A TROUTING TRIP TO ST. IGNACE ISLAND.
By W. Thomson
Towards the end of August, 1877, I had become pretty well fagged out with office work and felt that I must have a week or two of out-door recreation or sport of some kind, so I naturally decided upon a troutfishing expedition; and I selected, as the scene, the island of St. Ignace, in Lake Superior, of which I had heard most excellent accounts in regard to fish products. I had, it is true, caught a great many brook trout throughout the summer, in small streams close at hand; but these were mostly fish of inferior size, few indeed reaching one pound in weight; while I was assured by an ancient fisherman of repute, that at the Island, the real Salmo fontinalis often attained to four, five, and even seven pounds.
This was the kind of ground I had been, for many years, anxious to find, and I made up my mind to try it at all events.
The first thing to do was to secure two suitable companions, and a man or boy of all work. The former I quickly enlisted in the persons of a genial M.D. and an overworked limb of the law. The latter opportunely turned up in the shape of “Jim,” a colored youth of sixteen, as black as the ten of spades, but no less celebrated for his culinary skill than for his impish tricks and imperturbable good humor and honesty. To banish formality once for all, and put things upon an easy and familiar footing at the start, I christened the M.D. “Squills” and the lawyer “Bluffy,” out of compliment to his usual style of treating witnesses in court. In deference to my advanced age and general good looks, the boys called me “Governor,” I being then about fifty-three and neither of them thirty. Our supplies, consisting of a ten by twelve tent, three camp beds and bedding, two small boats, a stock of provisions for six men for two weeks, one rifle, two fowling pieces, and our fishing tackle, were soon got together, and in twenty-four hours from the first proposal, we were ready to take the cars for Collingwood. At that point we secured an ample supply of ice; and then embarked with our traps on board a steamer bound for Duluth and intermediate ports, and touching at St. Ignace on her way.
This island is situated in Canadian waters, about thirty-five miles from the mouth of Nepigon River, forty-seven miles east of the famous Silver Islet and some seventy from Thunder Bay. I say island, but there are in fact two called St. Ignace; the largest being about sixteen miles long by ten wide; with generally bluff shores and high headlands, one of these rising to a height of thirteen hundred and fifty feet above the lake level. The smaller island, at which steamers touch and upon which we camped, is separated from the larger by a channel of from fifty to a hundred yards wide, and is about two miles by a half a mile in size, having one bold headland five hundred feet high. Neither island is inhabited except by occasional Indians and other fishermen; nor do either of them, so far as I observed, contain any agricultural land, the formation being rock. Both, however, as well as contiguous groups, are mostly covered with a thick growth of spruce, balsam, birch and mountain ash. This last is so plentiful that in the autumn its brilliant red leaves may be seen from quite a distance at sea, framed in a background of dark green spruce, and presenting a most charming view. The larger island contains in itself numerous small lakes which abound in pike (E. Indus), and what we Canadians call yellow pickerel (Stizostedium vitreum), really pike-perch. No one bothers catching these, however, as the surrounding waters yield an enormous supply of choicer fish, among which are said to be ten varieties of the salmon family; besides whitefish, some of which attain to seventeen pounds in weight! I took some trouble to ascertain the local names by which the various species of trout are known, and the greatest attested weight of individuals of each. I am indebted to Mr. Wm. Boon, of Barrie, Ontario, a professional fisherman who spends four months of every year upon the island, for the following list, which I give without vouching in any way for this queer addition to the salmon family:
1. Salmon trout, weight up to........................... 70 lbs.
2. “Siskowitt,” weight up to............................ 12 „
3. Half-breed Siskowitt, weight up to.................... 5 „
4. “Potgut,” very inferior fish, weight up to........... 12 „
5. Rock or black trout, weight up to.................... 40 „
6. Large gray or shovel-nose trout, weight up to........ 70 „
7. “California trout,” yellow spots and flesh, weight up to 10 „
8. “Half-breed red trout,” weight up to................. 15 „
9. Common brook or speckled trout, weight up to.......... 7 „
10. “Red trout,” weight up to........................... 42 „
All of these, of course, are local names, but the fish are all true trout; crossed and re-crossed, I presume, ad infinitum. The brook trout is the only species found here with a square tail, those of all the others being more or less forked. The “red trout” is far superior to any of its confrères, and is called by the Indians—Pugwashooaneg, that is, Paysplatt—District-fish, as it is taken only in this locality, and only in the fall of the year as a rule. The Indians come from Nepigon expressly to fish for it, and care for no other trout in comparison. It is much more highly esteemed than the brook trout. This very day on which I write this article, I had a salted piece of one of these “red trout” for dinner and found the flesh of a bright pink, and the flavor exquisite. I shall refer to it again.
On our passage from Collingwood we touched at the following ports and “landings,” viz.: Meaford, Owen Sound, Killarney, Little Current, Bruce Mines, Hilton, or St. Joseph Island, Garden River, and the Sault. Thence, via Michipicoton Island to St. Ignace. I may say here, before I forget it, that among the useful productions of this last are incredible quantities of huckleberries and “sand cranberries.” The former were just in season at the date of our visit, and after the first day “Jim” always gave us capital puddings and pies made from them.
We found many pleasant people on board the steamer, with whom we picked acquaintance in that free and easy manner peculiar the world over to anglers.
After a delightful trip of four days, we made the landing on our Island at about five o’clock on a beautiful evening, and, having got our whole outfit ashore, selected a charming spot in the midst of a spruce grove as a camping ground. The tent was put up, beds and bedding arranged, supplies for present use unpacked, a table improvised and things generally “set out” in a most orderly manner by the Doctor and “Bluffy,” while I employed myself in the construction of a fish corral, the use of which will be seen further on. Meantime, “Jim” had, with a few loose stones, made for himself a very passable fire-place, and soon had tea and coffee prepared, several appetizing dishes cooked, and called us to supper at 6.30. After a hearty and enjoyable meal, we proceeded to put the finishing touches to our work; sorted out and overhauled our fishing tackle; caught a few minnows and placed them in a perforated bucket in the lake; and before dark were all in ship-shape and thoroughly comfortable. “Jim” slung his hammock between and beneath two umbrageous trees, and by eight o’clock, with a full stomach and clear conscience, was roosting in it, happy as a lord! From this coign of vantage, with the gathering darkness to hide his blushes, he favored us with several choice negro melodies rendered in a style and with a pathos which any “professional” might have envied. As the night deepened we drank in with appropriate senses all the delights of our surroundings. The great fire before which we three sat, lighting up with weird and fantastic effects the sombre foliage of the adjacent forest; the plaintive cry of the distant loon; the harsher notes of the bittern, and the even, gentle murmur of the softly lapping waves, all united to inspire us with a sense of freedom and happiness unknown to the busy world. Serene and contented, we “turned in” at ten, with blissful anticipations for the morrow. We had not forgotten that prime necessity of a well-ordered camp, light, but had brought with us several pounds of sperm candles, two gallons of oil and a good swinging lamp, which, suspended from the centre-pole, not only rendered the tent cheerful, but gave facilities for performing with ease and comfort the thousand and one little jobs which precious daylight could not be wasted upon. Reader, did you ever “camp out” in the midst of a dense grove of pine or spruce trees? If not, you have yet to enjoy the luxury of the most balmy and refreshing sleep which can bless mortal man. There is a something in the delicious aroma of the resinous woods which induces a perfect repose, obtainable, in my experience, through no other means. A sound, sweet, wholesome, and yet not heavy sleep; quiet and dreamless, and from which you awake, not drowsy and cross, but with a buoyancy of spirits, a strength of body and clearness of mind which make even hard daily toil seem a mere pastime. And so, with thankful hearts sank we to rest on this our first night at St. Ignace. There are no black flies on the Island, and the season was too far advanced for mosquitoes to be troublesome; facts which added not a little to our serenity of mind and took away the last excuse for ill-humor.
The next morning, after partaking of a breakfast which fully sustained Jim’s reputation as a cook, “Squills” and “Bluffy” agreed to go out in the larger of the two boats, leaving the small one for me. They were provided with various kinds of bait, including frogs, worms, grubs, grasshoppers, and minnows, as well as a goodly supply of spoons and other lures. I had decided upon trying flies for the first day, and if found effective I intended to stick to them. The boys anchored out at about a hundred yards from shore and went to work; and I moved slowly along the coast-line, closely examining the bottom and the lay of the submerged rocks, as well as the trend of the contiguous land. When an angler is in strange waters he will find this preliminary survey to be always a paying operation. By and by I found a lovely-looking reef which extended from the shore to deep water. This reef or ledge was broad and smooth on one side, but the other dipped down sharply, and presented a rough, jagged, and cavernous face. Here, if anywhere, I judged fontinalis would be sure to lurk; so I anchored within twenty feet of the precipitous edge of the reef, with water apparently about ten feet deep under the boat, but of profound depth a few yards from the ledge. At that time I had no split bamboo rod, a fact which I have ever since regretted, but I had an excellent ash and lance-wood, which had killed myriads of fish, and is still to the fore. I never was and never will be a skilful fly-fisherman, or perhaps I should say—as too much modesty savors of affectation—a skilful fly-caster.
That is I never could, nor can I yet, make an effective and proper cast of over forty-two feet from reel to fly. I have always found, however, that I take as many fish as those artistic anglers who can cast more than double that distance. On this occasion I tried a white miller as tail fly, and a common gray hackle as dropper, and they succeeded so well that I only thereafter changed them as a matter of experiment. I never at any time during this trip used more than two flies at once, as that number gave me quite enough to do.
Well, this morning of which I am now writing, was one to make glad the heart of an angler. A southwest wind blew softly, and the sun was obscured by warm gray clouds. No fish of any decency or self-respect could help biting on such a day! I felt so sure of good luck that I put overboard a wicker-work basket, with a hole in the lid, so arranged, with a falling spring door, that fish could be put in but could not get out. This floated astern and would keep fully a hundred pounds of fish alive, if necessary, for any length of time. Having fixed everything to my liking, I stood up and made my first cast along the edge of the reef. No result! but I thought I saw a faint suspicion of a shadowy form or two, and a slight movement of the water just behind my flies. Have been too quick, I thought; and so tried again, letting the flies this time rest until they sank an inch or so below the surface, when I attempted to draw them slowly in. I say attempted, because they had not moved six inches when first the dropper and then the tail fly were taken in a rush, by two large trout which didn’t draw towards me worth a cent, for some fifteen minutes at least. On the contrary they darted away as if the Old Hick was after them with a red-hot frying-pan; pulling in unison like a pair of well-broken colts and severely trying my rather too light tackle. Any decided check was out of the question. I could only put on such pressure as the single gut leader would bear, and that was sufficient to make a half-circle of my rod. I had beautiful open water in which to play the fish, but as they rushed along and down the face of the submerged cliff, I did not know what hidden dangers might lurk in the unseen depths, nor at what moment a sharp, jagged rock might cut the line, or some profound recess furnish a retreat from whence it might be impossible to withdraw my prize. So far however, all went well. The fish in their terror had sought deep water and not touched rock at all. Soon the distraction of the heavy, ceaseless strain caused them to forget the glorious maxim that, “in union is strength.” and they began to pull different ways. Now I was sure of them! and very gradually and gently, inch by inch, I coaxed them away from the dangerous ground, and got them safely above the smooth bottom of the plateau on the farther side of the boat, where I could see their every motion and watch their brave struggles for life. A prettier sight I never witnessed than the curious way in which the movements of one fish neutralized those of the other. If one sought the bottom, his mate went for the surface; if one rushed away seawards, the other came towards the boat. They literally played each other, and I was for awhile a mere spectator! After looking upon these cross-purposes for some minutes, I noticed that the fish on the tail fly became entangled with the line above his comrade on the dropper, and both then began to whirl furiously round and round after the usual manner of trout in a like predicament. When the wildest of this flurry was over, I drew them cautiously to the boat and dipped up both at once with my landing net. An immediate application of my pocket scale proved their weight to be twenty-nine and thirty-three ounces respectively, the heaviest trout being that on the drop or upper fly. They were evidently a mated pair, and both were broad-shouldered, deep fish, but not very long, the largest being only sixteen and a half inches. Their backs were beautifully clouded and mottled, but the carmine spots on their sides were not quite so vivid as those of dark river-water trout. Fortunately they were merely lip-hooked, and being at once placed in the floating creel, soon revived. Now I began to feel big, and thought myself quite an expert, but in less than five minutes the conceit was taken out of me with a vengeance, for on my very next cast I struck a magnificent fish and lost him, and half my leader, instanter. On feeling the hook old Salmo went like a shot over the brow of the declivity and (I suppose) into a hole, and cut the line short off. After that mishap I became more careful, and never dropped my fly more than six inches from the edge of the reef; and whenever a fish was struck I drew him at once, at all hazards, away from the risky ground and played him on the plateau.
By ten o’clock I had secured fifteen beauties, some running close upon three pounds. Eleven of these were as lively as ever, but four had been hooked in the throat and soon died.
As the day was now becoming bright and hot, I thought it time to look after my boys, who were out of sight around a point. I soon came up with them and found “Squills” asleep in the bottom of the boat while “Bluffy” sat smoking, with his rod lying idly across the gunnel with the line in the water. “What luck, boys?” I shouted. “Squills” awoke and replied, “What luck yourself, Governor? Not one blessed fish in this region.” I settled on my sculls, ready for a quick start, and said, “Why, Squills, you don’t know how to fish. Just compound a few of your best prescriptions and throw them overboard. They have generally proved fatal to your patients, and will murder the fish sure.”
“Squills” made a wicked dab at my head with his long-handled net, but a stroke put me in safety, and I added, “And you, friend ‘Bluffy,’ just rehash that famous trespass-case speech of yours, which gave the judge fits and nearly killed the jury, and if you don’t have lots of dead fish, I’m a Dutchman.” The poor boys, however, were past joking; and I rowed back and examined their ground. They had actually been fishing all the morning in water nine feet deep; over a bottom smooth as a billiard table, without a weed, rock or stone to hide them from the fish; all of which, within a hundred yards, could plainly see them and their boat. So I said, “Come boys, we’ll go to camp and have an early trout dinner, and in the evening you shall catch fish to your heart’s content.” Then up, after this manner, spoke the dolorous “Squills”.
“That is all right, Governor, but it strikes me that in order fully to enjoy a trout-dinner, it is, above all things, necessary first to have the trout.”
“True, most sapient medicus, and here they are,” I rejoined, at the same time lifting the lid of my creel. “Glory to Galen!”
“Thunder and turf!”
“Ghost of Walton! where did you get those, Governor?” both exclaimed in a breath. “Boys,” said I, “you are hungry, tired, and cross; possess your souls in patience; come to camp; take some lime-juice and water, with a little of something in it; eat, drink, and recover your strength, and you shall have the best afternoon’s sport you ever saw.” These words of wisdom cheered the fellows up wonderfully, and we all put off for camp.
That redolent and shiny youth, Jim, soon cleaned two of the dead fish, together about five pounds, cooked them in a style of his own, and we sat down at the unfashionable hour of eleven to our first camp dinner. I will, for once, give the menu, merely to show what awful hardships we had to encounter!
Brook trout, fried in red-hot lard, garnished with bread crumbs; broiled mutton chops; baked potatoes; cold tongue; pickles; sauces and jellies: aftercourse—pancakes with maple syrup; wind up—Stilton cheese. Didn’t we just suffer for our country? After the inevitable and welcome pipe (not cigars), and some choice and (I am happy to say) chaste anecdotes by “Bluffy,” we laid down for a two hours’ siesta. Oh, the glory, the happiness of out-door life, away from posts, telegraphs, or newspapers! Oh, the delight of feeling that every fresh breath of pure ozone-laden air, adds to health and wholesome animal spirits, and is rapidly re-invigorating your system, and fitting you to more effectually take part in renewed and honest work!
At four o’clock the sun was again obscured by kindly clouds and we all went out to the reef; the boys, as before, in one boat, and I in the other. And then occurred sport such as is seldom seen in genuine troutfishing. My friends stuck to their minnow and grasshopper bait, while I retained the fly. I induced them to anchor quite close to the edge of the reef, so that they might, if necessary, drop their lines perpendicularly down its face. They had not fished five minutes when “Bluffy” gave a whoop, which might have awakened a petit-juror or scared a witness out of his boots. I glanced that way, and found the man of law standing up in the boat with curved and straining rod and a glow of intense satisfaction pervading his jolly countenance. “I’ve got him, Governor! He’s a whopper; an old he fellow! None of your three pounders,” he yelled in great excitement. Sure enough, he had him, and after ten minutes of skilful play, landed a trout of over four pounds.
This beat me all hollow! Indeed the largest S. fontinalis I took on this trip weighed three pounds, one ounce, being two ounces lighter than the heaviest I have ever yet caught.
“Squills” now got his hand in and brought out a dashing fish of three and a-half pounds, in a manner so pretty and artistic as to elicit a warm eulogium from the “Governor,” who, of course, had not meantime been idle himself. In fact, I had taken a double and single while the boys got their two; but these outweighed my three. All through our excursion the largest fish were invariably taken by bait, but not so many of them as by the fly. However, the fly was so much less trouble and so much prettier, and cleaner to handle, I did not care to change, seeing at once that we should catch more fish than we wanted anyway.
It was a great treat to me to watch the enjoyment the boys had in their sport. Neither of them had been out before for years, and no student at the beginning of a long vacation could have manifested such unbounded delight at his freedom, as did they with their fishing and its accompanying pleasures. It is a fact worthy of note that while I, using the fly, took only speckled trout (S. fontinalis), my friends, with bait, secured several of other and larger kinds.
Well, amid laughter, joke and repartee, the afternoon wore away, and evening shades came all too quickly.
Our sport had been almost unique in its exhilarating success and joyousness. When the sun sank below the waters we had taken in all seventy-six fine trout, none under one pound. Of this number my fly was responsible for thirty-two, “Squills” had taken twenty-one, and “Bluffy” twenty-three. A lovelier lot of fish was never seen; and with the exception of eight dead ones, we transferred them all safely to the corral, built in the edge of the lake near our tent, with large stones. Here, about eighty per cent, of all the fish taken on this trip remained alive during the whole time of our stay. Whenever one showed signs of failing we dipped him out for present use. This corral, hacked up by our supply of ice, gave us full assurances that our good luck would not be followed by reckless waste.
But I had almost forgotten the chief incident of this memorable day. As we approached the camp we saw “Jim” on the shore dancing a double “Virginny break-down” and grinning all over from head to foot; his shining ebony face and gleaming teeth fairly illuminating the coming darkness. On seeing us he yelled out, “I got him, gentlemen; I beats you all; takes this nigger to catch fish!”
The imp had actually made for himself a raft of drift-wood, paddled it out to deep water, and taken with bait a great salmon trout of twenty pounds! and it was now swimming about in the corral like a very leviathan among my morning’s catch. This tickled us all so immensely that we then and there bestowed upon “Jim” an extra “quarter” each. This boy was indeed a treasure; a first-class cook and care-taker; willing, faithful, and honest; while his store of songs, exhibits of dancing, and never-failing fun and good-humor, would have sufficed to keep cheerful any camp in the world. Poor fellow! he was drowned two years later in Lake Michigan, while bathing.
If I did not fear to spin out this already dull narrative to an inordinate length, I should like to give a detailed account of each of the twelve days we fished and shot in this vicinity.
Twelve days only, mind you, for not a line was wet on Sunday.
Our one rifle proved a useful adjunct, but we found no use for the shot-guns, the season being too early and the weather too fine for ducks. The delicately sighted Winchester, however, procured us several fine specimens of the loon or great northern diver, and one or two large blue cranes, all of which, I presume, now adorn “Squills’” sanctum in British Columbia.
Almost every day we had choice sport, and we limited our catch only by the facilities we possessed for saving and carrying away the fish.
One particular day we devoted to salmon and red trout, which we fished for away off in very deep water, all of us using either spoons or live herring bait, in trolling. We had plenty of wholesome exercise in rowing, and very fair luck as regards fish; taking in all, seven salmon trout and five red trout.
The honors of this day fell to “Squills,” who captured with his spoon a salmon trout of nineteen pounds, while I got a red trout of ten pounds. This last named fish is as pink in the flesh and as fine flavored as Salmo salar. It is said by local fishermen to be in fact the same fish, and they suppose that in ages long past sea salmon had some means of reaching this lake, and when the waters subsided some were left, and that from them the red trout is descended. As I have myself no scientific knowledge whatever I cannot offer an opinion upon this point. I can only say that if a skilled fisherman, or even a scientist, were to receive one of these fish from, say Quebec, he could hardly distinguish it from the veritable Salmo salar, though it bears even a more exact resemblance to the salmon of Frazer Fiver, British Columbia.
I am told that this red trout will rise to the fly, but I cannot vouch for the fact, as all we took were captured with bait or spoon.
A rather curious, though frequently occurring, thing happened one evening as we were all fishing, with our boats not more than fifty feet apart. I had hooked, and was playing a medium sized speckled trout, when it was seized and gorged by a sixteen-pound salmon trout. I realized the situation instantly and gave line freely, so as to allow the poacher lots of time to swallow his stolen prey. The rifle was in the other boat, and I asked the boys to come alongside, as we should probably have to use cold lead, the fish being too large for our landing nets. By the time they were in position, about sixty feet of my line had gone slowly out, and I judged that the large fish had got the small one fairly in his stomach. I then began to reel in very gently, and was surprised to find that the big trout followed my lead with great docility until I had brought him quite near the surface. Then he became alarmed and dashed off—a proceeding to which I made no resistance, as I feared pulling the bait from his throat. Being apparently satisfied that all was right, my unknown friend soon became quiescent, and I could only feel a slight tremor of the line as he settled his supper satisfactorily in his maw. Again I coaxed him slowly and cautiously towards the boat in which stood “Bluffy” with poised rifle. This time I ventured to make him show himself within twenty feet of the muzzle of the gun, when “Bluffy” very neatly put a bullet through his head, and he turned belly up and was got on board. “Well done, “Bluffy,”” said “Squills;” “your practice could not have done greater execution if you had been making out a bill of costs for a client.”
“Well, no,” says ‘Bluffy;’ “but I think perhaps one of your curative pills would have killed the fish more unutterably dead.”
“Peace, boys, peace,” said the “Governor”; “this is a solemn occasion; we have used unlawful and unsportsmanlike means to take a game fish; but as it could not be helped we will condone the offence by giving the fish away to the first deserving object we meet.”
“And that will be ‘Jim,’ quietly observed ‘Squills.’”
But dear me! what is the use of trying to tell all the fun and glorious sport we had? The pen of a “Frank Forester” or a Hallock might do justice to the subject, mine cannot. Suffice it to say that, as the days went on, each one made me feel younger and younger, until I found it hard to convince myself that I was over twenty-five. As to my comrades, we had not been out a week before they were boys of sixteen!
Last days will come, however, and all too quickly, let us bear up never so bravely. The fifteenth morning saw us packing up and preparing to return once more to civilized life and “the busy haunts of men.”
I am afraid to say how many trout we had at the finish, but I know that we packed in ice more than three hundred pounds weight to take home with us; and gave away, almost alive from the corral, nearly as many more to the captain of the steamer, thereby calling down upon our heads the earnest blessings of passengers and crew.
I find, on looking over this MS. that I have forgotten to say that we discovered several places along the channel edge of the island where most excellent trout-fishing could be had from the shore; and that, by the advice of local fishermen, my friends tried the “hearts” of killed trout as bait, and found such very effective. This “heart” is a piece of flesh which lies inside the pointed part of the fish’s belly which runs between the gill covers. It looks much like a genuine heart, and pulsates for several seconds after being removed from the fish. I suppose that it is in fact a real heart. Never once did this bait fail to attract a bite; but, of course, not many hearts could be obtained, as we extracted the delicate morsel only from such fish as were required for immediate consumption.
Me finally bade farewell to our two weeks’ elysium, with sorrowful feelings, but before the lapse of twenty-four hours, kind and loving thoughts of wives, little ones, and home re-asserted themselves, and we landed at Collingwood in jubilant spirits and vigorous health, fully prepared to resume our several avocations, and fight again the battles of life with renewed courage and hope.
P.S.—We were absent from Barrie twenty-five days in all, and the whole trip cost us only one hundred and thirty-five dollars, or forty-five dollars each. Our ice was kept almost intact by being wrapped in blankets and covered with spruce boughs. Mr. Boon, before referred to, has built and is this winter (1883) filling a large ice-house on the small island for his own use and that of any visitors who may fish in the neighborhood next summer. Mr. Boon took five hundred half barrels of choice fish on these grounds last season; with nets, of course.