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time of fish hooks. 
In writing to advertisers mention Forcst and Stream. 
ground at my feet, panting and shiver- 
ing. Anyone with an aesthetic sense 
would have saved that fish for mount- 
ing, but I took him into the cabin and 
unceremoniously measured him for a 
red hot frying pan! From nose to tail 
he was twenty inches, and a six-inch 
speckled trout could stand upright 
across his middle. 
Browned to a turn with a coating of 
cornmeal and swimming in his own 
juice, that red trout tasted so good I 
decided to get a supply for the winter. 
Salmon lose nothing by being passed 
through the smoke house, and the flavor 
of my Madeleine Lake trout could cer- 
tainly stand the treatment. 
That night, before we went to sleep 
on a bunk piled high with spruce 
browse, Fred told us the kind of tackle 
the Micmac Indians used before the 
A long strip of 
babeesh (caribou rawhide) was taken, 
and a double-pointed stick about two 
inches long was fastened at one end. 
Over one point the Indian stuck a piece 
of bait, adjusting the stick so as to 
hang parallel with the line. Once the 
baited stick had been taken into some 
hungry gullet a pull on the line straight- 
ened out the stick crossways and hooked 
the fish. Primarily, Fred was a trap- 
per, and true of tradition he could 
string off yarns by the hour. 
T his suggestion, I substituted 
chunks of pork for the more sporty 
fly the next day. One after another, 
out came the fish. Some of them beat 
my first catch for size, but four pounds 
was a good average. I blush to describe 
the barbarous method I used. As I 
stood on the bank I would hoist them 
up over my head, drop the pole and run 
back to the fish where it was scram- 
bling about in the grass. A stroke of 
the axe would take off his head, and 
after working the hook lose it would be 
rebaited, ready for the next encounter. 
In broad daylight the trout refused 
to bite, so we spent the day cruising 
back in the mountains. The round globe 
of the harvest moon was just showing 
above the mountain opposite camp as I 
took my stand for the evening’s per- 
formance, and by the time the full light 
of the moon had taken the place of the 
fading sunset the clearing behind me 
was strewn with a good fifty pounds 
of fish. After that it was too cold to 
keep on with any comfort. 
After we had carried the load back 
to North Branch I split the fish in half, 
salted them, and then strung the meat 
on wire over a smudge that was kept 
going forty-eight hours. This lucky 
haul varied our caribou menu through 
half the winter. We never again visited 
Lac Madeleine, richest and most beauti- 
ful of Gaspé’s interior. Because of 
high water it can only be reached in 
September. 
growth covering the granite surfaces 
_ things like this begin to happen a tzout 









































HE first snowfall in the mountain 
that year came on the 18th of Au- 
gust, and as late as the middle of the 
following July there were snow-filled 
ravines. Freshet water made. even the 
North Branch river impossible at camp, 
forcing me to make a suspension bridge 
in order to get to the mountains for ob- 
servation during June and July. 
The barren summits of the Tabletop 
range, three miles from North Branch 
camp, spread out in panorama above 
the heavily wooded foothills in the fore- 
cround. Being the source of the Sainte 
Anne and the Madeleine rivers the 
mountains are interlaced with streams, 
the outlets of numerous lakes and 
ponds. Each month I made trips up 
there for the purpose of studying the 
birds and caribou, and since the weather 
was usually bad I never stayed longe 
than two or three days. Consequently, 
there was little fishing. 
The situation in this upland section, 
however, is too interesting to pass over, 
Tribuatries of the Madeleine River al- 
ways produced trout, big ones, little 
ones, all sizes. But get over into the 
Sainte Anne system and a man patient 
enough to fish all day would never get 
a bite. “Funny ting,’ Fred explained, 
‘Just his nature.” 
HE ponds, with one or two excep- 
tions, are less than half a mile long, 
and I think a close inspection would 
show that all water barren of fish runs 
over a shallow rock bottom. Many of 
the ponds are merely back water be- 
hind a dam of sphagnum moss, a rank 
everywhere. In winter these ponds are 
frozen solid, and the intense cold results 
in cracks and pressure ridges sim/lar 
to those found in Labrador. When 
needs a thick layer of mud to crawl into, 
and race suicide in this part of the 
Sainte Anne has apparently been due to 
poor protection. 
For the last generation, Gaspé has 
been a strange legendary land; before 
Sir William Logan’s expedition in 1858 
nothing was known about it. This sa 
strangeness will hang over the place 
for a long time to come. The name 
itself may come from a French wort 
meaning “a waste” or “a confusion” 
rather than referring to the gasperau 
fish. The Micmac tribe in former days 
held the rich caribou range of the in 
terior as a reserve for hard t-mes. 
They felt much as one does today whet 
striking back through a country of un 
named lakes and unmeasured distances, 
for the Indians called the mountains the 
Shickshocks, meaning “crazy mad!” 
It will identify you. 
