Part 5

The sea trout will take the same bait, rise at the same fly, and rest at the same hours of the day, as brook trout. The flies that I ordered, made from samples furnished by Mr. Macdonough, who had had some years’ experience on the stream before I accompanied him, were much larger and more gaudy than the usual trout flies, and ordinarily were sufficiently _taking_ in character; but, on very bright days, when the water was low and clear, we found that the flies used by us on the Beaver Kill, and Neversink, in Sullivan County, New York, were better. The largest trout taken by us on this bout—four and one-quarter pounds—was hooked with a stone fly made by Pritchard Brothers, of New York, for use on those streams. On one occasion, I took at one cast, and landed safely, two trout, weighing three pounds and one-quarter, and one and three-quarters pounds, respectively, upon one of the said stone flies and a mediumsized gray hackle.

In conclusion of this part of my article, I will say that, for the reasons above given, I have no doubt but that the Canada sea-trout are anadromous brook trout, and that they should be classed with the _salmo fontinalis_, or, if preferred, _salvelinus fontinalis_.

The trout in question come up the St. Lawrence from the ocean in large numbers, and file off, probably in accordance with the instinct of anadromous fishes, to the streams in which they were severally hatched. The detachment for our stream reaches it invariably in the first days of August. “When once fairly in the current” (I quote from Mr. Macdonough’s paper), “their movements up-stream are very rapid. Passionless and almost sexless, as the mode of the nuptials, they are on their way to complete, may seem to more highly organized beings, they drive with headlong eagerness through torrent and foam, toward the shining reaches and gravelly beds far up the river, where their ova are to be deposited.” They stop for but a short time for rest in certain pools; one of these resting places was directly in front of our tents. Two, three, or more, could be taken from it in the morning; sometimes, not always, in the evening; but assuredly the ensuing morning; and so on, until the beginning of September.

When these fish return to “the ocean, that great receptacle of fishes,” as Goldsmith styles it, is a problem not yet solved. Some think they remain until winter, or spring. I incline to the opinion that they go back to the sea in the fall soon after their procreative duty is performed. It is well known that the _salmo fontinalis_ gives no care or thought to its offspring; and evinces no love or affection for it after it passes the embryotic or ova-otic stage; and that during that stage their parental fondness is akin to that of the cannibal for the conventional “fat missionary.” The voraciousness that prompts the parent trout to eat all the eggs they can find as soon as deposited and fertilized, would also prompt them to return to the estuaries so well stocked with food suited to their taste and wants.

What becomes of the young fry during early _fishhood_ is another problem. From the fact that no small trout are caught or seen in the rivers, at the source and in the tributaries of which millions are hatched, it is fair to assume that the young remain where they were incubated until they attain age, size, and strength that enable them to evade, if not defend themselves against, the attack of their many enemies. When this time arrives, they doubtless accompany their parents, or the parents of other troutlings (it is, indeed, a wise fish “that knows its own father”—or mother), on their migration to the sea. During our stay upon the stream I caught but two trout as small as one-fourth of a pound, but one of six ounces, and few as small as half a pound. The average size of our whole catch was one pound four ounces.

Since writing the foregoing, I have received from Dr. J. A. Henshall, an answer to a letter that I addressed to him, before I began this article, in which I asked him to give me the nomenclature of the sea trout of the lower St. Lawrence, and also to inform me whether he thought these fish anadromous brook trout.

I here record my thanks to the Doctor for his courteous compliance with my request, and give a copy of so much of his letter as relates to the fish under consideration, which, to my mind, settles the question of the _status_ of the sea-trout of Canada.

“Cynthiana, Ky., Jan. 29, 1883.

“Dear Sir,—The so-called ‘sea-trout’ or ‘salmon-trout’ of the lower St. Lawrence, is the brook trout (_S. fontinalis_), but having access to the sea, becomes anadromous, and like all anadromous and marine fishes, becomes of a silvery appearance, losing, somewhat, its characteristic colors. The brook trout has a wide range (from northern Georgia to the Arctic regions), and of course presents some geographical variations in appearance, habits, etc...but does not vary in its specific relations. Mr. ———” (naming an American author to whom I referred), “was wrong in calling this fish _Salmo trutta, S. trutta_ is a European species; and if he applied the name to the Canadian brook trout it is a misnomer. I cannot say, not having read ————” (a work by said author mentioned by me). “Trusting this may meet your wants, I am,

“Yours very sincerely,

“J. A. Henshall.

“P.S.—On next page please find nomenclature of the sea-trout of the lower St. Lawrence.

“Canadian Sea-Trout.

“_Salvelinus fontinalis_, (Mitchell), Gill & Jordan.

“Synonomy.—_Salmo canadensis_, Ham. Smith, in Griffith’s Cuvier, x, 474, 1834. _Salmo immaculatus_, H. R. Storer, in _Bost, Jour. Nat. Hist_., vi, 364, 1850.

“Vernacular Names.—Canadian brook trout, sea-trout, salmon trout, unspotted salmon, white sea-trout, etc.

“Specific Description.—Body oblong or ovate, moderately compressed; depth of body one-fourth to one-fifth of length; back broad and rounded.

“Head large, not very long, sloping symmetrically above and below; head contained four or five times in length of body. Nostrils double; vomer boat-shaped; jaws with minute teeth; no teeth on hyoid bone; mouth large, the maxillary reaching to the eye; eye large.

“Scales very small, in two hundred and twenty-five transverse rows; caudal fin slightly lunate in adult, forked in young; adipose fin small.

“Fin rays: D. 10; A. 9; P. 13; V. 8; C. 19.

“Color: back mottled with dark markings; sides lighter; belly silvery white; red and yellow spots on body, mostly on sides.

“Coloration often plain and silvery in sea-run individuals.”

The so-called “sea-trout” of Long Island, as stated by Mr. Charles Hallock, in his “Fishing Tourist,” and of certain streams in Connecticut, as mentioned by Mr. W. C. Prime in “I go a-Fishing,” are genuine brook trout. Although they have access to the salt water, and go there for food—and hence are fat and delicious in flavor—they _are not anadromous brook trout_. They do not “pass from the sea into fresh waters, at _stated seasons_” (Webster’s Dic.). They are caught at all times from February or March until the following autumn in fresh water, and, as Hallock expresses it, “they run in and out with the tide.”

When this article was commenced it was my intention to write not only of the sea-trout, but to give an account of our excursion in 1874; and in doing so to speak of the events of each day succeeding those of which I have written. It has already exceeded in length the measure that was fixed upon, hence I can give the reader only a casual glance at us as we proceed to our destination; and a look now and then into our camp.

I left our party—breakfast over—at the Sault au Cochon, at about eight A. M. of August 4th. Soon thereafter we set sail and made such progress that a few hours brought us to the mouth of our river. It was low tide when we reached it—low tide means something here, as the tide has a rise and fall of fifteen feet—and hence the anchor was dropped near the river’s mouth, canoes launched, our personal baggage transferred to our respective canoes—Macdonough’s was named _Commodore_, in honor of his father, who made an imperishable name on Lake Champlain in the war of 1812, and mine _La Dame_, in honor of some one who lived in my imagination; I never met her elsewhere. In the third canoe were placed the tents, camp utensils, and stores for twenty-four hours. When all was in readiness I lighted my pipe, seated myself on the bottom of my canoe, leaned back against one of the _bords_ or cross bars; then David, sitting upon the V formed by the sides of the canoe at the stern, with paddle in hand, sent the birch bark flying up our river. Like most Canadian trout streams it consists of a series of still, deep pools, and swift, rocky rapids, alternating. Often the rapids have a fall of one foot in ten, and are from one to five, and sometimes ten or more rods in length. It is marvellous how these canoeists will force a loaded canoe up them. In doing so they stand near the back end and use a long, iron-pointed “setting pole.” Before sunset we reached our camping place, five or six miles from the St. Lawrence. The guides built a fire to dispel the mosquitoes, which were fearfully numerous and bloodthirsty, and then set about pitching our tents. M. and I lighted cigars, put our rods together, and in ten minutes’ time had taken from the pool in front of us, each two trout, weighing from one pound two, to one pound eight ounces each. Having caught enough for dinner we busied ourselves in arranging our tents, preparing our beds, etc. My journal for the day ends with the following brief entry: Nine P.M.—We are now settled in camp, have eaten a good dinner, smoked our cigars, and are going to bed.

_Aug. 5th_.—Having had a good night’s sleep I rose at five A. M., made a hasty toilet, took my rod and threw into the pool, within forty feet of my tent, and took during a few minutes three trout weighing three-quarters, one and a-quarter, and one and a-quarter pounds respectively. M. soon followed and caught two of one and a-quarter pounds each. Breakfast over we sent our guides with the canoes down to the _chaloupe_ for the rest of our tents, stores, etc., and consequently we can only fish the home pool to-day. With a hatchet I cut out a path through the laurel thicket to the head of the pool, six or eight rods distant; returned to camp, put on my India rubber wading pants and rubber shoes (having a leather sole filled with Hungarian nails), took my rod, walked to the head of the pool, and cast my flies on the swift waters. In an instant a pair of capacious jaws emerged from the water. I struck, and as the head disappeared, saw the tail and half the body of an enormous trout.... In twenty minutes the fish was in my landing net. I walked proudly and in a most contented frame of mind back to camp. “That,” said Mr. Macdonough, “looks like old times.” The scales were hooked in his jaw, the index showed three pounds, eight ounces.... Our camp is on a sandy point of land around which curves the pool, and from which, for the space of about one-eighth of an acre, all trees were cut and the land cleared off, under the direction, tradition states, of Sir Gore Ouseley, who first encamped here about twenty years ago, with eighteen servants, retainers, and guides, of whom my guide was one, and the cook. The stumps have rotted away, and the clearing is covered with timothy and red-top grasses. We have cut much of this with our knives, and intend to finish haying to-day. The grass when cured is to be used in making our beds more luxurious. The pool in front is nearly two hundred feet across at one point, and in places ten or fifteen feet deep. In the centre and near the foot is a rock island about seventy-five feet long. In the foot of the pool between this rock and our camp large trout have been seen at all hours of the day.

Opposite our camp is quite a hill covered with spruce, larch, and white birch. We have canvas beds, supported by crotched sticks about eighteen inches high, upon which poles are laid and the canvas stretched. 5 P.M.—I have filled two canvas sacks with hay for a bed, and a pillow-case with the same, for a bolster. These, with my small feather pillow, sheets, blankets, and night-shirts, will render sleeping in the “bush” Christian-like and endurable. 7 P.M.—I have just cast into the pool and caught a pound and a-half trout, making for the day six trout, weighing nine pounds four ounces, and have not fished in the aggregate one hour. The guides, Captain and Fabian, have arrived with the three canoes and all stores.

_Aug. 6th_, 7.30 a. m.—We have just finished breakfast. It consisted of coffee, trout fish-balls, broiled ham, rice and wheat _crepes_ (pancakes) with butter and maple sugar. My guide is an excellent cook and our stores abundant and of good quality. We purchased them in Quebec at a cost of $73.59 in gold. A tub of butter, barrel of bread, and sack of coarse salt, to preserve the trout, were purchased at Tadousac, and cost $11.34 in gold.

5 P.M.—I have just come in from my first day’s fishing. Began at 10 A. M., quit at 4 P.M. I fished below and Macdonough above the camp.

“M. killed 15 fish, weight 26 lbs., 4 oz.

“F. „ 25 „ „ 31 lbs., 4 oz. = 57 lbs., 8 oz.

_Aug. 7th_.—... Dinner is a great institution with us. Next to catching a trout of three pounds or over it is the event of the day. Ours of this evening was as follows:

“Soup: bean with extract of beef.

“Fish: boiled trout.

“Vegetables: potatoes and boiled onions.

“Pastry: rice cakes and maple sugar.

“Dessert: crackers, cheese, and orange marmalade.

“Wines: claret and sherry.

“Tea: English breakfast.”

Our canoes are beauties. They are eighteen feet long, three feet three inches wide in the centre, and fifteen inches in depth. With two men in they draw but three or four inches of water.

_Aug. 9th_.—We left our camp with one tent, two canoes, and provisions for four days; walked through the woods three miles to a lake, through which our river runs, which is eight miles above us by the stream.

... It is a lovely sheet of water about three and a-half miles long and one and a-half wide, surrounded, except at the inlet and outlet, by rocky cliffs, in many places five to eight hundred feet high....

_Aug. 10th_.—To our usual breakfast was added this morning a broiled partridge (ruffed grouse) which Fabian killed with a stick or stone yesterday, in making the portage. While at breakfast a gray or silver fox ran past us within twenty feet of where we sat. The woods are filled with squirrels; their chattering is heard constantly. Large and very tame fish-hawks abound—reminding one of the beach from Sandy Hook to Long Branch.... We have tickled the lake with a spinner, trolled with a long hand line, for pickerel. We fished but an hour with two lines. We caught fourteen, weighing thirty-four pounds.

_Aug. 11th_.—We fished down from the Middle Camp (as our present one is called). M. had the morning’s fishing in the “spring hole,” and took six fish averaging two pounds each. In the Magdalen pool I took three one pound trout immediately upon throwing in. Suddenly not ten feet from where I stood (I was in the water up nearly to my waist), and directly in front of me, a monster fish from three to four feet long, and of thirty or thirty-five pounds weight, shot up from the water, stood seemingly upon its tail for an instant, and with a heavy splash fell over into the pool. “My God! what is that?” I asked my guide. “It’s a _saumon_, sir,” he calmly replied. I was all excitement and began whipping vigorously where it rose. Failing to get it up, I put on a salmon fly. By this time salmon were leaping above me, below me, and at my very feet. I whipped diligently, letting my fly fall like thistledown upon the water, and then with a splash to attract attention, and now letting it sink and float with the current. It was all in vain; three hours of my most skilful fishing failed to entice one of the wily monsters. Neither could I get up a trout; they had all been driven away by the salmon. I caused my guide to paddle me over the still pool just above, and saw in the pellucid water, three or four feet beneath the surface, ten or fifteen large salmon. They lay perfectly still for a time, and then darted through and around the pool in every direction, as if in play. Suddenly they would congregate in the centre of the pool and lay with their heads up stream, the largest slightly in advance of the rest, as motionless as if the water had become ice, encasing the fish.

_Aug. 12th_.—At Main Camp.... The canoeing down from the Middle Camp—five miles—was delightful, and at times very exciting; that is, in running the rapids, which are numerous. In making a portage around the “Little Falls” we started up a cock partridge. It alighted upon the limb of a dead tree no higher than my head. “We approached within six feet of it, and stood for a minute or two gazing at the graceful bird. It returned our gaze with head turned aside, and a look of curious inquiry which said, as plainly as if it had spoken, ‘What kind of animals are you?’ I could easily have hit it with my landing-net handle but would not make it a victim of misplaced confidence.” This incident reminded me of the lines of Alexander Selkirk, in the English Reader, which was in use in my early school-boy days:

“They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.”

I may add that squirrels were constantly running about our camp, exhibiting no more fear than those in the parks of Philadelphia.

_Aug. 14th_.—“David build a fire between our tents, it is cold,” I called out about five o’clock this morning. “Yes, sir,” he replied; “a black frost this morning, had to thaw out my boots before I could get them on.” Our little encampment consists of two wall tents, ten feet square, for the use of Mr. Macdonough and myself. They are about fifteen feet apart, opening towards each other, upon a line twenty feet from the pool, upon ground five or six feet above it. Back of our tents is our dining-table, made of planks split from the spruce, and sheltered with a tent fly. In rear of this is the kitchen fire; and still farther back, two “A tents,” one for the use of our men, and the other for-the protection of our stores.

I do not often look into our kitchen: Seeing Fabian wipe my silver-plated fork upon his pantaloons, between courses, cured me of this. “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” I did, however, look into the kitchen to-day to see how our excellent bread was baked. It was properly made with “raising powder,” kneaded and formed into loaves. A trench was dug in the ashes and sand, forming the bed of our camp fire, wide and long enough to admit of three loaves. They were put into the trench, without any covering except the hot sand and ashes, with which they were surrounded on all sides, top and bottom. Live coals were raked over the mound, and it was left for time and heat to do the rest. An hour or so after I saw the bread taken from the ashes. It was brushed slightly with a wisp broom, which removed the little of ashes and sand adhering; and the bread was as clean as if it had just left the baker’s oven, and was of a uniform rich brown color. Lamb and green peas (French canned) formed one course at dinner to-day. The flavor of fresh mutton is much improved by non-intercourse with the butcher for two weeks.

_Sunday, Aug_. 16.—Another bright and beautiful day. It would be pleasant to hear “the sound of the churchgoing bell, which these rocks and these valleys ne’er heard,” It is now near two weeks since we entered upon our camp life, and we have seen no signs of civilization, save in our camp; nothing but forest, rock, water and sky, all as they came from their Great Creators hand. No sounds have been heard to carry us back in thought to the world of life and labor, save the occasional booming of the fog cannon at a government station on the south side of the St. Lawrence. How strangely did the warning voice of this gun, telling us of danger to the mariner, break upon the silence of the hour as we sat watching the fairy forms and fantastic shapes in our first evening’s camp-fire!

Pleasant as it is to the writer to live over again the days of which he has written—to dwell upon the scenes in which he was an actor, so vividly presented to his mind’s eye as he writes of them—pity for the too-long suffering reader has prompted him to close the lids of his journal and restore it to its place in the book-case.

It only remains to write somewhat of our success in fishing. The season was a very dry one, our river very low, and no rain sufficient to affect it fell during our stay, consequently the trout did not come up in as large numbers as usual, and the clearness of the water rendered successful fly-fishing more difficult. We caught on this occasion but two hundred and forty-three trout, of the aggregate weight of three hundred and four pounds. All these fish were taken with a fly, save one: thereby hangs a tale heretofore untold. At Tadousac, on our way out, I saw a gentleman, to whom I had been introduced, making something in the construction of which he used three snelled hooks and about three inches in length of thin white rubber tubing. I asked,

“What is it?”

“A devil,” he replied. He gave me materials, and while sailing down the river I made one. One day at the Home Pool I saw ten or a dozen large trout. They paid no heed to my flies. “Try the devil,” my guide whispered. In a moment of weakness I yielded to the tempter and put it on. The first cast caused commotion in the watery camp. At the second I struck and soon drew out on the beach a pound and a half trout. I looked upon the beautiful fish with compassion, cursed myself for resorting to such unfair means, removed the cruel hooks as tenderly as I could from the mangled and bleeding mouth, and taking off the _devilish_ invention threw it as far as possible into the woods.

... “The beasts of game

The privilege of chase may claim.”