Memories of Moose-Shooting 



perch weighing a pound. She cast once or twice again, 

 and got another heavy strike. We were fully five 

 minutes trying to get this fellow up close enough to the 

 canoe to slip the dip-net under him. When she got 

 the fish in close enough, I discovered she had three, 

 one on each fly. After considerable manipulation I 

 succeeded in dipping the fish on the tail fly, then got the 

 second fish and finally the top one, landing all three safely 

 in the canoe. By this time the whole party was putting 

 rods together and pushing out in canoes to enjoy the 

 sport. We certainly had it. We caught another triple 

 and several doubles. Just for an experiment we attached 



a fourth fly to the leader, and Mrs. B successfully 



landed four at once. 



In all my experience in trout-fishing (and the Rossignol 

 streams are full of the big spotted, fighting fish), I have 

 yet to see a trout put up the battle or show the game- 

 staying qualities of these white perch. And the trout 

 usually have swift-running water to assist in their 

 attempts to get away, while the perch had to fight in 

 still water. Americans call these perch, bass. Never 

 having seen bass, I do not know. 



Mrs. B landed one fish that weighed two and a 



half pounds, which is the largest perch I have ever seen 

 caught in this country. The flies used were a small 

 Parmachene Beau on the tail, a Silver Doctor in the 

 middle, and a Ginger Quill next to the line. 



These perch skinned, with the fins properly cut out, 

 and rolled in corn meal and salt, make trout taste like 

 a cold pancake in comparison. 



CHAPTER 9. DEFORMATION. 



The week-end following the above-mentioned party, 

 Ike and I left the mill in my little car at six o'clock Sunday 

 morning, and arrived at camp just in time to take snaps 



65 E 



