BROOK TROUT 



quick water, at this season. A fortnight later they will 

 be at the mouth of the cold brooks that flow into the 

 main stream. Look ! boats coming up — So-and-so's 

 party — been camping down at Long Lake. What 

 luck ? Report us, please. Ah I whose house is that ? 

 Stetson's. We'll stop when we return. The Saranac 

 at last I What a magnificent sheet of water I What 

 beautiful islands ! See those tents ! Why, I can count 

 a dozen along the shore. I had no idea so many were 

 camping out. Bartlett's, at last I We tarry here to- 

 night. What a place for trout I Two years ago, just 

 in there, above the dam, where you see that rock in 

 midstream, I hooked a lake trout on the tail-fly of an 

 extraordinary long cast ; they say a lake trout won't 

 rise to a fly. He did, though, and took it handsomely. 

 I never had better sport in my life. He amused me 

 for half an hour, and when I had him landed, he 

 weighed four pounds and a half I was proud to kill 

 that fish on my eight-ounce bamboo. 



Pleasant is the voyage around the route. Each 

 day's experience differs from the last. New scenery 

 constantly opens to view. Friendly parties and fa- 

 miliar faces are constantly met. And one need not 

 camp out at all if indisposed. The guide will arrange 

 to stop at a hotel each night. And what rousing fun 

 there is in these wayside hostelries when parties meet I 

 What blazing fires, what steaming venison, what pun- 

 gent odor of fried pork and bacon, what friendly aroma 

 of hot coffee ! 



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