244 I GO A-FISHING. 



It had been for many years regarded as a settled fact 

 that there were no trout in Echo Lake. Some one put 

 pickerel in there years ago, and they have maintained 

 possession. In 1859, a friend and myself devoted a day 

 to taking fifty trout in Profile Lake and transferring them 

 to Echo Lake, with the hope that a few of them might 

 survive the attacks of the enemy, and eventually establish 

 a colony there. But we never heard from them, and had 

 never seen a trout rise on the surface of Echo Lake. 



One evening toward the close of the season I per- 

 suaded Dupont and C to go with me to Echo Lake. 



" It's a great deal better to throw a fly where you know 

 there are no trout, and so give patience a perfect trial," I 

 said. And we went floating around the beautiful lake, 



C standing in the boat with my rod, and casting now 



and then inshore for a pickerel. Pickerel will take a fly 

 with a rush, but they are not game after being struck. 

 They come in like dead fish. It was a glorious afternoon, 

 and we were enjoying the strong and various lights of the 

 westering sun on the Eagle Cliffs and the slopes of Lafay- 

 ette. There is in Echo Lake a certain spot where springs 

 gush up from the bottom in about eight feet of water, sur- 

 rounded by lily pads. We were gliding over this spot, 



when C handed me my rod, with which he had been 



casting, and said, " Take the rod while I look at this sun- 

 set." I took the rod and carelessly threw over the spring- 

 hole. As I drew across the still, black water, a sharp 

 strike and a heavy plunge startled me from the seat where 

 I had been holding the oars. A large fish went down 

 with the line, and in an instant I found I must give him 

 the reel. " The first pickerel I ever saw in Echo Lake to 

 which I had to give the reel," I exclaimed as he rushed 

 off. The next moment, as I checked him, and he swung 



