220 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



expected to sleep on wet boughs — in fact, how 

 could the boughs be cut when they were wet, and 

 even the ground was wet ? " and so on ; growl, 

 growl, growl, simply because of some nice, refresh- 

 ing rain. Why, I have had it refresh me for 

 sixteen consecutive days, but growling did not 

 do any good — in fact, so far as I know, growhng 

 has never yet stopped rain or any other trouble ; 

 rather the reverse, for it seems as though the 

 growlers always have the most troubles. 



Our last camp was at tide-water, some 16 miles 

 from the actual mouth of the river. The tent 

 overlooked a very large, deep pool, fully 200 yards 

 long. On the opposite side a small sparlding brook 

 added its share to the larger river. One day the 

 fishing was not good in the big pool owing to the 

 very high tide, so we amused ourselves along the 

 bank of the smaller stream, and we made acquaint- 

 ance — a sort of bowing acquaintance — with a very 

 clever and very aggravating trout. He hved in a 

 small pool under an old, dead birch stump which 

 bent over the water. I cast toward his home, 

 thinking it a likely place, and it was, for instantly 

 there was a splash and a glint of silver as the fish, 

 which we subsequently named McGinty, came 

 to the fly and missed it. Again I cast and saw 

 him leave the shade of the big stump ; but he 

 changed his mind and returned. For some time I 

 contiimed casting, without results, so I tried 

 another fly and McGinty made a dart at it, but 

 without success — at least, so far as I was con- 

 cerned. After a while I actually hooked him, but 

 only for an instant, and off he went. Then we 



