20 A FISHERMAN'S PARADISE 



end of the porch brings out your guide, who shoul- 

 ders the birch and takes the trail that in a hundred 

 yards or so opens on the shore of Sherman, the west 

 side of which, densely forested, one coasts, dropping 

 his flies into the shadows under the bank. In half an 

 hour one has taken a couple of wide, deep crimson 

 bellied fellows of a pound or two each and probably 

 put back several others. The two trout are hung 

 on a tree, out of reach of the mink, to be picked up 

 and taken back for supper, and another short trail 

 brings you to the edge of a steep bank from which 

 you look out on beautiful Sans Bout, with its lofty 

 shores, wooded and rocky islands and winding chan- 

 nels. You stand at the easterly point of a deep bay, 

 whose whole northern side is already in shadow, and, 

 paddling slowly along it, drop the flies on still and 

 deep water close to the shore. Here lie big brown- 

 sided, deep bodied trout, and as the sun sinks lower 

 they begin to rise, coming up with a furious splash of 

 the still water and righting fiercely and long before 

 the net can be slid under them. You have already 

 trout for supper, and these big and strong fellows 

 are rather too hard in the flesh to be really good eat- 

 ing, so each is carefully landed, measured and 

 weighed if really large, dropped back unhurt and 

 goes off to live his life out. Of course, you are always 

 hoping for one big enough to be worthy of having 

 a tracing made on birch bark, inscribed with his 

 length and weight and your own name, and tacked on 

 the wall as a memento. The possibility of a record 



