
bend from time to time and mutter “Chevreaux” 
as he saw the dainty prints of deer feet clearly 
marked; again we would raise our eyes where 
streaks of red showed against the spruce tops, 
and when the sun had set we came to camp with 
our spoil, piled the logs up until the fire roared, 
and sat in comfort listening to the noises of the 
wilderness ere we drew the blankets over us and 
sank in dreamless sleep. 
The sun was shining brightly when we awoke. 
All traces of the storm had passed, so we de¬ 
termined to take the trail further in. Many a 
deer trail we crossed, more than one sapling 
gnawed or rubbed at the height of some sturdy 
buck, many a fox spoor left dog-like on the 
mossy stones, but save where a squirrel chirred 
or a nuthatch talked, silence unending. As we 
took the canoes on the stream through Massa¬ 
chusetts bog, Leopold told me of an incident 
that happened there. “I was with a fellow hunt¬ 
ing bear, un we see him right ther in the brush. 
The fellow took a shot, but only wounded the 
bear, un he jump in stream. The water was 
ver’ low, un I see a big log lying under the sur¬ 
face. I says to m’self: ‘He will come up there 
un I’ll wait till I get good shot when he’s all 
out of water.’ Sure enough he put for that log 
un catch it with his paws. Then he heave up 
an’ I sighted along rifle. Soon all his body’s 
out un I fire. He roll over in water shot through 
the spine. 
Waiting at the end of the water trail for Gray 
Rabbit and Cave Man, we caught a few trout 
in the deep pools. I had a brown butterfly on 
and was coaxing a nice trout when I saw a 
yellow snake after a frog. Slowly he gained, 
though the frog was swimming his best. T 1 
ugly head was drawn back for the strike wh( 
the Doctor determined to take a hand. Drat 
ing his pistol, he fired. Ihe snake opened i 
red mouth in one long yawn, curled up in 
heap and slowly sank, while froggie dove 1 
the shelter of the roots and mud. 
It was just noon when we reached Northwe 
Pond that looks for all the world like a pictu 
from some Christmas book. Far away in t 
background a great, towering mountain capp 
now with snow in May; the pond hidden 
spruce forests that come right down to t 
water; a line where the ice king has shav 
with his keen razor the lower branches th 
almost touch the lake; and far off on the oth 
edge of the pond—a snug log cabin. 
Late that afternoon the water lay smooth 
glass, but as the sun began to sink, it was 
up with a rosy glow and dimpled with a sig 
few fishermen are given to see—everywhere trc 
“boiling up” or leaping after the sailing cade 
flies. Never have I had such trout fishing 
all my life. Always when I glanced at the otl 
canoe either Cave Man or Gray Rabbit had 
fish, and even as I struck a trout I could he 
the splatter where the other canoe held one 
the net, or catch the quick expiration of 1 
Deacon as he hooked a fish or missed a stri 
Not singly, but in twos and threes they car 
Once the Deacon had four on his line, evi 
fly from the Little Injun dropper to the Parn 
cheene Belle at the end seized by a hunf 
trout and dragged to the depths. In vain 
cast them tenderly back; others rushed to ta 
their places. And in the sunset, flaming o 
the forest and mountain, coloring the high clot 
with vermillion fire, we drifted campward, 
our evening meal, lit the big camp-fires and s 
tied down to smoke the calumet of peace. 
Ours was a log cabin, an old timer, as the 
scriptions showed. Here was the outline o 
big trout drawn on a sheet of bark, the na 
of the catcher underneath, the weight of the 
and the fly that proved his lure. Two inse 
tions I yet remember, one a three-fingered h; 
with a cross beneath, which Leopold explai 
was a memento of a hunter who shot his mic 
finger away and had to perform the rest of 
operation with his hunting knife; grim remin 
that twenty hard miles lay between us and 
viflage doctor. The other was a poem by s< 
voyageur or guide— 
“Toi qui vas cherchant 
Au soleil couchant, Fortune 
Est comme un enfant 
Qui demanda en pleurant la lur.e.” 
Thou who journeyest toward the 
Setting sun, searching thy fortune, 
Art like to an infant weeping even 
As he demands the silver moon. 
Evidently some peasant of sunny France 
