Nova Scotia Trout-Fishing 



about three inches long. He returned the net to Walter, 

 took the frog hy his hind-legs and gulped him down. 

 I was paralyzed and Walter had a sort of sea-sick ex- 

 pression. Joe pocketed my five-dollar bill with com- 

 placency. I was relieved to note that he made immediate 

 preparations for continuing our journey instead of 

 hunting more frogs. 



He rowed us across the end of the lake to Trout Brook, 

 a distance of five miles. This was to be our first tenting- 

 place. To get to our objective we had to row out 

 through the Narrows between Lowe's Lake and Lake 

 Rossignol, then among some beautiful wooded islands, 

 until we rounded a long peninsula known as Wildcat 

 Point. Passing this point, we were in the big open part 

 of Lake Rossignol proper. Joe pointed to some miniature 

 islands about three miles away near the western shore 

 which marked the mouth of Trout Brook. I was sitting 

 in the stern, paddling and steering as Joe directed. 

 Meanwhile Walter had rigged up two rods, and began 

 to give us an exhibition of off-hand fly-casting. Believe 

 me, that boy was " some " artist with the fly-rod ! He 

 could do anything with it but make it write its own name 

 and sit up and beg ! 



While Joe made camp in a grove of multi-coloured 

 birches at the mouth of Trout Brook, Walter and I took 

 the fishing-rods and dip-nets, and walked along the edge 

 of the meadow to try for fish. It was a still-water 

 brook and comparatively free from bushes on its margin. 

 Walter caught two nice trout almost immediately; then 

 I caught one; then Walter caught three or four more 

 while I was landing my second. By sundown Walter 

 had a dozen fish and I had four. We had been casting 

 barely an hour. When we got back to the tent we 

 compared notes and fish. My four weighed as much as 

 his twelve. I was using a good-sized Parmachene Belle 



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