MEMORIES OF THE 



it — that would send them sky-high over the bushes and trees 

 way in-shore, over the fences into the adjacent fields, up or down 

 stream, thereby losing many which landed in water or in deep 

 grass or thick brush. Much of our time was spent chasing after 

 those we had slung in-land, climbing trees to release our hooks, 

 or hunting for fish which were thrown a long distance and lost. 



In spite of lack of skill and our inferior tackle, we generally 

 got plenty. The creeks were full of them and very few fisher- 

 men sought them. We ran from hole to hole and went over 

 ground enough in an hour for two days' fishing. Close, careful 

 or scientific angling we knew nothing of. We were not exactly 

 "chalk-liners," but certainly not high-toned sportsmen; yet we 

 knew all the sure holes, logs, rifts, reaches, alders and eddies 

 that never failed to give up from one to a dozen good trout when 

 properly approached. 



When caught, the fish were hung on a long, crotched birch 

 string, which was carried in the hand. When small I was 

 allowed to go fishing without line, hook or pole, to carry the fish 

 and sometimes the bait. I was expected also to act as a re- 

 triever and run after the trout that were slung over the trees or 

 on the banks of the stream and in adjacent fields. For a few 

 years I held this job under my brother John and others, but I 

 always keenly appreciated the degradation, and the ambition to 

 be a real fisherman was always burning within me; then I got 

 mother to braid me a short line from old Dick's tail, secured a 

 pole, and thereafter went it on my own hook. I was never as 

 successful an angler as John, and had to "keep back" when 

 we approached a hole where sly, old, big ones lived, unless I 

 chose to go far ahead and be out of his way. 



In early days we fished only on Deer Creek and Fox Creek. 

 They ran close together, averaging only one-half or three-quar- 



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