Bob Hunt in Canada

by George W. Orton

"That's a good idea," said Pud.

"All right," answered Bob, "but I really wish I could give you the story just as Pierre told it to me, with the sidelights of Indian philosophy and the natural expressions of wood lore that made his story much more piquant and picturesque than mine could ever be. Anyway, I'll do the best I can.

"It seems that one summer he was sent out by one of the big lumber companies to scout for timber. He was told to get another Indian or two and go up the Shipshaw River and report the growth of timber near the water, whether he thought it could be rafted down or not, and any other information that would be valuable for the lumber companies. He took along two nephews of his, named Jean and Jacques, and an old Indian, named Montagnais because he was reputed to be the head chief of the tribe of that name to which all the Indians of that part of the country belonged. The old Indian told Pierre before he started that there was plenty of big timber in the Shipshaw Valley but that he would find it practically impossible to raft it down. Pierre told the lumber company this but they desired him to go anyway, stating that they wished to find out definitely about the matter that summer.

"They started off and took the steamer to Chicoutimi at the head of the Saguenay River. They there got into their canoes and were soon going up the Shipshaw. They found this river one of great volume, and they had many long portages to make and much fast water to pole up. It took them over three weeks of hard paddling and portaging to get near its source. At last they got as far up as the valley as Pierre thought was necessary. It was Pierre's idea that on the way down, they would stop off every few miles and go back into the country to look over the woods This they did, and, of course, this made their progress down rather slow.

"One day they came on a real Indian encampment at the foot of the rapids, and as it was near evening they determined to stop and enjoy the company of their brother tribesmen for the night. They found the Indians very glad to see them. They told them that they had wintered far to the north of the Great Divide and that they planned to get down to the St. Lawrence and in touch with white people and civilization once more. Later in the evening, they learned that the little party had stayed at that one place for three full days, because the chief was determined to catch a big salmon that had tantalized him during that time. This salmon had been seen by all of them, as he lived in a big pool at the head of some rapids only a short distance down the river. It was then too dark to show this big fish to Pierre and his companions, but early the next morning, Pierre was down at the pool. He looked over a big rock into the pool, that was formed by a back eddy, and, sure enough, there was an especially large salmon swimming about in the quiet water. In another moment, Pierre had out his fishing tackle, but to no avail. The big salmon would have nothing to do with anything Pierre offered him. He tried one fly after another, but without effect. It seemed as if the big salmon despised his efforts. As if in defiance, every now and then the fish would swoop up to the surface and jump two or three feet out of the water.

"Pierre grew stubborn. All that day, he stayed by the pool, either he himself fishing or watching the old chief try every while to entice the giant salmon to take that hook. At night they all returned to camp and told stories of phantom fish that could not be caught except by black magic. They came to the conclusion finally that the big fish must be one of that kind, with something uncanny about him, and they decided that it would be bad medicine to try to catch him. Pierre was the only one that dissented from this.

"He got up even before dawn the next morning and was early down at the pool. He procured a little pitch and some black flies and stuck them together in such a way that, when they were thrown on the water, they looked just like a half dozen flies floating down the stream. He got out his smallest leader and fastened a hook among the flies. When he had finished, it looked very lifelike and Pierre was proud of his handiwork. Carefully approaching the stream without making any noise or permitting any shadow to fall on the water, he threw his semi-artificial fly far out on the stream, so that the back eddy would ultimately bring it into the pool. Sure enough, the little black spot on the water whirled around and finally floated calmly and slowly around the pool. Twice it made the circuit and Pierre had just about decided that he was doomed to disappointment again, when he saw a streak fly into the air and his reel fairly sang as it spun around. Unfortunately something jammed and the rod was jerked out of his hands. Pierre saw it disappear over the edge of the rock, but he was after it and just caught the end of the rod as it was being dragged under. Pierre held on like grim death. In another minute he found himself out in the river and a moment later he was in the powerful current at the head of the rapids. Even yet he had time to get to shore but, with his usual obstinacy, he held on. A minute later he was going down the rapids, doing his best to keep his head above water, but with the line wound tightly around his arm. It was now a fight for life, and he had no time to think of the fish. Down he went, carried hither and thither by the powerful currents. He knew that each moment might be his last but he struggled on. Once he believed he heard a shout and thought he caught a glimpse of a canoe shooting after him, but the noise of the water and his fearful struggle to keep from being dashed upon the rocks that lined the river made this appear more like a dream than a reality.

"He was on the point of exhaustion when he swung around a bend of the river and found himself in quiet water. In one sense he was saved, for he had come through the rapids safely, but in another he was just at the beginning of his struggle for he was practically exhausted and at least a half mile from shore. He lay back on the water and closed his eyes, feeling that he could never reach land. Just then he heard a call, and his two nephews swung around the point and made for him. They pulled him into their canoe and paddled for the shore. When they reached there, they started to carry Pierre up on the beach, but found the line tied around his arm. They disentangled this to find that the pole was still at the one end of the line. They then started to reel in and in a moment they felt a weight pulling on the line. They pulled warily, and a minute later the big salmon came into view. Pierre had caught him after all. Whether he was drowned by being pulled down the rapids, whether he had hit a rock when entangled in the line, or for whatever reason, the fact remained that the line had held and that the big fish was brought safely ashore.

"Jean proposed that they should camp there that day to celebrate the occasion. Pierre was secretly very glad to do so, for he really was all in, not only because of his great exertion in coming down the rapids, but also because of the many bruises he had received from the rocks. He asked his nephews how they had come along so luckily to his rescue. They replied that they were just on their way to get a last look at the big fish when they saw him plunge over the rock by the side of the pool and then go down the rapids. He was some quarter mile ahead of them and they could not get near him in the rapids. They kept on going, however, although they were afraid that he would hit his head on some sharp rock and be drowned.

"One of the nephews then went up the river by the portage trail, and in another hour the small tribe and the old Montagnais chief were gathered around Pierre, hearing of his remarkable escape from death in the rapids and his more remarkable catch of the giant salmon. They roasted the fish for dinner and had a great feast in honor of the occasion. Pierre stated that this was the biggest salmon he had ever seen and that it was just luck that he had caught it. He gave himself some credit for the bait that had tempted the fish, but otherwise he felt that it was only luck that had brought the fish down through the rapids with him."