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_ dressed up in a decorated 
the head, fish head stew be- 
ing a native delicacy. I met 
a rabbit hunter who made 
his living by selling his 
game to the commissary de- 
partment of a black fox 
farm. He said he wouldn't 
bother with a meal pre- 
pared from any part of the 
animal but the ears. 
Now I must get to the 
subject of salmon. Catch- 
ing those fellows with a wil- 
lowy fly rod can best be de- 
eribed as strenuous exer- 
cise! A thing that sur- 
prised me about the salmon 
situation generally was that 
a good piece of salmon all 
ean, after being imported 
five thousand miles from 
Alaska, will sell for thirty 
cents. But an uncaught fish 
of the same species in a Gaspé river 
has a price in the neighborhood of a 
hundred dollars! 
Before I went to the wild North 
Woods I was one of these practical 
minded people who believe that all 
things have a price tag fastened on 
somewhere, either openly displayed or 
tucked away out of sight. But I must 
confess my breath was taken away by 
this salmon question. Jim Brawderx, 
an old Newfoundlander, once told me 
confidentially, “When you pay more 
than two cents for an ordinary hen’s 
egg you’re paying more than _ it’s 
worth.” But salmon live charmed lives, 
independent of the laws of supply and 
demand. 
RONTAGE on one of these high class 
Gaspé rivers has a value equal to 
anything on Fifth Avenue. Take one 
location on the north shore as an ex- 
ample. The river taps land in the in- 
terior with a lumber reserve rich 
enough to keep a three-million-dollar 
pulp mill running for the next hundred 
years, but a strip of water extending 
seven miles back from the sea is owned 
by a man who let a couple of his friends 
fish there two weeks for a fee of a 
thousand dollars. I happened to meet 
the two men in Mont Louis on their way 
to New York and they said they had 
enjoyed themselves. 
Travel the world over and 
you'll find nothing to sur- 
pass the record of the big 
salmon rivers of Gaspé. 
These are the royal fish pre- 
serves of America, and out- 
side the holy ground of 
Millionaire’s Row there are 
only a few places in the 
salmon country where or- 
dinary men may set foot. 
Nevertheless, a meal of fish may be ar- 
ranged at some nearby farm house; re- 
sentment of the monopoly is given ac- 
tive expression so that even the sanctity 
of palatial clubhouse territory will be 
ignored when a man wants a change of 
diet. 
HE formality of fishing tackle is laid 
aside and the so-called poacher 
takes a stout ten-foot pole tipped with a 
sharp gaff. The thrill of watching a 
past master of the art is only to be 
equalled by the experience of taking a 
big fellow with a fly rod. The man 
stands on the edge of a deep hole where 
a number of fish can be seen darting 
around in the clear water. He makes 
pass after pass and then suddenly the 
steel hook sticks fast. A swirl and a 
splash, and the man is struggling 
against the powerful force that 
threatens to upset him. After a mighty 
battle a much gored salmon is bounced 
onto the beach. 
The Matapedia and _  Restigouche 
rivers mark the western base of the 
peninsula; the Cascapedia and Bona- 
venture rivers have their outlet near 
the middle; and at the eastern end, the 
York and the Dartmouth empty into 
the upper part of Gaspé Bay. These 
water courses average a mile across at 
the mouth and give the salmon fisher- 
A view of the wharf and shipping at Gaspé. Fishing is the only industry, 

men all the elbow room they need. By 
way of relieving the monotony of broad 
stretches of open water there are beau- 
tiful tree-covered islands sprinkled here 
and there. There is a wonderful choice 
of comfortable camping sites. The soil 
is a little rocky, but what are a few 
“feathers” in the bed to a fisherman on 
his happy hunting ground? 
Each base of operations along Cha- 
leur Bay is provided with good hotel 
accommodation; but at Gaspé Basin, a 
village situated at the eastern terminus 
of the railway on a point of land be- 
tween the York and Dartmouth rivers, 
John Baker has built a sportsmen’s 
hostelry that is a delight to the eye, the 
palate, and the weary body. We outfit 
here for a few days with the York river 
salmon, and to look over the surround- 
ing country. 
bine: had presented us with a good 
map of the York valley and offered 
the use of some leased lakes, but being 
interested in covering ground as well as 
picking up a few fish we decided to 
strike back to York lake. With canoe 
in tow we ran up the river five miles 
by motor boat, passing long stretches 
of picketed logs waiting for their turn 
in the saw mill. Cleared farm lands 
petered out until we found ourselves, 
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