64 Fishing in North, Carolina. 



a day's hard work, but there was enough fun 

 connected with it to compensate for the time lost 

 in work. Into the icy cold water I go wading 

 down stream, for it is safer falling down stream 

 than up stream, just as one hurts himself more 

 falling up stairs; and the exertion is not so 

 great. The water keeps cold, and I frequently get 

 out on a boulder, rub my feet and legs, call the 

 boy, complain about the cold, lighten the load of 

 et ceteras and plunge into the stream again. 

 Picking out likely places for fish I cast my flies, 

 and if I miss hanging to a laurel bush and drop 

 within ten feet of a beauty, I am pretty sure 

 to get a rise, tolerably sure to make a miss, and 

 once in a year or two get a fish. But years 

 amount to nothing in this mountain trout busi- 

 ness, among a dreary people whose money crop 

 consists in apples, cabbages and scenery — ap- 

 ples for distilling and dilluting the head with, 

 cabbages for filling and annoying the appendix 

 with, and scenery for disturbing and wearying 

 the heel with. 



If you just once see your cast gently dropping 

 to the objective spot, see a 1-8 pounder leap out, 



