As usual, the clouds had emptied themselves by morning. The sky was
still dull and threatening, and from the tent door the water of the lake
was gray. But the mist had gone, and the islands came out green and
beautiful. The conditions made it possible to get some clothing decently
smoked and scorched, which is the nearest approach to dryness one is
ever likely to achieve in the woods in a rainy season.
I may say here that the time will come--and all too soon, in a period of
rain--when you will reach your last dry suit of underwear--and get it
wet. Then have a care. Be content to stay in a safe, dry spot, if you
can find one--you will have to go to bed, of course, to do it until
something is dry--that is, pretty dry. To change from one wet suit to
another only a little less so is conducive neither to comfort nor to a
peaceful old age. Above all, do not put on your night garment, or
garments, for underwear, for they will get wet, too; then your condition
will be desperate.
I submit the above as good advice. I know it is good advice for I did
not follow it. I have never followed good advice--I have only given it.
At the end of several nights of rain and moist days, I had nothing
really dry but my nightshirt and one slipper and I think Eddie's
condition was not so far removed. What we did was to pick out the least
damp of our things and smoke and scorch them on a pole over the campfire
until they had a sort of a half-done look, like bread toasted over a gas
jet; then suddenly we would seize them and put them on hot and go around
steaming, and smelling of leaf smoke and burnt dry goods--these odors
blended with the fragrance of camphor, tar and pennyroyal, with which we
were presently saturated in every pore. For though it was said to be too
late for black flies and too early for mosquitoes, the rear guard of the
one and the advance guard of the other combined to furnish us with a
good deal of special occupation. The most devoted follower of the
Prophet never anointed himself oftener than we did, and of course this
continuous oily application made it impossible to wash very perfectly;
besides, it seemed a waste to wash off the precious protection when to
do so meant only another immediate and more thorough treatment.
I will dwell for a moment on this matter of washing. Fishing and
camping, though fairly clean recreations, will be found not altogether
free from soiling and grimy tendencies, and when one does not or cannot
thoroughly remove the evidences several times a day, they begin to tell
on his general appearance. Gradually our hands lost everything original
except their shape. Then I found that to shave took off a good deal of
valuable ointment each time, and I approved of Eddie's ideas in this
direction to the extent of following his example. I believe, though,
that I washed myself longer than he did--that is, at stated intervals.
Of course we never gave up the habit altogether. It would break out
sporadically and at unexpected moments, but I do not recall that these
lapses ever became dangerous or offensive. My recollection is that Eddie
gave up washing as a mania, that morning at the foot of Irving Lake and
that I held out until the next sunrise. Or it may have been only until
that evening--it does not matter. Washing is a good deal a question of
pride, anyway, and pride did not count any more. Even self-respect had
lost its charm.
[Illustration: "If one's things are well smoked and scorched and scalded
and put on hot in the morning----"]
[Illustration: "We never failed to hide the whisky."]
In the matter of clothing, however, I wish to record that I never did
put on my nightdress for an undergarment. I was tempted to do so, daily,
but down within me a still small voice urged the rashness of such a deed
and each night I was thankful for that caution. If one's things are well
smoked and scorched and scalded and put on hot in the morning, he can
forget presently that they are not also dry, and there is a chance that
they may become so before night; but to face the prospect of getting
into a wet garment to sleep, that would have a tendency to destroy the
rare charm and flavor of camp life. In time I clung to my dry nightshirt
as to a life-belt. I wrapped it up mornings as a jewel, buried it deep
in the bottom of my bag, and I locked the bag. Not that Eddie did not
have one of his own--it may be that he had a variety of such things--and
as for the guides, I have a notion that they prefer wet clothes. But
though this was a wild country, where it was unlikely that we should
meet any living soul, there was always the possibility of a stray
prospector or a hunter, and a dry garment in a wet time is a temptation
which should not be put in any man's way. Neither that nor the liquor
supply. When we left our camp--as we did, often--our guns, our tackle,
even our purses and watches, were likely to be scattered about in plain
view; but we never failed to hide the whisky. Whisky is fair loot, and
the woodsman who would scorn to steal even a dry shirt would carry off
whisky and revel in his shame.
There were quantities of trout in the lower Shelburne, and in a pool
just below the camp, next morning, Eddie and I took a dozen or
more--enough for breakfast and to spare--in a very few minutes. They
were lively fish--rather light in color, but beautifully marked and
small enough to be sweet and tender, that is, not much over a half-pound
weight. In fact, by this time we were beginning to have a weakness for
the smaller fish. The pound-and-upward trout, the most plentiful size,
thus far, were likely to be rather dry and none too tender. When we
needed a food supply, the under-sized fish were more welcome, and when,
as happened only too rarely, we took one of the old-fashioned New
England speckled beauty dimensions--that is to say, a trout of from
seven to nine inches long and of a few ounces weight--it was welcomed
with real joy. Big fish are a satisfaction at the end of a line and in
the landing net, but when one really enters upon a trout diet--when at
last it becomes necessary to serve them in six or seven different ways
to make them go down--the demand for the smallest fish obtainable is
pretty certain to develop, while the big ones are promptly returned
with good wishes and God-speed to their native element.
For of course no true sportsman ever keeps any trout he cannot use. Only
the "fish-hog" does that. A trout caught on a fly is seldom injured, and
if returned immediately to the water will dart away, all the happier, it
may be, for his recent tug-of-war. He suffers little or no pain in the
tough cartilages about his mouth and gills (a fact I have demonstrated
by hooking the same fish twice, both marks plainly showing on him when
taken) and the new kind of exercise and experience he gets at the end of
the line, and his momentary association with human beings, constitute
for him a valuable asset, perhaps to be retailed in the form of
reminiscence throughout old age. But to fling him into a canoe, to gasp
and die and be thrown away, that is a different matter. That is a crime
worse than stealing a man's lunch or his last dry undershirt, or even
his whisky.
In the first place, kill your trout the moment you take him out of the
water--that is, if you mean to eat him. If he is too big, or if you
already have enough, put him back with all expedition and let him swim
away. Even if he does warn the other trout and spoil the fishing in that
pool, there are more pools, and then it is likely you have fished enough
in that one, anyway. Come back next year and have another battle with
him. He will be bigger and know better what to do then. Perhaps it will
be his turn to win.
In the matter of killing a fish there are several ways to do it. Some
might prefer to set him up on the bank and shoot at him. Another way
would be to brain him with an ax. The guides have a way of breaking a
trout's neck by a skillful movement which I never could duplicate. My
own method is to sever the vertebrae just back of the ears--gills, I
mean--with the point of a sharp knife. It is quick and effective.
I don't know why I am running on with digression and advice this way.
Perhaps because about this period I had had enough experience to feel
capable of giving advice. A little experience breeds a lot of advice. I
knew a man once----[3]