A Summer Cruise Down the Delaware 
For some time Archie and I had been wonder¬ 
ing how we could spend our short summer vaca¬ 
tions in a way to yield the greatest amount of 
pleasure with the least expenditure of the where¬ 
withal. Neither of us cared much for the white 
flannels and Panama hat kind of a holiday where 
one must try to look pretty and be nice to a lot 
of people he cares nothing about. But where 
could we go to get canoeing, fishing and inde¬ 
pendence of dress and action, without too great 
expense? The upper Delaware loomed large _as 
a possibility, and after some investigation and 
discussion was eventually decided upon as the 
best place. We never regretted the decision. 
The scenery there is beautiful. There are no 
mosquitoes to render close harmony all night, 
and the river, with its dancing riffles, its broken, 
roaring stretches of white water and its deep, 
still pools mirroring the green hills and the big, 
white summer clouds, is ever ready for you. 
Fishing? Well, the fish are there, for we often 
saw them jumping-—lusty old bronzebacks that 
would give you all the fight you wanted. But 
somewhere along the river there must have been 
a Jonah, for during our cruise of eighty miles 
from Hancock down to Port Jervis we saw not 
one fisherman who had really good luck to re¬ 
port. 
We boarded the express in Jersey City on the 
morning of July 17, reaching Hancock, where 
the East Branch joins the main river, early in 
the afternoon. A short time was spent there in 
purchasing a few needful articles, overlooked 
in our somewhat hurried departure from the 
city, and having carried canoe and duffle down 
to the river, the trip proper began. A short 
distance below the village we struck a long riffle 
or rather a series of them, and as the water was 
very low, we were obliged to get out and wade. 
But the afternoon was hot and the water cool, 
so we splashed contentedly along, lifting and 
hauling over the rocks till the ensuing deep 
water made easier going. A little casting and 
trolling was barren of results, though all about 
us the bass were jumping, and we soon pushed 
on, for the sun was getting low, and previous 
experience had taught us that to make camp in 
the dark is far from pleasant. About 6 o’clock 
an ideal spot was found under a group of lofty 
hemlocks on a little bluff overlooking the river, 
and we decided to stop there and spend a couple 
of days. 
The first night of the season under canvas is 
often a wakeful one, and this proved so. How 
quick the ear is to catch every little sound of 
bird or insect, and what a splash a leaping fish 
can make after nightfall! A night hawk was 
calling from high up in the sky and amused 
himself by repeatedly diving earthward with that 
strange booming of his wings. As their novelty 
wore off, these sounds gradually grew indis¬ 
tinct. and the next thing we knew the first gray 
of dawn was showing through the open tent 
flap. 
That first morning we just loafed. What 
need was there of working when there were 
two full weeks of freedom ahead? The camp 
was fixed up a bit and arrangements were made 
with a nearby farmer to supply us with fresh 
milk and eggs during our stay, and in the after¬ 
noon we paddled down to the nearest rift to try 
the bass. But the fish must have sworn off on 
every kind of food which contained a hook, and 
a couple of hours of diligent casting resulted in 
only two little fellows scarcely above the legal 
size. 
On the - way back to camp we witnessed a 
rather novel and thoroughly lazy method of fish¬ 
ing. Just where the current began to quicken 
at the head of the rift, a stout wire cable was 
stretched from bank to bank some twenty feet 
above the water. On this were two traveling 
pulleys attached by short ropes to the ends of 
a big scow in such a way that by shortening or 
lengthening one rope, the “ferryboat” could be 
turned at an angle to the current, and so made 
to go in either direction its conductor wished. 
Ordinarily this boat served merely the purposes 
of any staid and self-respecting ferry, but two 
natives had recognized its possibilities from a 
fisherman’s point of view, and comfortably seated 
on a couple of boxes with their bait pails before 
them in the bottom of the boat, were gravely 
swinging back and forth across the river, un¬ 
troubled by wind or swirling water. During the 
remainder of the trip we found these rude 
ferries very common, but did not again see one 
put to such a novel use. 
The next day, Monday, broke cloudy and cold, 
and after securing a supply of little catfish from 
under the rocks along shore, we again tackled 
the bass. Their appetites had not improved since 
the previous evening, and it was finally agreed to 
break camp the next morning and drop down 
the river in search of better luck. 
The temperature that night was more sugges¬ 
tive of December than July. The wind poured 
down out of the northwest and seemed to blow 
right through the tent walls. A big fire would 
have been dangerous, for the country was very 
dry, so we piled on all the clothes we had and 
shivered till morning. 
When daylight finally did come, the wind was 
still blowing hard, but had shifted more to the 
west, and we hoped that it would moderate later 
in the day. Breakfast over and things packed 
up, we got under way at 9 o’clock, intending to 
make Cochecton, some twenty miles below, that 
evening. Frequent wading was again the order 
of the day, however, and it soon became evident 
that we must be content with a shorter run. 
We had heard of the trout fishing in Basket 
Creek, and reaching there early in the afternoon 
decided to camp and try it. A little grassy plot 
shaded by old apple trees looked inviting, and 
just back of it an old road led to a neat little 
farm house on a pleasant knoll. The spot had 
evidently been used by previous campers, for we 
found a well built stone fireplace and an impro¬ 
vised grate. Inquiry at the house readily gained 
permission to camp, and escorted by the farmer’s 
young shepherd dog we returned to the river 
and unpacked the canoe. The tent was soon up 
and a supply of fire wood gathered, so that by 
4 o’clock we had crossed the river and were ex¬ 
ploring the Basket. 
A pleasant little stream, it comes down 
through a winding valley—almost a ravine—shut 
in by the surrounding mountains which seem 
trying to hide it away from the busy outside 
world. And they have been pretty successful 
in this, too, for though an important railroad 
passes less than a mile away, one never would 
suspect it unless he happened to hear the whistle 
of a locomotive. The water was very low after 
the long drouth, but a couple of eleven-inch 
brown trout were sufficiently unwary to be 
coaxed in out of the wet, and how they did 
fight when they felt the prick of the hook! The 
brownie may be coarse when compared to the 
native fish, but he certainly is not lacking in 
courage and resourcefulness. Under ordinary 
circumstances he takes the fly with a determined 
dash and once hooked makes a struggle for free¬ 
dom of which no fish need be ashamed. 
It was very pleasant wading that little brook 
so quietly tucked in among the hills far from 
the noise and hurry of the city, and we fished 
on and on till approaching dusk warned us to 
seek the dusty country road which led back to 
the river. It was nearly dark when camp was 
reached and how good the bacon and trout and 
flapjacks were, especially when topped off with 
hot coffee and a pipe. Our friend, the night 
hawk, or one of his relations, was busy again, 
and we sat about the fire talking and listening 
to him until increasing drowsiness sent us to 
our blankets. 
Thus far on the trip we had noticed the dis¬ 
couraged expression on the faces of many of 
the natives along the river, and one hardly won¬ 
ders at it, for outside of the summer visitors 
they seem to have scant means of support. Fre¬ 
quently we saw deserted houses, especially in the 
considerable stretches between the villages. They 
were generally along the route of the old Dela¬ 
ware and Hudson canal, an indication of a pros¬ 
perity of years gone by. The canal has long 
been abandoned, and though the railroad is far 
speedier and more convenient, yet its stations 
are far apart, and many of the old homes are 
thus quite isolated. Then, too, the pine and 
hemlock timber, which once formed an import¬ 
ant output along the river, is gone, except in 
the more inaccessible places where its cutting 
hardly pays. At one of our camps a grizzled 
old river man entertained us one evening with 
reminiscences of the days when lumbering was 
at its height, and the big rafts were run down 
every spring to Trenton and Philadelphia. A 
rafting freshet then was the signal for activity 
all along the river, and exciting times they must 
have had in taking the huge, unwieldy masses of 
logs through the rapids. Sometimes a raft would 
“hang” on a big boulder in the middle of a rift 
and the crew would be lucky to escape with 
their lives. The old fellow grew quite excited 
as he talked, and in the flickering firelight made 
a picture to be remembered. At last with a sigh 
