38 Recreations of a Sportsman 



Wimawita slipped on the mossy rock and Tsileu, 

 exerting all his strength, raised and hurled him far 

 out into the lake. Then the Llaos rose and bear- 

 ing fiercely down upon Tsileu tore his body to 

 pieces and cast them upon the water. Before the 

 ripples had subsided where the lark disappeared, 

 the waves parted and the lava burst out with a 

 mighty noise. The Island of Llaos Nous rose up 

 as a gasp of the dying crater, and here, 't is said, 

 dwells the spirit of Wimawita, the brave, and 

 Tculucul, the lark. 



The sunrise on the lake is one to be re- 

 membered, and cannot be adequately described: 

 its tints of blue, red, and purple, its racing 

 shadows of infinite beauty, deep tones of tour- 

 maline, the pink of the alpine glow, all lost 

 in the deep purples that flood the placid beauty 

 of the lake in a warm glow of radiance and 

 color. In the evening you climb the slopes 

 again, ploughing through the ancient cinder bed, 

 and watch the reverse; then descend the narrow 

 trail into the stupendous crater and stand at 

 the surface of the lake, enter the boat, and row 

 out to view its wonders, just as some nebulous 

 craft of fire once sailed over the surface of the 

 molten lava that welled, seethed, and flowed 

 against the precipitous shore. 



The anglers fit their rods, and, under the 

 direction of the guide, row along the edge of 

 the strangest fishing ground in the world. 



