A Sportsman 35 



shrink from doing, even if I had the physical activity 

 to accomplish it, concerning a score that I made one 

 day on a branch of the Saco River. Then, before the 

 railroad invasion and the present overrunning of the 

 region about Conway and Jackson, the brooks were 

 alive with trout. 



There had been a rivalry among the comparatively 

 few summer visitors as to a day's catch, and I then 

 imdertook to make a record — a foolish effort of young 

 aspiration, and I will acknowledge the folly of such 

 actions, although the demand for the delicate and tooth- 

 some brook-trout served to prevent any useless waste. 

 I camped over night upon the stream with two com- 

 rades, W. T. Bramhall, of Boston, now deceased, and 

 Gilbert E. Jones, of New York, at one time the owner 

 of the New York Times and an enthusiastic sports- 

 man, who also made a great record for the day. I 

 commenced fishing at five o'clock in the morning 

 and fished fourteen hours, until seven, scarcely wait- 

 ing for any rest or lunch, and quit earlier than I 

 should have but for a severe thunder-storm which 

 wet us to the skin, and whose vivid flashes of light- 

 ning were required to get us out of the woods to 

 our team at a neighboring town. My catch was 

 seven hundred and sixty-eight trout, or an average 

 of fifty-five trout an hour. In verification we counted 

 over the catch twice upon our return to the Kearsarge 

 House, where they were all consumed. 



Such fishing was devoid of the pleasant contem- 

 plation of nature's attractions, which should be the 

 main object of a sportsman's life, and an illustration 

 of the feverish excitement which too often reigns 

 within the human breast. I will own that many 



