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The men talk of their hunting and logging adventures, clothes and books are being dried before the fire and bread is baking.

Saturday 14
Two birches and a part of the party went out yesterday afternoon to the pickerel ground to fish while I took a birch and went alone up Sandy Stream to try the trout. Sandy Stream is a swift and mainly smooth flowing river about four miles wide with a sandy bottom the disintegrated granite from Katahdin and occasionally a deep hole where it swells around some great boulder. The shores are fringed with trees and alders close down to the water making it difficult to land or to secure the birch for fishing. I managed with great difficulty to make a few casts for the birch is like an eggshell caught by every eddy and answering to every caress of the breeze. In one of these deep black pools my canoe got a lurch downstream and in striking out with my paddle to hold her upstream I reached a little too far when she instantly rolled over and filled and threw me out. I had on my heavy boots and my rubber coat but seeing first that my rod and the paddle were secure I seized the boat and pushing her ahead of me swam with all my might across the swift current and selecting an opening among the tangled alders ran her on shore and crawled out through the mud and slime. The brush was so dense that it was with great difficulty that I turned her over and emptied her of water but after a half hours tugging I set sail again. I would have looked funny enough to anyone who could have had a look at