54 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



bushes about it, and through, it dawdled the 

 slowest of streams a stream, however, whose 

 waters were clear and pure in spite of the milky 

 blue colour which spoke of their glacial origin. 

 This stream, they told me, contained trout, though 

 they had not been rising lately. The first cast 

 in one of the pale blue pools showed me that 

 there were fish there worth having and willing 

 to be had. As the flies went out over the first 

 pale blue pool, its surface was troubled, and as 

 they lit, two great trout came half-way out of 

 the water for them, felt the steel in their lip, 

 and, before I had recovered from my surprise, 

 had smashed my trace, and carried off two very 

 old lake-trout flies to the bottom. I lost two 

 more old Norwegian flies which had long lain 

 rotting in my book before I took the hint that 

 good fish, however simple and confiding, require 

 good tackle, and in accordance with that sound 

 theory, selected a reliable new fly from the scratch 

 lot which I had put up before starting, and settled 

 seriously to my work. The wild salmo fontinalis 

 of the cascades may smash the gut and make 

 light of flies bought years ago in some shop at 

 Bergen or Trondhjem, but an alder of Ogden's 

 make is another matter. I admit I am an en- 

 thusiast, and pig-headed about that fly, but I 

 have reason to be. When the green drake is on. 



