A TRIP TO THE LA VAL.
A beautiful breeze was blowing down between the grand old hills of the
majestic Saguenay on that first day of August when Walton[8] and myself
started from L’Anse à l’Eau in one of the oddly-shaped pilot-boats of
the St. Lawrence, for a visit to the Bon Homme la Val. The Bon Homme la
Val, a beautiful and romantic stream that falls into the St. Lawrence
about sixty miles below the Saguenay, tradition asserts was named by the
pious Canadians in the early days of the country after a beloved father
confessor. But time and the English, equally utilitarian, have
contracted it into simply La Val, and the origin of the name, together
with the piety that suggested it, is almost forgotten by the present
generation. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the strong northwest
wind curled the waves of the ancient river, and crested them with foam;
the dark waters surged in their falling tide; the stunted trees shivered
in the blast; while the granite hills were as immovable as they had been
mid storm and calm for many thousand years; but the pretty little
village was all astir with our departure.
It is a fanciful place, with the white houses perched in a nook between
the whiter rocks, while the graceful roofs and white-washed walls
shining in the sunlight, produces a picturesque effect. The few English
families residing there, and their many friends on visit to them, made
an agreeable society, drawn closer together by its seclusion from the
world at large; and bright eyes looked brighter when there were none
others by.
The world of L’Anse à l’Eau was collected on the wharf to witness our
departure--the Canadians because they had no better employment, the
English that they might bid us adieu. Our pilot-boat, called by the
Canadians _chaloupe_, an open boat some five-and-twenty feet long by
seven wide, was crammed full of our numerous traps, plunder or baggage,
as it would be variously styled in different parts of our land of
freedom. The fishing rods, and one gun, devoted to the destruction of
bears for lack of smaller game, were carefully stowed; small barrels, at
present filled with meat, but destined to return filled with fish, lay
side by side with baskets full of more delicate provender; tents,
bedding and innumerable other articles occupied every inch of room. We
were experienced in woodsman life, and had no idea of suffering the want
of luxuries that could be easily carried with us, and would never
trouble us on our return, unless they did it in spite of our teeth.
There were preserved soups, meats and fruits, sauces of many kinds, tea
and coffee, the latter ground and in bottles of essence; there were
brown, white and maple sugars, concentrated milk, flour, indian and
oatmeal, barley, rice and potatoes; liquors of many kinds, and other
things too numerous to mention. For our protection from the weather, we
had two tents and waterproof cloth sufficient for a make-shift, two
indian-rubber blankets apiece, one coated on the side the other in the
middle, waterproof suits, plenty of blankets, flannels, and warm
clothes; and such other things as a gentleman ordinarily carries on a
journey. As a defence against the mosquitoes, black flies, sand flies,
and other like torments of Satan’s invention, there were veils, the oil
of tar, and a mixture of glycerine, turpentine and spearmint. Above our
treasures were carefully stowed our two canoes, bottom upmost. In a
heavy sea they cannot be towed, as they are apt to fill and tear to
pieces.
Few persons know how beautiful and delicate a canoe is. It is
manufactured only by the Indian; in that the white man has never
equalled him. The best is made from a piece of white birch bark,
stripped from the tree in springtime, damped, and after being cut away
to the requisite extent, molded into the proper shape. The inside is
covered with gum, and a thinner piece of bark fitted upon it, so that
though the outer bark be torn, it still does not leak. Over this are
passed thin strips of red cedar, lengthwise of the canoe, and crossing
them at every inch are ribs of the same wood. The gunwale is formed of a
stout stick of hickory or ash, laced to the sides, and four strong but
slender thwarts bind the whole firmly together, and serve for seats or
supports. Inferior articles are made of but one thickness and of poorer
bark. The shape differs according as they are manufactured by the
Mountaineers or Micmacs, the two tribes of this region, the former
building a long, narrow and graceful boat, easily capsized even for a
canoe, and well suited for travel in smooth water; while the latter
build a broader and flatter boat, drawing little water and better
suited for shoals and rapids. They are mostly manufactured on the south
side of the St. Lawrence, birch-trees of the requisite size having
almost disappeared from the north shore. The bark is composed of
innumerable layers, and is the only known substance that would stand the
rough contact with rocks that canoes experience. A volume could be
written on the wondrous qualities of birch bark, the woodsman’s
invaluable treasure; to him it is a boat, a tent, a table, a plate, a
cup, a basket, a pail, a basin, a frying-pan, a tea-kettle, a candle, a
flambeau, a cooking oven, writing paper, kindling wood, and almost all
the other conveniences or necessaries of life.
The chaloupe being loaded, a long farewell shouted loudly that our
spirits might not fail, and we turned our backs on L’Anse à l’Eau, the
pretty bay at the waterside. The jib was set, and the _grande voile_, or
foresail, together with the _tapecu_, or jigger, while the mainsail,
called by the Canadians mizzin--for we were a three-masted schooner--was
brailed up, not only to give us more room, but because the open boat was
then under all the sail she could stagger to. The French are a wonderful
people; strange and incomprehensible are the sailing vessels they have
produced; but in Canada, aided by the antiquated notions of the English,
they surpass themselves and manage to combine in their pilot-boats all
the defects of which either system is capable. While the rest of the
world has discovered that the more sails a small boat carries the slower
she will go, they have carefully cut up what should have been one sail
into four; and whereas a pilot-boat is mainly wanted in rough weather,
and should be capable of living in any sea, they have built them open,
and any heavy wave breaking aboard would swamp them in an instant.
But of all wonderful productions of the human mind the jigger excels; a
mast is stepped alongside the stern-post, with a little spritsail
hoisted on it; a stationary boom, or out-rigged, is fastened in the
stern and projects aft into the water; in the end of this boom an augur
hole is bored, through which is rove the sheet to the jigger, and the
sail trimmed down or eased off. By this ingenious arrangement all
possible disadvantages are combined without one conceivable advantage.
However, not to condemn unreasonably, there are conveniences in this
singular rig. The bowsprit can be taken out and used to shove off from
rocks or a lee shore, and as these vessels are never known to go to
windward, that is important; the sprit of the jigger can be used to boom
out the mainsail when going wing and wing; any passenger, finding a sail
incommodes him, can reach up and wrap it round the mast, out of his way;
and in fact, if he were to pull it down and put it in his pocket, no one
would miss it; and finally, a Kentuckian might find the mainmast useful,
with a little whittling, as a toothpick. It is also rather perplexing
that the Canadians should call the foresail the _grande voile_, which is
the proper name for the mainsail, and then call the mainsail the mizzin,
in pronouncing which they endeavor to cheat the last syllable of its
vowel; whereas, the jigger, if any, is entitled to be called the mizzen.
Instead of having a cabin, like Christians, they have amidships, for it
is a keel boat, what they call a _boîte_; and sure enough it is a box,
as long as the width of the boat, some seven feet, about two and a half
feet deep at the lowest part, and rounding to the shape of the bottom,
and three and a half feet wide. Into that they crawl, and two men and a
boy have been known to sleep comfortably.
Such was the vessel that was destined to bear us sixty miles down the
broad St. Lawrence, and was soon tearing along under the fierce wind
that crested every wave with foam. Fortunately, our course lay along the
weather shore, for our open cockle-shell would not have lived a minute
exposed to the full sweep of the blast and the sea it must have raised
on the other side of the river, or even a few miles from shore. Once in
a while, a little dash of spray would come hissing on board, or fling
itself into our faces; but as the wind was free, we could carry on sail
as long as she could keep above the waves, or until she carried the
masts out of her. Even that ungainly vessel, driving on in the seething
waters, carrying the canoes on her deck, and with her sails straining in
the blast, must have been more than picturesque.
On we tore, skirting the dreary, inhospitable coast past the village of
Tadousac, past the Moulinbaud, the Escomain, a river once famous for its
salmon, but no longer so; past the Patte de Lièvre, a rock of the shape
of the hare’s foot, where many years ago the sea gave up its dead, and a
cross now stands to mark the grave of the lost nameless one; and the
last puffs of the wearied blast urged us quietly into the outlet of
Sault de Cochon. At the mouth of this river there is a steep fall, down
which once a hog hastily descended much against her will; in her death
covering herself with immortality giving her name to the torrent that
destroyed her.
Hastily launching one of the canoes, and rigging up our rods, my
companion and myself, eager for the fray, commenced tempting the
innocent inhabitants of the deep with delusive baits. Evidently Mr. Red
Hackle was not one of their intimate acquaintances, and they took to him
amazingly. The god of day was already declining behind the western
hills, and casting long shadows over the now placid water, but the fish
leaped at the fly in innumerable numbers, giving us such sport as we at
least never enjoyed before. At almost every cast a trout, varying in
size from a quarter of a pound to two pounds and a half, plunging out of
water, seized the fly fearlessly in his mouth, while often two or three
were on the line at once. Large or small, they were most vigorous,
making fierce struggles and mad rushes to escape, their silver sides
glancing through the water, and their tails lashing it into a foam. No
dull, heavy, logy fish were they, but active and lively, and excellent
was the sport they gave; so that when our men, having improvised a
kitchen on the rocks, called to us that supper was ready, we were loath
to leave our sport. It was then eight o’clock; we had been fishing about
three hours, and over one hundred and twenty fish, averaging about half
a pound, were the net reward of our skill.
The scene, as we took our supper upon the end of an old tumble-down
dock, was peculiar. The light of the fires, making the surrounding
darkness the deeper, served alone to illumine with lurid brightness the
faces and fantastic dresses of our men, while the roar of the cataract
shut out all other sounds. The chaloupe lay below us, its outline just
defined upon the dark water, while we, seated upon a log, drank our tea
and feasted right royally upon fresh trout and other comforts that
civilization had provided us.
Truly incomprehensible are the Habitans of Canada. One of the few
inhabitants being without any eatable thing in the house, having scraped
the flour barrel till he had scraped off splinters of wood, and, except
for our arrival, without the prospect of a meal for the morrow, had
soothed his sorrows by inviting his neighbors to a ball. Of course there
was no supper; but the music of one fiddle, and the merry spirits of the
Canadian girls made up for the deficiency, and when we joined them,
after our tea, they all seemed as happy as though stomachs never grew
hungry or limbs tired. Being politely offered the belles, we joined the
festivities, our potables adding to the merriment of the party, till,
with the prospect of a hard day’s work on the morrow, we thought best to
retire to the dressing-room and camp upon the floor for the night.
Although the bed was hard, and our rest somewhat disturbed by visions of
beautiful creatures arranging their hair and dresses by the light of a
tallow candle, before the looking-glass in our room, and at last donning
their hats for a final departure, we slept tolerably, and the early dawn
saw us on our feet, preparing for our departure.
While the men were carrying out our directions, in anticipation of a
long absence from civilization, the attractions of the finny tribe were
too seductive, and we, yielding to their enticements, again cast our
lines in pleasant places, and again, in about three hours, captured
over eighty of the speckled silver-sides. The largest weighed two pounds
and a half, and was the best fish taken, thus far.
The barrels were arranged, the salt was purchased and stowed, the canoes
made fast, the sails set, and, blessed by a still more favorable
southwest wind, we got under way for La Val. Its mouth was only about
one mile distant, but we intended to ascend it as far as possible with
the chaloupe, on the rising tide, and were thankful for the favoring
wind. At its outlet lies an island of the same name with the river,
behind which stretches a broad, rocky, shallow bay. We escaped by
grazing several rocks, and entered a sluggish, canal-like, dirty river,
as unlike the La Val of a few miles above as anything can be conceived,
and ploughed our way through crowding shoals of sardines, that rose so
thick as to tempt us to try to catch them with a scap net. But where the
rocks began to be visible as the water became clearer, we drew the
chaloupe to the shore, and anchoring her stem and stern, loaded our
canoes for the ascent of the river. We took with us the essentials of
our camp life, intending to send back for the superfluities after we had
established a permanent camp; the river being too low, our canoes would
not carry a heavy load.
Armed with iron-shod poles to shove up the rapids, and paddles for the
deeper pools, our Canadians took their places and we commenced our
ascent. My companion was an expert canoeman, but for myself it was my
first real lesson in the unsteady little shells, and seated upon the
bottom I awaited every moment a sudden bath. Here the water was
comparatively smooth, and little was I prepared for the falls and rapids
that were ere long to steady my nerves for anything, and prove what a
canoe can do when it is well handled.
While our head guide, with the musical taste that is inherent in the
French nature, rang forth--
“Aimez-moi Nicolas,”
the paddles were being plied vigorously, and we shot into the narrow
cleft that forms the bed of the La Val. Straight up from the water’s
edge sprung the hills on each side, their grey rocks scarcely half
covered with stunted spruce, pine and hemlock, and rarely leaving margin
enough for underwood to grow upon the bank. The water, now limpid as
crystal, poured down in an ever increasing current, and here and there
boiled over a hidden rock. On we forced our way, a bald eagle the only
contestant for our sole occupancy of the river, past the grey cliffs,
the sombre trees, through dark pools, up rapid currents, by banks of
clay greyer than the granite hills themselves. On, on, with steady
exertions, at every moment ascending toward the source of the wild
stream. The water became shoaler, the currents stronger, and the rapids
more rocky as we advanced.
Poling up the rapids was strange indeed. Imagine a torrent pouring,
hissing and boiling down over rocks, where the foam glistened and the
spray danced into the air, sweeping through narrow channels and leaping
up and curling over in crested waves; imagine a light, fragile boat,
that a man could lift with one hand, forced against such a current,
between or even over the rocks, swayed about, swept hither and thither,
and once in a while caught broadside on, and, unless quickly righted,
carried to instant destruction. Imagine the excited efforts, the quick
directions of the steersman, or forward boatman, whose care it is to
head the canoe straight, to choose at a glance the deepest channel, and
to keep her clear as possible from the rocks. “_Arrête! avance! pousse!
à droite! à gauche!_” with a thousand others, come streaming forth as
she touches, swings round, or tries to take her own head. At times she
stops entirely, and by main force alone is she pushed over; the rock
being distinctly felt as it bends the thin bark, that by its elasticity
gives to the pressure and springs to its place the next instant. The men
stand erect, exerting all their strength, and handle their poles like a
Paddy his shillelah, first on one side, then on the other, then in front
and then behind, the iron taking a firm hold of the slippery rocks. Such
was our ascent, and deeply interesting it proved to me, although at
first it seemed inevitable that the foaming water must ingulf us all,
and, destroying our provisions, leave us, if we escaped at all,
shipwrecked mariners upon a desolate coast.
I was glad, therefore, at every opportunity to quit the canoe, and
clambering as fast as I could over the slippery rocks, post myself ahead
upon the point of some _batture_ or ledge of rocks, and cast the fly
till the canoe came toiling painfully along. Great was my success,
beautiful the dark pools, ever varying the limpid water. The treacherous
banks of clay, so slippery that it was scarce possible to stand on
them; the dark pines casting a gloomy shadow upon the water, the sombre
depths where the current had worn away a cavern for the naiads of the
watery realm, made together a picture never to be forgotten. While the
innumerable trout were enough to gladden the heart of any true
sportsman.
The day was passed and yet our journey not half done; we halted for the
night as “The shades of eve came slowly down,” and Walton joined me with
his rod while the tent was being pitched and the fire lighted. Glorious
was our sport; many a brave fish rose and sunk, and rose to sink no
more; either in that region the parent trout had not learned the infant
song that in civilized localities they are accustomed to teach their
children, or else the mothers did not know the latter were out; for
certainly they were not aware of the concealment of the cruel hook under
the seeming insect. They showed no fear and we no pity, till the call of
“supper” found us with over a hundred fish, averaging a pound and a
half.
In conscious innocence and happiness we retired; the fire was bright,
the night was warm, the woods were still, the sand was soft, but oh! the
sand flies. They came down upon us more innumerable than the locusts in
Egypt, and if Pharaoh had only been tormented with them, he would have
given up in one night. I tossed and turned and rolled about, hid my head
under the blanket, and covered it up with my handkerchief. All to no
use; they would still find some means of entrance, the little, invisible
things; and they bit till my face seemed on fire. Their bite does not
itch like a mosquito’s, but burns, and I never again shall despise a
thing because it is small. Compelled to surrender all hope of sleep, I
gathered the dying embers of the fire, and adding fuel, drove away the
pests, while, at the same time, with infinite relish, I scorched our
men, who, to my previous disgust, had been sleeping during my sufferings
as though they were in paradise.
By the earliest dawn I had waded into the river and made the discovery
that fish, unlike the proverbial birds, will not take the fly too early.
Just before the sunlight tinged the mountain-tops, they, thinking to
provide their own breakfasts, provided me with mine, so that, when the
time came to leave off, I had taken twenty fish weighing over forty
pounds.
Immediately after the meal was over, we continued our ascent as rapidly
as possible, dreading another experience such as we had endured the
previous night, and hurried on to reach our regular camping-ground and
pitch a proper tent. On the way, I only had time to catch fifteen,
weighing thirty-seven pounds, the largest being of three pounds and a
half, and late in the afternoon hailed with pleasure the information
that at last we had reached the spot that was to be to us for some time
our home. It was a beautiful location; the stream, by a sudden bend,
forming a low, long point of land, nearly level, which had been, by
previous camping parties, entirely denuded of underbrush and partly of
trees. In front, midway in the river, was a large flat rock, beyond
which, extending to the further shore, and just fairly within casting
distance, lay a deep, black pool. A dead tree leaned over this rock from
our side of the river, forming a perilous swinging bridge by which one
could reach it dry-shod. Directly across a cool spring brook entered the
La Val at a place where the shore was a mass of overhanging underbrush.
A pathway had been cut through the woods by some previous salmon fishers
to the pools above and below; and with the poles, benches, boards and
other insignificant but useful articles left by our predecessors, our
camping-ground combined every requisite with many luxuries. At five
o’clock the tent was pitched, our necessary part of the arrangements,
the head-work done, and Walton and myself commenced fishing. We stood
side by side upon the rock already mentioned, and before dark had taken
fifty-three trout, weighing one hundred and twenty pounds. They were
most vigorous fish, and many a time did their continued runs almost
exhaust our lines. We had fished at Sault de Cochon with three flies; on
ascending the river had diminished them to two, and now the fish
themselves coolly reduced them to one. Almost invariably, if we struck
two fish at a time, no matter what pains we took, one broke away with
the hook. After a short time, we did not pretend to use more than one,
and then had to take great pains in removing it from the mouth to avoid
its being destroyed, so tough were the lips and strong the teeth of
these noble fish. Indeed, it was soon effectually proved that any fly
with the hackle wound from the shoulder to the bend was worthless, the
first fish biting away the hackle, which should have been only wound
close to the head. Heretofore the destruction of my fly had been a minor
consideration, but now I found that I must look to myself, or, although
provided with over thirty dozen, there might be danger of my falling
short. As it was, the fish destroyed in the course of my trip at least
ten dozen.
A delicious night’s rest was the reward of our efforts at arranging a
proper camp, and in fact, henceforth there was no trouble from flies,
mosquitoes, or any insect, except to a slight degree during the
day-time; an annoyance that a segar would effectually dispel. From a
quarter before seven to a quarter past eight next morning I alone took
twelve fish averaging over two pounds, and during the day, while
ascending the river for a short distance to investigate what now became
to us a serious question, the depth of water, Walton and myself together
caught twelve, and in the afternoon twenty-eight more. In the course of
this day we established a rule to throw back all fish weighing under two
pounds, a rule we adhered to till our last day in the river. The water
proved to be very low, and although at night we occasionally heard the
rush of a large fish up the rapids, the salmon had passed above and were
probably on their spawning grounds, whither it now began to be very
doubtful whether we could follow them. It was late in the season, as we
knew, for salmon, although we had come prepared for them, and wished to
catch at least a few.
We had picked up at Sault de Cochon, as a super-numerary, a boy of about
eighteen, who was one of the most remarkable beings the sun ever shone
upon. He would sit for hours with his mouth open and his hands before
him, and, unless told, would hardly have sense to eat enough to keep
himself from starvation. After dark, our men, with a hook and line and
the entrails of a trout for bait, caught some eels, and he, emulous of
their success, took the line after they had finished, and concluded he
would try his luck. Although he had been watching their proceedings for
an hour with the deepest interest, he had no idea what they used for
bait, and was forced to inquire. They, with peals of laughter, suggested
alternately “a cup of tea, a bit of biscuit, a little ale, a lump of
sugar,” and such other anomalous baits. Although he at last succeeded in
ascertaining from them what they used, it was not to be supposed that he
would catch anything; in fact, it is highly probable he fell asleep over
his rod and slept till morning.
The next day we prepared for a portage of five miles to the Lake la Val,
a pond of some two miles in length by one in breadth, formed by the
river’s spreading out and filling a valley in the hills. Walton donned a
heavy basket, Joe, our chief canoeman, took the canoe, while François,
the lazy boy, carried a bundle of bedding. We crossed the river, and
striking directly into the woods, followed an Indian trail that had
probably been there before this continent was discovered by Columbus.
The mode of carrying the canoe was truly original; it was reversed and
mounted on Joe’s shoulders, and his head being entirely concealed, he
steadied it by holding to one of the cross pieces, and, at a distance,
looked like some strange animal with a huge trunk, supported by two
little legs. It was surprising how he managed it through the trees and
among the underbrush, and even ascended places where we were compelled
to give our legs the aid of our hands, not, however, without strenuous
exertion, and the perspiration streamed from him when, after
accomplishing about a mile, he leaned it upon a fallen log and slipped
from beneath. Then the warning my friend had so often given me never to
wet the bottom of the canoe, because it augmented its weight so
terribly, came forcibly to mind. Fortunately François waked up, and
having volunteered to carry the canoe over the next stretch, and it
being ascertained, to every one’s astonishment, that he knew how, proved
himself for the first time of any value, and shortened our journey
considerably. During the portage we saw our first game, a spruce grouse
so tame that no efforts we made could induce him to fly. He escaped
death, primarily because we had no gun, and secondarily because it was
out of season. At last, after a trying journey for our men, we passed a
deserted lumbermen’s shanty, and found ourselves upon the sandy shore of
the lovely Lake la Val.
This beautiful sheet of water, lying amid high sterile hills far from
the abodes of man, has remained, and will continue for centuries,
unvisited except by the native Indian or the adventurous sportsman.
Romantic in its location and appearance, it is remarkable for the number
and apparently irreconcilable character of the fish that inhabit its
waters. While the voracious northern pickerel and giant mascallonge
inhabit the upper part, and the fierce, greedy and powerful salmon have
appropriated the outlet, shad or mullet and lake trout, both
comparatively inoffensive, dwell in the centre, and doubtless prove an
easy prey and grateful food to their natural enemies on either hand.
Along the upper margin, weeds grow, and the bottom is in places soft
and muddy, while the residue of the shore and bottom is firm white
sand. The lake looked, in its broad expanse with the sun dancing on its
rippled surface, lovely to us whose eyes had for a time been confined to
a narrow gorge or the blue sky above.
Hastily launching the canoe, we descended the outlet, where the water
poured over huge bowlders covered with a long, weedy grass, the seeds of
which had been washed from the lake. Walton was standing in the bow of
the canoe, and shouted with delight, and waved his paddle
enthusiastically in air as salmon after salmon flashed up through the
water, and shot by, rapid as light. The sight made our nerves tingle,
but it was useless to try for them; the water was too clear, and they
were dark and long run from the sea. At one point he frantically shouted
to stop, and hastily explained that he had seen five salmon and numerous
large trout in one deep hole. In vain, however, did we cast our flies,
they had been frightened, and probably rushed down the stream, for we
could not stir a fin. Descending a short distance further, we halted for
dinner, after which, taking advantage of a resting spell, I waded back
to the same spot.
The pool lay close beside a little island covered with alders, and by
crawling cautiously I kept out of sight, and reaching the head of the
island, cast carefully and lightly round it into the pool. The line went
out straight the full length, the fly fell like a snow-flake on the
water, there was an angry rush, a mighty splash, a quick taughtening of
the line, and an enormous fish was fastened to my frail tackle. In his
astonishment he fortunately darted up stream, and by skillful
management was led round into the other channel, where, after many a
struggle and desperate effort to escape, baffled only by prudence and
care exerted through a long but exciting half hour, I landed him by
walking into the water waist deep, and slipping the net under him. As
for leading him to shore, my rod, already bent double would not bear the
strain. He was a dark-backed, yellow-sided river fish, and weighed four
pounds and a quarter. He was our champion prize, and remained so to the
end. The water not having been disturbed, I made another cast, and was
rewarded by another fish that weighed four pounds. A brace of beauties,
fit to set before a king. The second one, however, so fought and
flounced, and kicked and slapped about in the pool, in spite of all my
persuasive efforts to induce him to leave it, that the rest grew
suspicious, and refused the most seductive baits. My friend looked the
least little bit envious when I rejoined him, and mentioned his having
previously taken a sea trout at the Mingan that weighed nine pounds. I
smiled, of course respectfully. We returned to the lake, having taken in
all fifteen fish averaging three pounds, and leaving the canoe on the
beach, wended our way through the woods back to our sylvan home, where
Pierre received us with a redoubtable supper. Insatiable, however, I
that evening took eight, and next morning three, from our preserve, as
we called the pool in front of the tent.
As we intended to return to the lake, and might perhaps spear a
pickerel, Joe made an _égog_, which appears to be the Indian name for
fish-spear, the Canadians having not only adopted the word, but coined
from it a French verb, _égogger_, to spear. Armed with it, and provided
with make-shift tenting materials, we hastened to the lake, and
launching our canoe,, tried its virtues upon the pickerel. The latter,
however, were so scarce, that we rigged up the more effectual spinning
tackle, and took a pickerel and a mascallonge of about twelve pounds
each, and struck another of the latter very large, weighing, as well as
could be guessed, from his passing close to the boat, about forty
pounds. That night, provided with flambeaux, we went out for the purpose
of again trying to spear pickerel; but, passing by the outlet of the
pond, were so attracted by the numerous salmon, we could get no further.
It was a romantic sight; the canoe, lit up by the blazing flambeau, that
was fastened, high above our heads, to a pole fixed in the bow, and by
its glare made the surrounding darkness the more impenetrable; the
silence of the night was unbroken, except by the dip of the paddle; and
calmness of the water unruffled, through which the bewildered salmon
lazily floated, following us about, coming so close that we could touch
them with our hands, and occasionally jumping frantically into the air,
utterly out of their wits and at the mercy of any poacher. Walton was
excited, myself enthusiastic, but Joe was frantic; “_Egoggez donc!
égoggez donc!_” he shouted, wildly pushing at the fish with his paddle,
and almost ready to jump out of the boat. My friend held the spear in
hand--he was a splendid spearsman, and could have filled the boat with
salmon; but it was illegal as well as dishonorable to catch them in that
manner--he wavered but a moment, and then with a sigh lay down the
spear and took up his paddle, the greatest example of self-command and
honest sportsmanship I ever knew. General Washington, when he refused to
be king, was no greater. My friend was not rewarded if he did not sleep
happier for it that night in the old cabin on the shore of Lake la Val;
and if the falling pipe of the rotting stove that nearly crushed his
head had killed him, he would have died virtuous, respected and without
reproach.
Oh, that I had the pen of Julius Cæsar, Homer, Shakspeare, or even
Byron, that I might write an ode to sapin, the balsam fir-tree! Tree of
the weary woodsman, tree of the luxurious sportsman, tree of all men
whom the drowsy god catches in the woods and compels to his embraces! A
bed of thy leaves is softer than one of eider-down, and far more
comfortable. A prince might sleep on thee and dream he was in paradise.
Thou preservest us from colds, from rheumatism, and the many ills that
flow from the evil humors of the cold ground. Thy leaves, growing in one
direction from the stem, will lie flat, and may be piled to any depth--a
foot of luxury, as in our permanent camp--and make a couch that combines
the softness of the feather-bed with the firmness of the mattress, and
an elasticity purely thy own. To thee, and to thy mate the hemlock, and
thy associate the white birch, I now, far from thee, waft, in a cloud of
tobacco-smoke, my love. Go on, increase and wax great; may often the one
support me on the land, the other on the water!
When the next morning’s sun had once more brought round my birthday, the
thirty-first that had ever dawned, we commemorated the fact by
undertaking to descend the La Val from the outlet to our home; a
roundabout journey of some fifteen miles, in lieu of the portage of
five. It was to be a final test of the depth of the water, as the course
lay over bad rapids and falls, and we entered upon the journey with
great uncertainty. Packing our temporary bedding in a water-proof
blanket, our party embarked and sped gaily along for the first mile or
two, but soon found the bed of the stream one mass of huge rocks, over
which the canoe had to be driven with sheer force, and which tore and
strained the fragile bark till it leaked terribly.
During this day our progress was necessarily slow and laborious, and to
relieve ourselves we fished continually. The trout rose beautifully--in
fact, in one pool they were so thick, sweeping round in shoals, that we
grew surfeited, and left it for a spot where they were less plenty.
Still it required a long line and light fly to cull the largest--which
were the ones we sought--and skill and patience to land them. We might
have taken hundreds had the time permitted, or our canoe been in
condition to carry them; but every strain had increased the leak till we
could no longer keep it down by bailing, and had to land from time to
time to turn the water out. In fact, it was a wet time altogether; there
was a drizzling rain, the canoe was three inches deep with water, we had
both been wading part of the day, and had so arranged our water-proof
blanket that it projected beyond the temporary tent, and catching all
the water that drained off, would not permit it to soak through, but
collected a miniature Lake la Val in the middle of our bed. I being the
heaviest, had the most of it; but by the aid of a blazing fire, I slept
warm and comfortable till the morning air struck me, when the time came
to rise, and sent a shiver to my very bones, giving me at first horrible
visions of consumption, night-sweats and early death. Our tally of fish
taken during the day amounted to fifty-three, weighing nearly two
hundred pounds, and I had captured the greatest weight as yet taken at
one cast, landing two fish, one of which weighed two and the other three
pounds and a half. A handsome present the river gods made me for my
birthday!
The next day, after an hour had been spent in vainly trying to attract
the salmon, our journey was continued to the camp, the river as we
descended proving worse, the rocks higher, the rapids fiercer, the water
lower, our canoe frailer, till it came almost to dragging the latter
over the bed of a current instead of floating comfortably along its
surface. All hope of ascending to the head-waters was extinct, the
rapids above the lake we knew must be worse than those below, and the
latter were totally impassable for a loaded canoe. In our despair, we
fished steadily at every breathing spell, and might have taken unlimited
numbers, for they rose gloriously.
While walking unconsciously along, separated from my companions, I was
fairly startled at observing what at first glance seemed to be a female
figure seated on the opposite side of the stream beneath the bank. The
impression was only dissipated by a close inspection. The rains had
scooped out of the bank a dark niche, the edges of which were ornamented
with vines and moss and in it was seated a figure of clay, worn to an
astonishing likeness of a woman with a gipsy bonnet on her head. She
appeared to be seated, and her bonnet, its strings and her dress, were
accurately imitated by the curling white birch bark. The color of her
face seemed dark brunette, set off by the birch bonnet, that was brought
out in strong relief by the heavy shadow of the background. Altogether,
it was a startling apparition, and conjured up to my eyes the wondrous
sights of the times of elfin power, when my spectre would have made a
most perfect wood nymph.
Whether my elf gave me good luck or not, it is impossible to say, but we
caught thirty-seven magnificent fish, and after a hard day’s work,
during which we had toiled at the canoe and waded most of the way, the
camp was no unwelcome sight. It required Pierre’s best culinary efforts
to restore our spirits, and soothe our disappointment at being unable to
effect a further ascent, in which our worst forebodings were confirmed
by Jermain, an additional guide who had followed us, and who reported
from his Indian friends that the upper stream was impassable, the water
being a foot lower than was ever known before. With sad hearts,
therefore, the council of war determined that advance was hopeless, and
retreat inevitable; even our splendid sport could not console us.
It had been drizzling all day, and the next morning we devoted to a
general drying of wet articles--the camp looked like a grand clothes
washing establishment, with lines stretched from tree to tree round a
big fire, and hung with clothes. I took some seven trout for dinner, but
otherwise the fish had a rest until the morrow, which was to be our
last on the river, when we captured twenty-eight, a few of which,
however, did not exceed a pound and a half in weight.
The next day came, and good bye to the beautiful La Val. Slowly and
sorrowfully we struck our tent, sadly we collected together, and stowed
the many little articles that the occasion had hallowed to our hearts.
With feelings of deep regret we embarked, and looking our last look at
the camping-ground that had been our home, commenced a descent to our
chaloupe. As there were three canoes, and only five canoemen, including
my friend, I was gladly compelled to take the bow of one and act as
steersman. Of course my experience was limited, for, with the exception
of having once upset Walton to his intense disgust, I had taken little
active part in canoe management, and having for my stern-oar, Joe, whose
only idea was to push ahead under all circumstances, we performed
manœuvres that astonished more than they delighted our associates. Ours
was the leaky canoe that had been patched up with gum and a piece of a
shirt for the occasion, and being utterly reckless of it, we shot down
rapids and leaped over rocks like a runaway race-horse. Wonderful were
our hair breadth escapes; the rapid water, Joe with his “_Avancez
toujours_,” gave me no time to see and less to avoid the half-hidden
dangers, even if my skill had been equal to the task, and we darted
along amid the foaming current, or plunged headlong down cataracts, at a
rate and in a manner that would have surprised a locomotive off the
track. We succeeded, however, in keeping straight with the current, and
although once or twice our destruction seemed inevitable, we finally
arrived safe, though in a leaky and dilapidated condition, at the place
where we had anchored our chaloupe. The latter, left to herself, had
been trying what she could do on the rocks, and had succeeded, with the
aid of a falling tide, in upsetting twice, and so frightening the boy in
charge of her that he had fled for refuge to a shanty, which
providentially was near at hand.
Joe had taken the opportunity during our last day’s fishing, on hearing
of the misfortunes of his boat, to remove her to the Sault de Cochon, so
that we had to paddle about two miles in the open St. Lawrence. The
river was over twenty miles broad, and, under the influence of a
southwesterly wind, was so rough that our unsteady bark danced, tossed
and rolled about uncommonly. I could no longer stand up, as I had been
forced to do hitherto, and was brought to my knees at once, while even
Joe found it safer to sit down on the thwart. No one who has not tried
it can imagine what a canoe is in the slightest sea-way; it appears to
bob from under you, and rolls and dances so quickly as to render staying
in it almost impossible, even if it should not carry out its evident
design to turn bottom up. Once at Sault de Cochon and I again tried the
fish, having taken, on the descent of the La Val, twelve, and was
rewarded as I deserved, by total failure.
The wind had died out, the water lay a perfect mirror, and, crowding
down into the narrow cock-pit, we slept till two o’clock in the morning,
when a favoring tide helped us slowly along toward our destination. The
night passed, and the next day, and we drifted by place after place
that we passed before with such rapidity, and sunset again found us only
thirty-three miles on our way. We ran into a little bay at the mouth of
the Escomain, where, having built a huge fire and eaten a hearty supper,
we slept, on a bed of the softest pebble stones, soundly and sweetly
till the first grey light of daybreak, when we continued our journey
along a coast so poor that the best fed hogs are, as we were credibly
informed, light and weak enough to be blown over by a strong wind, and
mill-stones, to say nothing of the miller, starve for want of grain.
Again the hills of the Saguenay rise to our view, Tadousac rests calmly
in its nook, and the sun shines on the white houses of L’Anse à l’Eau as
when we left. Our trip is done. The La Val will live in our memory as
long as we can cast a fly--aye, and when gout or age shall have laid us
on the shelf. To you, my friend, the genial companion of my trip, I give
my thanks; may we meet again, and once more stand side by side upon some
projecting rock, as fish after fish rises to our fly. May you long live
to enjoy the sport at which you so excel, and may you leave children
that can cast a fly as well. To the stately St. Lawrence, to the
magnificent Saguenay, to the beautiful La Val, a long farewell.