334 
FOREST AND S T REAM 
June, 1918 
Clem walked off with the canoe so fast I 
could hardly keep up with him. 
When the bow hit that pine I saw more 
stars than there are on a clear night 
My foot skidded off a mossy log and 
down I went with the canoe on top 
A WANDER-LUST AND WHAT CAME OF IT 
“NEWT” NEWKIRK AND A BROTHER DEVOTEE OF THE PADDLE DISCOVER THAT 
IN FISHING, AS IN OTHER THINGS, ONE MAY GO FARTHER AND FARE WORSE 
I N one of the old school readers which I 
rassled with when I was a kid was a 
story about some boys and girls who 
went on a berry-pickin’ picnic. When they 
reached the berry pasture they all started 
in to fill their pails. Presently Lizzie let 
out a shriek as if she’d seen a green snake, 
as follows: “Oh, come quick!-—the berries 
are thicker’n hops over here!” Thereupon 
Agnes, Nancy and Hilda, Tom, Dick and 
Harry stampeded to Lizzie. All deserted 
their posts except George, who kept right 
on pickin’ at the same old stand. Mean¬ 
while the other kids rampaged all over the 
place where berries were reported to be 
more numerous. When it came time to go 
home George had a pailful of nice, plump 
berries while the others together didn’t 
have enough to fill a respectable pie—and 
were all in besides. 
“How did you find so many berries, 
George ?” they asked in chorus, also in 
amazement. 
“I simply stuck to my bush,” replied wise 
little Georgie. 
I wish the Gentle Reader would explain 
to me why it is a fisherman so often 
wearies in well doing. The speckled beauts 
may be rising to the fly right under his 
nose, but he has a hunch that they’d rise 
better in Crooked Brook five miles across 
a mountain and he isn’t happy until he 
beats it thitherward. The salmon may be 
coming well at the head of the lake, but 
if word reaches him that an old golwhol- 
loper was taken at the outlet, he reels in 
and bends to the oars for a five-mile pull. 
I’ve been stung more’n once in the same 
place because I didn’t stick to my bush in 
the fishin’ game and yet I never seem to 
learn—I keep right on wild-goose chasin’ 
and makin’ a monkey of myself. 
My old friend Clem and I were paddling 
campward at the end of a perfect day. The 
wind had died with the coming of dusk 
and the lake lay peaceful and unruffled ex¬ 
cept for the ring of a rising fish here and 
there. The canoe slid silently and grace¬ 
fully uplake under the impetus of two 
paddles and tucked in the bow were five 
plump trout for our supper. We had had 
a royal day’s sport and had returned all 
but these to the water. 
“Newt,” says Clem, apropos of nothing 
By NEWTON NEWKIRK 
whatever, “we ought to take that Rapid 
River cruise before you go back.” “Whad- 
dye mean Rapid River cruise?” says I verj r 
inquisitive. “Didn’t I ever mention it?” 
asks Clem surprised. “Not in my ear,” 
says I. “Gosh, I thought I’d told you all 
about it,” says Clem; “but anyhow here’s 
the dope: 
“You know this lake flows through Pine 
Stream into Rapid River eleven miles be¬ 
low the outlet, don’t you?” “Uh-huh, I 
know that much,” says I. “Well,” Clem 
goes on, “if we travel five miles overland 
we’ll strike Rapid River about twenty miles 
above where Pine Stream enters it. In 
other words it’s only eleven miles from 
the lake to Rapid through Pine Stream and 
only five miles to it across country, yet be¬ 
tween these two points Rapid meanders 
twenty miles. Now by walking across to 
Rapid we can get into a canoe and slide 
down with the current (because it’s swift) 
twenty miles, then all we’ve got to do is 
to paddle up Pine Stream back to camp—• 
and we can do it in a day. Do you follow 
me ?” 
“I’ve been taggin’ right along at your 
heels,” says I, “on everything except the 
canoe—have you got a canoe cached on 
Rapid River ?” “Oh, the canoe,” says 
Clem; “why, we’ll carry that across on our 
backs.” “Oh, we will, will we?” says I. 
“Sure,” says Clem; “this canoe only weighs 
fifty pounds—and that’s nothin’ for husky 
guys like you and I. Why, I’ll bet you’ve 
lugged a pack that weighed over a hundred 
many a time.” “Oh, sure,” says I, cheer¬ 
fully admitting the charge, “but tell me— 
have you ever takgn this trip?” “No,” ad¬ 
mits Clem, “and that’s another reason I 
want to and lissen, Newt—there’s trout in 
Rapid River that’ll weigh five pounds!” 
W ELL, to make a long story short I 
fell for the trip. In spite of the 
fact that the “pickin’ ” on the home 
“bush” was good, I swallered bait, hook, 
line, sinker and one of the oars! 
Next morning at daybreak with a good 
breakfast under our belts and our lunches, 
rods and paddles lashed inside the canoe 
we were ready to start. “Jevver carry a 
canoe much, Newt?” inquires Clem. “Well,” 
says I (not to appear too inexperienced), 
“not just exactly what you would probably 
call very exceedingly much; that is I never 
lugged a canoe more’n several miles at a 
time if that’s wot you mean, but of course 
I’m familiar with the principle.” “Tell you 
wot we’ll do,” says Clem; “I’ll lug it on 
the first lap and you can watch how I do 
it, then you can carry it a spell. How’s 
that?” “Suits me,” says I; “go ahead and 
carry it as far as you like.” 
C LEM, a big husky brute, snatched up 
the canoe as if it weighed five pounds 
less’n a straw-hat and started off whis¬ 
tlin’ like a bird with me taggin’ along tryin’ 
to keep up. I noticed, however, that he 
stopped whistlin’ after we had hiked a 
couple of hundred yard’s and he didn’t take 
such long steps either! We followed an 
open wood-road where the going was good 
for half a mile and when we left the road 
and struck into the woods where it was up 
grade and no trail, I noticed something 
else, namely, that it was my turn to' lug 
the canoe! “There,” says Clem, setting it 
down and stretching his arms, “do you want 
to carry it a spell, Newt?” “Sure,” says I 
swingin’ it up over my head like a reg’lar 
licensed guide—except that I accidentally 
banged my bean against a thwart so hard 
I was afraid I had broken the thwart! 
I can think of other white men’s burdens 
I would rather lug through the woods than 
a 50-pound canoe. The great trouble was 
I couldn’t see where I was going—what I 
needed was a periscope up through the bot¬ 
tom of the canoe. “It isn’t heavy at all, is 
it. Newt?” says Clem, who was walkin’ 
behind me. “Nuh-nuh-no,” I stutters; “it’s 
luh-luh-light as a fuh-fuh-feather.” “Just 
then the bow hit a big bull-pine. The 
canoe stopped, but I walked right on until 
the thwart ahead hit me a belt across the 
bridge of the nose! I thought I heard 
Clem chuckle, but I wasn’t sure. It was 
real light under the canoe for a minute— 
“star”-light! When I came to, I backed 
up, took another grip and blundered on 
over logs, through brush and brambles. 
There didn’t seem to be any top to that 
hill. I hate a hill that doesn’t know when 
to stop. My arms ached like a couple of 
teeth, my legs were weak at the knees and 
both shoulder-blades were fractured. Clem 
