The Trout Lake Region. 
We reached Trout Lake Aug. 7, so my 
dream had come true. In idle moments 
in the intervals of business last winter, 
when the snow and ice covered the land and 
water, there often came to me the vision of a 
beautiful lake hidden far away in the Canadian 
wilderness, its blue waters fringed with pines 
and spruces, poplars and white birch, where the 
bass and the mascalonge were getting ready for 
the fray, eager to test their strength and skill 
with that of the angler. 
Our party consisted of myself and my two 
sons, Tom and Dick; the son of a friend, Harry 
by name; and two guides, Frank and Dave, the 
latter being a trained cook, and both good in 
canoe and on the portage. 
We left home Aug. 2, arriving next day in 
Sturgeon Falls on Lake Nipissing, where our 
guides met us. My old friend, the hotel keeper, 
Dick Kirkup, had secured three fine birchbark 
canoes, and a Toronto house had put up the 
supplies and packed them all ready for transpor¬ 
tation. We had for a week been getting ready, 
and long experience had told us just what to 
take, and what to leave at home. Nothing was 
forgotten but a can opener, and a big knife 
could be used in its place. 
The steamboat from Sturgeon left us at the 
dock between Shanty Lake and the west arm of 
Lake Nipissing, and thereafter we had to shift 
for ourselves. After lunch, in the preparation 
of which the loss of the can opener was dis¬ 
covered, our duffle was loaded into the canoes, 
and the journey over lake and portage began. 
We found that the Government had helped us 
by blasting out a channel between the first and 
second lakes, and so after a paddle of nearly 
five miles we arrived at our camping ground at 
the end of the portage at the head of Shanty 
Lake. This lake is very beautiful, long and nar¬ 
row, with bold, rocky shores, and is full of, fine 
bass, pike and pickerel. 
The boys soon caught and dressed some fish, 
and a pail of blueberries nicely stewed added to 
the pleasure of our supper. Thus we began to 
live on the country at the very start. 
To save as much as possible for the next day, 
which would be a hard one, after the camp was 
made and supper eaten, Tom, who was the only 
one of the party who knew the trail and one 
guide each with a big pack, started over the 
portage to the next lake. They did not return 
for a long time, but at last a loud “halloo” down 
the shore sent Harry in a canoe to bring them 
to camp. They had got off the trail on the way 
back. They reported the trail very blind and 
little used. Evidently there had been few, if 
any, over it this season, from which we argued 
that we should not be disturbed in our posses¬ 
sion of the lake. 
1 he next day we made several hard portages 
and camped on the Wolsley River, all of us 
pretty well used up, as we had to carry provis¬ 
ions for a four weeks’ trip. 
1 he following day we had more paddling and 
less portaging. Passing through Bear Lake, Long 
Lake and a stretch of river, we arrived at our 
camping ground on Trout Lake about 3 p. m. 
We had a delightful spot for our camp, near 
the Narrows, where another son had camped last 
year. Two tents were put up, plenty of brush 
for beds, and a serving table made from boards 
found at an abandoned lumber shanty. A good 
supply of worms was brought along, and plenty 
of crawfish secured in the river. With them 
we got enough bass for supper the first night 
from the rocks in front of the camp. 
Aug. 7 was awfully hot; ninety degrees in the 
shade. We ventured out for a while to try our 
luck with the result that many bass were hooked, 
five landed, and one eight-pound mascalonge. 
This was a good beginning, but the heat was too 
great to admit of our staying out for long. We 
saw a deer and a porcupine which one of the 
party mistook for a bear. The night was cool, 
no insects to bother except for an hour after 
sundown, and in the morning we awoke rested, 
well and happy. The day passed in reading, 
cooking, target practice with a .22 and swim¬ 
ming. Nor was the nature of the day forgotten, 
for a chapter from the good book served to re¬ 
mind us of the power which provided such good 
things for men. 
I have often wondered whether nature writers 
are in the habit of describing scenes on the spot, 
or trust to their memory, aided by notes and 
their imagination afterward. To describe our 
camp and its environs is easy. Spread out be¬ 
fore us there was an endless forest, rising in 
ridges like waves. Between the trees in the fore¬ 
ground we got glimpses of the long narrow lake 
reaching for miles away to the left; the water, 
smooth as a mirror, reflecting the trees in beau¬ 
tiful form, while 
“Slow sinks, more lovely ere its course be done, 
O’er forest hills, the setting sun.” 
A few summer clouds floated overhead, bril¬ 
liantly colored by the sunshine, and all around 
the perfect silence of the forest. It was not 
magnificent, but rather beautiful and peaceful. 
Each moment the colors grew more lovely as the 
sun got lower. One lingers long in such quiet 
beauty, wishing it would not so soon end. 
So far as we had discovered we had the lake 
to ourselves. There was no reminder of the out¬ 
side world except an occasional distant sound 
of blasting, probably at the mines in Sudbury. 
What a delightful thing it was to be there. 
Worries and trouble were all forgotten or, if 
remembered, seemed so distant, so unimportant 
that they ceased to count. What better form of 
vacation can one have? The telephone and the 
doorbell,' the postman and the messenger boy 
were far away—even a telegram could be de¬ 
livered only with great difficulty. Clients, 
patients, customers and employers or employes 
ceased to bother, and we did not care a hang 
about the tariff bill. There were no newspapers 
and no persons to bring us back to a conscious¬ 
ness of the fact that we are bits of a great 
organism, with our parts, always serious and 
more or less important, to play. To one who 
loves nature such a place as that is a paradise. 
It is not the hunting or the fishing alone, but 
the restfulness of it all—the great peace which 
seems to come over us. One is not obliged to 
do anything but eat and sleep, and whatever the 
whim leads him. Still, I would not decry the 
sport. It gives an object and helps to pass the 
time, and is in ftself most enjoyable. What is 
more thrilling than the feel of a big bass on a 
light rod? What more exciting than the rush 
and the leap of the lordly mascalonge? And 
then the long fight, every moment filled with 
anxiety lest he get away, until finally he is 
brought to net or gaff and proudly lifted into 
the canoe. I know nothing of its kind much 
better. The fall of a splendid elk or a noble 
moose to a well-directel shot from one's rifle 
is not more exciting, and when he is down, the 
supreme moment of the trip has come and gone. 
You have your one head—a splendid trophy, I 
admit, and I have some fine ones—but you have 
little to do and nothing to look forward to for 
the rest of your outing. 
With fishing it is different—each day begins a 
new count. Each fish one hopes and expects to 
be bigger than the last, while the number is prac¬ 
tically limited only by the demands of the camp 
appetites, and what six hungry men can eat in 
a day is no small number. Of course the com¬ 
bination of hunting and fishing in one trip is 
the ideal, and this can often be secured. But, as 
for the fishing alone, I love it. I grow more 
enthusiastic each day as renewed strength and 
energy enables me to enjoy it more and more. 
I pity the poor wretch who has no love for this 
wild life. How much he misses! What a poorly 
organized being he must be! Something seems 
to have been left out of his makeup—something 
which he can never put in. LIndoubtedly to make 
a good sportsman he must begin young. Many 
men when they get to middle life would like to 
do it, but they do not know how, and it is too 
late, or at least too hard for them to learn. 
To get the full benefit of such a trip one must 
do it right. Many men seem to think that the 
fact that they are removed from the ordinary 
restraints of society gives them free right to in¬ 
dulge their appetites to excess. In consequence 
they eat, drink and smoke a great deal too much, 
at the same time taking comparatively little exer¬ 
cise, and in consequence they go home unre¬ 
freshed and unbenefited by their outing. As to 
eating, the outdoor life gives one an immense 
appetite, but unless one is doing hard work— 
climbing mountains after sheep, for instance—- ' 
care should be taken to curb the appetite. It is 
hard to do, and requires some strength of mind, 
but as a veteran I can affirm that it pays. The 
nature of the food is of the utmost importance. 
Salt pork and flapjacks as a steady diet are 
killing. It is easily within the powers of any 
intelligent man to make good yeast bread. In 
warm weather and on a leisurely trip especially 
it is easy, and it can be nicely baked in a frying- 
pan, or better still in a reflector or Dutch oven 
before a camp-fire. The reflector is a light affair 
made of aluminum and folds into a very- small 
