A BOOM.
The river at this spot is only about fifteen feet wide, very deep, with long meadow grass lapping and fringing its border, and flowing with the rapidity of a mill course, each bubble as it shot by seeming to have an individuality of purpose, which to the writer was very amusing.
Hardly had we dropped into our accustomed positions in the canoes before we were swept away from the bank, past the tall alders, and darted with lightning speed down the river a mile and a half and out on to the placid Matagamonsis lake. This was one of the loveliest bodies of water on our course, dotted with small islands and far-reaching points of shore, the tall Norway pines forming a wall of beauty on either side.
The lake is about one mile wide and four long, and the spruce-covered tops of Traveler mountains to the southwest are reflected in its mirror-like surface. From the top of a bold crag at its foot we stopped for a sketch of the lake, and then passed downward through the sluggish stream of three miles which connects it with Matagamon or Grand lake.
To the left or east of this stream, and half way between these lakes, is another lake about two miles in extent, which we fail to find noticed on any map we have seen, and lies in close proximity to “Hay creek,” but is not what is termed in this section “a logan.” (See Introduction, page 15.)
Half a mile from this lake, the stream passes under a foot bridge, which leads to a farm on Trout Brook stream, the first loggers’ camp since leaving Chamberlin farm, a distance of over seventy-five miles.
