22 A FISHERMAN'S PARADISE 



muscles become languid, and a good fisherman, with 

 due regard for conditions, can get sport that will sat- 

 isfy him at any time of year. On an evening of late 

 August I sat in my canoe at the head of one of the 

 great pools above Camp Sorcier and, near the edge 

 of the water weeds by the further bank, it seemed 

 as if a herd of elephants were wallowing. The scar- 

 let ibis was seized as it touched the water and a 

 strenuous combat followed, line being whirled off 

 of my reel over and over again, but finally there 

 was tired out, brought alongside and lifted in, as 

 fine specimen of a male trout, in his wedding gar- 

 ments, as one is likely to see. Twenty-one inches 

 he measured and four pounds full he weighed, and, 

 having been duly admired, was carefully slid into 

 the river, lay on his back for a minute or two while 

 his gills worked more and more, gave a wobbling 

 half turn, then a stronger one, and then suddenly 

 righted and vanished. He is there yet, as well as the 

 much larger ones that his impetuosity preceded, and 

 whom my flies failed to attract, and all are ready to 

 welcome future visitors. To photograph this fish 

 would have involved taking his life, so the tempta- 

 tion was manfully resisted; and the portrait of a 

 string of big fellows, taken from these same pools 

 by somebody else, is substituted. 



To obtain satisfactory illustrations for an arti- 

 cle of this kind is far from easy, for really interest- 

 ing scenes are few, and the psychological moments 

 come and pass while the camera is empty, the light 



