XXISPRING AND ITS SPORTS
“How’s this for a morning?” was Ben’s hearty greeting, some weeks later when spring had finally arrived.
“Great!” shouted the boys, coming from the cabin for a few whiffs of the balmy air.
It was indeed a glorious day, and they sat with the door of the cabin wide open, that they might drink in the fragrance of the pines. The snow had long since disappeared, and the lake, now free of its icy fetters, flashed and glistened in the strengthening sunshine. A smoky blue haze hovered over the woods, and the trees showed signs of leafing. The tops of the soft maples were ablaze with masses of tiny red blossoms; the fuzzy, fur-like buds of the “pussy-willows” were out; and down in the damp places the purple blades of the “skunk cabbage” were pushing their way upward through the moist soil.
The notes of the returned birds came floating in through the open door—the soft, pleasingwarble of the blue-birds, which Ben said returned to him year after year; the rollicking song of the robin, which usually built its muddy nest over one of the windows; and the calls of mating crows which flew noisily along above the tree-tops.
“Guess we’ll tap the trees to-day,” said Ben, when breakfast was over. “Sap ought to run now. What do you say?”
“Yes, let’s try it,” urged the boys, eagerly, anxious for a new experience.
“All right; we’ll put up a bite and be off, for we have quite a distance to go.”
The lunch was soon supplied and neatly packed. Provided with several pails, an ax, and an auger, they set out for the distant hardwood ridge, where, Ben said, they would find a little grove of sugar-maples.
It was far easier walking through the woods than it had been in the winter. The guide was in jovial spirits, and constantly called the attention of his companions to the many signs of awakening life about them. At one sandy place beneath the pines he stopped and sniffed the air suggestively.
“What is it?” asked Ed; for he and George detected a delicious sweet-scented perfume mingled with that from the evergreens.
“Arbutus,” said Ben, dropping to his kneeand pointing to small clusters of delicate pink-and-white flowers, which showed forth from a mass of green, rubber-like leaves. He pulled a few bunches of the blossoms and handed them to the boys to smell.
“Um, that’s fine!” they declared, as they buried their noses in the little bouquets and inhaled long breaths of exquisite perfume.
“What do you call it?” again inquired Ed, stooping and gathering more of the dainty plant.
“Arbutus, or mayflower,” said Ben, placing a tiny bunch of them in the band of his hat. “They’re my favorites.”
The guide told how this hardy little plant sometimes bloomed beneath a foot or more of snow. He said all woodsmen were partial to it, and eagerly looked for its flowers as the real harbingers of spring.
On all sides they beheld evidences of nature awakening from her long winter sleep. Ben drew their attention to these things, and explained just what was happening, and the reason for it. He showed them other delicate blossoms brought forth by the warm sunshine, while the woods themselves were bare; called to their notice the newly born or early awakened insects buzzing about in the sunny places, and made known the callsand names of feathered songsters returned from the South. They became so interested that they were at the maple grove before they knew it.
“Look over at that third tree to the right, on the upper side of the first limb,” cautioned the guide, quietly.
The lads looked where he told them to, but for several seconds they could discern nothing out of the ordinary. All that time Ben stood watching them closely, the faintest trace of a smile on his face.
“I see it!” cried Ed, finally. “It’s a red squirrel, and he’s lying flat along the top of the branch.”
“I see it, too,” said George, a moment later. “I must have seen it all the time and thought it was a knot.”
“That’s better,” laughed the guide, pleased at the sharp eyesight of the boys. “When you see him there it means that the sap is running.”
They looked at him in astonishment. What possible connection could the presence of a lazy little red squirrel, sprawled indolently along the limb, have to do with the rising of the sap in the tree?
“What do you mean?” asked George.
“Why, that little ‘sweet-tooth’ over therehas gnawed a hole in the upper side of the limb, and then stretched himself out to watch it fill with sap. When it’s full he quickly sucks it out and waits patiently till another cupful is ready. It’s an old trick of his, and you may be sure, when you find him at it, that it’s time to tap the trees. Well, let’s begin,” said the guide, as he pulled off his coat.
Ben took the auger and bored a hole into the trunk of a near-by tree. He explained that he tapped the tree on the south side, as, that being the warmer side, the sap would run more freely there. Ben also explained that one must not bore too deep. He said he tapped a tree once in two years. The tree he now tapped had not been touched the season previous, and would not be again until the second season following. Having bored the hole to the proper depth, he whittled and inserted a grooved, trough-like plug, which protruded from the trunk far enough to hold the pail, which was promptly hung upon it.
While Ben went to the next tree to repeat the operation the boys stood before the one he had just tapped. They watched the sap ooze slowly forward from the wound and trickle down the plug, to drip, drop by drop, into the suspended bucket.
Ed, unable longer to resist the temptation, dipped his finger in the sticky fluid and touched it to his tongue.
“No wonder the red squirrel likes it,” he laughed; whereupon George also sampled some.
“Hey, you fellows, scat out of there!” yelled Ben, with pretended fierceness.
At sound of his voice the squirrel abandoned its perch, and, mounting to the top of the tree, proceeded to scold the intruders.
“Guess he thought I meant him,” laughed Ben, when the boys walked over to where he had tapped another tree. “Well, how did you like it?”
“Fine,” they declared.
“Wait till we get it boiled down; then you’ll taste real maple-syrup. We’ll make some sugar, too.”
When he had hung the last of his pails, Ben proceeded to make several troughs from logs cut and split for the purpose. He placed them on the ground beneath the spigots in the trees for which he had no buckets. By the time he had finished tapping all of the trees selected, it was past noon. Seating themselves in a sunny spot, the “sugarers” enjoyed their lunch.
The smell of escaping sap soon enticed beesand early insects to the vicinity. But the sticky sap clogged their wings, and the boys had much sport freeing them from their predicament with twigs, and watching while the confused little honey-gatherers cleaned themselves.
They were also much interested in a pair of big, black, pileated woodpeckers, with large crests of scarlet feathers on top of their heads. Ben said the woodsmen called them “Cock of the Woods,” and declared they were becoming very scarce. The birds alighted against the trunk of a tree, from which, after having carefully examined it, they began to chisel great pieces with their powerful bills. The guide said it was the way they excavated a cavity in which to lay their eggs.
Late in the afternoon Ben gathered the sap and, assisted by the boys, carried it home to boil. It was placed in a big iron kettle and boiled over a hardwood fire. Ed and George were kept busy stirring and skimming, and, as the “sugaring” was continued for several days, their job became a steady one. Ben taught them how to do the boiling, while he tended the trees and brought in the sap. When the job was finished they had a large quantity of golden syrup and many tempting cakes of appetizing brown sugar to reward them for their labor.
GATHERING THE MAPLE-SUGAR SAP
GATHERING THE MAPLE-SUGAR SAP
GATHERING THE MAPLE-SUGAR SAP
Then they awoke one morning to find the exact sort of a day they had been wishing for. It was bright and warm, without the slightest trace of a breeze to stir the placid, mirror-like surface of the lake. If it continued so until darkness, the boys knew they would realize the anticipation of weeks. On such a night Ben had promised to take them on the lake to spear eels and suckers. He had carefully stipulated that the night must be calm, otherwise the expedition would be useless. The slightest rippling of the water would prevent them from seeing into it along shore and discovering their finny prey.
“If it’s calm to-night, how about spearing?” asked Ed, hopefully, when they were at dinner.
“I’ve just been thinking about that,” laughed Ben. “I guess we can go to-night, from the way things look now. We’ll go out, presently, and cut some pine knots. Then, if we don’t go, we’ll have them on hand for the next time.”
“Hurrah!” cried Ed. “Now for some fun.”
When the table had been cleared and things tidied up after the meal, Ben stood on a chair and reached aloft among the cross-logs near the roof. He brought down two long poles, each of them tapered at one end to fit intoan iron socket which had four sharply pointed prongs, or spear-points.
He placed the poles against the outside of the cabin, and, bidding the boys fetch two sacks, strode away into the woods, ax in hand. He searched until he found the kind of log he wanted. This chanced to be a fallen pitch-pine. Making his way to it, Ben began chopping out the knots.
“I’m taking the fat off,” he laughed.
The lads were at a loss to understand, until he explained that the oily pitch, or resin, collected at the knots, and was known to woodsmen as “fat.” He said it was highly inflammable, and was used for torches and brilliant fires. Ben showed them how to distinguish a “fat” knot from a dry or “lean” one, and pointed out the differences by which they might know one variety of dead tree from another.
Ed and George gathered the knots and placed them in the bags. They staggered gamely along under their loads, until Ben declared they had sufficient knots for their purpose. Then they returned to the cabin, and dropped their burdens thankfully before the door.
All day they anxiously scanned the sky, the trees, and the surface of the water forsigns of the dreaded breeze. When the sun finally set and twilight fell, while still the bosom of the lake lay smooth and unruffled, they began to feel easier.
At supper Ben gave them a dreadful fright when he suddenly ceased eating and, with a look of disgust on his face, cried, “Hear the wind howl!”
The boys rose and darted to the door; but, discovering the hoax, came back to find the guide chuckling gleefully.
“It’s all right, you needn’t worry; there’ll be no wind to-night,” he said; and, greatly relieved by the prophecy, the lads finished their meal in peace.
When they were ready to start, Ben produced a large, open-work iron basket welded to a long iron rod. He said it was to hold the burning pine knots. The guide also carried a small can of kerosene with which to start the fire.
Eagerly the boys followed him to the edge of the lake. To their surprise, he pointed to a log raft on rollers a short distance from the water. Ben declared it to be far safer than the canoe for the work in hand. The boys helped him drag it to the edge of the lake and set it afloat.
Then he fitted the rod with the iron basket,or cage, into a hole in the front end of one of the logs. From the bushes he brought a long push-pole shod on the end with a blunt iron point or “shoe.”
“My, the birds are making an awful racket to-night. I didn’t know they called much after dark,” said Ed, when Ben was arranging the pine knots.
“I’ve been listening to them, too. What are they?” asked George.
Ben laughed softly to himself at the question. Then he turned soberly to address his questioners.
“They are ‘peepers’—birds without feathers.
“Birds without feathers!” they repeated, incredulously.
“Yes, they live in the water most of the time,” laughed Ben, enjoying the joke on the boys.
The night fairly rang with the shrill, bird-like peeps which seemed to come from the borders of the lake. Ed and George listened, unable to guess what made the piping sounds.
“That noise is made by little frogs—‘peepers,’ we call them,” said Ben. “You’ll hear them in the daytime, too, for the next few weeks; and if you sneak up carefully youcan see them singing. They puff their throats out into a round, white ball.”
“Do you really mean that?” asked Ed, seriously.
“Give you my word,” replied Ben.
“Well, that is something worth learning,” declared George. “Ed, we must take a picture of one singing.”
“Wouldn’t it make a dandy?” cried Ed.
Ben had meantime arranged the pine knots to his satisfaction. Dashing some kerosene over them, he applied a match. Instantly they flared up and began blazing fiercely.
“All aboard!” he cried. “And mind you, don’t fall overboard.”
He had swung the head of the raft from shore, and was standing at the stern end, pole in hand, ready to push off.
The boys found places quickly, one on either side of the iron rod which supported the basket of blazing pine. The knots were hissing, snapping, and sending forth a constant star-like shower of sparks.
Ben pushed from shore and poled slowly along in about three or four feet of water. By aid of the glare from the flaming beacon above them the young spearmen were enabled to see down through the placid depths to the muddy bottom. They crouched, spearin hand, ready to impale the first victim that showed itself.
When they were well under way Ben began to issue instructions.
“See anything yet?” he inquired.
“Nothing but some sticks and stones,” replied Ed.
“Wait a minute! There—goes—something!” And George made a wild jab into the water.
“Hold on there; that won’t do!” said Ben. “You’ll break the pole or throw yourself overboard. When you see something, lower the point of your spear gradually till you get it two or three inches over your fish. Then give a short, quick jab and you’ll get him.”
“I see an eel!” cried Ed, lowering his spear as Ben had directed. “I’ve got him!” he declared, exultantly, and raised his spear and displayed a three-foot eel wriggling on the tines. He was about to drop his prize on the raft when the guide interrupted.
“Here, take this,” he said, and pushed forward the box on which he had been sitting. “Put them in that; otherwise they’ll flop overboard. Now take your knife and stick him behind the head. In the future, spear them there, and you’ll kill them at once.”
George made another jab and brought upa good-sized sucker, which he was careful to shake into the box. A few moments later he speared an eel; but it was a large one, and he was unable to bring it to the surface. Ed instantly went to his assistance, and between them they managed to secure the prize. It was four feet or more in length and about four inches in circumference.
“You fellows keep sharp watch ahead; I’m traveling pretty close to shore. We don’t want to get hung up on a rock,” Ben warned.
“What’s that?” cried Ed, as an animal turned from the edge of the water and crashed away through the woods.
“Deer,” said the guide, quietly.
Then the very thing he had warned them against happened. The forward end of the raft ran on a submerged rock and stuck fast. The force of the impact threw Ed over backward into the fish-box, and George within an inch or two of the water. A veritable hail of sparks descended upon them, and, warned by a cry from the guide, George discovered that the wool lining of his hunting-coat was smoldering. Scrambling hastily to his feet, he shed the garment in record time, and soon extinguished the blaze.
It required much hard work to free the raft, and the boys worked desperately, forthey felt guilty in having allowed the accident to happen. When they finally floated free and went ahead, they looked out more keenly, determined to guard against a repetition of the mishap.
They heard many strange sounds as they floated quietly along, preceded by the small circle of light from the roaring fire of snapping pine knots. The deep, animal-like baying of bullfrogs sounded from the center of the marshy swamp. Ducks were calling from the middle of the lake. Drowsy birds fluttered uncertainly from the tree-tops along the shore. Ben called their attention to the distant yapping of a fox. They heard deer or moose several times.
“Look!” cried George, pointing excitedly toward the edge of the forest. “What is it? Oh, see its eyes!”
“Quick, Ben, look at it—it’s moving!” said Ed, having caught sight of the two shining spots of bright green fire.
The guide laughed.
“That’s ‘fox-fire,’ or phosphorus. An old decayed log, or stick, becomes coated with it, and after a rain, or down where it’s damp, glows like that. It scares ‘tenderfeet’ out of their wits,” he laughed. “Some call it ‘will-o’-the-wisp,’ ’cause they imagine it movesalong through the woods. Fact is, just like now, you’re moving and watching it at the same time, and, of course, you think it’s following you.”
“My, it’s ‘spooky’ looking,” said Ed.
The boys became so skilled in the use of their spears that they took all the fish they could use in a very short time. Then Ben made them stop, and allowed the pine knots to die down, until the dull glow gave forth only a feeble light.
In returning to the starting-point he wisely sought deeper water, for he was fearful of again running aground. He beached the raft, and the boys carried the catch ashore, well pleased with their sport.
It was late when they reached the cabin, and Ben threw the fish into a pan of water until the morning. As to the eels, the boys learned that the strange creatures are born in the sea, and after they are a year old run up the freshwater rivers and streams into the lakes, where they remain during the summer. In the fall the eels leave these lakes and retrace the journey to the sea, where they finally die.