Trout Fishing 1 1 1 



prospect for big pines. Curiously enough, not 

 one of the party had ever seen fly-fishing before, 

 and on my playing a trout on my slender tackle, 

 they burst into roars of laughter at what was, 

 to them, an incomprehensible absurdity. They 

 poach the beauties in every kind of rascally manner, 

 and even go to the length of salting them down in 

 barrels as if they were mere vulgar codfish. On 

 our arrival at their starting - point they departed 

 to flush some logs down the stream, and we took 

 command of the canoe and went to the narrow 

 entrance of the lake to try our luck. And luck 

 indeed we had, for during two hours, in spite of 

 the mutterings of a gathering thunderstorm, we 

 were, one or other of us, never five minutes without 

 a magnificent fish fighting gallantly on our slender 

 tackle, and the bottom of the canoe was soon 

 paved with scarlet and gold, brilliant enough to 

 shame the brightest carpet ever woven. The fish 

 dashed out from under the mass of fallen logs 

 which paved the bottom of the lake, and nothing 

 but the most desperate and determined " butting " 

 enabled us to land them. Without landing-net or 

 gaff this was rather a ticklish operation, but we 

 lost very few, and at last it seemed as if we had 

 cleared out the whole bay. Then we wended our 

 way down through the forest to our camp at the 

 mouth of the Carp River, bearing our mighty bunch 

 of glories on a pole between us, and the thunder- 

 storm, which soon burst over our heads, roared 



