By this time we had reached trout diet _per se_. I don't know what _per
se_ means, but I have often seen it used and it seems to fit this case.
Of course we were not entirely out of other things. We had flour for
flapjacks, some cornmeal for mush and Johnnie-cake, and enough bacon to
impart flavor to the fish. Also, we were not wholly without beans--long
may they wave--the woods without them would be a wilderness indeed. But
in the matter of meat diet it was trout _per se_, as I have said, unless
that means we did not always have them; in which case I will discard
those words. We did. We had fried trout, broiled trout, boiled trout,
baked trout, trout on a stick and trout chowder. We may have had them
other ways--I don't remember. I know I began to imagine that I was
sprouting fins and gills, and daily I felt for the new bumps on my head
which I was certain must result from this continuous absorption of brain
food. There were several new bumps, but when I called Eddie's attention
to them, he said they were merely the result of butting my head so
frequently against logs and stumps and other portions of the scenery.
Then he treated them with liniment and new skin.
Speaking of food, I believe I have not mentioned the beefsteak which we
brought with us into the woods. It was Eddie's idea, and he was its
self-appointed guardian and protector. That was proper, only I think he
protected it too long. It was a nice sirloin when we started--thick and
juicy and of a deep rich tone. Eddie said a little age would improve it,
and I suppose he was right--he most always is. He said we would
appreciate it more, too, a little later, which seemed a sound doctrine.
Yet, somehow, that steak was an irritation. It is no easy matter to
adjust the proper age of a steak to the precise moment of keen and
general appreciation. We discussed the matter a good deal, and each time
the steak was produced as a sort of Exhibit A, and on each occasion
Eddie decided that the time was not ripe--that another day would add to
its food value. I may say that I had no special appetite for steak, not
yet, but I did not want to see it carried off by wild beasts, or offered
at last on a falling market.
Besides, the thing was an annoyance as baggage. I don't know where we
carried it at first, but I began to come upon it in unexpected places.
If I picked up a yielding looking package, expecting to find a dry
undergarment, or some other nice surprise, it turned out to be that
steak. If I reached down into one of the pack baskets for a piece of
Eddie's chocolate, or some of his tobacco--for anything, in fact--I
would usually get hold of a curious feeling substance and bring up that
steak. I began to recognize its texture at last, and to avoid it.
Eventually I banished it from the baskets altogether. Then Eddie took to
hanging it on a limb near the camp, and if a shower came up suddenly he
couldn't rest--he must make a wild rush and take in that steak. I
refused at last to let him bring it into the tent, or to let him hang it
on a nearby limb. But this made trouble, for when he hung it farther
away he sometimes forgot it, and twice we had to paddle back a mile or
so to get that steak. Also, sometimes, it got wet, which was not good
for its flavor, he said; certainly not for its appearance.
In fact, age told on that steak. It no longer had the deep rich glow of
youth. It had a weather-beaten, discouraged look, and I wondered how
Eddie could contemplate it in that fond way. It seemed to me that if the
time wasn't ripe the steak was, and that something ought to be done
about a thing like that. My suggestions did not please Eddie.
I do not remember now just when we did at last cook that steak. I prefer
to forget it. Neither do I know what Eddie did with his piece. I buried
mine.
[Illustration: "When I awoke, a savory smell was coming in the tent."]
Eddie redeemed himself later--that is to say, he produced something I
could eat. He got up early for the purpose. When I awoke, a savory smell
was coming in the tent. Eddie was squatted by the fire, stirring
something in a long-handled frying pan. Neither he nor the guides were
communicative as to its nature, but it was good, and I hoped we would
have it often. Then they told me what it was. It was a preparation with
cream (condensed) of the despised canned salmon which I had denounced
earlier in the trip as an insult to live, speckled trout. You see how
one's point of view may alter. I said I was sorry now we hadn't brought
some dried herring. The others thought it a joke, but I was perfectly
serious.
In fact, provisioning for a camping trip is a serious matter. Where a
canoe must carry a man and guide, with traps and paraphernalia, and
provisions for a three-weeks' trip, the problem of condensation in the
matter of space and weight, with amplitude in the matter of quantity,
affords study for a careful mind. We started out with a lot of can and
bottle goods, which means a good deal of water and glass and tin, all of
which are heavy and take up room. I don't think ours was the best way.
The things were good--too good to last--but dried fruits--apricots,
prunes and the like--would have been nearly as good, and less
burdensome. Indeed by the end of the second week I would have given five
cents apiece for a few dried prunes, while even dried apples, which I
had learned to hate in childhood, proved a gaudy luxury. Canned beans,
too, I consider a mistake. You can't take enough of them in that form.
No two canoes can safely carry enough canned beans to last two fishermen
and two Nova Scotia guides for three weeks. As for jam and the like,
why it would take one canoe to carry enough marmalade to supply Del the
Stout alone. If there is any such thing as a marmalade cure, I hope Del
will take it before I am ready to go into the woods again. Otherwise I
shall tow an extra canoe or a marmalade factory.
As I have said, dried things are better; fruits, beans, rice, beef,
bacon--maple sugar (for sirup), cornmeal and prepared flour. If you want
to start with a few extras in the way of canned stuff, do it, but be
sure you have plenty of the staples mentioned. You will have enough
water and tin and glass to carry with your condensed milk, your vinegar,
a few pickles, and such other bottle refreshments as your tastes and
morals will permit. Take all the variety you can in the way of dried
staples--be sure they are staples--but cut close on your bulky tinned
supplies. It is better to be sure of enough Johnnie-cake and bacon and
beans during the last week out than to feast on plum-pudding and
California pears the first.