The Nessmuk was by no means the ultimatum of lightness and I ordered another six inches longer, two inches wider, and to weigh about 15 pounds. When she came to hand she was a beauty, finished in oil and shellac. But she weighed 16 pounds and would not only carry me and my duffle, but I could easily carry a passenger of my weight. I cruised her in the summer of '81 over the Fulton Chain, Raquette Lake, Forked Lake, down the Raquette River, and on Long Lake. But her log only showed a record of 206 miles. The cruise that had been mapped for 600 miles was cut short by sickness and I went into quarantine at the hostelry of Mitchell Sabattis. Slowly and feebly I crept back to the Fulton Chain, hung up at the Forge House, and the cruise of the Susan Nipper was ended. Later in the season, I sent for her and she was forwarded by express, coming out over the fearful Brown's Tract road to Boonville (25 1/2 miles) by buckboard, From Boonville home, she took her chances in the baggage car without protection and reached her destination without a check or scratch. She hangs in her slings under the porch, a thing of beauty—and, like many beauties, a trifle frail— but staunch as the day I took her. Her proper lading is about 200 pounds. She can float 300 pounds.
Of my last and lightest venture, the Sairy Camp, little more need be said. I will only add that a Mr. Dutton, of Philadelphia, got into her at the Forge House and paddled her like an old canoeist, though it was his first experience with the double blade. He gave his age as sixty-four years and weight, 140 pounds. Billy Cornell, a bright young guide, cruised her on Raquette Lake quite as well as her owner could do it, and I thought she trimmed better with him. He paddled at 141 1/2 pounds, which is just about her right lading. And she was only an experiment, anyhow. I wanted to find out how light a canoe it took to drown her skipper, and I do not yet know. I never shall. But, most of all, I desired to settle the question approximately at least, of weight, as regards canoe and canoeist.
Many years ago, I became convinced that we were all, as canoeists, carrying and paddling just twice as much wood as was at all needful, and something more than a year since, I advanced the opinion in Forest and Stream, that ten pounds of well made cedar ought to carry one hundred pounds of man. The past season has more than proved it; but, as I may be a little exceptional, I leave myself out of the question and have ordered my next canoe on lines and dimensions that, in my judgment, will be found nearly perfect for the average canoeist of 150 to 160 pounds. She will be much stronger than either of any other canoes, because few men would like a canoe so frail and limber that she can be sprung inward by hand pressure on the gunwales, as easily as a hat-box. And many men are clumsy or careless with a boat, while others are lubberly by nature. Her dimensions are: Length, 10 1/2 feet; beam, 26 inches; rise at center, 9 inches: at seams, 15 inches; oval red elm ribs, 1 inch apart; an inch home tumble; stems, plumb and sharp; oak keel and keelson; clinker-built, of white cedar.
Such a canoe will weigh about 22 pounds and will do just as well for the man of 140 or 170 pounds, while even a light weight of 110 pounds ought to take her over a portage with a light, elastic carrying frame, without distress. She will trim best, however, at about 160 pounds. For a welter, say of some 200 pounds, add 6 inches to her length, 2 inches to her beam and 1 inch rise at center. The light weight canoeist will find that either of these two canoes will prove satisfactory, that is 10 feet in length, weight 16 pounds, or 10 1/2 feet length, weight 18 pounds. Either is capable of 160 pounds and they are very steady and buoyant, as I happen to know. I dare say any first class manufacturers will build canoes of these dimensions.
Provide your canoe with a flooring of oilcloth 3 1/2 feet long by 15 inches wide; punch holes in it and tie it neatly to the ribbing, just where it will best protect the bottom from wear and danger. Use only a cushion for a seat and do not buy a fancy one with permanent stuffing, but get sixpence worth of good, unbleached cotton cloth and have it sewed into bag shape. Stuff the bag with fine browse, dry grass or leaves, settle it well together and fasten the open end by turning it flatly back and using two or three pins, You can empty it if you like when going over a carry, and it makes a good pillow at night.
Select a canoe that fits you, just as you would a coat or hat. A 16 pound canoe may fit me exactly, but would be a bad misfit for a man of 180 pounds. And don't neglect the auxiliary paddle, or "pudding stick," as my friends call it. The notion may be new to most canoeists, but will be found exceedingly handy and useful. It is simply a little one-handed paddle weighing 5 to 7 ounces, 20 to 22 inches long, with a blade 3 1/2 inches wide. Work it out of half-inch cherry or maple and fine the blade down thin. Tie it to a rib with a slip-knot, having the handle in easy reach, and when you come to a narrow, tortuous channel, where shrubs and weeds crowd you on both sides, take the double-blade inboard, use the pudding stick, and you can go almost anywhere that a muskrat can.
In fishing for trout or floating deer, remember you are dealing with the wary, and that the broad blades are very showy in motion. Therefore, on approaching a spring-hole, lay the double-blade on the lily-pads where you can pick it up when wanted and handle your canoe with the auxiliary. On hooking a large fish, handle the rod with one hand and with the other lay the canoe out into deep water, away from all entangling alliances. You may be surprised to find how easily, with a little practice, you can make a two-pound trout or bass tow the canoe the way you want it to go.
In floating for deer, use the double-blade only in making the passage to the ground; then take it apart and lay it inboard, using only the little paddle to float with, tying it to a rib with a yard and a half of linen line. On approaching a deer near enough to shoot, let go the paddle, leaving it to drift alongside while you attend to venison.
Beneath a hemlock grim and dark,
Where shrub and vine are intertwining,
Our shany stands, well roofed with bark,
On which the cheerful blaze is shining.
The smoke ascends in spiral wreath,
With upward curve the sparks are trending;
The coffee kettle sings beneath
Where sparks and smoke with leaves are blending.
And on the stream a light canoe
Floats like a freshly fallen feather,
A fairy thing, that will not do
For broader seas and stormy weather.
Her sides no thicker than the shell
Of Ole Bull's Cremona fiddle,
The mall who rides her will do well
To part his scalp-lock in the middle.