THE INCONNU WHAT IT IS NOT 



one evening's sport with Arctic trout and grayling 

 on the streams of the Rocky Mountains about a 

 hundred miles south of the Arctic Ocean. There 

 is no angling like it in any country I have ever seen. 



And again I would have given a like sum for half 

 a day's sport with a good casting rod and proper 

 lures at any of several localities we saw where the 

 inconnu was present in full force. We took these 

 fish on rude tackle that is to say, others did. I 

 would not give a snap to take game fish in any way 

 but on a good rod, giving them a sporting chance 

 and myself sporting experience as well. In short, 

 the inconnu has never received the full meed of 

 praise that should be his, nor has he often been 

 allowed a sporting chance. He lives for the one 

 purpose of poking his head into a gill-net so that 

 you may eat him. He even relieves you of the 

 trouble of killing him, for you always find him 

 dead. He is the most amiable of fishes, the most 

 unsung, unknelled and unknown. 



At Fort McPherson, which is thirty miles up the 

 Peel River, a tributary of the Mackenzie, we found 

 the connies quite abundant, and we then heard of 

 different localities in the neighborhood where the 

 natives had always found them in regular supply. 

 Such a place we found on the Husky River, one 

 of the delta branches of the Mackenzie, at the mouth 



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