OUTDOORS 



beautiful. The aggressively scientific fly-fish- 

 erman I very seldom ran across there, but the 

 trout-fishing was good, especially after the 

 summer rains. 



The fish were as active as cats, and when 

 once hooked they would show the greatest pos- 

 sible interest in the proceedings until the inci- 

 dent was closed by their going into the creel. 

 I used to get up early in the morning after a 

 rain and start up the mountain with a pole 

 over my shoulder and a lunch in my pocket. 

 The path led over the hill-side behind the 

 house, across the brook at a little bridge, and 

 from there windingly up the mountain. The 

 rains would wash the trout down from the 

 crannies and pools higher up on the mountain, 

 and it was necessary to walk only a mile or 

 two up the mountain before commencing to 

 fish. It was perfectly glorious on those cool 

 mornings climbing the mountain-side. Great 

 hemlocks, pines, and spruces rose on either 

 side of the path and bowlders along the way 

 were banded and mottled with close-clinging 

 gray and green moss. The music of running 

 waters came gurgling through alder bushes, 

 and in the clear spaces it was sounding fresh 

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