Summer Nights uii a Trout Stnd///. 



13 



of all places, right opposite that pot 

 hole, and had walked straight into it up 

 to his armpits, and, floundering about, 

 had lost his reel, the most of his line, 

 perhaps also his temper, and had 

 reached home wetter than ever a trout 

 fisherman ought to be, disgusted and 

 dejected. It is but fair to say, however, 

 that when I met him clothed and in his 

 right mind, he took his adventure in a 

 jolly mood, like the Christian gentle- 

 man he truly was, and we became fast 

 friends though we went fishing to- 

 gether no more. 



For the greater part of my vacation, 

 I was the only fisherman at the little 

 boarding house except the boys. Two 

 or three of them were good worm 

 fishermen and often brought home nice 

 baskets. One afternoon Fred and I 

 started out to fish down to a pool which 

 I had heard of but had not fished as it 

 was somewhat beyond my customary 

 beat. The water was low, the day warm 

 and still and fly fishing seemed almost 

 useless, yet it was pleasant to wade in 

 the cool water and practice casts over 

 the difficult places under overhanging 

 trees. We reached our journey's end 

 just as the farmer boys were driving 

 the cows home and the light was begin- 

 ning to fail. Fred was in high spirits 

 for, though neither of us had taken any- 

 thing worth mentioning, he with his 

 worm had caught two fish to my 

 one. 



The pool was simply a long stretch of 

 moderately deep water, into which a run- 

 way emptied. Fred promptly dropped 

 his worm into the head of it, biit 

 without a response. I had been using 

 small black gnats all the afternoon, and 



as my expectations were small, I did 

 not take the trouble to change them ; 

 but when Fred could do nothing, I tried 

 a cast, and instantly had a fierce rise and 

 next time a good trout. By this time it 

 was nearly dark, and the fish rose so 

 savagely and the sport became so ex- 

 citing that I missed more than half my 

 chances. Fred abandoned his useless 

 rod and took the landing net to help 

 me. We could not stay long, for we 

 had a three mile tramp before us, but 

 in less than an hour I had a dozen fine 

 fish of nearly half a pound each, taken 

 after dark on black gnats ! We over- 

 took a countryman on our way home, 

 who hailed us and wanted to know 

 "What luck?" Very unceremoniously 

 he lifted the lid of my basket to an- 

 swer his own question and exclaimed : 



" Gosh ! I haint seen such a mess of 

 fish as that in a month I" 



A word about that old dam where so 

 many big ones were taken. It was 

 built to furnish water power for a large 

 tannery, happily long since defunct. 

 Just below it was a bridge, and the peo- 

 ple feared at some high water time the 

 dam. might go and carry the bridge 

 with it. Therefore it was taken down, 

 and two of the finest pools in the river 

 spoiled, and the fishing for a couple of 

 miles below has never been really good 

 since. I have an idea that such dams 

 are great conservators of trout in rapid 

 streams like the Beaverkill. 



Dear old Beaverkill ! They say you 

 are played out now. But of those first 

 years of our acquaintance, while the 

 old dam stood, those years of abundance 

 of rain and frequent high water, no 

 good fisherman could complain. 



