170 Fly-rods and Fly-tackle. 



I was fishing from a boat in Rangely Lake a few years 

 since. Just beyond reach of my cast another boat was 

 anchored, containing an old gentleman using about a nine- 

 ounce rod of this description and a liberal " gob " of 

 worms. 



The bottom was plainly visible, and from time to time 

 large trout of five pounds and upward lazily swam into 

 sight, cruising slowly about in utter indifference to every- 

 thing except their own private pursuits. Six and seven 

 pounders were common, while one leviathan was a fre- 

 quent visitor, which I could not place at less than ten 

 pounds. Oh, how my heart went out to him ! 



I was attending to my own affairs, in that frantic 

 condition of mind incident to an occasion when such 

 trout are rising freely, but positively decline to acknowl- 

 edge the slightest acquaintance with such an insect as 

 the fly. Again and again my fly would settle in a swirl 

 like that made by the blade of an oar, and that too be- 

 fore the fish could have been three feet from the spot. 

 Every five minutes the fly was changed, ranging from 

 the smallest gnat to a good-sized salmon-fly. I tried it 

 on the water under the water in every way and under 

 every condition I could devise, but all in vain. So it may 

 reasonably be surmised that peace was not with me. 



Suddenly my guide exclaimed, "He's got one!" I 

 looked. I was at once struck by the perfect curve of 

 the rod, which was doubled up to a degree that few 

 could regard without apprehension, for the old gentle- 

 man clearly was handling his fish "without gloves." 

 Momentarily I expected to see it break. But no ; ten 

 fifteen minutes half an hour passed and still the rod 

 triumphed over that fearful strain, while the fish seemed 

 as fresh as ever. At last a boy climbed a tree 9verhang- 



