460 
FOREST AND STREAM 
August, 1918 
The staff at the headquarters dining camp—and how they could cook! 
and myself with as much duffle as we 
could stand in the other. It had not been 
my intention to have but one guide (Bert), 
but the week previous to my arrival he had 
met with great loss in the death of his 
wife, and Ned, fearing he would make but 
a poor companion for me on a long trip 
like this insisted on going along to help 
out. Be it said to his credit, however, that 
after a few words of sympathy on my 
part and the natural outburst of grief on 
his part, Bert never allowed his sorrows 
to obtrude in any way and before we fin¬ 
ished the trip he had largely recovered 
from his low spirits. Ned and Bert are 
true specimens of the woodsman, strong, 
kindly and cheerful, and many a little ten¬ 
der assistance shown me when my old soft 
muscles were severely taxed will ever be 
kindly remembered. 
Our course lay down to the foot of the 
lake where one of the canoes was aban¬ 
doned. Loaded down like pack horses 
(Ned and Bert, not myself, as I could do 
little to help) we struck out over our first 
carry. This was over an open “Barren” 
for about three miles to the first branch of 
the Clyde river, known as Bloody creek, 
the main camp being on the “Cold Stream,” 
a tributary to the Tusket river. 
It is hard to express the delight of that 
tramp with the fresh cool wind tempering 
the sun’s rays and filling my lungs with 
pure and unadulterated good health. These 
barrens are very interesting to me, being 
much like my old native moors in Scot¬ 
land, and whilst one misses the heather 
with its dainty perfumed little flowers, the 
illusion is greatly helped out by a purple 
blossoming wild “honeysuckle” (locally 
known as “Lamb kill”) that at a short dis¬ 
tance almost makes you think it heather. 
As our cargo of provisions, bedding, 
tents, etc., was considerable, it was neces¬ 
sary to make relays in the journey, but 
when the first stage was reached, the trail 
being fairly distinct, I concluded to pro¬ 
ceed alone. Oh! the joy of that lonely 
tramp! After I had caught my “second 
wind” as I swung along the trail my spirits 
soared higher and higher until I fairly 
reveled in the joy of it, I whistled and 
sang and shouted like a boy. I fear, how¬ 
ever, my music was not appreciated by a 
couple of deer that I disturbed browsing in 
a hollow as they didn’t remain long to 
enjoy it, but hoisting their white flags, 
dashed like a streak up and over the hill 
and were soon lost to sight. The deer in 
this country belong to the large fallow 
deer breed of England, from which coun¬ 
try they were imported some years ago. 
They have done well and as the close sea¬ 
son on them has been lifted, some fine 
There were many pools like this where the trout loved to hide 
shooting can be had in the autumn. Speak¬ 
ing of shooting, there is no better moose 
and deer shooting to be found anywhere 
than close around Main Camp, so that 
those who enjoy that sport have a fine 
chance for game without the prospect of 
an uncomfortable night camping out which 
usually accompanies such sport. There 
was every evidence of moose and deer to 
be found all over the carry, and in one 
moist bottom a rather fresh track of a 
large black bear was found, but as the 
“female of the species” is somewhat ugly 
at this season, I did not poke around much 
in the bushes to find her. 
After a tramp of about two hours (for 
I found it convenient to rest occasionally 
by the way), I reached Bloody Creek, 
where Ne'd has several canoes hauled up 
and covered with spruce boughs. I can 
assure you it did not take me long to put 
my rod together and with a cast of Brown 
Hackle, Montreal and Parmachene Belle 
I made my first cast where the brook broke 
best canoe carrier, not patented 
through between two large boulders into a 
deep black pool. 
Whilst I anticipated good fishing at this 
spot I was a little flurried with my recep¬ 
tion, for the flies had hardly touched the 
surface when the water fairly boiled with 
trout. I was fast to a pair at once and 
as they were good-sized fish, not well 
trained in “team work,” one wanting to go 
one way and the other another, they gave 
me a very lively fight. I waded into the 
brook to get free from the alders and let 
them have all the time they wanted. The 
waters of the higher branches of the Clyde 
are quite cold, consequently the trout are 
very strong and game. However, I soon 
brought them to the net and they were 
certainly beauties to my old eyes. The 
stream bottoms are fairly free from the 
mossy growth found nearer the coast, so 
the color of the fish is correspondingly 
brighter. Before Ned and Bert got in 
with their first load I had all the fish we 
needed for the table. Of course we make 
it a rule never to keep more than we can 
use and from the fact that I have recaught 
trout that showed the marks of having 
been on my hook not long before, I have 
concluded that they do not suffer much 
from anything but a little fright and very 
soon recover from its effect. 
