Superior Fishing. Robert Barnwell Roosevelt
great nations, and is the native highway between Hudson’s River and Hudson’s Bay. Another through Brulé River leads into the head waters of the Mississippi, and thence, by ascending the Missouri, to the rivers that empty into the Pacific Ocean. These portages were traversed year after year by the aboriginal inhabitants, who have left their tracks in the well-worn paths that are still followed by the voyageurs, and are suggestive of easy grades to those who wish to bind our country together by paddle-wheel and railroad track.
Lake Superior, with a surface six hundred feet above, and a bottom three hundred feet below the level of the sea, stretches out in vastness and splendor five hundred miles long by nearly two hundred broad, and holds in its bosom islands that would make respectable kingdoms in the old world. On the southern shore its sandstone rocks are worn by the waves and storms into fantastic shapes, imitative of ancient castles or modern vessels, or are hollowed out into deep caverns; on the north the bolder shore rises into rugged mountains whose face has been seamed by the moving ice-drift of former ages. In the country bordering upon the south are located inexhaustible mines of copper and iron of immense value; and along the northern coast are found agates and precious stones.
A hundred streams pour their contents into the great lake which, from its enormous size and depth, retaining the temperature of winter through the summer months, empties its clear, cold, transparent waters into the river Ste. Marie. Not producing a large variety of fish, those that dwell in its bosom are the finest of their species. The speckled trout, the Mackinaw salmon, and the black bass are large and vigorous; sturgeons are plentiful, although valueless except as an article of food; and the white fish are the daintiest fresh-water fish in the world.
The forests are mainly composed of the sombre evergreen trees, relieved frequently by the beautiful white birch, and along the low lands by a considerable number of other varieties; the shore on the north is a bold bluff five hundred feet high, but where it descends to the water it forms occasionally tracts of fertile interval; on the south the coast is more level and apparently more sterile. Both shores are as yet totally uncultivated, and from the severity of the winters will probably long so remain.
Immediately upon our arrival at the Sault we made our preparations for a campaign against the fish, and engaged as guides Joseph Le Sayre, a Melicete chief, and Alexis Biron, a Canadian half-breed. Old Joe, as we called him, though he did not seem over forty, was a fine looking Indian with an erect graceful shape, and pleasant open countenance; Alexis, though apparently a good man, was not so prepossessing.
We embarked in a large, stout canoe, and paddling across the broken water at the foot of the fall, commenced fishing the streams into which the river is divided by numerous islands near the opposite shore. A small, brown caddis fly, or, scientifically speaking, phryganea, covered the water in myriads, was wafted along in clouds by the wind, and settled upon the trees and rocks everywhere. Knowing that they changed from a species of worm on rising to the surface, we selected clear, calm spots and endeavored to examine the process. It was too rapid for human eyesight; a spot of transparent water would be bare one instant, and the next there would be upon its surface two or three little creatures dancing about and trying their wings preparatory to a bolder flight. We never managed to see the larva, but invariably beheld the perfect fly appear instantaneously.
Their number was incalculable; living ones filled the air, were blown along like moving sand, were carried into our faces so that we could scarcely face the wind, and settled upon our boat; dead ones covered the water in all directions, were devoured by the fish, especially the lake herring, and were collected by the current in masses resembling sea-weed. They were nearly the color of common brown paper throughout, legs, wings, and body being of much the same hue. They arrive every year at the same time and in about the same numbers. They last a week or so, and although we found them the entire length of our subsequent trip, their favorite locality seemed to be the Sault. They are used as bait for the lake herring, which I believe is identical with the cisco, an excellent fish closely resembling, and in my opinion equal, if not superior to the white fish.
The trout usually begin taking the artificial fly in the early part of July, but although we had been warned that they were not as yet rising this year, we had no anticipation of the wretched luck that awaited us. Notwithstanding the water seemed promising, and deep, dark holes, beautiful eddies, and lively pools indicated success; and notwithstanding continual changes of our flies, we only killed three small fish. Perhaps the numerous natural insects, or the larvæ from which they were metamorphosed, proved a sufficient and preferable food; we could not induce the trout to rise, and did not even see them breaking.
Exploring all the little streams of the Canadian side, hoping at every cast to improve our luck, we worked our way slowly and arduously, for the water was unusually low, against the current, and steadily ascending with the strenuous efforts of our canoe men, who used stout poles for the purpose, we at last emerged above the islands and at the head of the rapids.
Here the water of the lake, confined to the narrow channel, chafed uneasily in tiny wavelets, as though conscious of the approaching struggle. Above, the river stretched away to the westward, evidently from a considerable elevation but comparatively smooth; nearer, it was rushing like a mill-race; below it was broken into white waves, huge cascades, and seething rapids. How wonderful is the change in the appearance of water lying calmly in the lake, hurrying rapidly but silently down a smooth slope, lashed into billows by the wind, toiling among rocks or leaping over falls—but above all is it peculiar and terrible in passing through broken descents! See it glide so deceitfully smooth, but with such resistless power toward the rapids; notice its tiny innocent ripples and childlike murmurs at your feet; see the pretty rolling undulations. Trust yourself to its seductions. Now it has you in its fearful current, now it drags you along, it clasps you struggling and shrieking in its fierce embrace; it throws its white arms around you, lashes itself into a fury, whirls you about in its powerful eddies, sinks you down in its mighty whirlpools, dashes you against the rocks, drags you along the jagged bottom, tosses you over the cascades, and finally flings you torn, bleeding, disfigured, and lifeless to the bottom of the tranquil pool at its base.
In the sunlight it resembles liquid crystal; flowing along placidly, transparent as the diamond, it sweeps upon the rocky shoals and flies up in a shower of purest pearls, alternately revealing or hiding some monstrous gem to which it lends its reflective brilliancy; over the limestone it is opal, over yellow rocks it becomes onyx, over the red, ruby or garnet, over the green, emerald.
Bending and waving in ever varying beauty of form, but carrying in its bosom or reflecting from its foam the sunlight fire, a thousand times intensified, of precious stones.
As the day was well advanced, we determined to trust ourselves to the unreliable element and run the rapids, which is one of the favorite amusements of the adventurous. This can be made as dangerous as desirable, according to the selection of route, either near shore, where there is only the chance of an upset and a few bruises, or through the centre, where it is certain death. We chose a middle course, but as near the centre as our guides, who were not venturesome, would go. Crossing over above the broken water to the American shore, the large, high-sided, but fragile canoe was headed down stream, giving us a view of the prospect before us.
Great ridges of white foam stretched at intervals almost from shore to shore, while the darker water was broken into heavy waves, curling up stream and ready to pour into the boat as it should rush downwards through them. At first the canoe settled gently, making us plainly feel that we were going down hill; then it gathered way as the current increased, and went plunging on its course. The waves flew from our bow or leaped over in upon us, the rocks glided by racing up stream, whirlpools twisted us from side to side; we sprang over tiny cascades or darted down slopes deep and dark, or shallow and feathery white with foam; we rushed upon rocks where inevitable destruction seemed awaiting us, and the shore, trees, and houses went tearing by; past the little island at the head of the rapids, past the main fall, through foam and spray, we dashed headlong, till the few minutes required for the entire descent being exhausted, we glided calmly and quietly into the water below.
Looking back it seemed as though we gazed upon a hill covered with water instead of up a river, and nothing but practical experience would convince a tyro that it could be navigated in safety with a birch canoe.