Verhovayak Lapja, 1944 (27. évfolyam, 1-52. szám)

1944 / Verhovay Journal

VACATION IN BUNYAN'S LAND

By THE FERRET------------------------------------—____________Verhovay Journal______________________________ August io, 1944

CHAPTER II.

This stretch of highway to Hillman had settled back to farmland, dotted with patches of virgin forest consisting mostly of sumac, pungent pine and fragrant spruce. I can still smell the delicious evergreéns, so elean and spicy and invigorating, and if ever anything made me want to go back there, it was this short bit of road to our Goal—Thunder Bay River and the Fletcher Flood Waters.

Luke had been building me up to this spot—said that this liver had about seven dams built into it, the reasons for which we recently found out. At the time, we -figgered that the building of these dams must have caused some headaches to the engineering crew, because some unexpected consequences resulted. The river runs through a valley, closely wooded, it must have been at one time, from all

the____ but I’m running ahead

of my story. At any rate, the dams backed up the water, the river began spreading all through the lowlands, flooding everything within sight. Thousands and thousands of acres were swamped; after years of being under water, trees and all other life began to die. Luke told me the trees were stripped of vegetation and stood like dark sentinels watching over what mysteries only the good Lord knew. My man tried to be fair with me; he insists to this day that he warned me what to expect. But good grief, when we finally reached the spot and stood on j small hill overlooking the scene,

I was astonished; I was frightened, I wanted to go home. I took one long, awful look, and buried ny head in Luke’s arms. “No”, ,ez I, “if you think I’m going fishing out there, you’re batty as a, well, as a bat.” Luke got a big kick out of that—figgered I was just letting my imagination get the best of me, but soon he began to feel that I was really and actually afraid.

And no wonder When I try to tell you what I saw—but no, I’ll never be able to do justice to it.

Here we were, as I said, on this small hill ... spread before me were thousands of acres of water-covered land. Dead trees standing straight up, without a vestige of vegetation. I told you about the size of Houghton Lake ... well, several Houghtons could fit into this over-flooded land. Away out in the distance I could just barely make out the thin silver stream which was the original river-bed. Was sufficiently curious and interested in the history of the place, that I wrote to the Department of Conservation, and Chas. A. Eagle, District Supervisor, gave me the following dope: “These waters cover six thousand five hundred acres. The dam was built by the Alpena Power Company of Alpena, Michigan to act as a reservoir to hold water as a storage and when water is needed the dam is opened and the water used to develop electric power.” ‘’This area was a cedar, spruce and balsam swamp with the south branch of the Thunder Bay River running through the swamp. The swamp, at one time, was the winter home of the deer from Alpena, Oscoda and Montmorency counties. It has been said that these waters furnish the best northern pike fishing in the State of Michigan.”

‘•The swamp was lumbered in 1929-30-31. Many thousand cords of spruce and balsam pulp was taken from this swamp. Also thousands of cedar and tamarack railroad ties and many thousand cedar posts and telegraph poles. The tops and all brush and debris were left in the area when the dam was built and the area flooded. This seemed to be natural environment for the great northern pike. The fish got their start from pike that was in the river when the area was flooded. The brush, logs and stumps helped to furnish feed for the fish.”

We reached Hunt’s Landing just as dusk was settling; with the added sombreness of night coming on, and those flooded, dead trees, and being tired and hungry, the scene left an everlasting haunting in my memory. Felt as though we’d reached the end of the world; that from here qn, there was no more of life. Awed, I was finally convinced that in the light of day, the spot held little terror; that the excitement of landing the largest pike and muskellunges more than made up for the melancholia the depressing place held. We were put up for the night at the farmhouse just up the hill—and after a filling meal, we hit the hay; and I mean hay—darn mattresses were filled with the stuff, seemed like!

Morning dawned, as it always does, after a few hours—what a grand day for fishing! Breakfast big enuf to last all day; had some man-sized sandwiches, and cold beer in a bucket of ice, and plenty of cigarettes and matches. Up there at Fletcher’s Swamp, there exists a friendliness which seems to be derived from the fact that everyone is as scared and awed as I was that first time. Folks who are used to . the place get quite a kick out of the reactions of new-comers, and a friendly cuss like me is just what they need, so they can weave their mysterious tales They told me about a pike out there in the River which was 30 feet long, “believe it or not, Mum.”

A good-lookin’ young man, in charge of a motor boat, told us all to load up and get set to go. About ten or fifteen rowboats are then tied together and the - “good-looker” tows us out to the main river and drops the anxious fisherman at various spots. We are on our own then until the gent comes back for us in time for supper. The terror, and fantastic beauty of the

place, finally settles itself around a person, and since by this time, I had become quite adept at this age-old sport, I began to relax and enjoy myself. Caught the biggest darn pike up there; lots of bull-heads, and giant bluegills, and “muskies” by the dozen.

All of a sudden, some eerie sound broke the utter stillness of the place—Jumped up, grabbed Luke’s arms, and shook all over, as if with the ague. Now I knew the darn place was haunted by all the evil spirits of the world, gathered here to taunt me for not being a good girl. 'T want to go home,” wails Jo. “You don’t love me any more bringing me to such a God-forsaken place.” Luke laughed and laughed until tears were rolling down his cheeks; boy, if I needed anything to snap me out of it, that was the limit! Here is poor me, scared stiff by the most-awful, long drawn out mournful sound it has ever been my misfortune to experience, and all the partner does is laugh. After nearly falling over-board from the struggle we both put up to keep my sanity, Luke patiently explained to me, “That sound, my dear woman, is made by nothing more than a crazy loon”—crazy, is right. Holy mackerel, sometimes when I let my troubles get the best of me I can still hear that far-away, weird cry, of the crazy loon, and thank the fates that it decided me to live in the city.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s a swell place to go—to visit; but when the chap came back that night and towed us in to the Landing, I was mighty thankful I’d managed to live through the day. We all sat around one of these big, pot-belly stoves, after supper, and related the adventures of the most thrilling day I’d ever spent in the open. Luke told them about the big one he hooked—but lost!—good thing, too, because it must have been at least four feet long. I actually saw it, although it looked like a water-sodden log just under water. After the hook was in his mouth, and we saw its tail flip away, we knew it was no dream—boy, we were so relieved when we lost it, that we just laughed and roared.

Never will I forget those days —all those brand-new experiences, and the simple friendliness of the folks, and the size of our catch; then bed-time on the old hay-mattress. Yep, I want to go back again, for its excitement and thrills.

Spent several days there—the folks at the Landing clean your catch each day and pack it in ice until you are ready to go home. Or they can ship it to your unsuspecting friends back home. Was surprised to see that a pike’s heart beats for quite a long time after it’s taken out of the fish. The “Cleaners” laid on in front of me and told me to put my finger on the fishheart. Imagine that tiny thing having so much power behind it, even after the fish is cut up and cleaned! Took pictures of the place, but you have to see it to appreciate it.

We lingered as long as we dared—the end of our vacation was drawing near and we were still 341 miles from home. Lots to see yet, lots of fishing to do; so one bright morning we started out again, promising ourselves we’d come back again and bring the kids when they were a bit

older. The day is yet to come when we can keep that promise to ourselves, but hope never dies in the heart of the true fisherman!

One thing I forgot about Rivers with relation to Paul Bunyan. It’s about Paul’s wife. The way the old-timers tell it, it goes something like this, “Paul and his men were out puttin’ in a new road down by the Big Rapids, when they heard a hootin’ and a hollerin’.”

“Sounds like a woman,” says Paul, “That’s too loud for wildcats. Let’s go see what's ailin’ of her?”

“Well, anyways, it was Carrie Mclntie runnin’ up and down the bank yellin’ for help because her sister was goin’ over the falls, and she was stuck for help. Well, between Paul and Carrie, they built a dam in no time, and saved the girl. Paul didn’t need to be hit with a sledge-hammer to see that Carrie’d make the

The Homestead Merry-go-round

(Continued from Page 7)

worth Co. in E. St. Louis, Illinois and has been there for the past 2% years. We hope you two enjoy your stay on familiar stamping grounds, McKeesport, Duquesne, Homestead and Munhall.

Addresses Received

Last week two lists of addresses were mailed out to Branch Managers, one list showing members receiving Hungarian edition and the other showing those receiving the English Edition of our Journal. This is definitely a step in the right direction and those members of Branch 430 not receiving their desired copy, please communicate with the good wife, Mrs. Eliz. M. Kohut, 146—21st Avenue, Munhall, Pa. Telephone: HO 6282.

The Rev. M. Varkonyi formerly of the Johnstown, Pa., Reformed Church has accepted the call of the Free Hungarian Reformed Church of McKeesport and has taken over his duties there. Much success to you Rev. Varkonyi at your new post.

The new streamline trolleys in operation on the 65 line are a welcome relief. The old “dinkeys” that traveled this route was a nightmare but we have passed into a new era now and everybody is pleased, including the motormeo.

right kind of wife, so he up and married her. Man alive, but she was big—took fourteen Hudson’s Bay blankets to make her a skirt, and the sail of a full-rigged ship to make her a waist.”

“Mrs. Paul had a set of falsa teeth, of which she was all-fired proud. She also loved chicken, too. So one Sunday, when she was out watching the men down by the river, she wanted to go out on one of, the logs just to see if she could do it, too. So while she was out there on the end of the log, she sneezed and her false teeth fell in the water. There was Mrs. Paul whoopin’ it up, thinkin’ she’d never see her false teeth again, and here thy’d been made special for her by Krupps’ Iron Works, in Germany.”

“Well, about that time, Paul came along and saw the teeth lyin’ at the bottom of the river—• he stood there scratchin’ his head for a while; he goes away, and then finally he comes back with a piece of cable in one hand and a chicken drumstick in the other.”

“Paul just went ahead and fastened that drumstick to the piece of cable, dropped it in the water and them teeth just naturally snapped at the drumstick and Paul hauled ’em up.”

SMILES

WRONG RIGHT

A merchant was called upon to defend a suit brought against him by a dissatisfied patron. Just before the conclusion of the proceedings, the merchant had to go on a trip to another state. Accordingly, he instructed his attorney to telegraph- him when a decision had been reached by the judge trying the suit. When the merchant arrived he received a message from his lawyer, saying, “Right has triumphed.”

The merchant hastily wired hi» lawyer: “Appeal at once.”

THE DIPLOMAT

Lafayette was not only a splendid soldier, but an excellent diplomat as well. When he toured this country after helping us to win our independence, his affable and agreeable manner won him many new friends.

At a public reception in New Orleans two young gentlemen were successively introduced to the visiting nobleman.

“'Are you married?” asked the Marquis of the first.

“I am, general,” was the reply.

“Happy man! Happy man!” said Lafayette, warmly pressing the youthful benedict’s hand.

The second made a negative answer to the same question.

“Lucky dog! Lucky dog!” cried the adroit Frenchman, patting the bachelor on the back.

—v—•

New patient—Say Doctor, I asked that nurse to put a hotwater bottle on my feet and she stuck up her nose and walked away.

Doctor—What else could you expect? That, young man, was the head nurse.

New patient—Oh, do they specialize that much? Then send me the foot nurse.

Me Whir ter—Johnson says he is in close touch with the heads o£ several big concerns.

McWhimson—Yes, he’s a bar-