Fish-hooks. 29 



his own. I speak from the heart, for "I have been 

 there." 



Fly-fishing for large trout had been below par during 

 the fall of 1883. On September 29th I was informed 

 that some had been seen that morning rolling in the 

 pool below the lumber-dam. A hasty dinner finished, 

 and I was at the pool. Up rolled a trout two feet long 

 before I could prepare to cast. To my brothers of the 

 angle who have never seen a trout of over three pounds 

 rise to the surface, I would say they have something 

 yet to live for. I can liken it to nothing better than 

 the swirl made by the propeller of a steamer when it 

 first starts from inaction into motion. It is a sight to 

 quicken the circulation of an iceberg. Till dark I cast, 

 employing every resource of the art known to me. 

 Every four or five minutes one would break the surface, 

 and nearly give me a fit with the eagerness with which 

 I would hasten to lay my fly in front of him, before he 

 could vanish from my sight and its neighborhood. It 

 was all in vain. Night fell, and no fish of over one and 

 a half pounds had rewarded my efforts. So, disappointed 

 and disgusted, but not discouraged, I vowed vengeance 

 on the morrow, and betook myself to camp, studying the 

 problem, and how its conditions could be varied that the 

 next day might have a happier issue. I decided on a 

 new combination of form and color in the fly, and no 

 hook in my own stock being quite suitable, I begged 

 one from a brother angler. I did not like its bend, but 

 still there was a better chance with any hook, if they 

 could be induced to take it, than with the best if it were 

 ignored. 



Bright and early the next morning my guide and I 

 landed from our boat upon the boom above the dam, and 



