
A HARDY SPORT INDEED. 
Mosquito, Moose, and Mascalonge 
A Canoe Trip Thru the Quebec Country 
E were edging along through 
the lily pads, barely a canoe’s 
length from the bushy shore 
line that bent out in rough points and 
sank back into smooth shadowy bays. 
A canoe was made for the shore line; 
its stealthy, silent progress seems to 
seek the green shadows of overhanging 
trees as naturally as the rabbit seeks 
the brown mottled earth. 
Just at the edge of the bush, cutting 
along through the tall green water 
weeds and smooth bays of lily pads, 
around log's and snags—the black water 
intrigues the imagination with dreams 
of the fighting “fins” that must be lurk- 
ing there to dash out for the spoon. 
You dip your paddle, carefully guard- 
ing the drip and splash; you try to stop 
the ripple and gurgle 
of the cutting bow 
and the slap of the 
lily pads and _ the 
scrap of random 
twigs. You lean 
slightly forward and 
peer into the brush 
for the collie colored 
splash that would 
reveal spreading ant- 
lers and down _ into 
the dark retreats of 
the ‘‘muskie” beneath 
the lily forest. You’ve 
stepped back a thou- 
sand years and are 
again the meat-hunt- 
ing, bush-running sav- 
age. 
I was in just this 
delicious state of sav- 
age communion with 
By HU BERTsG. FOOTE 
YUQQMOVENUVUUOVEUEESUTRUTETSOE TTD OTE EE 
Seven malcontents from New York 
City were bitten by the ‘“‘wanderlust 
bug.” Each put $100.00 in his jeans, 
a pack on his back and a canoe on 
his shoulders—and for two and a half 
months, the party broke thru one 
thousand miles of lakes, rivers, and 
wilderness in Northern Quebec without 
guides other than the sun, compass 
and the questionable maps of an un- 
touched country. Forest and Stream 
obtained the first article for the Oc- 
tober, 1923, issue. Mr. Foote has now 
returned to New York with the com- 
plete story, installments of which will 
be published each month.—Editor. 

the wild when my paddle dipped for- 
ward and down into the lily pads in a 
stroke. It stopped as though gripped 

THE COMFORTS OF CAMP 
in a vise—just an instant—then a ter- 
rifie wrench nearly tore it from my 
grasp. Visions of elephants flashed 
through my mind logicalizing down to 
whales. Then the paddle floated free 
and I was drenched as a broad thick- 
tail slashed the surface and tore a wake 
out into the deep water. 
‘Ore COO, nothing! Doc Lederer was 
right behind me and got some of 
the water. My heart had stopped up 
between my teeth and now came thump- 
ing down into place to begin beating a 
tom-tom while I gazed dumbly at the 
neat pattern of deep sharp dents in the 
end of my paddle. 
It was the square end spoon type of 
double paddle and the ends were bound 
with light one-inch 
copper strips for pro- 
tection, against rocks. 
The “muskies” of the 
northern lakes are 
fighters—he had taken 
DHUDIUTNUUOEULNISVLTV UIE 
SEVEN MALCONTENTS 
FROM NEW YORK 
TASTING THE JOYS OF 
THE PRIMITIVE. 
UDIIUTIHUNUULAUULUULLUUL ULL 
the challenge of the 
flash down into his 
shadowy domains and 
slashed out with his 
punishing teeth. I was 
for stopping then and 
there and hunting him 
Page 146 
