412 Fly-rods and Fly-tackle. 



best surmounted ; so it was with some surprise I heard 

 John answer an inquiry as to how we were to cross the 

 river, by saying, in the most off-hand way, we would cross 

 on the rocks at the Big Falls a place which it is doubt- 

 ful if a dozen men in the whole country had ever seen, 

 and which he himself had visited but once, and then in 

 winter. However, we took to the woods one morning 

 before seven o'clock, John with forty-one pounds on his 

 back and a nine -pound rifle in his hand, and I with 

 twenty-five pounds in my pack and my tin rod-case, con- 

 taining two rods, which I used as a staff. We climbed 

 West Kennebago Mountain two-thirds to its summit 

 that mountain over whose perfect cone, so soft and ver- 

 dant, thousands of anglers on the Rangely Lakes have 

 raved, yet whose sides we found one mass of crags, 

 chasms, and windfalls, which, with the heavy grade, 

 made the most cruel travelling for a loaded man I have 

 ever seen and finally, after a forced march, without halt 

 except for breath, at two o'clock in the afternoon we 

 heard the welcome roar, and struck out of the woods di- 

 rectly upon the desired spot. The falls were before us. 

 Among gigantic bowlders the river foamed and roared in 

 a series of moderate pitches, interspersed with dark pools, 

 till a bend some distance below hid it from sight. We 

 had crossed the greater part of the stream without diffi- 

 culty, when we came to a rock about the size of a two- 

 story cottage, sloping gently down to a pool, which 

 looked uncommonly dark and wet. A ledge about two 

 feet wide broke the uniform descent a short distance from 

 the top. John paused, and said, " These rocks are pretty 

 slippery. You will probably have no trouble with your 

 hobnailed shoes, but as I have none, perhaps you had 

 better hold the rifle while I climb down to the ledge." 



