202 
F OREST AND S T R E A M 
April, 1918 
As I finished Dick’s letter Ted butted It was sad to behold what a blown-down 
into the office and wanted to go fishin’ spruce had done to Dick’s canoe 
We had two baby trout apiece for supper 
whereas we could have eaten a whale 
A WEAK WEEK-END AT WILLEWAGASSETT 
“NEWT” NEWKIRK CONTRIBUTES TO THE LITERATURE OF FOOD CONSERVATION WITH 
A TALE OF A MEATLESS SATURDAY AND EATLESS SUNDAY IN A FISHING CAMP 
A S I sat at my desk readin’ my fly-book 
a messenger boy appeared from no¬ 
where in particular and handed me 
a letter. I slit it open and a key dropped 
out. Here is the letter: 
“DEAR NEWT—Just had a wire from 
the chief calling me to the home office, so 
can't go with you on that fishing trip to 
Willewagassett over the week-end. I’m 
just as sorry as you are, but listen:—why 
don’t you take a friend and go anyhow ? 
I left plenty of grub in camp when I was 
there last month. You’ll find my canoe 
turned up on shore and paddles under the 
piazza. Trout and salmon ought to be com¬ 
ing fine there now. Hope you have good 
luck. Here’s the key to camp. 
“Yours, 
“DICK.” 
As I sat there holding the letter in my 
hand it’s a curious thing that Ted Palrher 
should bust into the office, hit me a friendly 
wallop on the back and exclaim, “Look 
here, Newt, old scout—when are you gonna 
take me on that fishin’ trip you’ve been 
promisin’ me for two years?” “When?” 
says I sneakin’ the letter into my pocket 
and stallin’ along for time. “Yes, when?” 
says Ted; “do you know wot I think. 
Newt? I think that you think that just 
because I don’t know anything about the 
fishin’ game I’d be a bother and a nuisance 
and you don’t want me. Is that so?” 
“Ted,” says I, “you hurt my feelings like 
everything when you say that and you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself, but since 
you’ve accused me of it right to my face, 
I’ll admit there’s more truth than poetry 
in what you say. Now listen, Ted,—-if I 
take you to a lake that is so full of fish 
they hardly have elbow room to swim, will 
you be a dead game sport and put up 
cheerfully with camp life instead of beefin’ 
and kickin’ and quittin’?” 
“Cross my heart and hope to choke if I 
don’t,” says Ted. “Newt, you’ve got me 
all wrong—I’m no boo-baby in the woods, 
nor anywhere else. Say, I'll eat grass and 
sleep on the ground if necessary. I tell 
you I’m tough and T’d rather rough it than 
smooth it—that’s the kind of a guy I am.” 
“Yeh,” says I, “that’s wot they all say, but 
I’ve observed that when I get a sofa-pillow 
slob like you away off in the tall timber 
far from home and mother he generally 
By NEWTON NEWKIRK 
misses his slippers, or hankers for his 
tooth-brush or hollers because he doesn’t 
get grape-fruit for breakfast. However, 
Teddy, I’m gonna take a chance on you. 
Be at the station at 9 in the morning with 
an old suit of clothes—and that’s all. Leave 
the rest to me, understand ? “I get you,” 
says Ted gleefully wringing my hand, then 
he beat it. 
* * * * * 
T was about 4 p. m. the next day (Sat¬ 
urday) after a railway journey of 70 
miles and an eight mile hike through 
the woods that Ted and I came in sight of 
Dick’s camp on the shore of Willewagas¬ 
sett. “Hooray, we’re here!” yells Ted with 
boyish enthusiasm: “say, Newt, ain’t that 
a swell lake!” “You just wait,” says I, 
“until you bite into some of the swell trout 
out of that swell lake which we’re gonna 
have for supper. How’s your appetite?” 
“I could eat a couple of dozen trout raw 
right now,” says Ted. While he was 
dancin’ around the camp like a wild Injun 
I stood near the shore with my chin on my 
chest mournfully looking down at the canoe 
A big spruce, weak at the roots, had blown 
down and rested squarely across it—the 
canoe was smashed flatter than a pancake! 
Then I turned sadly toward the camp 
and unlocking the door pushed it open. As 
Ted and I stepped inside a big fat and 
sassy porcupine, bristling with splinters, 
gave us one look and ducked through a hole 
in the floor! That camp was a mess. It 
was evident the grub Dick left had in¬ 
spired the “porkies” to gnaw their way in¬ 
side, then they had helped themselves. The 
slab of bacon was gone, rind and all—a 
bag of flour was knocked from a shelf and 
its contents defiled—a sack of cornmeal had 
been devoured, likewise a package of flap- 
jack flour and sundry other edibles too nu¬ 
merous to mention. Even a glass jar of 
salt and one containing tea had been 
knocked down and broken. To tell the 
truth there wasn’t enough grub left in that 
camp to furnish a square meal for a hun¬ 
gry fly! 
Here we were eight miles from the rail¬ 
road flag-station and the Lord only knows 
how far from the nearest supplies, hun¬ 
grier than a couple of wolves and not a bite 
to eat! I went out on the camp piazza and 
sat down with my face in my hands. Ted 
sat down beside me as cheerful as a cricket. 
“Well,” says he, “ain’t it about time to 
eat?” “Eat!” I snaps scornfully; “that 
word sounds familiar to me—I’ve heard it 
before somewhere. Yeh, Theodore, this is 
the time and the place to eat and I recken 
we’ve got the appetites—there’s only one 
little thing we’re short of and that’s grub.” 
“Nothing at all?” gasps Ted. “Not even a 
cup of tea,” sighs I. 
Ted didn’t say anything more, but he did 
some heavy ponderin’. I strung up my fly- 
rod thinking I could perhaps from the shore 
coax enough trout from the shallows for 
supper, but the brush was so thick that my 
fly was hung up half the time. Finally, 
however, I did get a rise and hooked a 
trout which I played carefully and at length 
landed. Without exaggeration it was four 
inches long! Honest it was a crime to 
take the poor little thing away from its 
mother. After an hour’s lashing up and 
down shore I got three more about the 
same size. While Ted slicked up the camp 
I dressed the four baby-trout and broiled 
’em over an outside fire. In the process of 
broiling they shrank until you had to look 
twice to see ’em ' with the naked eye! 
“Supper’s ready!” I hollers and Ted came 
out lickin’ his chops. “Wot are you tryin’ 
to do, kid me?” he asks. Handing him 
two of the trout on a square of birch-bark 
I says, “There now, eat till you bust.” 
In a couple of gulps we downed those baby 
trout, heads, tails, toenails and eyebrows— 
also without salt. “How’d you like ’em?” 
says I. “How in blazes can I tell from only 
two?” says Ted. “Don’t ask for a second 
helping,” says I, “ ’cause it ain’t polite.” 
“I wish you’d eaten all four of ’em,” says 
Ted; “only two made me twice as hungry.” 
I PROWLED around until I found an axe 
and a box of nails, then we went to work 
building a raft, from which to fish. It 
consisted largely of logs held together by 
odds and ends of boards spiked down on 
top. That raft was not a thing of beauty, 
but when we pushed it into the water and 
got on it bore us both up. By now it was 
dark, so we moored it securely and went 
into the camp. Fortunately there was some 
kerosene in the lamp and we enjoyed the 
luxury of a light. We also had plenty of 
tobacco and the hungrier we got the harder 
