At a certain spot on the North Shore--I am not going to tell you where--you board one of the two or three fishing-steamers that collect from the different stations the big ice-boxes of Lake Superior whitefish. After a certain number of hours--I am not going to tell you how many--your craft will turn in toward a semicircle of bold, beautiful hills, that seem at first to be many less miles distant than the reality, and at the last to be many more miles remote than is the fact. From the prow2 you will make out first a uniform velvet3 green; then the differentiation4 of many shades; then the dull neutrals of rocks and crags; finally the narrow white of a pebble5 beach against which the waves utter continually a rattling6 undertone. The steamer pushes boldly in. The cool green of the water underneath7 changes to gray. Suddenly you make out the bottom, as through a thick green glass, and the big suckers and catfish9 idling over its riffled sands, inconceivably far down through the unbelievably clear liquid. So absorbed are you in this marvellous clarity that a slight, grinding jar alone brings you to yourself. The steamer's nose is actually touching10 the white strip of pebbles11!
Now you can do one of a number of things. The forest slants13 down to your feet in dwindling14 scrub, which half conceals15 an abandoned log structure. This latter is the old Hudson's Bay post. Behind it is the Fur Trail, and the Fur Trail will take you three miles to Burned Rock Pool, where are spring water and mighty16 trout17. But again, half a mile to the left, is the mouth of the River. And the River meanders18 charmingly through the woods of the flat country over numberless riffles and rapids, beneath various steep gravel19 banks, until it sweeps boldly under the cliff of the first high hill. There a rugged20 precipice21 rises sheer and jagged and damp-dark to overhanging trees clinging to the shoulder of the mountain. And precisely22 at that spot is a bend where the water hits square, to divide right and left in whiteness, to swirl23 into convolutions of foam24, to lurk25 darkly for a moment on the edge of tumult26 before racing27 away. And there you can stand hip28-deep, and just reach the eddy29 foam with a cast tied craftily30 of Royal Coachman, Parmachenee Belle31, and Montreal.
From that point you are with the hills. They draw back to leave wide forest, but always they return to the River--as you would return season after season were I to tell you how--throwing across your woods-progress a sheer cliff forty or fifty feet high, shouldering you incontinently into the necessity of fording to the other side. More and more jealous they become as you penetrate32, until at the Big Falls they close in entirely33, warning you that here they take the wilderness34 to themselves. At the Big Falls anglers make their last camp. About the fire they may discuss idly various academic questions--as to whether the great inaccessible35 pool below the Falls really contains the legendary36 Biggest Trout; what direction the River takes above; whether it really becomes nothing but a series of stagnant37 pools connected by sluggish38 water-reaches; whether there are any trout above the Falls; and so on.
These questions, as I have said, are merely academic. Your true angler is a philosopher. Enough is to him worth fifteen courses, and if the finite mind of man could imagine anything to be desired as an addition to his present possessions on the River, he at least knows nothing of it. Already he commands ten miles of water--swift, clear water--running over stone, through a freshet bed so many hundreds of feet wide that he has forgotten what it means to guard his back cast. It is to be waded39 in the riffles, so that he can cross from one shore to the other as the mood suits him. One bank is apt to be precipitous, the other to stretch away in a mile or so of the coolest, greenest, stillest primeval forest to be imagined. Thus he can cut across the wide bends of the River, should he so desire and should haste be necessary to make camp before dark. And, last, but not least by any manner of means, there are trout.
I mean real trout--big fellows, the kind the fishers of little streams dream of but awake to call Morpheus a liar41, just as they are too polite to call you a liar when you are so indiscreet as to tell them a few plain facts. I have one solemnly attested42 and witnessed record of twenty-nine inches, caught in running water. I saw a friend land on one cast three whose aggregate43 weight was four and one half pounds. I witnessed, and partly shared, an exciting struggle in which three fish on three rods were played in the same pool at the same time. They weighed just fourteen pounds. One pool, a backset, was known as the Idiot's Delight, because any one could catch fish there. I have lain on my stomach at the Burned Rock Pool and seen the great fish lying so close together as nearly to cover the bottom, rank after rank of them, and the smallest not under a half pound. As to the largest--well, every true fisherman knows him!
So it came about for many years that the natural barrier interposed by the Big Falls successfully turned the idle tide of anglers' exploration. Beyond them lay an unknown country, but you had to climb cruelly to see it, and you couldn't gain above what you already had in any case. The nearest settlement was nearly sixty miles away, so even added isolation44 had not its usual quickening effect on camper's effort. The River is visited by few, anyway. An occasional adventurous45 steam yacht pauses at the mouth, fishes a few little ones from the shallow pools there, or a few big ones from the reefs, and pushes on. It never dreams of sending an expedition to the interior. Our own people, and two other parties, are all I know of who visit the River regularly. Our camp-sites alone break the forest; our blazes alone continue the initial short cut of the Fur Trail; our names alone distinguish the various pools. We had always been satisfied to compromise with the frowning Hills. In return for the delicious necks and points and forest areas through which our clipped trails ran, we had tacitly respected the mystery of the upper reaches.
This year, however, a number of unusual conditions changed our spirit. I have perhaps neglected to state that our trip up to now had been a rather singularly damp one. Of the first fourteen days twelve had been rainy. This was only a slightly exaggerated sample for the rest of the time. As a consequence we found the River filled even to the limit of its freshet banks. The broad borders of stone beach between the stream's edge and the bushes had quite disappeared; the riffles had become rapids, and the rapids roaring torrents46; the bends boiled angrily with a smashing eddy that sucked air into pirouetting cavities inches in depth. Plainly, fly-fishing was out of the question. No self-respecting trout would rise to the surface of such a moil, or abandon for syllabubs of tinsel the magnificent solidities of ground-bait such a freshet would bring down from the hills. Also the River was unfordable.
We made camp at the mouth and consulted together. Billy, the half-breed who had joined us for the labour of a permanent camp, shook his head.
"I t'ink one week, ten day," he vouchsafed47. "P'rhaps she go down den8. We mus' wait." We did not want to wait; the idleness of a permanent camp is the most deadly in the world.
"Billy," said I, "have you ever been above the Big Falls?"
The half-breed's eyes flashed.
"Non," he replied simply. "Ba, I lak' mak' heem firs' rate."
"All right, Billy; we'll do it."
The next day it rained, and the River went up two inches. The morning following was fair enough, but so cold you could see your breath. We began to experiment.
Now, this expedition had become a fishing vacation, so we had all the comforts of home with us. When said comforts of home were laden48 into the canoe, there remained forward and aft just about one square foot of space for Billy and me, and not over two inches of freeboard for the River. We could not stand up and pole; tracking with a tow-line was out of the question, because there existed no banks on which to walk; the current was too swift for paddling. So we knelt and poled. We knew it before, but we had to be convinced by trial, that two inches of freeboard will dip under the most gingerly effort. It did so. We groaned49, stepped out into ice-water up to our waists, and so began the day's journey with fleeting50 reference to Dante's nethermost51 hell.
Next the shore the water was most of the time a little above our knees, but the swirl of a rushing current brought an apron52 of foam to our hips53. Billy took the bow and pulled; I took the stern and pushed. In places our combined efforts could but just counterbalance the strength of the current. Then Billy had to hang on until I could get my shoulder against the stern for a mighty heave, the few inches gain of which he would guard as jealously as possible, until I could get into position for another shove. At other places we were in nearly to our armpits, but close under the banks where we could help ourselves by seizing bushes.
Sometimes I lost my footing entirely and trailed out behind like a streamer; sometimes Billy would be swept away, the canoe's bow would swing down-stream, and I would have to dig my heels and hang on until he had floundered upright. Fortunately for our provisions, this never happened to both at the same time. The difficulties were still further complicated by the fact that our feet speedily became so numb1 from the cold that we could not feel the bottom, and so were much inclined to aimless stumblings. By-and-by we got out and kicked trees to start the circulation. In the meantime the sun had retired54 behind thick, leaden clouds.
At the First Bend we were forced to carry some fifty feet. There the River rushed down in a smooth apron straight against the cliff, where its force actually raised the mass of water a good three feet higher than the level of the surrounding pool. I tied on a bait-hook, and two cartridges55 for sinkers, and in fifteen minutes had caught three trout, one of which weighed three pounds, and the others two pounds and a pound and a half respectively. At this point Dick and Deuce, who had been paralleling through the woods, joined us. We broiled56 the trout, and boiled tea, and shivered as near the fire as we could. That afternoon, by dint57 of labour and labour, and yet more labour, we made Burned Rock, and there we camped for the night, utterly58 beaten out by about as hard a day's travel as a man would want to undertake.
The following day was even worse, for as the natural bed of the River narrowed, we found less and less footing and swifter and swifter water. The journey to Burned Rock had been a matter of dogged hard work; this was an affair of alertness, of taking advantage of every little eddy, of breathless suspense59 during long seconds while the question of supremacy60 between our strength and the stream's was being debated. And the thermometer must have registered well towards freezing. Three times we were forced to cross the River in order to get even precarious61 footing. Those were the really doubtful moments. We had to get in carefully, to sit craftily, and to paddle gingerly and firmly, without attempting to counteract62 the downward sweep of the current. All our energies and care were given to preventing those miserable63 curling little waves from over-topping our precious two inches, and that miserable little canoe from departing even by a hair's-breadth from the exactly level keel. Where we were going did not matter. After an interminable interval64 the tail of our eyes would catch the sway of bushes near at hand.
"Now," Billy would mutter abstractedly.
With one accord we would arise from six inches of wet and step swiftly into the River. The lightened canoe would strain back; we would brace65 our legs. The traverse was accomplished66.
Being thus under the other bank, I would hold the canoe while Billy, astraddle the other end for the purpose of depressing the water to within reach of his hand, would bail67 away the consequences of our crossing. Then we would make up the quarter of a mile we had lost.
We quit at the Organ Pool about three o'clock of the afternoon. Not much was said that evening.
The day following we tied into it again. This time we put Dick and Deuce on an old Indian trail that promised a short cut, with instructions to wait at the end of it. In the joyous68 anticipation69 of another wet day we forgot they had never before followed an Indian trail. Let us now turn aside to the adventures of Dick and Deuce.
Be it premised here that Dick is a regular Indian of taciturnity when it becomes a question of his own experience, so that for a long time we knew of what follows but the single explanatory monosyllable which you shall read in due time. But Dick has a beloved uncle. In moments of expansion to this relative after his return he held forth70 as to the happenings of that morning.
Dick and the setter managed the Indian trail for about twenty rods. They thought they managed it for perhaps twice that distance. Then it became borne in on them that the bushes went back, the faint knife-clippings, and the half weather-browned brush-cuttings that alone constitute an Indian trail had taken another direction, and that they had now their own way to make through the forest. Dick knew the direction well enough, so he broke ahead confidently. After a half-hour's walk he crossed a tiny streamlet. After another half-hour's walk he came to another. It was flowing the wrong way.
Dick did not understand this. He had never known of little streams flowing away from rivers and towards eight-hundred-foot hills. This might be a loop, of course. He resolved to follow it up-stream far enough to settle the point. The following brought him in time to a soggy little thicket71 with three areas of moss72-covered mud and two round, pellucid73 pools of water about a foot in diameter. As the little stream had wound and twisted, Dick had by now lost entirely his sense of direction. He fished out his compass and set it on a rock. The River flows nearly north-east to the Big Falls, and Dick knew himself to be somewhere east of the River. The compass appeared to be wrong. Dick was a youth of sense, so he did not quarrel with the compass; he merely became doubtful as to which was the north end of the needle--the white or the black. After a few moments' puzzling he was quite at sea, and could no more remember how he had been taught as to this than you can clinch74 the spelling of a doubtful word after you have tried on paper a dozen variations. But being a youth of sense he did not desert the streamlet.
After a short half-mile of stumbling the apparent wrong direction in the brook's bed, he came to the River. The River was also flowing the wrong way, and uphill. Dick sat down and covered his eyes with his hands, as I had told him to do in like instance, and so managed to swing the country around where it belonged.
Now here was the River--and Dick resolved to desert it for no more short cuts--but where was the canoe?
This point remained unsettled in Dick's mind, or rather it was alternately settled in two ways. Sometimes the boy concluded we must be still below him, so he would sit on a rock to wait. Then, after a few moments, inactivity would bring him panic. The canoe must have passed this point long since, and every second he wasted stupidly sitting on that stone separated him farther from his friends and from food. Then he would tear madly through the forest. Deuce enjoyed this game, but Dick did not.
In time Dick found his farther progress along the banks cut off by a hill. The hill ended abruptly75 at the water's edge in a sheer rock cliff thirty feet high. This was in reality the end of the Indian trail short cut--the point where Dick was to meet us--but he did not know it. He happened for the moment to be obsessed76 by one of his canoe up-stream panics, so he turned inland to a spot where the hill appeared climbable, and started in to surmount77 the obstruction78.
This was comparatively easy at first. Then the shoulder of the cliff intervened. Dick mounted still a little higher up the hill, then higher, then still higher. Far down to his left, through the trees, broiled the River. The slope of the hill to it had become steeper than a roof, and at the edge of the eaves came a cliff drop of thirty feet. Dick picked his way gingerly over curving moss-beds, assisting his balance by a number of little cedar79 trees. Then something happened.
Dick says the side of the hill slid out from under him. The fact of the matter is, probably, the skin-moss over loose rounded stones gave way. Dick sat down and began slowly to bump down the slant12 of the roof. He never really lost his equilibrium80, nor until the last ten feet did he abandon the hope of checking his descent. Sometimes he did actually succeed in stopping himself for a moment; but on his attempting to follow up the advantage, the moss always slipped or the sapling let go a tenuous81 hold and he continued on down. At last the River flashed out below him. He saw the sheer drop. He saw the boiling eddies82 of the Halfway83 Pool, capable of sucking down a saw-log. Then, with a final rush of loose round stones, he shot the chutes feet first into space.
In the meantime Billy and I repeated our experience of the two previous days, with a few variations caused by the necessity of passing two exceptionally ugly rapids whose banks left little footing. We did this precariously84, with a rope. The cold water was beginning to tell on our vitality85, so that twice we went ashore86 and made hot tea. Just below the Halfway Pool we began to do a little figuring ahead, which is a bad thing. The Halfway Pool meant much inevitable87 labour, with its two swift rapids and its swirling88, eddies, as sedulously89 to be avoided as so many steel bear-traps. Then there were a dozen others, and the three miles of riffles, and all the rest of it. At our present rate it would take us a week to make the Falls. Below the Halfway Pool we looked for Dick. He was not to be seen. This made us cross. At the Halfway Pool we intended to unload for portage, and also to ferry over Dick and the setter in the lightened canoe. The tardiness90 of Dick delayed the game.
However, we drew ashore to the little clearing of the Halfway Camp, made the year before, and wearily discharged our cargo91. Suddenly, upstream, and apparently92 up in the air, we heard distinctly the excited yap of a dog. Billy and I looked at each other. Then we looked upstream.
Close under the perpendicular93 wall of rock, and fifty feet from the end of it, waist deep in water that swirled94 angrily about him, stood Dick.
I knew well enough what he was standing95 on--a little ledge96 of shale97 not over five or six feet in length and two feet wide--for in lower water I had often from its advantage cast a fly down below the big boulder98. But I knew it to be surrounded by water fifteen feet deep. It was impossible to wade40 to the spot, impossible to swim to it. And why in the name of all the woods gods would a man want to wade or swim to it if he could? The affair, to our cold-benumbed intellects, was simply incomprehensible.
Billy and I spoke99 no word. We silently, perhaps a little fearfully, launched the empty canoe. Then we went into a space of water whose treading proved us no angels. From the slack water under the cliff we took another look. It was indeed Dick. He carried a rod-case in one hand. His fish-creel lay against his hip. His broad hat sat accurately100 level on his head. His face was imperturbable101. Above, Deuce agonized102, afraid to leap into the stream, but convinced that his duty required him to do so.
We steadied the canoe while Dick climbed in. You would have thought he was embarking103 at the regularly appointed rendezvous104. In silence we shot the rapids, and collected Deuce from the end of the trail, whither he followed us. In silence we worked our way across to where our duffel lay scattered105. In silence we disembarked.
"In Heaven's name, Dick," I demanded at last, "how did you get _there_?"
"Fell," said he, succinctly106. And that was all.
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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differentiation
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| n.区别，区分 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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catfish
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| n.鲶鱼 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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slants
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| （使）倾斜，歪斜( slant的第三人称单数 )； 有倾向性地编写或报道 | |
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dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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meanders
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| 曲径( meander的名词复数 )； 迂回曲折的旅程 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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nethermost
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| adj.最下面的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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clinch
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| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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surmount
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| vt.克服；置于…顶上 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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shale
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| n.页岩，泥板岩 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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101
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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102
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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103
embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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104
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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105
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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