SEA-TROUT.
By Fitz James Fitch.
Sunday morning, August 2, 1874, found us, Mr. A. R. Macdonough and me, at Tadousac, a French. Canadian village, very small for its age, situated on the northeast shore of the Saguenay River, one and a half miles from the junction of its dark and mighty waters with the turbid and mightier St. Lawrence. This day was the beginning of the culmination of four months of preparation for a month’s release from the business world, its toil, care and worry. The preparations began with the payment of $150 in gold—$171.20 currency—the rent named in a lease securing to us the exclusive right to fish a river on the north shore of, and emptying into, the St. Lawrence many miles below the Saguenay. We left New York sweltering in a temperature that sent the mercury up to the nineties; were fanned by the cool evening breeze of the Hudson, and later by the cooler breath of the old Catskills, around which cluster the recollections and associations of thirty years of my life. We had travelled by rail to Montreal, 412 miles, and spent a day there; by steamboat to Quebec, 180 miles, where we passed twenty-four hours. We had left this, the most interesting city of English-speaking North America, in the morning by steamboat, and, after a day of delights upon this majestic river, the St. Lawrence, reached L’Anse à l’Eau, the landing for Tadousac, 130 miles, in the evening of August 1st.
We felt as we walked out upon the wide piazza of the Tadousac Hotel that
“summer Sunday morn
When Nature’s face was fair,”
and looked up that mysterious river, the Saguenay, and upon its castellated mountains of granite, that indeed “the lines had fallen to us in pleasant places.” We had reached the end, as our course lay, of railroads and steamboat lines, and must finish our journey in chaloupe and birch-bark canoe. We were there to leave civilization and its conveniences for nature and primitive modes of life. In the story I am relating my progress up to this point has been as rapid as was our transit. From this point on it must correspond with our slower mode of progression; and hence there must be more of detail in what follows. I hope, but cannot expect, that the reader will find the change as agreeable and free from irksomeness as we found our chaloupe, canoe, tent, and life in the woods.
After an excellent breakfast, we lighted cigars and walked down to the humble cottage of my guide, David, on the beach of the little bay of Tadousac, who had in charge our tents, stores, camp equipments, and three new birch-bark canoes, ordered months before, and for which we paid $75 in gold. David paddled us out to our chaloupe, anchored in the bay, and introduced me to Captain Edward Ovington, master, and his nephew, Fabian, a lad of sixteen or seventeen years, his mate. The chaloupe was thirty feet “fore and aft;” beam, 9½ feet. Six or eight feet aft we called the quarter-deck. A comfortable seat surrounded three sides of it, affording sittings for eight or ten persons. Next forward of this, and separated from it by a bulkhead, was a space of six or eight feet for freight. Next came our cabin, eight by nine feet, and just high enough to enable us to sit upright on the low shelf which was to serve as a seat by day and bed at night. Then came the forecastle, in which was a very small cooking stove. The vessel was rigged with main and topmast, strengthened by iron shrouds, with a large mainsail, topsail, jib and “jigger,” as it is called by Canadian boatmen. It was in respect to the jigger that the craft differed from a sloop-rigged yacht or boat. Clear aft, and back of the rudder-post, was a mast about fifteen feet high; running from the stern of the vessel was a stationary jigger boom, something like the jib-boom, except that it was horizontal; on these was rigged a sail in shape like the mainsail. The boat was a fair sailer, strong, well built, and from four to six tons burden. In returning to the hotel we stopped at and entered the little French Roman Catholic Church. It is not known when it was erected. Jacques Cartier, in his second visit to America, in 1535, explored the Saguenay; and Father Marquette made Tadousac his residence for a short time. When he first came to this country in 1665, tradition tells us, he established a mission there and built a log chapel on the site where the church we entered stands. The latter is a wooden building, about twenty-five by thirty feet, with a handsome altar placed in a recess chancel, the rear wall of which is adorned with three oil paintings. The centre one, over the altar, was the Crucifixion. A small porch, or vestibule, of rough boards, had been added in modern times. A little antique bell swung in the belfry on the east gable, which was surmounted by an iron floriated cross. The church was filled with devout habitans, mainly—there was a sprinkling of summer boarders and anglers—who listened with apparent interest to the extempore sermon of a young French priest of prepossessing appearance and manner. In the afternoon I attended the English Episcopal Church, about a mile from the hotel, and midway between Tadousac and L’Anse à l’Eau. Here I felt quite at home, enjoyed the services, and joined heartily in the prayer for the “Queen, the Royal Family, and all who are in authority.” I was compelled to put a U. S. greenback, to represent my contribution of one dollar, upon the plate. I have been sorry ever since that I did not secure a reputation for honesty and fair dealing by adding a dime to pay the premium on gold, and thus make good our (then) depreciated currency.
August 3d.—A gray flannel suit and shirt were donned this morning. Our fishing clothes and paraphernalia were packed in large canvas bags, toilet articles, etc., in grip sacks, and all else left in our Saratoga trunks, and in charge of the hotel manager until our return. At 11 o’clock we walked down to the beach where David and the Captain met us with our respective canoes. I asked “Dah-veede” (he was very particular about the pronunciation of his name), “how shall I dispose of myself in this cranky thing?”
“Sit down on the bottom, sir.” The latter part of the sitting process was rather emphatic. I wondered how I was to get up! All being on board the good chaloupe Quebec, the sails were spread to the breeze, and by one o’clock we had beat out of the bay, down the Saguenay, and were on the St. Lawrence. As we sailed, the canoes which had been in tow were hoisted on deck; one, turned upon its side, was lashed to the shrouds of the vessel on either side, and the third, turned bottom up, was laid upon the cabin deck. The wind was N. W., and favorable, so that we made about eight knots an hour. We landed at Escomains, to take on board Pierre Jacques, a full-blooded Indian, possessing the usual characteristics of his race—laziness and love of whiskey. He was Mr. Macdonough’s guide; and, despite the weaknesses mentioned, proved a good guide and a most skilful canoeist. We continued to sail until ten o’clock at night, when we dropped anchor. The night was dark and rainy, the wind fresh, and the river very rough, causing our little craft to dance, roll, and pitch in a most disgusting manner. We had no seasickness on board, but much wakefulness on my side of the cabin. Being thus “Rocked in the cradle of the deep,” was not a success as a soporific, in my case, at least.
August 4th.—Seven o’clock, A. M. We have been sailing since daylight this morning, and are now at anchor near the Sault au Cochon. Mr. Macdonough had occasion to visit a country store near the falls, and suggested that I try to catch a trout for breakfast. The stream which empties into the St. Lawrence here is of considerable size—say forty feet wide—and pours over a ledge of rocks, or precipice, about fifty feet in height, into the head of a small bay. The water under and near the fall is very rough and swift. My guide launched my canoe, paddled me out, and placed me in such a position that I could cast in the eddy formed by the swift waters from the fall. With a hornbeam rod, of ten ounces in weight, and twelve feet in length, armed with two flies, I whipped the waters. A few casts brought up a trout. I saw its head as it rose for my dropper, struck, and hooked the fish. It ran down with the current, my click reel singing the tune so delightful to anglers’ ears, until near one hundred feet of line was out. Placing my gloved thumb upon the barrel of the reel, I checked its progress. The trout dashed right and left, from and towards me, at times putting my tackle to a severe test. It kept below the surface of the water; therefore, I could only judge of the size of my captive by the strength it exerted in its efforts to escape. My enthusiastic guide was much excited, and cheered me by such remarks as, “Juge he big trout. He weigh three, four, five pounds! He very big trout!” I concurred in his opinion, as it often required the utmost strength of my right hand and wrist to hold my rod at the proper angle. After playing the fish fifteen or twenty minutes, without its showing any signs of exhaustion, I slowly, and by sheer force, reeled the fish to the canoe, and my guide scooped it out with the landing net. I then discovered it was not the monster we had supposed it to be, but that it was hooked by the tail fly at the roots of the caudal fin. The fish was killed, by a blow upon the head, and weighed. The scales showed two pounds two ounces. The guide paddled ashore, and upon the rocks near the falls built a fire, and prepared our breakfast. The fish was split open on the back, spread out upon a plank, to which it was secured by wooden pegs, set up before the fire, and thus broiled, or more properly, roasted. A more delicious trout I never tasted.
Up to this point, what has been written has been abstracted from the prolix journal that I kept of this bout.
As I have taken my first sea-trout from Canadian waters it is fitting that I turn to the subject of this article,