Sea -Trout Fishing. 531 



the stream, a fresh bear's track is crossed, but the silence here is sel- 

 dom broken except by the ceaseless under-song of the mosquito's hum — 



" The horns of Elfland faintly blowing." 



This minim of insects must have a word. Since fishing began, 

 he and his stinging kin have been the angler's pest. Herodotus 

 thinks him worthy of mention and describes the Egyptians' device for 

 protection against him, — that of spreading a net over a shaded cleft 

 in the rocks, through the meshes of which he will not pass unless 

 the sun shines in. The Sicilian fisherman of to-day contrives pre- 

 cisely the same refuge from his attack. But after the experience 

 of many years on many streams, the assertion is confidently made, 

 that all masquerading in veils, helmets, goggles, and capes, brings 

 mere vexation and impediment, and that the most effective and least 

 troublesome protection is gained by rubbing every exposed surface 

 thoroughly and often with a mixture of three parts of sweet oil and 

 one part of oil of pennyroyal. 



At the lake it is always cold. The sunsets over its rugged 

 shores doubled in the crimson water, the frequent aurora flashirfg 

 and streaming across the whole breadth of sky, and the clear stars 

 looking down on a mirror as still, touch the feeling like beauty 

 wasted, since so rarely seen, if nature knows any waste. 



A variation of sport may be enjoyed here, if one condescends to 

 capture the great pickerel abounding in the lake, either by casting a 

 spoon with a stout rod among the lily-pads, or by lazily letting ten 

 fathoms of line trail from the canoe while the guide paddles slowly, 

 till one of these pond-sharks, striking, gorges the gaudy bait, and is 

 hauled up alongside and knocked in his grim head with a short 

 club. A couple of hours of this rude sport yielded to one line a 

 hundred and twenty-two pounds, the largest fish weighing eight. 

 This is merely justice pursuing murder, since the pickerel is a 

 destroying terror to trout and salmon. They lurk in shoals around 

 the outlet, to seize the fish passing up and wage havoc among them 

 for a mile down the stream. Escaping these waylayers, the fish 

 have still many miles to run before reaching the spawning-grounds. 

 The intervening water above the lake is too free from rapids to 

 afford good fishing until a tributary is reached, too far away to be 

 attainable in the few days remaining. Pointing the flotilla peaks 



