37^ 



Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 



MATCHING A SEVEN-POUND TROUT. 



himself so assiduously to caring for the comfort of his guests that 

 his own chances at catching the big trout had been seriously less- 

 ened. It was our last afternoon together, and as the hours waned 

 toward sunset, the surface of the lake became as smooth and as 

 brilliant as burnished steel. Our three boats were anchored within 

 a short distance of each other, and we were condoling with our 

 friend upon his lack of luck, when suddenly, a few rods away, there 

 was a quick swirl and splash which told of the presence of a big 

 fish. "That's my trout !" exclaimed Mr. Page, as he ordered his 

 guide to haul anchor and scull him quietly over the spot where 

 the fish had appeared. Two or three casts of the fly, and in an 

 instant, w r ith a ferocious rush, the trout had hooked himself so 

 firmly that his final capture became only a question of time, — but 

 of what a time ! After two or three desperate struggles, during 

 which he was met at every turn with the skill of a practiced fisher- 

 man, he settled sulkily at the bottom of the lake. Meanwhile, a 

 gentle east wind had sprung up with the setting sun, and Mr. Page's 

 boat began to drift with it gently to the westward. Fifteen minutes, 

 half an hour, three-quarters of an hour passed, and from our anchor- 

 age we could see that the trout showed no signs of yielding, — nor 

 did Mr. Page. As it gradually grew too dark to " cast " with satis- 

 faction, my companion in the other boat and myself decided to haul 

 up anchor and "go to see the fun," which, at our distance from the 

 scene of conflict, seemed to be growing decidedly monotonous. By 

 this time Mr. Page had drifted fully half a mile to the westward, 



