38 



Rod, Gun, and Palette in the High Rockies 







^^ / ^k-y^.' 



Looking back from "a bit farther upstream" 



by a line of dark firs, the mountains rose, tier on tier, into a sky 

 of liquid blue. 



Landing on a bar below the great cut bank of obsidian sand 

 along whose top the trail from Yellowstone runs, the two fisher- 

 men, Art with the spoon and William with sundry flies, tried the 

 riffle at its tail, while the artist went to his own occupation. Art 

 had no success. William reported a big one fooling, but failed 

 to strike him. It was concluded to go a bit farther upstream. 

 Occasional pairs of mallard were seen on the passage of a mile or 

 so to a mid-stream bar with deep water on both sides, in a bend 

 below flat sedge meadows. Here William took two Loch Leven 

 trout in half an hour on a Reuben Wood, two and one-half and 

 one and one-quarter pounds, respectively. The heavier fish was 

 full of roe. No results were had with the spoon. On the road 

 back to camp a single butterball and a squirrel hawk were noticed. 



A showery and thunderous afternoon in camp, such as was 

 this, is, or can be made full of small and comfortable employments. 

 Fred was busy in the cook tent, devising ways and means for the 

 greater efficiency of that department; William, a tackle box on 

 his knees, assorting leaders, flies and hooks; the artist at an easel, 

 working with swift decision, fastening down the impressions of 



