66 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



modore, in honor of his father, who made an imperish- 

 able name on Lake Champlain in the war of 1812, and 

 mine La Dame, in honor of some one who lived in my 

 imagination ; I never met her elsewhere. In the third 

 canoe were placed the tents, camp utensils, and stores 

 for twenty-four hours. When all was in readiness I 

 lighted my pipe, seated myself on the bottom of my 

 canoe, leaned back against one of the lords or cross 

 bars ; then David, sitting upon the V formed by the 

 sides of the canoe at the stern, with paddle in hand, 

 sent the birch bark flying up our river. Like most 

 Canadian trout streams it consists of a series of still, 

 deep pools, and swift, rocky rapids, alternating. Often 

 the rapids have a fall of one foot in ten, and are from 

 one to five, and sometimes ten or more rods in length. 

 It is marvellous how these canoeists will force a loaded 

 canoe up them. In doing so they stand near the back 

 end and use a long, iron-pointed "setting pole." Be- 

 fore sunset we reached our camping place, five or six 

 miles from the St. Lawrence. The guides built a fire 

 to dispel the mosquitoes, which were fearfully numer- 

 ous and bloodthirsty, and then set about pitching our 

 tents. M. and I lighted cigars, put our rods together, 

 and in ten minutes' time had taken from the pool in 

 front of us, each two trout, weighing from one pound 

 tAvo, to one pound eight ounces each. Having caught 

 enough for dinner we busied ourselves in arranging our 

 tents, preparing our beds, etc. My journal for the day 

 ends with the following brief entry : Nine P. M. — We 



