There
was no abrupt bursting in on Kawagama through screens of leaves; we
entered leisurely to her presence by way of an ante-chamber whose
spaciousness permitted no vulgar surprises. After a time we launched
our canoe from a natural dock afforded by a cedar root, and so stood
ready to cross to our permanent camp. But first we drew our knives and
erased from a giant birch the half-grown-over name of the banker
Clement.
There seems to me little use in telling you that Kawagama is about four
miles long by a mile wide, is shaped like a crescent, and lies in a
valley surrounded by high hills; nor that its water is so transparent
that the bottom is visible until it fades into the sheer blackness of
depth; nor that it is alive with trout; nor that its silence is the
silence of a vast solitude, so that always, even at daybreak or at high
midday, it seems to be late afternoon. That would convey little to you.
I will inform you quite simply that Kawagama is a very beautiful
specimen of the wilderness lake; that it is as the Lord made it; and
that we had a good time.
Did you ever fish with the fly from a birch-bark canoe on absolutely
still water? You do not seem to move. But far below you, gliding,
silent, ghostlike, the bottom slips beneath. Like a weather-vane in an
imperceptible current of air, your bow turns to right or left in
apparent obedience to the mere will of your companion. And the flies
drop softly like down.
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