March 21, 1908.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
449 
lack of training and the absence of habit and not 
imitate too closely. 
The choice of tump line or shoulder straps is 
largely a matter of custom and individuality, but 
the almost universal use of the former gives it 
the hallmark of approval by specialists. For 
thorough enjoyment the shoulder straps which 
leave the head free and a pack of reasonable size 
make the best combination, and it is wiser to 
make a second or even a' third trip across than 
to lose one’s pleasure in the event. After kneel¬ 
ing at the paddle for hours one looks eagerly for 
the portage as a change of labor and an oppor¬ 
tunity to exercise a new set of muscles, and with 
a well-fitting pack the portage passes merrily as 
a bright interesting spot in the day’s work. Fur 
thermore, as the mind is fickle there must be no 
dwelling upon the idea that a burden is resting 
on the back, for soon it insistently queries 
whether the pack is not too large, whether 
it would not be wiser to rest a bit, and 
presently one becomes conscious that hobgoblins 
ride behind and endeavor to crush the bearer to 
the earth. Every variety of forest travel is found 
on the portages, and each possesses a distinct in¬ 
dividuality unless this latter has been ruthlessly 
stamped out by the passage of numerous and fre¬ 
quent travelers. 
One may lead away honestly and directly from 
the water as a deep aisle through a forest of tall 
and stately trees, while another lures one up to 
the top of a broad flat rock where only by care¬ 
ful search can the smooth line made by continual 
wear be found and the trail followed, or possibly 
the trail is one occasionally encountered by the 
novice that proves his metal as a worthy appren¬ 
tice in woodcraft, but which even an older wood¬ 
man finds unattractive as it winds narrowly in a 
deep groove through a muskeg in which one sinks 
deeply in moss and mud and then trips over an 
exposed root of tamarac. It may be observe! 
that always at such a crisis a branch that seemed 
at least eight or ten feet away will hit the face, 
push the hat off or get tangled in the pack strap 
and the pause that ensues is taken advantage of 
by the swarm of flies or mosquitoes that has been 
following to attack the exposed hands and the 
dripping face. Even such a portage as this can 
be passed over in considerable comfort if equan¬ 
imity of temper is preserved, but woe betide the 
man who gets angry, troubles descend in clouds 
and within a few minutes his pack is off and he 
lies helpless, wretched, and steaming, at the 
mercy of the red gods. 
In the fire-swept districts we frequently found 
the portage as a green unburned line running 
through the black desolation while the absence of 
foliage allowed the direct rays of the sun to pour 
down on the trail and radiate back from the hot 
and smoking earth. The ideal portage should not be 
over half a mile in length and the well “under¬ 
brushed” trail buried in leaves or fringed with 
moss should wind in and out close to the song of 
the water, over an undulating earth, between 
giant trees whose interlocking limbs shade the 
path and permit only scattered splotches of sun¬ 
light to leak through upon the green moss at 
their roots. There should be a pronounced curve 
at tire distal end so that you would come upon 
the water suddenly like a glorious picture en¬ 
ticingly spread before your eyes. A cool wind 
laden with the balmy odors of the forest is not 
amiss, and then just enough of a pack to keep the 
feet on the ground when the vital sap runs riot 
through tfie system and tempts one to turn hand¬ 
springs and cartwheels clear across the portage, a 
pack heavy enough to keep one conscious of his 
responsibilities and not enough to discourage. If 
the pack is weighty the song of the white throat 
might be permitted, but otherwise it should be 
excluded as too exhilarating, or antagonized by 
adding to the pack. Keeping a true and just 
equilibrium between the allurements of the 
grouse whirring up from your feet while dryads 
sob and whine in the adjacent trees, and the 
strict path of duty as represented by the winding 
trail that terminates in a sheet of silvery water 
guarded by sentinels of fir and pine in stately and 
serried ranks. 
It is along the trail too that one comes into 
close relation with the deeper life of the forest 
where a thousand eyes watch your clumsy prog¬ 
ress from covers of safety, and bear, lynx, moose 
or deer take distant observation and flee like 
shadows from the invasion. 
Worn bare by many generations of moccasined 
feet, or carpeted by needles of spruce and pine, 
T HE advertising force of a famous circus 
was billing the long side of the wagon 
house, on the Sylvester Smith farm, 
when my morning walk led me by it. 
“Wonder why the old man didn’t want us to 
go above the weather-strip?” remarked one of 
the brushmen, as he stepped back and surveyed 
his work to see that no unmoistened spots re¬ 
mained. 
“It's his barn,” replied the veteran foreman 
curtly, and then in a milder tone, as if his own 
curiosity had been aroused, “he’s told, me the 
cutting deep grooves through the heart of the 
muskeg, or smoothing the rough granite surface 
of the hills, ever the trails connect with the mys¬ 
terious certainty of the ages two neighboring 
waters and spread like a vast and intricately 
woven net over the great incubating Northland. 
On the lake one sees the broad, straight path and 
nothing is left to the imagination while there are 
always such interesting possibilities on the port¬ 
age where the slightest bend in the trail shuts 
from view the immediate future; the forest drops 
a curtain a few feet ahead and what may not 
happen on that mysterious other side? Some 
wild thing of the forest or a dream castle, a 
reality, or a spirit, a serious minded Indian or a 
shrieking hobgoblin, the nerves are constantly 
attuned to the unexpected. Repeated disappoint¬ 
ments do not disturb the illusion- and when the 
pack is dropped at the end of the trail where the 
water stretches out in a long silvery thread or 
broad expanse of blue, the feeling remains, that 
each chance taken in vain improves the prospect 
of future success. 
same thing every season that we've been here 
for the past twenty years—there’s lots of good 
space up there under the cornice.” 
I disliked to see this new gorgeousness cover 
over the familiar pictures, which generation 
after generation of circuses had spread upon 
that wagon house. AH through the summer I 
had studied the curious composite animals cre¬ 
ated by the wind and rain as, bit by bit, they re¬ 
moved the numberless strata of astounding art. 
One of Barnum & Bailey’s elephants had been 
forced to accept a zebra’s leg from Forepaugh’s 
ALBANY RIVER INDIANS. 
Mr. Smith and His Circus Bills 
By WINFIELD T. SHERWOOD 
