502 The Michigan Grayling. 



The country I have described has, of course, none of that awe- 

 inspiring scenery we find on the shores of Lake Superior ; but with 

 its clear, ever-flowing, ever-winding rivers over white and yellow 

 sands, with graceful cedars projecting at a sharp angle from the 

 banks, and every bend of the stream opening a new view, it is novel 

 and pleasing to one who has been shut up all winter in a crowded 

 city. In running a grayling stream, the feeling is one of peace and 

 quietude. There are no song-birds in those deep woods. One only 

 hears the far-off falling of some old forest tree, or that weird sound 

 caused by the rubbing of the branch of one tree against that of 

 another, as they are swayed to and fro by the wind, and in the 

 distance one can almost fancy that it is a human voice. Otherwise, 

 all is as silent as death. 



My first raid upon the grayling was in August, 1874, with Mr. 

 Fitzhugh, of Bay City, on the Au Sable. We ran this river from 

 Grayling, on the northern branch of the Jackson, Saginaw, and 

 Lansing Railroad, to Thompson's, a distance of a hundred and sixty 

 miles. From Thompson's, after loading our two boats on a stout 

 two-horse wagon and occupying another with springs, we drove 

 twenty-five miles to Tawas City, and then, after a few hours on a 

 steamer, back to Bay City. There is no grayling- fishing at the 

 station called Grayling, nor until one gets four or five miles down 

 the stream where the cedars appear. From this as far as we ran 

 it, — and there was yet sixty miles of it below Thompson's, — it is 

 a beautiful stream, much prettier, I think, more rapid, and less 

 obstructed with sweepers, than the Manistee. The distance by land 

 is about seventy miles. On our second day, we killed and salted 

 down — heads and tails off — a hundred and twenty pounds of 

 fish, besides eating all we wanted. In one hanging rift close by 

 the bank, as Len Iswel, my pusher, held on to the cedar boughs, 

 I took at five casts fifteen fish, averaging three-quarters of a pound 

 each. The following day, we fished along leisurely until we had 

 our live-boxes, containing each sixty pounds, so full that the fish 

 began to die. Then we passed over splendid pools in which 

 we could see large schools of grayling on the bottom without 

 casting a fly ; for we would not destroy them in mere wanton- 

 ness. In a few days, however, we came across occasional timber 

 camps, when we commenced fishing again, and supplied all hands 



