A TASTE OF MAINE BIECH 113 



the first time, and put its slender maple paddle into 

 the water, it sprang away with such quickness and 

 speed that it disturbed me in my seat. I had 

 spurred a more restive and spirited steed than I 

 was used to. In fact, I had never been in a craft 

 that sustained so close a relation to my will, and 

 was so responsive to my slightest wish. When I 

 caught my first large trout from it, it sympathized 

 a little too closely, and my enthusiasm started a 

 leak, which, however, with a live coal and a piece 

 of rosin, was quickly mended. You cannot perform 

 much of a war-dance in a birch- bark canoe; better 

 wait till you get on dry land. Yet as a boat it is 

 not so shy and "ticklish" as I had imagined. One 

 needs to be on the alert, as becomes a sportsman 

 and an angler, and in his dealings with it must 

 charge himself with three things, — precision, mod- 

 eration, and circumspection. 



Trout weighing four and five pounds have been 

 taken at Moxie, but none of that size came to our 

 hand. I realized the fondest hopes I had dared to 

 indulge in when I hooked the first two-pounder of 

 my life, and my extreme solicitude lest he get away 

 I trust was pardonable. My friend, in relating the 

 episode in camp, said I had implored him to row 

 me down in the middle of the lake that I might 

 have room to manoeuvre my fish. But the slander 

 has barely a grain of truth in it. The water near 

 us showed several old stakes broken off just below 

 the surface, and my fish was determined to wrap 

 my leader about one of these stakes; it was only 



