The finest trout-fishing in the world is to be obtained at Lake Superior; although larger fish may be killed in the lakes and streams of Maine, and greater numbers in the brooks of New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, and Pennsylvania, nowhere is to be found the same abundance of trout, averaging above two pounds, and wonderfully game and vigorous, and nowhere a more beautiful region to explore or pleasanter waters to fish over. The entire rocky shore of the lake, along both coasts, is one extensive fishing-ground, where the skilful angler can at any point find delightful sport; the innumerable tributaries, large and small, of the British or American territory, unless shut out by precipitous falls, are crowded with myriads of the speckled beauties; and the rapids at the outlet furnish trout of the largest size.
The true mode of enjoying the sport is by camping out, when the adventurous sportsman roams from point to point and river to river, from camping-ground to camping-ground, at his own unrestrained will, varying the sights and sounds of beauty that are ever present in the wilderness; but excellent fishing can be had at numerous places, united with comfortable accommodation. At the Sault St. Marie, at Marquette, at Grand Island, and at Bayfield public-houses are to be found, and so plentiful a supply of fine fish that the heart of man cannot fail to be satisfied; but the finest sport is to be realized along the Canadian shore, where camping-out is a necessity; for while on the southern coast the trout average a pound, on the northern they will run fully two pounds in weight.
To reach Lake Superior from the Eastern States the angler must either take the steamers at Cleveland upon days advertised in the local papers, or join them the next evening at Sarnia, by the Grand Trunk or Great Western railroads of Canada. He will reach the Sault in three days from Cleveland, and can save twenty-four hours in going by the way of Sarnia. At the Sault he will find unequalled bait-fishing, and occasionally excellent fly-fishing; but here, on account of the depth and strength of the water, the bait will kill the largest trout. At this thoroughly American village there is a well-kept hotel, the Chippewa House, and nearly all the requisites for camp-life, except the tent.
A few miles below the Sault the Garden River affords good sport and fair-sized trout, but is a difficult stream to ascend, while the first promontory on the southern shore of the lake, called White Fish Point, has long been famous as a fishing-station. At Marquette, which is a regular stopping-place for the steamers that traverse the lake, the waters are somewhat fished out; but about thirty miles to the eastward, within an easy day’s sail, at Grand Island, there is splendid fishing, magnificent scenery, and a passable boarding-house. Here are the famous Pictured Rocks, ornamented with the fantastic hues of many-colored sandstone, and worn by waves and storms into a thousand odd shapes and strange resemblances, hollowed out into caverns, washed away into pinnacles and spires, at one place representing a yacht under full sail, at another a turreted castle of the olden time.
About sixty miles beyond Marquette are the Dead, the Yellow Dog, and Salmon Trout rivers, which are apt to be encumbered with drift-wood and underbrush, but which are filled with fish, and from one of which a brook-trout of six and a half pounds was taken. The photograph of this fish, or another of about the same size, is preserved at the Sault.
At Bayfield, the further terminus of the steamboat route, named after the first American explorer and surveyor of this region, is the best of fishing, united with good hotel life. In the neighborhood of this village two hundred and fifty pounds weight of speckled trout have been killed in one day by one good fisherman and one poor one; fish of two and three pounds are common, and in the sheltered channels, between the Apostle Islands, the namægoose are taken in unlimited quantities. The Brulé River, and the many streams that empty into the lake in the neighborhood, although often choked with drift, are filled with fine trout.
On the north shore, amid the interminable forests that stretch in primeval solitude to the northern sea, enlivened only with the voice of the Peebiddy bird and one other melancholy warbler, beautified by a rare sprinkling of native wild-flowers,
“In the kingdom of Wabasso,
In the land of the white rabbit,”
and along the Canadian shore of the lake, is the paradise of the fly-fisher. Every river swarms, every bay is a reservoir of magnificent fish that find their equals in size, courage, vigor, and beauty only in the salt waters of New Brunswick and Lower Canada. The entire coast is one long fishing-station, the rivers are stew-ponds, and the lake one vast preserve; at every step the angler may cast his fly into some eddy of the discolored stream or over some rocky shoal of the limpid lake with a fair prospect of alluring from the depths a glorious embodiment of piscatory power that shall struggle and fight, leaping from the water, and making many fierce rushes for a good twenty minutes, till he yields himself to the embrace of the net, exhibiting amid its brown folds the glorious silver brilliancy of the loveliest inhabitant of the liquid element. As he advances along the shore, an endless variety of water and land, continuous changes of rock and tree, and dark, bottomless depths or light gray shallows, present themselves to his eye; at one moment he is clambering along the steep, rough side of a precipice, whence he can scarcely toss his line a dozen paces, at the next he is walking securely upon some flat rock whence the receding hills permit him to cast to the utmost limit of his ability, or he may ascend the nearest stream by the aid of his strong barge, or in the light canoe, or else wading waist deep against the rushing current, and there, overshadowed by the hills and shrouded amid the waving trees, he can visit pool after pool, try eddy after eddy, till he and his men and the boat are loaded, and satiety bids him rest.
Along the lake there is scarcely a choice of locality; from the sandy beach at Point aux Pins to the outlet of the Pigeon River—the boundary of two nationalities—at every point, in every cove, trout are to be taken, and often in abundance; but probably the best as well as the most accessible spots are Gros Cap and Mamainse. Of the rivers the most famous is the Neepigon, where barrels of trout, averaging four pounds, have been taken in one day; but the Batchawaung and the Agawa are nearly as good, and within a more convenient distance, while the Harmony is unequalled for wild and romantic scenery.