The following morning was bright and cold and the mists hanging over the lake were soon dispelled by the morning sun. We got away about 6.30 a.m. and went down to the far end of the lake, but only saw one unshootable stag. Coming back for breakfast we decided to take a trip to the far end of Meddonagonax, where Steve said there was good fishing just where the river left the lake. It only took us one and a half hours of a steady row and paddle to get to the end of the lake where the Baie du Nord River leaves it. We ran down a few hundred yards of rapids and hauled up the canoe, leaving John to prepare lunch. It was an ideal-looking river and Steve said he had caught many large trout in it. The pools were perfect to look at, but somehow fish were comparatively few and not in very good condition. I fished down about a mile to where the river fell into a small lake, and caught eighteen trout weighing about nine pounds. Steve said it was only a good day's march from where we were to where the river runs into the sea. About half-way down there is a big fall called Smoky Falls, above which salmon cannot run, but he said salmon were numerous below the falls. In the water we had fished he had caught many big trout in July, so possibly we were too late.
Leaving at 5 o'clock I trolled all the way home but never got a pull nor did we see a stag.
As we had apparently exhausted the ground, we decided to start back in the morning of the 12th and camp in a steady at the west end of Koskācodde. While John was packing up we had an early morning prowl round the shores in the canoe, but saw nothing. While the packing was being finished I fished the pool at the camp and got thirteen trout weighing 7½ lb.—the largest about 1½ lb. It was a blazing hot day, we got to our new camping ground shortly after midday, and only caught one trout on the way.
Going out in the evening we crossed some ideal-looking caribou ground, but saw only one stag with a poor head and a couple of hinds.
All our hopes were now centred on the Shoe Hill Ridge country, for though we had seen many stags we were most unfortunate as regards heads. This was the seventh day away from the main camp, and we had seen fourteen stags. I cannot help thinking it was a bad year for heads, or surely we should have seen something better.
I sent Steve out early on the morning of the 13th to spy, but he came back and reported nothing in sight.
We got away about 9.30, and with a favourable wind were soon passing our old camp on Koskācodde.
Joe had been uneasy about us, or lonely, and we met him tramping down the river, and, incidentally, disturbing the whole country. He reported a stag (of course a colossal one) which had passed quite close to our old camp. It was lucky no gun was left behind, for he most certainly would have had a shot.
About dinner-time we reached a small lake from which the river ran out in a sluggish stream. Steve said it was a favourite spot for trout and suggested I should try it while lunch was being got ready. There was a deep hole just above the stream and a light wind was rippling the water. The trout was there in numbers and greedy for the fly. At every cast I rose one or two, and in an hour and a half I had forty trout weighing 19½ lb., the biggest about 2 lb. I lost one which must have been at least 3 lb., and put back at least a dozen small ones. I never saw trout in such numbers or so eager to take the fly.
It was nice to get back to the cheery camp on Sandy Grove Pond, and to my comfortable camp bed, but Joe had spoiled all chance of stags. We saw a good covey of grouse close to the camp, but they were very wild. I thought Joe would never go to sleep he had so much to say to his pals, and his stag grew bigger and bigger as the evening wore on, perhaps due to a tot of rum which was served out to celebrate our meeting.