Muskrat City.

by Henry Abbott.

The Irish cook one day proposed to the ship's captain the following conundrum: "Is anny thin' lost whin yeez know where 'tis?" The Captain a.s.sured him that in such case the thing was not lost. And Dennis responded: "Well, thin, shure, the ta-kettle is safe, for 'tis in the bottom av the ocean."

Bige and I thought we were lost. We did not know the way to our destination. We did not know the way back home. But realizing that we were in the heart of the trackless forest, we knew we were perfectly safe.

We had eaten an early breakfast that morning at the "Dan'l Boone Camp." We had made sandwiches for lunch, wrapped them in paper, tied the packages on the sides of our fish baskets, and had started for Plum Pond, where we expected to do some fishing.

We had been walking five hours and had not yet reached Plum Pond.

Indeed, we felt quite sure we had pa.s.sed it, either on the right or on the left. Also, it was possible that we had been, for the last hour, going northwest instead of southwest. It was raining and we had not consulted the compa.s.s very often. It had been raining for the past three hours, and now the water was falling in a flood, and we were soaked to the skin. Our shoes were filled with water and as we plodded on it sloshed, sloshed, with every step. We were bewildered, but it would do no good to stop, or turn back, so we continued to push on.

Presently, as we pa.s.sed over a ridge and climbed down the steep hillside, we saw a cleared place in the bottom of the valley. Bige exclaimed, "Gosh!! Well I'll be doggoned! If that ain't Muskrat City." The map makers had not discovered the place, and Bige had never heard of it, yet the instant he saw it he knew its name was Muskrat City, and it shall so remain unless an act of legislature changes it.

At the bottom of a deep valley, with steep hills on either side, in the center of a beaver meadow was a collection of a score or more of conical shaped mud huts, about two and a half feet high and three feet in diameter at the base. In each of these huts there lived a male muskrat, his wife and family of seven to nine children. There also were numerous bachelor muskrats, who lived by themselves in holes in the bank.

Lest some of our readers may not be acquainted with a "beaver meadow," let us explain that at some period of time, long ago, possibly two hundred or maybe five hundred years ago, beavers lived here and built a dam across the brook as all beavers do. The dam backed the waters of the brook up and flooded the floor of the valley, thus drowning all the trees which were not cut and peeled by the beavers. These trees, of course, fell and decayed, so that not even stumps or roots were left. In the course of time the beavers either were exterminated by trappers or they had exhausted their food supply in that valley and then emigrated to some other stream. In the absence of the builders, who must constantly make repairs, the dam had broken and the brush it contained had decayed. Only the stones and dirt used in its construction remained to mark the spot where it had once held back a beaver pond covering several acres. This s.p.a.ce had remained swampy for some years and trees did not grow upon it. It was now covered with a rank growth of gra.s.s.

Many such places are found in the forest and they are always known as beaver meadows. They unquestionably mark spots where colonies of beavers once lived, though it might have been many years before.

The far-sighted, fore-handed pioneers who settled in the state of Iowa, with prophetic wisdom and civic pride of hope, loaded the labels of their communities with the word "City." After the lapse of eighty years, the last census showed twenty-three "Cities" in that state having less than one thousand inhabitants each. Of these, six have less than three hundred each. "Promise City" in eighty years has acquired two hundred and seventy-eight inhabitants, while "Walnut City" beats the record with thirty.

We then did not know, and we do not now know, how many inhabitants there were in Muskrat City, but we feel confident they outnumbered the citizens of some of the Iowa cities.

By the time we had reached the floor of the valley, rain ceased to fall and in a few minutes the sun was shining. We were not only wet but we now realized that we were hungry. It was long past our usual lunch hour. Fish baskets were unslung from our backs and we found our sandwiches had been reduced by the rain to a mushy mess mixed with paper pulp. Indeed, a substantial part of our rations had been converted into liquid form and distributed along our route through the woods.

Without wasting time in vain cussing or discussing, Bige at once set to work building a fire on the gravelly beach of the brook. This was one of those occasions when a waterproof match box proved useful. But one should also know how to build a fire in the woods without matches. Any Boy Scout can tell you how to do it.

Nature has provided curly birch bark for kindling, for just such emergencies as this, and it is usually dry on the leeward side of the tree. In a few minutes a roaring, crackling fire was going, and our clothing--as much of it as native modesty would permit--was hanging on saplings which we had cut and stuck in the ground about the fire.

While this work was under way I strung up my rod, went up the brook into the edge of the woods, and in a deep hole caught some trout. I got six fine ones in about twice as many casts.

Bige dressed the fish while I got some striped maple leaves. They are about as large as cabbage leaves but thinner. Each fish was wrapped in one of these leaves which was tied on with a piece of string. The packages were then dipped in the brook to wet the leaves and were buried in hot ashes and covered with live coals. In about fifteen minutes we pulled our fish out of the fire. The wrappers were charred and they looked like burned sticks. Breaking them open we found the skin of the fish stuck to the charred leaves and it came free from the flesh, which was pink and steaming.

For preserving the delicious flavor of freshly caught trout, this is the best method of cooking I know of. A thin inner layer of green birch bark, or a piece of paper, if one has it, will do for a wrapper.

Other methods of cooking, in the absence of the usual culinary utensils, are numerous. One we have practiced as follows: The sharpened end of a slender green sapling is stuck through a fish's mouth and lengthwise into the solid part of its body. The other end of the stick, which should be three feet long, is pushed into the ground and the stick bent so as to bring the fish directly over a bed of live coals--not over the blaze. By this method several fish can be broiled at the same time. On other occasions we have built a bigger fire, with larger sticks of wood, found some flat stones twelve to fifteen inches across which we put in the fire and when they were quite hot, dragged them out, and laid our fish on the stones to cook.

This also is an excellent way to cook bacon and we sometimes employ it even when a frying pan is handy. Of course, we washed the stones in the brook before they were put into the fire. But then, one can be quite sure that the fire will kill any stray microbe that the stone might harbor.

Freshly peeled birch bark makes excellent plates on which to serve primitive meals such as described.

Luncheon finished, and our clothes dry, we discussed our next move.

Since no one was left at Dan'l's who might worry over our absence, we decided to remain at Muskrat City over night, then make an early morning start toward the beginning of a trail to civilization.

In carrying out this program the first step was to prepare a shelter and a bed. The lack of an axe was a handicap, but our large pocket knives were made to serve. About ten feet from our fireplace lay the moss-covered body of a pine tree that had fallen out across the meadow, possibly fifty or seventy-five years ago. We cut two saplings and drove them into the ground seven feet from the log and five feet apart, leaving a fork on each of these posts five feet above the ground. A pole was laid across in the two forks, and other poles were laid sloping from this to the log. Then we peeled yellow birch bark to cover the roof and anch.o.r.ed the bark with heavy sticks above it.

Brush piled against the two sides formed sufficient protection from the wind and the front was open toward the fire. Balsam boughs were gathered for the bed and some firewood collected; then we went down stream to fish and explore.

During the past twenty-five years Bige and I have built many similar one-night shelters, in widely separated parts of the forest. We have slept under them with comfort when it rained. We have, on occasion, found white frost on the ground in the morning. The forest furnishes, free at hand, the materials required, and the labor involved is only an element of the pleasure of forest exploration.

Half a mile down the brook we found it emptied into a larger stream, where we soon filled a basket with trout. Also we picked a hatful of raspberries. We returned to the city in time for an early supper and as we had no dishes to wash we had ample time to discuss our probable location and the most promising course to pursue in the morning.

The chief charm of exploration lies in the uncertainty of always finding what one starts out to find, and in the equal certainty that one may find something else, possibly even more interesting or more valuable than what was on the program.

Columbus failed to discover a western route to India, but he found something else, and got himself put into history and his bust in the hall of fame.

Bige and I failed to reach Plum Pond, but we found a better thing.

The fishing in our two brooks was all that could be desired. There were evidences that the hunting would be good in this "neck of the woods," when the hunting season should open, and it was unlikely that any other hunters would penetrate to this remote section. Bige saw great possibilities in the fur crop when the hunting should be over, and trapping begin.

So, though we were hopelessly lost (?) in "an impenetrable forest,"

we slept comfortably, and peacefully, crawling out of our nest only occasionally when the fire required another stick of wood. Only on such occasions did we see or hear the permanent residents of Muskrat City. As the fire was kicked together and a fresh stick thrown upon it, causing a shower of sparks to shoot upward, then would be heard a rapid succession of splashes as fifteen or twenty rats would plunge into the brook and scurry to their hiding places. Otherwise, they silently went about their business.

About seven o'clock on the following morning, we climbed the ridge over which we had come into Muskrat City, and taking careful note of landmarks, we proceeded in a general eastward direction. One can usually see but a short distance in an unlumbered forest. After two hours of slow and difficult travel we climbed a high and steep hill.

When we neared the top we noted a rocky ledge on the summit.

Scrambling to the top of this, we had an un.o.bstructed and extended view over valleys and foothills, and saw mountain peaks in every direction.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Owl's Head Mountain in the distance]

A long distance off to the northeast loomed up the highest peak of all, which from its height and its two rounded, bare k.n.o.bs, we knew to be Owl's Head Mountain. We also knew that it was but two miles from the top of Owl's Head to the Dan'l Boone Camp. We trained the compa.s.s on that peak and took a fresh start toward home. For many years Bige and I had hunted partridge and deer on every side of this mountain and over its foothills. On many occasions, also, we had been on its bald summit. So now, on returning to its shadow, we should be on familiar ground.

Jim Flynn now lives on Owl's Head Mountain, from the time the snow has melted in the woods in late spring until the snow begins to fall again in the autumn. Jim is employed by the State Conservation Commission to watch out for fires in the forests. When Jim discovers the beginning of a fire anywhere in the range of his outlook, the fact and location is reported by telephone to the chief at fire headquarters, when men with tools are dispatched from the nearest settlement to put out the fire before it gets beyond control. This service was established in 1909 with lookout stations on the tops of all the high peaks in the Adirondack range. Since that date there have been no disastrous forest fires in that region.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Jim Flynn]

Jim lives in a log cabin which he built just below the rocky ledge which covers the summit. On the high point a steel tower thirty-five feet high carries his lookout station above the tree tops. This is a rather lonely spot in which to live half the year. On rainy days, when there is little danger of a fire making headway, Jim is permitted to visit his family at the settlement on the lake, and to bring back fresh supplies.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Jim Flynn's Cabin]

Jim is glad to have visitors call upon him at his mountain-top resort, and to encourage such he has made an excellent trail to the nearest point on Long Lake, about three miles, and has marked it with signs to point the way up the mountain. Jim will lend you his field-gla.s.s, name the points of interest in view, make coffee for you, if you bring the makings, and discuss with you the latest political questions, philosophy or religion.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Jim in his Look-out Tower]

In a book ent.i.tled, "The Adirondack, or Life in the Woods," published in 1849, J. T. Headley, the author, writes about his visit to the top of Owl's Head Mountain, with his guide, Mitch.e.l.l Sabattis, an Indian, and the first settler on Long Lake. Headley says that in returning they "lost their way and were fourteen hours without food." He describes the view from the top of Owl's Head as follows:

"It looks off on a prospect that would make your heart stand still in your bosom. Look away toward that distant horizon! In its broad sweep round the heavens, it takes in nearly four hundred miles, while between slumbers an ocean but it is an ocean of tree tops. Conceive, if you can, this vast expanse stretching on and spreading away, till the bright green becomes shaded into a deep black, with not a sound to break the solitude, and not a hand's breadth of land in view throughout the whole. It is a vast forest-ocean, with mountain ridges for billows, rolling smoothly and gently on like the subsiding swell of a storm. I stand on the edge of a precipice which throws its naked wall far down to the tops of the fir trees below, and look off on this surpa.s.sing wild and strange spectacle. The life that villages, and towns, and cultivated fields give to a landscape is not here, neither is there the barrenness and savageness of the view from Tahawus. It is all vegetation--luxuriant, gigantic vegetation; but man has had no hand in it. It stands as the Almighty made it, majestic and silent, save when the wind or the storm breathes on it, waking up its myriad low-toned voices, which sing:

'The wild profound eternal ba.s.s In nature's anthem.'

Oh, how still and solemn it slumbers below me; while far away yonder, to the left, shoots up into the heavens the ma.s.sive peaks of the Adirondack chain, mellowed here, by the distance, into beauty. Yet there is one relief to this vast forest solitude--like gems sleeping in a moss bed, lakes are everywhere glittering in the bright sunshine. How calm and trustingly they repose on the bosom of the wilderness! Thirty-six, a hunter tells me, can be counted from this summit, though I do not see over twenty. * * * Some of these are from four to six miles in width, and yet they look like mere pools at this distance, and in the midst of such a ma.s.s of green.

I have gazed on many mountain prospects in this and the old world, but this view has awakened an entirely new cla.s.s of emotions."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Jim entertaining a guest on the mountain]

As Bige and I descended the steep slope from our lookout, we were quickly buried among the evergreens, with the only extended view toward the blue sky and floating clouds above the tall tree tops.

Having in mind the experience of the previous day, the compa.s.s was frequently consulted, but travel was difficult and progress slow.

An hour later we came upon a small log cabin, having a roof of spruce bark, no floor, but a puncheon door and one window. In one corner was a crude fireplace made of stones, having two lengths of stove pipe which pa.s.sed through the window for a chimney. Opposite the fireplace was a balsam bed and in another corner was a pile of spruce gum.