“On the fair face of Nature let us muse,
And dream by lapsing streams and drooping wood;
Tread the dark forests whose primeval ranks
Since the Creation dawn have cast their shade.”
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.
Chamberlin farm consists of one log house, eight or ten barns, and
about three hundred acres of cleared land, if where in some portions
you can jump from stump to stump can be called “cleared land.”
[Illustration: CHAMBERLIN FARM AND LAKE—LOOKING WEST.]
The buildings are situated on a hill fronting the lake, and command
a view of the greater part of the water. Mr. Nutting (who with his
three sons has charge of the farm) is six feet high, straight as an
Indian, with heavy high cheek bones, black moustache, and whose face
is thoroughly tanned by exposure to the sun. The farm, with others in
this vicinity, is owned by Messrs. Coe & Pingree of Bangor, Maine, who
possess vast tracts of this wilderness, which they lumber and pass the
result of their efforts to the markets along the coast of the State.
During the summer months the products of the farm are gathered into the
barns, and are used to feed the hundreds of “log drivers” who in the
winter and spring are annually sent to this region. These “loggers”
are a hardy set of men, receiving a dollar and a half a day when “on
the drive,” and work from 2 A. M. to 10 P. M., often exposed to great
perils and the inclemency of the weather. Large herds of cattle and
sheep are pastured here, and on the hill at the rear of the house I
noticed a number of mules.
[Illustration: THE ROOM INTO WHICH WE WERE USHERED.]
[Illustration: CAMP ON CHAMBERLIN LAKE.]
The two-story log house in which resides Mr. Nutting is painted an
Indian red, and has the only embellishment of any of the buildings.
The interior is white-washed, and has three rooms on a floor. The
room into which our party was ushered had low ceilings of heavy logs,
blackened by age and smoke from the big square iron stove which held
undisputable possession of the center of the apartment. In one corner
was a great box containing wood, which also served as a bed when other
accommodations were not available. From the ceiling, hardly seven feet
high, was arranged the clothes line, on which hung a portion of the
week’s washing, while the floor was made of logs with enough openings
between them to admit plenty of fresh air. Artistic taste had not been
wanting in the decoration of the log walls, and engravings cut from
illustrated papers were tacked thereon, while in a prominent position
was hung the portrait of a late unsuccessful candidate to presidential
honors. Rough shelves nailed to the sides of the walls between two
windows supported a roll of old papers, a Webster’s dictionary,
National fifth reader, Greenleaf’s arithmetic, Bible, and Testament,
while at their side hung a mirror, and the family hair-brush and comb.
But the most novel article in the room was a fly-trap, which, although
it displayed the inventive genius of the locality, can hardly have its
model on the many shelves of the Patent office. This fly-trap hung from
the ceiling near the stove, and was manufactured from two shingles
fastened together at the butts like an inverted V. On the inside was
spread molasses, and as fast as the insects became interested in its
sweets, it was the duty of the passer-by to slap the boards together
and destroy their contents.
[Illustration: NOT FOUND AT THE PATENT OFFICE.]
In addition to superintending this farm and stock, it is the duty
of Mr. Nutting to provide for the various logging camps in the
neighborhood, and to watch for the first indication of fires, whose
destructive power in the pine forests he fully realizes.
Chamberlin Lake, on which we had pitched our tent, is fifteen miles
long and three miles wide. It has an area of twenty square miles, is
1,134 feet above tide water, contains a number of islands, and took its
name from an unfortunate man lost some years since on its shores. Years
ago a large dam was built at its northern outlet into Eagle Lake, and
the water driven back south, through an artificial cut between Telos
and Webster Lakes, thus enabling the lumberman to “drive” his logs to a
home market through the East Branch of the Penobscot river, instead of
by the St. Johns route to the foreign one of New Brunswick. It costs
fifty dollars a ton to transport supplies to this farm, and flour is
nineteen dollars a barrel.
[Illustration: A STUDY IN NATURAL HISTORY.]
After our labors on Mud Pond “carry,” we rested here three days, taking
photographs of the scenery, and making excursions to the dams between
Chamberlin and Eagle Lakes, where we found plenty of exercise for our
trout rods. We also “sacked” our canvas canoe across the hills on
the east to Indian Pond in search of wild ducks and trout, but were
only rewarded by a study in natural history which seldom happens to
the forest lover. Our discovery was a family of loons, or the great
Northern Diver, a bird the size of a goose, and the finest on inland
northern waters. It could be honestly said, “they lived in flats,” as
their rough nest, composed of sticks and moss a foot in height and two
feet in width, rested on a flat sandy knoll which stretched out into
the water. Against the unmistakable dislike of the parent birds, I
paddled to the front door of their house, and, gazing in, discovered a
recently hatched bird and one egg.
[Illustration: TELOS CUT AND LAKE.]
The egg was dark brown, spotted with black, eight and seven-eighth
inches at the longest, and seven and one-quarter at the shortest
circumference. The young bird had every appearance of a goslin, with
down of a grayish black, and did not seem in the least annoyed as I
stroked its glossy coat. Withdrawing my canoe, and creeping quietly
back into the thicket, I enjoyed the lesson in frog catching, taught
the young one by the old birds, and I left them undisturbed in their
happiness.
It was with great reluctance that we broke camp early on the morning
of August 12th, rolled our tent, and, arranging our kit in the canoe,
paddled out into Chamberlin Lake and bade farewell to the scenes around
which clustered so many pleasant memories.
The fresh milk, butter, and eggs of the farm were a happy relief to our
regular fare of salt pork and hard tack, while the fresh straw, which
Mr. Nutting so kindly offered us from his barns, for the floor of our
tent, added greatly to our comfort.
But we had not started with the idea that in this wilderness we were to
enjoy all the _dainties_ of life, for in order to explore its depths we
must give up luxuries and comforts which at home seem indispensable.
How often in my earlier years, while pursuing the study of geography at
school, did my pencil in drawing maps wander over this endless tract of
territory to the north and east of Moosehead Lake, striving to picture
to my imagination its elements.
This great lake near the center of the State, together with few of the
largest rivers whose source then seemed a doubt, were about all that
relieved the picture, and I was daily discovering new beauties of
scenery little known to the outside world.
“A land of streams! Some, like a downward smoke,
Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some through wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.”
Through the long stretches of deep water of Chamberlin Lake we paddled,
keeping time with our oars, while on our right arose the peaks of the
lovely Sourdnahunk Mountains, each individualized by the bright rays of
the morning sun.
Entering Telosmis Lake, which is about a mile in extent, we sailed
swiftly through its quiet waters and passed into Telos Lake, where, at
the mouth of a brook on the right hand, we were successful in landing a
fine lot of trout which averaged over a pound each.
[Illustration: THE “WET AND DRY PROCESS” OF PHOTOGRAPHY AS ILLUSTRATED
BY CAMP LIFE.]
Telos Lake is four miles long and about half a mile wide, and is nine
hundred and fourteen feet above tide water, its northern shore rocky
and abrupt, in comparison with the sandy and uninteresting nature of
its south coast. The mouth of the canal or “cut” at its foot is clogged
with immense quantities of flood-wood, old logs, and stumps, bleached
to whiteness by the action of the weather, which give it a weird and
ghostly appearance against the background of verdure. This “cut” was
dug by lumbermen some forty years ago, to pass their logs into the
East Branch of the Penobscot, but below the old dam, quarter of a mile
distant, one would never suspect by its natural and picturesque shore
it was the work of men’s hands, the force of water having relieved its
sharp outlines.
While our artist was preparing his camera for a photograph of the “cut”
and lake, our guides “sacked” their burdens and canoes across the
_chevaux-de-frise_ of old stumps into the “cut,” and we pitched our
fourth camp on the high bank to the right of the old Telos dam.
Although we had been out fourteen days, we had so far been very
fortunate regarding the weather, but we here experienced the first
rain-storm of the trip—a genuine northeaster of three days’ duration.
We had hardly raised our tent and got our “kit” under cover before the
watery contents of the heavens began to descend, and we took extra
precautions to make ourselves comfortable and endure the trial in the
most cheerful spirit possible. But I will not detain the reader with
every item of the three days’ imprisonment. Encased in our waterproofs,
we resorted to the dam, caught trout, or wandered beside the waters
of Telos stream for ducks and partridges, giving little heed to the
elements.
[Illustration: TELOS DAM AND RIVER.]
It is amazing how little one makes of discomforts in the woods,
provided he sympathizes with his surroundings. But to a nature having
neither poetry nor romance, to whom a fall is only a suggestion of
water power, and a tree so many feet of lumber, the situation is
unendurable.
Here our canvas boat was overhauled, cuts sewed and waterproofed,
birch canoes pitched, buttons adjusted to our clothing, socks darned,
guns and rifles cleaned, while the “Quartermaster” busied himself
ingeniously carving pliers, scissors, and vises from wood, cutting the
joints of the same piece as souvenirs of the locality.
But the storm had one good effect; it nearly exhausted the moose and
bear stories of the guides, and left them, in the future, only the
current topics of the day to discuss.
So far the days had been exceedingly warm,—thermometer sixty to seventy
in the shade,—but what was our surprise on arising early on the clear
bright day of August 16th to discover a heavy frost, and the ice in
our camp pails an eighth of an inch in thickness. We were first aware
of the event by the exclamations of our cook, Bowley, who was slipping
about on the frozen ground outside, and to our incredulous replies,
lifted into the door of the tent one of the frozen pails by the tin
dipper which adhered to its surface. The tent was quickly “struck” and
dried, and, rolling into our rubber blankets and bags our effects, we
were cutting the waters of Telos stream, and soon emerged into tranquil
Webster lake at its foot. The brook is about a mile long, and very
shallow, and but for the late rain would hardly have been navigable. An
easy “carry” of a mile can be found through the tall grass and woods on
the right-hand side, which also terminates at the head of the lake.
It is very essential to one’s happiness, in making this tour, to
know on which side of the stream is the best portage around a fall
or rapids, for the knowledge saves many a laborious walk when one’s
shoulders are loaded.
Webster lake is a charming little sheet of water about three miles
long, and perhaps half as wide, which is wooded down to its very edge.
At its foot is another of those series of loggers’ dams, about twelve
feet high, and on the extreme high bank to the right we again pitched
our tent.
Great care had to be taken with our fires along the road, that not a
remnant of them be allowed to remain, and the indications are often
very delusive. Many years ago a fire started in the woods on Eagle
lake, and the devouring flames, sweeping southward over fifty miles to
this section, destroyed this dam which has since been rebuilt.
[Illustration: AN APPARITION.]
There are many decayed and deceptive logs about these old dams, some
even a foot in diameter, which at a slight pressure will crumble and
plunge one into the deep water below—I speak from experience.
A bear story is always welcomed in camp, not only on account of the
truthfulness attending the _first_ one, but the doubts which hover
around the succeeding tales, add to their interest.
We stretched the canvas of our tent at this place, and while each one
was engaged in his various duties, Weller, the guide, pail in hand,
sallied out for fresh spring water. He had hardly disappeared from our
sight, when with immense jumps he came tearing back through the bushes
shouting, a bear! a bear! A rush for our rifles, and a forward movement
into the woods. But after an unsuccessful tramp, the she bear and two
cubs seen by our friend could not be found.
Before we left the wilderness, we had the unspeakable pleasure of
making the acquaintance of some _six_ bears; but on every occasion we
were without our rifles, and when we made an effort to hunt them, they
were not to be found. We were either shooting a quick flowing stream,
and with difficulty keeping our canoes from the rocks, or surprised
by meeting them (as in the above case) nearer to camp than one could
expect, when they suddenly appeared.
[Illustration: WEBSTER LAKE DAM.]
A few years since, Maine offered a bounty of ten dollars a head on
bears, and the hunting or trapping of them was a lucrative pastime, but
since the withdrawal of the premium, hunters have decreased in the
same proportion that bears have increased.
As might be expected, around the camp fire that night, the recent
experience suggested hunter’s tales, each having its special locality
and party designated, who witnessed the exploits, while the habits,
courage, and peculiarities of bruin and other animals were discussed to
an unlimited extent.
One of the stories told by Guide Morris related to a tame beaver
which had grown to be a great household pet of a farmer living in the
vicinity of Moosehead lake. One night a defective faucet filled the
farmer’s sink and overflowed to the floor of the kitchen, whereupon the
beaver, following his natural instincts, cut up the chairs and tables
of the room, and building a dam about the fugitive stream saved the
habitation from further injury!
We tarried three days at Webster dam, where we captured the largest
trout of the excursion, and feasted on many a fine duck and partridge.
To impress the reader with the idea that our table fare was not so hard
as might have been expected, I would state that the items of the daily
menu consisted of fried brook trout, boiled potatoes, stewed duck or
partridge, hard-tack, “flip-jacks,” with maple sugar, coffee, and tea.
Fish chowders and game stews were our favorite dishes, all eaten with
the seasoning of a hearty appetite.
[Illustration: FLY CATCHERS VERSUS FLY FISHING.]
At this point we were probably as deep in this wilderness as it was
possible to get in the trip.
The most striking feature of the forests is the absence of animal
life, and more noticeable in our northern than southern wilds. The
stately pines of the South stand from eight to twelve feet apart, and
with a span of horses one can almost drive from one end of Florida to
the other. In fact, the writer, in the winter of 1875, met a party so
equipped, traveling in an open wagon from New Smyrna to Fort Capron,
choosing their way by the compass’ aid. This open condition of things
permits the rank growth of vegetation and animal life, which the
close-locked branches of our northern forests prevent. In the latter
case, also, the continual sifting of the pine leaves on the ground, and
the gloom of the overhanging boughs choke what few shrubs might have an
existence.
Only along the rivers, or where the woodsman has failed to spare some
tree, dare anything but a courageous blackberry or shrub-maple show
itself. You may wander for hours in this stillness without seeing a
living creature, unless you look sharply enough to mark the insects
which toil in the mosses underfoot, inhabit the bark and decayed wood,
or wait for you to rest before settling on you.
But we occasionally entertained strangers of animal life, and in one
instance, that of an “angelic” order—at least it had wings, and its
mission was helpful. Our artist, while casting his line from the apron
of the dam, caught it on a projecting beam, and after vain attempts to
withdraw it, was successfully assisted by a little brown fly-catcher,
who, swooping down, attempted to carry to its nest the bright-colored
artificial trout flies.
[Illustration: ALLUREMENTS.]
[Illustration: STUDY OF TROUT—BY THE AUTHOR.]