Tragic Fishing Moments 



home and I began to dream of the big ones about 

 which the rest of the bunch talked. 



Now it was about four years since I had laid my 

 rod away, and misgivings began to come concerning 

 my adeptness with the old outfit, so I wanted to find 

 some secluded spot to practice the gentle art of casting 

 where there would be no one to see the awkward 

 efforts. About four miles through the virgin forest 

 there nestled in a hidden valley a little mountain lake 

 reputed to be well stocked with big lake trout. This 

 seemed to be the ideal place for a backslider to get into 

 trim. 



My shift ended at midnight, and promptly on that 

 hour I banged my desk shut and tore for home to get 

 a few winks before the alarm scheduled to go off at 

 three a. m. should rout me out in the cold. It seemed 

 as though my head had barely touched the pillow when 

 the sharp jangling of the little watchman sent me 

 across the cold floor and into my clothes. 



Hastily pocketing my cold breakfast put up the 

 night previous, and strapping on the old creel full of 

 lines, flies and bait, I sallied forth into the cold and 

 darkness of the hour before dawn and started the 

 tramp to the little spring-fed lake. As I wound up 

 the trail through the hills, a bunch of coyotes cut loose 

 and made the hills echo with their howling. I thought : 

 " Surely, 'tis a good omen, for they are acclaiming 

 the victor." It did not occur to me that they might be 



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