This book is included in the Children, Parents & Home Economics section.
BOSTON: FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., SUCCESSORS TO TICKNOR AND
FIELDS. 1869.
" The mountains call you, and the vales;
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze
That fans the ever-undulating sky."
Amstrong's "Art of Preserving Health."
CONTENTS
Introduction 7
Chap.
I. The Wilderness.
Why I go to the Wilderness 9
Sporting Facilities 15
What it costs in the Wilderness 21
Outfit 26
Where to buy Tackle 30
Guides 32
How to get to the Wilderness 40
Hotels 44
When to visit the Wilderness 43
Healthfulness of Camp Life 50
What Sections of the Wilderness to visit 52
Black Flies 55
Mosquitoes 56
Ladies' Outfit 58
Wild Animals 60
Provisions 62
Bill of Fare 62
Chap.
II. The Nameless Creek 65
Chap.
III. Running the Rapids 75
Chap.
lV. The Ball 86
Chap.
V. Loon-Shooting in a Thunder-Storm . .101
Chap.
VI. Crossing the Carry 114
Chap.
VII. Rod and Reel 120
Chap.
VIII Phantom Falls 141
Chap.
IX. Jack-Shooting in a Foggy Night 168
Chap.
X. Sabbath in the Woods 193
Chap.
XI. A Ride with a Mad Horse in a Freight-Car 203
APPENDIX.
Beach's Sight 233
INTRODUCTION
SEVERAL of the chapters composing this volume were originally published in the
''Meriden Literary Recorder" during the fall and
winter of 1867. Through it they received a wide circulation, and brought to the
author many letters from all parts of the country, urging him to
continue the series, and, when completed, publish them in a more permanent form.
Lawyers, physicians, clergymen, and sporting men were united for once in the
expression of a common desire. Not a few delightful acquaintances were made
through this medium. It was suggested by these unseen friends, that such a
series of descriptive pieces, unencumbered with the ordinary reflections and
jottings of a tourist's book, free from the slang of guides, and questionable
jokes, and "bear stories," with which works of a similar character have to a
great extent been filled, would be gladly welcomed by a large number of people
who, born in the country, and familiar in boyhood with the gun and rod, still
retain, in undiminished freshness and vigor, their early love for manly
exercises and field sports. Each article, it was urged, should stand alone by
itself, having its own framework of time and character, and representing a
single experience. The favorable reception the articles thus published received,
and the cordial communications from total strangers which they elicited,
together with a strong, ever-present desire on my part to encourage manly
exercise in the open air, and familiarity with Nature in her wildest and
grandest aspects, persuaded me into concurrence with the suggestion. The
composition of these articles has furnished me, amid grave and arduous labors,
with mental recreation, from time to time, almost equal to that which I enjoyed
when passing through the experiences which they are intended to describe.
In the hope that what I have written may contribute to the end suggested, and
prove a source of pleasure to many who, like myself, were " born of hunter's
breed and blood," and who, pent up in narrow offices and narrower studies, weary
of the city's din, long for a breath of mountain air and the free life by field
and flood, I subscribe myself their friend and brother.
CHAPTER 1 - THE WILDERNESS.
WHY I GO THERE, — HOW I GET THERE, — WHAT I DO THERE, — AND
WHAT IT COSTS.
THE Adirondack Wilderness, or the "North Woods," as
it is sometimes called, lies between the Lakes George and Champlain on the east,
and the river St. Lawrence on the north and west. It reaches northward as far as
the
Canada line, and southward to Booneville. Its area is about that of the State of
Connecticut. The southern part is known as the Brown Tract Region, with which
the whole wilderness by some is confused, but with no more accuracy than any one
county might be said to comprise an entire State. Indeed, " Brown's Tract " is
the least interesting portion of the Adirondack region. It lacks the lofty
mountain scenery, the intricate mesh-work of lakes, and the wild grandeur of the
country to the north. It is the lowland district, comparatively tame and
uninviting. Not until you reach the Racquette do you get a glimpse of the
magnificent scenery which makes this wilderness to rival Switzerland. There, on
the very ridge-board of the vast water-shed which slopes northward to the St.
Lawrence, eastward to the
Hudson, and southward to the Mohawk, you can enter upon a voyage the like of
which, it is safe to say, the world does not anywhere else furnish. For hundreds
of miles I have boated up and down that wilderness, going ashore only to "carry"
around a fall, or across some narrow ridge dividing the otherwise connected
lakes. For weeks I
have paddled my cedar shell in all directions, swinging northerly into the St.
Regis chain, westward nearly to Potsdam, southerly to the Black River country,
and from thence penetrated to that almost unvisited region, the "South Branch,"
without seeing a face hut my guide's, and the entire circuit, it must be
remembered, was through a
wilderness yet to echo to the lumberman's axe. It is estimated that a thousand
lakes, many yet unvisited, lie embedded in this vast forest of pine and
hemlock. From the summit of a mountain, two years ago, I counted, as seen by my
naked eye, forty-four lakes gleaming amid the depths of the wilderness like gems
of purest ray amid the folds of emerald-colored velvet. Last summer I met a
gentleman on the Racquette who had just received a letter from a brother in
Switzerland, an artist by profession, in which he said, that, "having travelled
over all Switzerland, and the Rhine and Rhone region, he had not met with
scenery which, judged from a purely artistic point of view,
combined so many beauties in connection with such grandeur as the lakes,
mountains, and forest of the Adirondack region presented to the gazer's eye."
And yet thousands are in Europe to-day as tourists who never gave a passing
thought to this marvelous country lying as it were at their very floors.
Another reason why I visit the Adirondacks, and urge others to do so, is because
I deem the excursion eminently adapted to restore impaired health. Indeed, it is
marvellous what benefit physically is often derived from a trip of a few weeks
to these woods. To such as are afflicted with that dire parent of ills,
dyspepsia, or have lurking in their system consumptive tendencies, I most
earnestly recommend a month's experience among the pines. The air which you
there inhale is such as can be found only in high mountainous regions, pure,
rarefied, and bracing. The amount of venison steak a consumptive will consume
after a week's residence in that appetizing atmosphere is a subject of daily and
increasing wonder. I have known delicate ladies and fragile school-girls, to
whom all food at home was distasteful and eating a pure matter of duty, average
a gain of a pound per day for the round trip. This is no exaggeration, as some
who will read these lines know. The spruce, hemlock, balsam and pine, which
largely compose this wilderness, yield upon the air, and especially at night,
all their curative qualities. Many a night have I
laid down upon my bed of balsam-boughs and been lulled to sleep by the murmur of
waters and the low sighing melody of the pines, while the air was laden with the
mingled perfume of cedar, of balsam and the water-lily. Not a
few, far advanced in that dread disease, consumption, have found in this
wilderness renewal of life and health. I recall a young man, the son of wealthy
parents in New York, who lay dying in that great city, attended as he was by the
best skill that money could secure. A friend calling upon him one day chanced to
speak of the Adirondacks,
and that many had found help from a trip to their region. From that moment he
pined for the woods. He insisted on what his family called "his insane idea,"
that the mountain air and the aroma of the forest would cure him. It was his
daily request and entreaty that he might go. At last his parents consented, the
more readily because the physicians assured them that their son's recovery was
impossible, and his death a mere matter of time. They started with him for the
north in search of life. When he arrived at the point where he was to meet his
guide he was too reduced to walk. The guide seeing his condition refused to take
him into the woods, fearing, as he plainly expressed it, that he would "die on
his hands." At last another guide was prevailed upon to serve him, not so much
for the money, as he afterwards told me, but because he pitied the young man,
and felt that "one so near death as he was should be gratified even in his
whims."
The boat was half filled with cedar, pine, and balsam boughs, and the young man,
carried in the arms of his guide from the house, was laid at full length upon
them. The camp utensils were put at one end, the guide seated himself at the
other, and the little boat passed with the living and the dying down the lake,
and was lost to the group
watching them amid the islands to the south. This was in early June. The first
week the guide carried the young man on his back over all the portages, lifting
him in and out of the boat as he might a child. But the healing properties of
the balsam and pine, which were his bed by day and night, began to exert their
power. Awake or
asleep, he inhaled their fragrance. Their pungent and healing odors penetrated
his diseased and irritated lungs. The second day out his cough was less sharp
and painful. At the end of the first week he could walk by leaning on the
paddle. The second week he needed no support. The third week the cough ceased
entirely. From that time he improved with wonderful rapidity.
He "went in" the first of June, carried in the arms of his guide. The second
week of November he "came out " bronzed as an Indian, and as hearty. In five
months he had gained sixty-five pounds of flesh, and flesh, too, "well packed
on," as they say in the woods. Coming out he carried the boat over all portages;
the very same over which a few months before the guide had carried him, and
pulled as strong an oar as any amateur in the wilderness. His meeting with his
family I leave the reader to imagine. The wilderness received him almost a
corpse. It returned him to his home and the world as happy and healthy a man as
ever bivouacked under its pines.
This, I am aware, is an extreme case, and, as such, may seem exaggerated; but it
is not. I might instance many other cases which, if less startling, are equally
corroborative of the general statement. There is one sitting near me, as I
write, the color of whose cheek, and the clear brightness of whose eye, cause my
heart to go out in ceaseless gratitude to the woods, amid which she found that
health and strength of which they are the proof and sign. For five summers have
we visited the wilderness. From four to seven weeks, each year, have we breathed
the breath of
the mountains; bathed in the waters which sleep at their base; and made our
couch at night of moss and balsam-boughs, beneath the whispering trees. I feel,
therefore, that I am able to speak from experience touching this matter; and I
believe that, all things being considered, no portion of our country surpasses,
if indeed any equals, in
health-giving qualities, the Adirondack Wilderness.
SPORTING FACILITIES.
This wilderness is often called the "Sportsman's Paradise"; and so I hold
it to be, when all its advantages are taken into account. If any one goes to the
North Woods, expecting to see droves of deer, he will
return disappointed. He can find them west and north, around Lake Superior, and
on the Plains; but nowhere east of the Alleghenies. Or
if one expects to find trout averaging three or four pounds, eager to break
surface, no matter where or when he casts his fly, he will come back from his
trip a "sadder and a wiser man." If this is his idea of what constitutes a
"sportsman's paradise," I advise him not to go to the Adirondacks. Deer and
trout do not abound there in any such numbers: and yet there are enough of both
to satisfy any reasonable expectation. Gentlemen often ask me to compare the
"North Woods" with the "Maine Wilderness." The fact is, it is difficult to make
any comparison between the two sections, they are so unlike. But I am willing to
give my reasons of preference for the Adirondacks. The fact is, nothing could
induce me to visit Maine. If I was going east at all, I should keep on, nor stop
until I reached the Provinces. I could never bring my mind to pass a month in
Maine, with the North Woods within forty-eight hours of me. I will tell you why.
Go where you will, in Maine, the lumbermen have been before you; and lumbermen
are the curse and scourge of the wilderness. Wherever the axe sounds, the pride
and beauty of the forest disappear. A lumbered district is the most dreary and
dismal region the eye of man ever behold. The mountains are not merely shorn of
trees, but from base to summit fires, kindled by accident or malicious purpose,
have swept their sides, leaving the blackened rocks exposed to the eye, and here
and there a few unsightly trunks leaning in all directions, from which all the
branches and green foliage have been burnt away. The streams and trout-pools are
choked with saw-dust, and filled with slabs and logs. The rivers are blockaded
with "booms" and lodged timber, stamped all over the ends with the owner's
"mark." Every eligible site for a camp has been appropriated; and bones, offal,
horse-manure, and all the debris of a deserted lumbermen's village is strewn
around, offensive both to eye and nose. The hills and shores are littered with
rotten wood, in all stages of decomposition, emitting a damp, mouldy odor, and
sending forth countless millions of flies, gnats, and mosquitoes to prey upon
you. Now, no number of deer, no quantities of trout, can entice me to such a
locality. He who fancies it can go; not I. In the Adirondack Wilderness you
escape this. There the lumberman has never been. No axe has sounded along its
mountain-sides, or echoed across its peaceful waters. The forest stands as it
has stood, from the beginning of time, in all its majesty of growth, in all the
beauty of its unshorn foliage. No fires have blackened the hills; no logs
obstruct the rivers; no saw-dust taints and colors its crystal waters. The
promontories which stretch themselves half across its lakes, the islands
which hang as if suspended in their waveless and translucent depths, have never
been marred by the presence of men careless of all but gain. You choose the
locality which best suits your eye, and build your lodge under unscarred trees,
and upon a carpet of moss, untrampled by man or beast. There you live in
silence, unbroken by any sounds save such as you yourself may make, away from
all the business and cares of civilized life.
Another reason of my preference for the Adirondack region is based upon the mode
and manner in which your sporting is done. Now I do not plead guilty to the vice
of laziness. If necessary, I can work, and work sharply but I have no special
love for labor, in itself considered; and certain kinds of work, I am free to
confess, I abhor; and if there is one kind of work which I detest more than
another, it is tramping; and, above all, tramping through a lumbered district.
How the thorns lacerate you! How the brambles tear your clothes and pierce your
flesh! How the meshwork of fallen tree-tops entangles you! I would not walk two
miles through such a country for all the trout that swim; and as for ever
casting a fly from the slippery surface of an old mill-dam, no one ever saw me
do it, nor ever will. I do not say that some may not find amusement in it. I
only know that I could not. Now, in the North Woods, owing to their marvellous
water-communication, you do all your sporting from your boat. If you wish to go
one or ten miles for a "fish," your guide paddles you to the spot, and serves
you while you handle the rod. This takes from recreation every trace of toil.
You have all the excitement of sporting, without any attending physical
weariness. And what luxury it is to course along the shores of these secluded
lakes, or glide down the winding reaches of these rivers, overhung by the
outlying pines, and fringed with water-lilies, mingling their fragrance with the
odors of cedar and balsam! To me this is better than tramping. I have sported a
month at a time, without walking as many miles as there were weeks in the month.
To my mind, this peculiarity elevates the Adirondack region above all its
rivals, East or West, and more than all else justifies its otherwise pretentious
claim as a "Sportsman's Paradise." In beauty of scenery, in health-giving
qualities, in the easy and romantic manner of its sporting, it is a paradise,
and so will it continue to be while a deer leaves his track upon the shores of
its lakes, or a trout shows himself above the surface of its waters. It is this
peculiarity also which makes an excursion to this section so easy and delightful
to ladies. There is nothing in the trip which the most delicate and fragile need
fear. And it is safe to say, that, of all
who go into the woods, none enjoy the experiences more than ladies, and certain
it is that none are more benefited by it.
But what about game, I hear the reader inquire. Are deer plenty? Is the fishing
good? Well, I reply, every person has his own standard by which to measure a
locality, and therefore it is difficult to answer with precision. Moreover, it
is not alone the presence of game which makes good sporting. Many other
considerations, such as the skill of the sportsman, and the character and
ability of the guide, enter into this problem and make the solution difficult. A
poor shot, and a green hand at the rod, will have poor success anywhere, no
matter how good the sporting is; and I have known parties to be "starved out"
where other men, with better guides, were meeting with royal success. With a
guide who understands his business, I would undertake to feed a party of twenty
persons the season through, and seldom should they sit down to a meal lacking
either trout or venison. I passed six weeks on the Racquette last summer, and
never, save at one meal, failed to see both of the two delicious articles of
diet on my table. Generally speaking, no inconvenience is experienced in this
direction. Always observing the rule, not to kill more than the camp can eat,
which a true sportsman never transgresses, I have paddled past more deer within
easy range than I ever lifted my rifle at. The same is true in reference to
trout. I have unjointed my rod when the water was alive with
leaping fish, and experienced more pleasure as I sat and saw them rise for food
or play, than any thoughtless violator of God's laws could feel in wasting the
stores which Nature so bountifully opens for our need. I am not in favor of "
game laws," passed for the most part in the interest of the few and the rich, to
the deprivation of the poor and the many, but I would that fine and imprisonment
both might be the punishment of him who, in defiance of every humane instinct
and reverential feeling, out of mere love for "sport," as some are pleased to
call it, directs a ball or hooks a fish when no necessity demands it. Such
ruthless destruction of life is slaughter,— coarse, cruel, unjustifiable
butchery. Palliate it who may, practice it who can, it is just that and nothing
short. To sum up what I have thus far written, I say to all brother sportsmen,
that, all things considered, the sporting, both with rifle and rod, in the North
Woods is good,—good enough to satisfy any reasonable desire. In this, please
remember that I refer to the wilderness proper, and not to the lumbered and
inhabited and therefore over-hunted borders of it. I have known parties to take
board at North Elba, or Malone, or Luzerne, and yet insist that they "had been
into the Adirondacks."
WHAT IT COSTS.
This I know to some is a matter of no interest at all, but to others,
among whom, unfortunately, the writer must number himself, it is a matter of
vital importance. The committee on "ways and means" in our "house" is the most
laborious of all, and the six years a little woman has held the chairmanship of
it has made her exceedingly cautious and conservative. Some very interesting
debates occur before this committee, and no demur on the part of the defeated
party, as I have often found, can change the unalterable decision. What is true
in the case of the writer is largely true in respect to the majority of the
profession to which he belongs. Yet it is in the ministry that you find the very
men who would be the most benefited by this trip. Whether they should go as
sportsmen or tourists, or in both capacities, a visit to the North Woods could
not fail of giving them precisely such a change as is most desirable, and needed
by them. In the wilderness they would find that perfect relaxation which all
jaded minds require. In its vast solitude is a total absence of sights and
sounds and duties, which keep the clergyman's brain and heart strung up, the
long year through, to an intense, unnatural, and often fatal tension. There,
from a thousand sources of invigoration, flow into the exhausted mind and
enfeebled body currents of strength and life. There sleep woos you as the
shadows deepen along the lake, and retains you in its gentle embrace until
frightened away by the guide's merry call to breakfast. You would be astonished
to learn, if I felt disposed to tell you, how many consecutive hours a certain
minister sleeps during the first week of his annual visit to the woods! Ah me,
the nights I have passed in the woods How they haunt me with their sweet,
suggestive memories of silence and repose! How harshly the steel-shod hoofs
smite against the flinty pavement beneath my window, and clash with rude
interruptions upon my ear as I sit recalling the tranquil hours I have spent
beneath the trees! What restful slumber was mine; and not less gently
than the close of day itself did it fall upon me, as I stretched myself upon my
bed of balsam-boughs, with Rover at my side, not twenty feet from the shore
where the ripples were playing coyly with the sand, and lulled by the low
monotone of the pines, whose branches were my only shelter from the dew which
gathered like gems upon their spear-like stems, sank, as a falling star fades
from sight, into forgetfulness. And then the waking! The air fresh with the
aroma of the wilderness. The morning blowing its perfumed breezes into your
face. The drip, drip of the odorous gum in the branches overhead, and the colors
of russet, of orange, and of gold streaking the eastern sky. After three or four
nights of such slumber, the sleeper realizes the force and beauty of the great
poet's apostrophe,—
"Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast."
If every church would make up a purse, and pack its worn and weary pastor off to the North Woods for a four weeks' jaunt, in the
hot months of July and August, it would do a very sensible as well as pleasant act. For when the good dominie came back swarth
and tough as an Indian, elasticity in his step, fire in his eye, depth and clearness in his reinvigorated voice, wouldn't there be some preaching! And what texts he would have from which to talk to the little folks in the Sabbath school! How their
bright eyes would open and enlarge as he narrated his adventures, and told them how the good Father feeds the fish that swim, and clothes the mink and beaver with their warm and sheeny fur. The preacher sees God in the original there, and often translates him better from his unwritten works than from his written word. He will get more instructive spiritual material from such a trip than from all the "Sabbath-school festivals" and "pastoral tea-parties" with which the poor, smiling creature was ever tormented. It is
astonishing how much a loving, spiritually-minded people can bore their minister. If I had a spite against any clerical brother, and felt wicked enough to indulge it, I would get his Sabbath school superintendent, a female city missionary, and several "local visitors," with an agent of some Western college thrown in for variety, and set them all on to him!
"But how much does it cost to take such a trip?" I hear some good deacon inquire; "perhaps we may feel disposed to take your advice."
Well, I will tell you; and I shall make a liberal estimate, for I do not think it hurts a minister to travel in comfortable style any more than it does Mr. Farewell and Brother Haveenough. And if he shall chance to find a tendollar greenback in his vest-pocket after he has reached home it will not come amiss, I warrant you.
I estimate the cost thus : —
Guide-hire, $2.50 per day; board for self and guide while in the woods, $2.00 each per week; miscellanies (here is where the ten-dollar greenbacks come in), $25.00.
If he feels disposed to take a companion, he can do so (many go in couples), and thereby divide the cost of guide-hire, making it only $1.25 per day. But I would not advise one to do this, especially if his expenses are paid. Fifty dollars will pay one's travelling expenses both ways, from Boston to the Lower Saranac Lake, where you can meet your guide. From New York the expense is about the same. It is safe to say that one hundred and twenty-five dollars will pay all the expenses of a trip of a month's duration in the wilderness. I know of no other excursion in which such a small sum of money will return such per cent in health, pleasure, and profit.
OUTFIT.
There is no one rule by which to be governed in this respect. Personal tastes and means control one in this matter. Generally speaking, outfits are too elaborate and cumbersome. Some men go into the woods as if they were to pass the winter within the polar circle, supplied with fur caps, half a dozen pair of gloves, heavy overcoat, three or four thick blankets, and any amount of useless impedimenta. Dry-goods clerks and students seem to affect this style the most. I remember running against a pair of huge alligator-leather boots, leaning against a tree, one day when crossing the "Carry" from Forked Lake around the rapids, and upon examination discovered a young undergraduate of a college not a thousand miles from Boston inside of them. It was about the middle
of "August, and the thermometer stood at 90° Fahrenheit. Some half a mile farther on we met the guide sweating and swearing under a pack of blankets, rubber suits, and the like, heavy enough to frighten a tramping Jew-pedler; and he declared that "that confounded Boston fool had brought in a boat-load of clothes" which we found to be nigh to the truth when we reached the end of the "carry," where the canoe was. Now I wish that every reader who may visit the Adirondacks, male or female, would remember that a good sized valise or carpet-bag will hold all the clothes any one person needs for a two months' trip in the wilderness, beyond what he wears in. Be sure to wear and take in nothing but woollen and flannel. The air at night is often quite cool, even in midsummer, and one must dress warmly. The following list comprises the "essentials": —
Complete undersuit of woollen or flannel, with a "change."
Stout pantaloons, vest, and coat.
Felt hat.
Two pairs of stockings.
Pair of common winter boots and camp shoes.
Rubber blanket or coat.
One pair pliable buckskin gloves, with chamois-skin gauntlets tied or buttoned at the elbow.
Hunting-knife, belt, and a pint tin cup.
To these are to be added a pair of warm woollen blankets, uncut, and a few articles of luxury, such as towel, soap, etc. The above is a good serviceable outfit, and, with the exception of the blankets, can readily be packed in a carpet-bag, which is easily stowed in the boat and carried over the "portages." In this connection, it should be remembered that the Adirondack boats, while being models of lightness and speed, are small, and will not bear overloading. On the average they are some fifteen feet long, three feet wide at the middle, sharp at both ends, some ten inches deep, and weigh from sixty to ninety pounds. Small
and light as these boats are, they will sustain three men and all they really need in the way of baggage, but it is essential, as the reader can see, that no unnecessary freight be taken along by a party. Nothing is better calculated to make a guide cross and sour than an over-supply of personal baggage, and I advise all who attempt the trip to confine themselves very nearly to the
above list. They will find that it is abundant.
If in the fall of the year, take
English blue-jay (6).
Gray drake (6), — good.
Last, but not least, a large, stoutly woven landing-net.
This is enough. I know that what I say touching the salmon flies will astonish some, but I do not hesitate to assert that with two dozen small sized salmon flies I should feel myself well provided for a six weeks' sojourn in the wilderness. Of course you can add to the above list many serviceable flies; my own book is stocked with a dozen dozens of all sizes and colors, but the above is a good practical outfit, and all one really needs.
If you are unaccustomed to "fly fishing," and prefer to "grub it" with ground bait (and good sport can be had with bait fishing too), get two or three dozens short-shanked, good-sized hooks, hand tied to strong cream-colored snells, and you are well provided. If you can find worms, they make the best bait; if not, cut out a strip from a chub, and, loading your line with shot, yank it along through the water some foot or more under the surface, as when fishing for pickerel. I have had trout many times rise and take such a bait, even when skittered along on the top of the water. To every fly-fisher my advice is, be sure and take plenty of casting-lines. Have some six, others nine feet long. There are lines made out of "sea snell." These are the best. Never select a bright, glistening gut. Always search for the creamy looking ones. The entire outfit need not cost (rod excepted) over ten dollars, and for all practical purposes is as good as one costing a hundred.
WHERE TO BUY TACKLE.
If you buy in New York, go to J. Conroy, Fulton Street. This house is noted for its rods. No better single-handed fly-rod can be had than you can obtain at Conroy's. A rod of three pieces, twelve feet long, and weighing from nine to twelve ounces, is my favorite. A fashion has sprung up to fasten the reel on close to the butt, so that when casting you must needs" grip the rod
above the reel. This is a great error in construction. Never buy one thus made. The reel should be good eight inches from the butt, and thus leave plenty of hand-room below it. At Conroy's you can obtain such a rod, brass mounted, for some fifteen dollars ; in German-silver mountings, for seventeen. At other houses, for the very same or an inferior article I have been charged
from twenty to twenty-five dollars. The first rod I ever bought at Conroy's, some six years ago, was a brass-mounted one, such as described above, which I used constantly for four years, but which I saw, on an evil day, go into four pieces, in a narrow creek, when I gave the butt to two large fish in full bolt for a snarl of tamarack-roots. Many a time have I seen that rod doubled up
until the quivering tip lay over the reel. I paid fourteen dollars and fifty cents for it. I would like to pay three times that sum for another like it. If you want a rod that you can rely on, go to Conroy's in Pulton Street and buy one of his single-handed fly-rods.
If in Boston, William Read and Son's, No. 13 Faneuil Hall Square, is a good house to deal with. Being less acquainted in Boston than in New York, I cannot speak with such directness as I can concerning Conroy's. But having looked over Mr.
Read's stock, I am quite persuaded that you can be as well served with rods by him as by any house in the country, Conroy always excepted. If I was buying in Boston, for my rod I should go to Read's. In respect to price, I am inclined to think that he sells the same class of rods cheaper than the New York house. I saw some rods at Mr. Read's the other day for twelve dollars, equal in all respects, so far as I could see, (and I tested them thoroughly,) to the rods for which Conroy charges fifteen dollars. At the same time I examined some split bamboo rods, price twenty-five dollars, for which many dealers in fishing-tackle, in New York, and perhaps some in Boston, would be likely to demand nearly twice that sum. Of course this firm is too well known to the sporting world for
me to mention that, for a thorough hunting outfit, you can do no better than to go to this house.
For flies I advise you to go to Bradford and Anthony, 178 Washington Street. I am inclined to think that this house, in quantity, style, variety, and finish, excel even Conroy. I have looked their assortment over carefully, and know not where to find its equal. Wherever you buy, never purchase an imported fly. The French flies, especially, are most unreliable. Never put one in your book. Select only such as are tied to soft, cream-colored snells. The same holds good in respect to casting-lines or leaders. Beware of such as have a bright, glassy glitter about them. They will fail you on your best fish, and you will lose flies, fish, and temper together. For your lines I suggest, first, last, and always, braided silk. Beware of hair and silk lines. Formerly I had a great passion for fancy lines, but years of experience have caused me to settle down in favor of the braided silk line as superior to every other.
GUIDES.
This is the most important of all considerations to one about to visit the wilderness. An ignorant, lazy, low-bred guide is a nuisance in camp and useless everywhere else. A skilful, active, well-mannered guide, on the other hand, is a joy and
consolation, a source of constant pleasure to the whole party. With an ignorant guide you will starve; with a lazy one you will lose your temper; with a low-bred fellow you can have no comfort. Fortunate in the selection of your guide, you will be fortunate in everything you undertake clean through the trip. A good guide, like a good wife, is indispensable to one's success, pleasure, and peace. If I were to classify such guides as are nuisances, I should place at the head of the list the "witty guide." He is forever talking. He inundates the camp with gab. If you chance to have company, he is continually thrusting himself impertinently forward. He is possessed from head to foot with the idea that he is smart. He can never open his mouth unless it is to air his opinions or perpetrate some stale joke. He is always vulgar, not seldom profane. Avoid him as you would the plague.
Next in order comes the "talkative guide." The old Indian maxim, "Much talk, no hunt," I have found literally verified. A true hunter talks little. The habit of his skill is silence. In camp or afloat he is low-voiced and reticent. I have met but one exception to this rule. I will not name him, lest it give pain. He is a good hunter and a capital guide, in spite of his evil tendency to gab. This tendency is vicious in many ways. It is closely allied with that other vice, bragging. Such a guide in a large party is apt to breed dispute and difference. He is very liable to give the gentleman who employs him the impression
that others in the party are striving to "get ahead of him." Moreover, he is always interrupting you when you do not want to be interrupted. Silence, which is a luxury found only in the wilderness, flees at his approach. Beware of the talkative guide.
The next in order, and the last I shall mention, is the "lazy guide." Such a guide is the most vexatious creature you can have around. Nothing short of actual experience with one can give you an adequate impression. Now, a guide's duties, while not absolutely laborious, are nevertheless multiform. To discharge them well, a man should have a brisk, cheerful temperament and a
certain pride in his calling. He should be quick, inventive, and energetic. With these qualities even ordinarily developed, a man makes a good guide; without them he is intolerable. A lazy guide is usually in appearance fleshy, lymphatic, dirty, and often well advanced in years. As a rule, avoid an old guide as you would an old horse. His few years' extra experience, compared to a
younger man, cannot make good the decline of his powers and the loss of his ambition. A young, active fellow of thirty, with his reputation to make, is worth two who are fifty and egotistical. The worst sight I ever saw in the woods, the exhibition which stirred me most, was the spectacle of a fat, lazy lout of a guide lying on his stomach,
reading a dime novel, while the gentleman who hired him was building "smudges." If he had been my guide, I would have smudged him! The "witty," "talkative," and "lazy guide" are the three hindrances to a party's happiness. If you find yourself or party burdened with either species, admonish kindly but firmly; and if this mild application will not suffice, turn him mercilessly adrift, and post him by name on your way out, at every camp and hotel, as an imposition and a pest. Make an example of one or two, and the rest would take the hint. Every respectable and worthy guide will thank you for it, and your conscience will have peace as over a duty fulfilled.
For the most part the "independent guides" are models of skill, energy, and faithfulness. I say "independent," to distinguish the class so called from another class yelept "hotel guides." The difference between the two classes is this: the "hotel guides" are paid so much per month by the hotel-keepers, and by them furnished to their boarders and such as come unprovided. This system is faulty in many respects. The "hotel guide" is not responsible to the party for its success, and therefore is not quickened to make his best endeavor. He has no reputation to make, as has the independent guide, for his service is secured to him for the season, by virtue of his connection with the hotel. Furthermore, the "hotel guide" is often unemployed for weeks if the season is dull; and, hanging around a frontier hotel in daily proximity to the bar, is very liable to beget that neatest of all vices in a guide,— drunkenness. If, on the other hand, the season is a crowded one, the proprietor finds it difficult to secure guides enough for his guests, and so must needs content himself with men totally unfit for the service. Thus it often happens that a party taking
their guides at the hands of the landlord finds, when too late, that out of half a dozen guides, only one is capable, while the others are mere make-shifts, the good guide being sent along as a teacher and "boss" of the raw hands. I do not say that there are no good guides among those known as hotel guides, for there are; but as a class they are far inferior in character, skill, and habits to the others.
The independent guides, so called, are, as a whole, a capable and noble class of men. They know their calling thoroughly, and can be relied on. They have no other indorsement than such as the parties to which they act as guides give them; and as their chances of subsequent service depend upon their present success, they are stimulated to the utmost to excel. Between these and the hotel
guides there exists a rivalry, and I might employ a stronger term. The independent guide feels, and is not slow to assert, his superiority. He is justified in doing it. The system of hotel guiding is wrong in theory and pernicious in practice. Every guide should be immediately responsible to the party hiring him. His chances of future employment should depend upon his present success. This is the only natural, simple, and equitable method. It is beneficial to both parties. The sportsman is well served; and the guide, if he is faithful, secures constant employment from season to season. Many of the best guides are engaged a year in advance.
I cannot let this opportunity pass unimproved of testifying to the capacity, skill, and faithfulness of a great majority of the guides through the Adirondack region. With many I am personally acquainted, and rejoice to number them among my friends. I have seen them under every circumstance of exposure and trial, of feasting and hunger, of health and sickness, and a more honest,
cheerful, and patient class of men cannot be found the world over. Born and bred, as many of them were, in this wilderness, skilled in all the lore of woodcraft, handy with the rod, superb at the paddle, modest in demeanor and speech, honest to a
proverb, they deserve and receive the admiration of all who make their acquaintance. Bronzed and hardy, fearless of danger, eager to please, uncontaminated with the vicious habits of civilized life, they are not unworthy of the magnificent surroundings amid which they dwell. Among them an oath is never heard, unless in moments of intense excitement. Vulgarity of speech is absolutely
unknown, and theft a matter of horror and surprise. Measured by our social and intellectual facilities, their lot is lowly and uninviting, and yet to them there is a charm and fascination in it. Under the base of these overhanging mountains they were born. Upon the waters of these secluded lakes they have sported from earliest boyhood. The wilderness has imfolded to them its mysteries, and made them wise with a wisdom nowhere written in books. This wilderness is their home. Here they were born, here have they lived, and here it is that they expect to die. Their graves will be made under the pines where in childhood they played, and the sounds of wind and wave which lulled them to sleep when boys will swell the selfsame cadences in requiem over their graves. When they have passed away, tradition will prolong their virtues and their fame.
I am often in reception of letters from gentlemen who wish to visit the wilderness, inquiring the names of guides to whom they can write for the purpose of engaging their services. I have been prompted to publish the following list in answer to such correspondence. I do not wish any to understand that the list is perfect, containing the names of all the good guides, for it does
not. It contains the names of such as, through personal acquaintance or reliable information, I know to be worthy of patronage. Others, not mentioned here, there may be equally reliable. I make no invidious comparison in this selection. I seek only to give such as may be about to visit the region the names of certain guides to whom they can write with confidence, and whom, if they
secure, they may deem themselves fortunate.
Long Lake Guides, or those whose Post-Office Address is Long Lake, Hamilton County, N. Y.
| John E. Plumbley, Jerry Plumbley, Amos Hough, Henry Stanton, Isaac Robinson, |
John Robinson, Amos Robinson, Michael Sabatis and Sons, Alonzo Wood, Reuben Gary. |
Lower Saranac Guides.
| Stephen Martin, James McClellan, Lute Evans, Harvey Moody, John King, George Sweeny, William Ring, |
Duglass Dunning, George Eing, Daniel L. Moody, Mark Clough, Reuben Reynolds, Alonzo Dudley, Daniel Moody. |
Post-office address,
Lower Saranac, Franklin County, N. Y.
St. Regis Guides.
I can recall the names of only three: Seth Warner, Stephen Turner & David
Sweeny.
Post-office address,
St. Regis, Franklin County, N. Y.
Concerning the guides in the "Brown Tract," and on the western side of the
wilderness, around the Potsdam region, I know nothing. The Arnolds, I
understand, of the Brown Tract district, owing to an unfortunate occurrence last
fall, have all deserted that section of the country. The house their father kept
is now unoccupied, and whether it will be opened this spring I know not.
HOW TO GET TO THE WILDERNESS.
There are several routes which you can take in an excursion to the North Woods,
but only one of two which are easy and practicable for a party composed both of
ladies and gentlemen. If you wish to enter at the southern end of the wilderness, and do your sporting in the Brown Tract
region, go to Albany and thence to Booneville, from which place you can get transported on horseback to the first of the chain of lakes known as the "Eight Lakes." Here was formerly a hotel, known as "Arnold's." The Arnold family have now left, and I know not if the house is kept open. This entrance is not easy for ladies, nor is the region into which it brings you at all noted for the beauty of its scenery. Still many sportsmen go in this way, and to such a class it is a feasible route. You can also "go in" via Lake George and Minerva to Long Lake, if you choose. The distance is some eighty miles by this route, the roads bad, and the hotel accommodations poor. Long Lake is a good starting-point for a party, as it is situated midway of the forest, the centre of magnificent scenery, and the home of many guides. All it needs to make this route one of the very best is, that the roads should be improved, and a good line of coaches established. But as it now is, it is neither practicable nor entirely safe.
The best route by which to enter the wilderness is the following. It is easy and quick. The accommodations are excellent all the way through. I do not know how I can give a true impression of this route so briefly as by going, in imagination, with the reader, from Boston to the Lower Saranac, where I meet my guide. I leave Boston Monday morning, we will say, at eight o'clock, on the Boston and Albany
Railroad. At East Albany we connect with the Troy train; at Troy, with the Saratoga train, which lands you at the steamboat dock at Whitehall, Lake Champlain, at nine o'clock, P.M. Going on board you sit down to a dinner, abundant in quantity and well served; after which you retire to your state-room, or, if so inclined, roll an arm-chair to the hurricane deck, and enjoy that rarest of treats, a steamboat excursion on an inland lake by moonlight. At 4.30 A.M. you are opposite Burlington, Vt., and by the time you are dressed the boat glides alongside of the dock at Port Kent, on the New York side of the lake. You enter a coach which stands in waiting, and, after a ride of six miles in the cool morning air, you alight at the Ausable House, Keeseville. Here you array yourself for the woods, and, eating a hearty breakfast, you seat yourself in the coach at 7 A.M., the whip cracks, the horses spring, and you are off on a fifty-six mile ride over a plank road, which brings you, at 5 P.M., to Martin's, on the Lower Saranac, where your guide, with his narrow shell drawn up upon the beach, stands waiting you. This is the shortest, easiest, and, beyond all odds, the best route to the Adirondacks. You leave Boston or New York Monday at 8 A.M., and reach your guide Tuesday at 5 P.M. So perfect are the connections on this route, that, having engaged "John" to meet me a year from a certain day, at 5 P.M., on the Lower Saranac, I have rolled up to "Martin's" and jumped from the coach as the faithful fellow, equally "on time," was in the act of pulling his narrow boat up the beach. It is not only easy and quick, but the cheapest route also, and takes you through some of the sublimest scenery in the world. At Keeseville, if you wish, you can turn off to the left toward North Elba, and visit that historic grave in which the martyr of the nineteenth century sleeps, with a boulder of
native granite for his tombstone, and the cloud covered peaks of Whiteface and Marcy to the north and south, towering five thousand feet above his head. By all means stop here a day. It will better you to stand a few moments over John Brown's grave, to enter the house he built, to see the fields he and his heroic boys cleared, the fences they erected and others standing incomplete
as they left them when they started for Harper's Ferry. What memories, if you are an American, will throng into your head as you stand beside that mound and traverse those fields! You will continue your journey a better man or purer woman from even so brief a visit to the grave of one whose name is and will ever be a synonyme of liberty and justice throughout the world. If you are mere tourists, and intend going no farther westward than North Elba, stop at Westport, above Crown Point, and take stage to your destination. At a Mr. Helmer's (I think that is the name) you will find all necessary accommodation. If you are going into the wilderness, it is better to engage your transportation from Keeseville in advance, in order to prevent delay. To this end you can address the proprietor of the Ausable House, Keeseville, or W. E. Martin, keeper of "Martin's," as it is familiarly known to sportsmen at the Lower Saranac. This is the direct route also to reach Paul Smith's, at the St.
Regis Lake. Another route,— a new one just opened, which I have never tried,— is via Plattsburgh, by which you can go by rail to a point within thirty miles of "Martin's." Address W. F. Martin for particulars.
HOTELS.
This subject I shall dismiss with a brief allusion. Paul Smith, or "Pol," as he is more commonly known among the guides, is proprietor of the St. Regis House. This is the St. James of the wilderness. Here Saratoga trunks and Saratoga belles are known. Here they have civilized "hops," and that modern prolongation of the ancient war-whoop modified and improved, called "operatic singing," in the parlors. In spite of all this, it is a capital house, with a good reputation, well deserved.
"Bartlett's" is situated on the carry between Round Lake and the Upper Saranac. This house is well kept. The rooms are neatly furnished, the service at the tables slightly suggestive of "style." The proprietor is a brisk, business-like-looking man,
pleasant and accommodating. I have never seen or heard aught to his discredit, and much in his praise. Many gentlemen leave their wives and children here while they are in the wilderness sporting. This house is conveniently located, and within easy reach of excellent hunting-ground. I heartily recommend it to public patronage.
"Mother Johnsons!"— This is a "half-way house." It is at the lower end of the carry, below Long Lake. Never pass it without dropping in. Here it is that you find such pancakes as are rarely met with. Here, in a log-house, hospitality can be found such
as might shame many a city mansion. Never shall I forget the meal that John and I ate one night at that pine table. We broke camp at 8 A.M., and reached Mother Johnson's at 11.45 P.M., having eaten nothing but a hasty lunch on the way. Stumbling up to the door amid a chorus of noises, such as only a kennel of hounds can send forth, we aroused the venerable couple, and at 1 A.M. sat down to a meal whose quantity and quality are worthy of tradition. Now, most housekeepers would have grumbled at being summoned to entertain travellers at such an unseasonable hour. Not so with Mother Johnson. Bless her soul, how her fat, good-natured face glowed with delight as she saw us empty those dishes! How her countenance shone and sides shook with laughter as she passed the smoking, russet-colored cakes from her griddle to our only half-emptied plates. For some time it was a close race, and victory
trembled in the balance ; but at last John and I surrendered, and, dropping our knives and forks, and shoving back our chairs, we cried, in the language of another on the eve of a direr conflict, "Hold, enough! " and the good old lady, still happy and radiant, laid down her ladle and retired from her benevolent labor to her slumbers. Never go by Mother Johnson's without tasting her pancakes, and, when you leave, leave with her an extra dollar.
"Uncle Palmers" is at Long Lake, and commands a view of lake and mountain scenery rarely surpassed. There are many houses open to
guests in the wilderness more ostentatious; but for downright solid comfort commend me to "Uncle Palmer's." The table is well supplied; the cuisine is excellent; the beds neat and clean; the location central. Mr. Palmer is one of the most honest, genial, and accommodating men whom I have ever met. His wife is active, pleasant, and motherly. Both are full of the spirit of true kindness, and sympathetic in all their words and acts. You may be a total stranger, but no sooner are you fairly inside the house than you feel yourself perfectly at home. In this neighborhood live John Plumbley, and his brother Jerry, Amos Hough, Henry Stanton, Isaac Robinson and boys, Michael Sabatis and sons, and many others of the very best guides in the wilderness. Sabatis keeps a hotel on the shore of the lake, and at his house many sportsmen resort. I have heard it well spoken of, but cannot speak from experience, as I never had the pleasure of stopping over there. On the whole, I do not hesitate to say that Long Lake is, in my opinion, the best rendezvous of the wilderness, and Uncle Palmer's long table the very best spot to find yourself when hungry and tired.
"Martin's" — This is the last house of which I shall speak. It is located on Lower Saranac, at the terminus of the stage route from Keeseville. It is, therefore, the most convenient point at which to meet your guides. Its appointments are thorough and complete. Martin is one of the few men in the world who seem to know how "to keep a hotel." At his house you can easily and cheaply obtain your entire outfit for a trip of any length. Here it is that the celebrated Long Lake guides, with their unrivalled boats, principally resort. Here, too, many of the Saranac guides, some of them surpassed by none, make their head-quarters. Mr. Martin, as a host, is good-natured and gentlemanly. His table is abundantly provided, not only with the necessaries, but also with
many of the luxuries, of diet. The charges are moderate, and the accommodations for families, as well as sporting parties, in every respect ample. "Martin's" is a favorite resort to all who have ever once visited it, and stands deservedly high in public
estimation.
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