168 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



mountains, the wine-like air, the sparkling water, 

 the sunshine, the peace, the restfulness, the 

 TROUT that make the Kootenay one of God's 

 best gifts to man. 



The confession may as well be made first as last 

 that we went to the Kootenay country for the 

 express purpose of fishing. This is no disparage- 

 ment to the people or to the scenery, for each 

 stands at the head of its class. But some philoso- 

 pher has said (or if he has not he ought to have 

 done so) : " Count that vacation wasted in which 

 you do no fishing." Wasting a vacation is sinful; 

 therefore we fish. Here in the Kootenay are trout 

 worthy of one's skill; heroes of many battles; 

 cunning and adroit veterans who know all the 

 tricks at the command of the enemy. 



Just below the point where the Kootenay River 

 breaks out of the lake is the little hamlet of Proc- 

 tor. There is not much to the place but the hotel 

 and the name yes, and the trout. The river is 

 wide and deep, with swift current and numberless 

 counter-currents. Where the water rushes around 

 some rock or point of sand, where current struggles 

 with current and a great swirl grows out of the 

 conflict, there the rainbow-trout hold their town- 

 meetings. We attended some of them and tried 

 our uttermost to break them up. It was in a visit 

 to one of these gatherings that the Junior made 

 his bow to the inhabitants of the Kootenay waters. 

 Behold the young man (not quite four years old) 



