Transcriber’s Note
In the Illustration List numbers 33 and 44 are missing. The list has
been left as printed.
Repaired some punctuation omissions—a number of missing fullstops.
Page 113: changed Metagamonsis (in the illustration) to Matagamonsis.
Italics are denoted with _ (underscore).
Other changes that have been made are listed at the end of the book.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR IN HIS SANCTUM.]
CANOE AND CAMERA:
A
TWO HUNDRED MILE TOUR
THROUGH
THE MAINE FORESTS.
BY
THOMAS SEDGWICK STEELE.
“If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills!—no tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.”
LONGFELLOW.
_WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS_,
BOSTON: ESTES AND LAURIAT, PUBLISHERS.
_Copyright, 1882_,
BY THOMAS SEDGWICK STEELE.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
[Illustration: TO _my enthusiastic friends of the gun and rod, who love
all that is pure and beautiful in nature, and by associating with her
works, learn of man’s littleness in comparison with God’s immensity,
this book is affectionately dedicated_.
_Thomas Sedgwick Steele_
_Hartford, Conn., 1880._]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
An Angler’s Soliloquy.—Isaak Walton’s ideas.—A fishing
minister.—The route to the woods.—Moosehead
Lake and vicinity 19
CHAPTER II.
The different routes through Maine.—The Party, Guides,
Baggage, Provisions, Canoes, Arms.—Camp appetite.—Studying
Geography.—The start.—Bid adieu to Moosehead
Lake.—North East Carry.—West Branch of the
Penobscot.—First Camp on Moosehorn stream 27
CHAPTER III.
Our first Camp at mouth of Moosehorn stream.—Accommodating one’s
self to circumstances.—The “Rips” of the West Branch.—Running
the Rapids.—Pine Stream Falls.—Chesuncook Lake.—Umbazooksus
River.—A “Bear” welcome.—Mud Pond and “Carry.”—A Picture
difficult to photograph.—Third Camp at Chamberlin Lake 51
CHAPTER IV.
Chamberlin Farm and Lake.—A novel fly-trap.—A lesson in Natural
History.—Telosmis Lake.—The “Cut.”—A three days’ rain-storm.—Webster
Lake and Dam.—An Apparition.—The weird stillness of
the primeval forests.—An accommodating fly-catcher 64
CHAPTER V.
Passage of Webster Stream.—An exciting day’s sport.—The damaged
canoes.—The canvas boat triumphant.—Grand Falls.—Photographing
along the route.—Indian “Carry.”—East Branch of the Penobscot.
—Matagamonsis Lake.—The discovery of a new Lake.—Trout
Brook Farm.—Grand, or Matagamon Lake.—A captured salmon 93
CHAPTER VI.
Dangers of wandering from Camp.—An experience on Lake Superior.—The
Falls of the East Branch.—Stair Falls.—Incidents of Camp life.—An
Enchanted Bower.—Hunt’s Farm.—An Artist’s Canoe.—The ascent of
Hunt’s Mountain.—A reverie.—Whetstone Falls.—Discovery of Jasper on
Ledge Falls.—Dawn of Civilization.—Mattawamkeag.—The East Branch
Canvas-ed
117
ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. THE AUTHOR IN HIS SANCTUM Frontispiece.
2. DEDICATION PAGE 3
3. THE ANGLER 5
4. CANOE AND CAMERA 17
4_a_. AN ODD SPECIMEN 18
5. ISAAK WALTON 21
6. KINEO HOUSE 25
7. ANTICIPATION 26
8. PICKING A COURSE 28
9. MAP OF THE TOUR THROUGH THE MAINE FORESTS 30
10. THE GUIDES 33
11. WE DREAM OF GAME 38
12. HOME APPETITE 41
13. CAMP APPETITE 41
14. MORRIS’S—NORTHEAST CARRY 43
15. IN SYMPATHY WITH NATURE 46
16. DISCOURAGEMENTS 48
17. “CHANGING PASTURE” 49
18. PENKNIFE SOUVENIRS 52
19. PINE STREAM FALLS 54
20. MUD POND CARRY 56
21. MUD POND—LOOKING EAST 59
22. “THIS IS THE WAY I LONG HAVE SOUGHT” 62
23. REFLECTIONS 63
24. CHAMBERLIN FARM—LOOKING WEST 65
25. THE ROOM INTO WHICH WE WERE USHERED 66
26. CAMP ON CHAMBERLIN LAKE 67
27. NOT IN THE PATENT OFFICE 70
28. A STUDY IN NATURAL HISTORY 71
29. GREAT NORTHERN DIVER 71
30. TELOS CUT AND LAKE 73
31. PHOTOGRAPHY—THE WET AND DRY PROCESS ILLUSTRATED 77
32. TELOS DAM AND RIVER 79
34. AN APPARITION 83
35. WEBSTER LAKE AND DAM 86
36. FLY CATCHERS VERSUS FLY FISHING 88
37. ALLUREMENTS 90
38. STUDY OF TROUT—BY THE AUTHOR 91
39. RUNNING RAPIDS ON WEBSTER RIVER 95
40. LUNCH TIME 99
41. IT’S NOT ALL POETRY 101
42. GRAND FALLS 103
43. STARTING A BOOM 107
45. A BOOM 109
46. DISCOVERY OF A NEW LAKE 111
47. MATAGAMONSIS LAKE 113
48. OUR SALMON 114
49. MATAGAMON OR GRAND LAKE 115
50. ON THE EAST BRANCH 120
51. DROPPING CANOES OVER FALLS 122
52. ACCEPTING THE SITUATION 123
53. STAIR FALLS 125
54. HULLING MACHINE FALLS 126
55. THE ARCHES—EAST BRANCH OF THE PENOBSCOT 128
56. HUNT’S FARM 130
57. MT. KATAHDIN—STUDY BY F. E. CHURCH 132
58. JUNCTION OF EAST AND WEST BRANCHES OF THE PENOBSCOT 134
59. GLIMPSES OF CIVILIZATION BEGIN TO DAWN 137
60. NET RESULTS 139
INTRODUCTION.
A love for the woods and out-door sports begins early in life. I can
hardly remember when the sight of a gun or fish-rod did not awaken
within my boyish fancy a feverish desire to follow their lead, be the
tramp ever so hard. There never was anything to stop the growth of this
passion until I reached the age of ten years, when I nearly destroyed a
boy’s eye with an arrow, in my endeavors to excel in archery.
This act slightly dampened my ardor for some months, and retarded that
progression in field sports I was then making.
There is also something so free, so stimulating in the woods life,
uncontaminated by the gossip, allurements, and exacting dress of the
usual watering places, that after one season’s enjoyment, a return
to these wildernesses, and repeating its pleasures, is the constant
thought of the future.
It also teaches very early self-reliance, and a philosophical endurance
of many conditions of life, which add to one’s cheerfulness, while
one is surprised how few of the necessities are essential to produce
happiness.
“Man’s rich with little, were his judgment true;
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few.”
The study also of natural history in the woods takes one into a realm
which has no bounds, constantly enlarging his love and admiration of
God’s works. The oft-repeated quotation, “Spare the rod and spoil
the child,” has been misconstrued for many a long day, and if I had
known early in life its real significance it would hardly have made so
doleful an impression.
There is no doubt to-day in my mind that this “rod” meant a
_fishing-rod_, and that the timely cherishing of it in youth tends
to develop that portion of one’s nature to which the former use was
entirely innocent.
“The surest road to health, say what you will,
Is never to suppose we shall be ill.
Most of those evils we poor mortals know
From doctors and imagination flow.”
And now, after spending many of the annual short vacations allotted
to an active business life in various parts of this country, from
Canada to Florida, in the exhilarating sport of hunting, fishing, and
exploring, and deriving great physical good thereby, it would not
seem strange that the writer should be desirous of exciting in the
hearts of others a taste for like recreations. In placing before my
readers this sketch of a late canoe tour through Maine—especially that
portion pertaining to the east branch of the Penobscot—I am perfectly
aware that no two trips through that region can be made under the same
circumstances. All days in the woods are alike, and still they are
very unlike. Weather, height of water, companions, canoes, guides,
sunshine or shadow, a hundred and one things, go to make a day pleasant
or unpleasant to the tourist. During the month occupied in making this
trip, the writer experienced but _four_ days of rain. But the first
rain-storm could not have been more opportune, as it raised the water
of Webster stream to a height that permitted the passage of my four
canoes, when otherwise I should have endured a wearisome “carry” of
seven miles. Unless there is sufficient water in Webster stream to
float a canoe with _ease_, I should not recommend the tour of the
east branch, for the numerous portages will hardly compensate for the
pleasures of the trip.
The writer distinctly remembers meeting an angler who had followed the
recommendation of a guide book on Maine, and attempted the journey from
Allagash river to Chamberlin lake. Instead of an abundance of water,
the stream was almost dry, and a “carry” of seven miles had to be made
to Chamberlin lake. Again, the canvas boat added no little enjoyment to
the pleasures of the excursion, and the trip would have lost many of
its bright experiences without its companionship.
True, it received many a cut, but was more easily repaired than a birch
bark, while its qualities of endurance after such an ordeal permitted
it to spend the following winter season under the tropical skies of
Florida.
No better companion could have been selected than Mr. H. R. Morley, of
the Continental Life Insurance Company, Hartford (the “quartermaster”
of the expedition), and to his suggestions and efforts to make the
best of all difficulties the writer acknowledges himself indebted.
It is surprising how selfishness, egotism, and other like traits of
character will develop in the woods when it was never recognized in
the individual at home, and one must have the true spirit of patient
endurance for the sake of accomplishment in order at times to enjoy the
forest life.
Thus the entire trip was made on the “flood tide,” from the state
of the weather to the volume of water in the streams, facilitating
the taking of photographs, and adding height and power to the many
picturesque falls on the route. Until I am corrected by further
explorations, I think I am right in the discovery of a new lake (not
found on any map), between Matagamonsis and Matagamon lakes.
An enlargement of Hay creek has been suggested as this body of water,
but if so, all the larger lakes in this region are but a part of the
preceding stream which empties into them. This lake has the same area
of square miles as Telosmis lake, and empties its waters in to the
sluggish stream which connects the two large bodies of water just
mentioned.
The pleasure of canoeing these undiscovered lakes and streams, and
living from day to day upon their resources, was an element of
indescribable delight. Nowhere do such rich thoughts of God’s bounty,
grandeur, and control of nature impress one as in the depths of the
forests, and there are reveries forced upon one, for which a city of
brick walls and dusty streets have no affinity. The individuality of
each tree, the strange and rare plants and flowers scattered along the
indistinct path one wanders, all coupled with the weird stillness of
the forest, bring one nearer to God and His works than almost any other
situation. I do not suggest in this book the various ways of camping
out, or the necessary preparations for the same, as there are special
works on those subjects; I simply desire to direct the attention of
tourists, and more especially artists, to a section of Maine _now but
little known_, but which, if once explored, will yield to them a bright
harvest of pleasure and studies.
THE AUTHOR.
HARTFORD, CONN.
CANOE AND CAMERA.
TWO HUNDRED MILES THROUGH THE MAINE FORESTS.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED
BY
TRUE WILLIAMS, BENJAMIN DAY, AUG. WILL, AND OTHER ARTISTS.
[Illustration: AN ODD SPECIMEN.]
CHAPTER I.
“I in these flowery meads would be;
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious, bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice.”
WALTON.
AN ANGLER’S SOLILOQUY.—ISAAK WALTON’S IDEAS.—A FISHING MINISTER.—THE
ROUTE TO THE WOODS.—MOOSEHEAD LAKE AND VICINITY.
In the good old times, when the requirements of business kept one out
in the open air, and each client or patient resided many miles away,
and the only communication was by foot or on horseback, one did not
need the indispensable rest and recreation of to-day.
But now all is changed, and within a hand’s grasp at our offices we can
communicate by the strange wires of the telephone or telegraph with
friends miles away, and save ourselves those steps which would no doubt
be of great benefit if taken.
In this fast world of ours, where the work of a week is crowded into
a day, recreation is a necessity, and nowhere, it seems to me, has it
greater recuperative power than in the depths of the forest.
It is not as a plea for the angler that I pen these lines—he asks for
neither judge nor jury on his tastes, although they no doubt frequently
receive the verdict of both; he is a law unto himself.
“It is a very easy thing to scoff at any art or recreation, a little
wit mixed with ill-nature, confidence, and malice will do it, though
they are often caught in their own trap.”
It is only a few weeks since that I was rallied on my pet hobby by a
prominent business man, who thought one could hardly be in his right
mind who had a fondness for life in the woods, and that it must give
one a tendency to coarseness, rather than improving our higher and more
æsthetic tastes. But this gentleman was welcome to his ideas, for he
was then an invalid from a nervous disease, and had spent the prime of
his life regaining his health, when possibly an occasional day’s tramp
beside a trout stream would have been a matter of economy to both purse
and body.
The father of anglers, Isaak Walton, puts this same idea in a still
better light, for although born in 1593, he knew how to read the human
nature of to-day; he says: “Yes! there are many grave and serious men
who pity us anglers, but there are many more grave and serious men whom
we anglers condemn and pity.”
[Illustration]
“Men that are taken to be grave because nature hath made them of a
sour complexion, money-getting men that spend all their time, first in
getting, and next in anxious care to keep it! men that are condemned to
be rich, and then always busy and discontented—for these poor rich men
we anglers pity them perfectly, and stand in no need to borrow their
thoughts to think ourselves so happy.”
Some one has said that an angler consists of a rod with a fool at one
end and a fish at the other. But Walton, in his meanderings beside
the streams, is reported to have had the constant companionship of a
book, and between the nibbles of the fish stored his mind with useful
knowledge.
While hunting in the western part of Connecticut last autumn, a good
story was told me of a minister who, soon after his settlement in the
parish, greatly annoyed his flock by his habitual fondness for angling.
He would start off early on Monday morning, and would keep up the
diversion until late Saturday night; nevertheless, the quality of his
sermons, and the deep thoughts which they contained, so pleased his
people that similar excursions were suggested to the pastors of other
churches in the town.
So much for an introduction to the inmost thoughts of a lover of the
angle, but possibly you would like to know how to reach the solitudes
of Maine, whose influences are so bewitching to the writer, and where,
with the reader as companion, he proposes to enjoy a canoe ride of two
hundred miles.
To one about to make a trip to Maine, we would say, start in all cases
from Boston, even though you live in Chicago. Take the 7 P.M.
express on the Eastern railroad for Bangor, thereby having a good
night’s rest in a sleeper, awaking refreshed for the pleasure of the
next day’s journey.
But those who have never traveled this road will do well to see their
flight be not in the night, for, commencing with Boston, its main
line extends along the shore, giving here and there glimpses of quiet
bays and shady inlets, and through cities noted for their thrift and
prosperity almost from the country’s settlement.
One would be well repaid for a day spent at almost any station along
the route, as the eastern shore of New England has often been the
subject for busy pens and famous pencils. From Massachusetts Bay to
Passamaquoddy and the Isle of Great Manan, it is filled with nooks and
beaches where, in the hot months of summer, the seeker for rest and
renewed health can choose the spot suited to his taste. The Eastern
railroad—with its numerous branches and connecting lines—forms the most
direct and desirable means of access to these points of interest.
It does not, however, limit the choice to the seashore, for it leads
also to the heart of the famous White Mountains, and to the vast and
partially explored lake region of Maine, towards which I had set my
face.
Lynn, eleven miles from Boston, famed for its immense factories of
boots and shoes, lies at the head of Nahant Bay, from which there is
a delightful drive along the shore to Nahant, a noted, picturesque
watering-place. Near by is Swampscott, its shores lined with summer
cottages, and from here a short branch road runs to rocky Marblehead, a
spot mentioned in letters of travel as early as the year 1633.
Salem, four miles further on, famous since the days of witchcraft, and
once the principal port of entry for New England, not only has its
pleasant situation to attract the visitor, but is full of relics of
the olden time of interest to the antiquary. It was the birthplace of
many men whose names have become a part of our nation’s history and
literature.
At Beverly, the Gloucester branch leads down to the sea at Cape Ann,
with its sunny beaches and rocky headlands, quiet when the wind is off
shore, but where the waves come thundering in when driven before an
easterly gale.
But we have hardly time to speak of Newburyport, another old seacoast
town, and the lovely view to be had from its heights of the surrounding
country and ocean, but hasten through to Salisbury, Hampton, and Rye
Beach.
Portsmouth is quiet and quaint, and at Conway Junction, eleven miles
from Portsmouth, passengers change cars for the White Mountains. At
Portland, the angler makes choice of the routes to the two great
trouting paradises of Maine—Rangeley Lakes and Moosehead Lake.
[Illustration: KINEO HOUSE]
If to the former place, he takes the cars for Farmington, eighty-five
miles directly north from Portland, and then by stage thirty-six miles
over the mountains to Kimball’s Head of the First Rangeley Lake,
where he will receive a hearty welcome from as cordial a company of
fishermen as it has been my pleasure in other seasons to enjoy.
If the latter be his choice, guns, rods, blankets, and other camp
equipage are shifted to the train of the Maine Central railroad for
Bangor, where the cars are again changed for the road to Blanchard,
which is twelve miles from Moosehead Lake. After a substantial dinner,
the tourist mounts to the top of the commodious Concord stage drawn
by four horses, and enjoys a delightful ride of eleven miles over
the hills to Greenville, foot of Moosehead Lake. Here the baggage is
again changed to a steamer, and a most enjoyable sail of twenty miles
lands one at the Kineo House, which stands on a prominent point of
rocks extending far out into Moosehead Lake, a convenient center of
attraction for those who dislike the unadulterated life in the woods.
[Illustration: ANTICIPATION.]