We fished in a boat on the lake, swept by cold winds
until we were chilled to the bone and our hands were so stiff we could
not hold the rods. My brother had a "chill" the first night in camp. I
had indigestion from eating things fried in pork fat from the first
meal until I got a civilized repast at Frank's house in New York. I was
bounced sore. My nose was peeled by sun and cold. My lips were
decorated by three large cold-sores. My hands bled constantly from a
combination of chap and sunburn. I made up my mind if I ever got safely
out of those woods it would be several years at least before I could be
persuaded to enter them again. The scenery _is_ lovely, but one cannot
enjoy it. The fishing _is_ good, but it is hard work, and my own
opinion is that there is altogether "too much pork for a shilling" in
the whole business. Talk about being "ten miles from a lemon"! Try
forty-six miles from a lemon over a corduroy road. At first we had cold
weather, hence no black flies or mosquitos. When warm weather came on
again we had both of them, and our experience was that the snowstorm
was preferable. The black flies made the day unendurable, and the
mosquitos made the night as well as the day a wasting misery.
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