FISHES AND FISHING IN THE ADIRONDACK^. 287 



sublime secret of life, and laughs at man's ineffectual effort to reach the mystery 

 by observation, analogy or analysis. So with this secret of the forest's enchantment. 



Better thus. All unknown but not unfelt the charm and mystic influence. 

 Let us not pick our flower in pieces to find how and of what it is made. While 

 we destroy the flower the secret escapes us — the life, the soul of this charm we 

 would hold in our hands vanishes, like the odor of the flower. Let us enjoy 

 the great beauty of nature with thankfulness, but without searching too curiously 

 to know what her winning power is which she will forever hide from us. 



Perhaps the most interesting feature of the Adirondacks is the mountains, 

 hidden among which are some of the best fishing ponds and streams. Some of 

 them standing alone are majestic in themselves. Others, in huge masses and 

 rugged, crowd together in hordes. Climb one that towers well toward the sky — 

 Blue Mountain, for instance — and gaze upon the marvelous plan which nature 

 has wrought out, the map of her handiwork spread before you, the vast stretches 

 of forest in every direction, the gleaming lakes hidden in valleys, now brought to 

 view, the silver streams winding their devious ways, but, above all, the grand 

 outlines of the true Adirondack mountains ranging off to the northeast. There 

 are no Alpine heights with snowy peaks, to be sure, but many bold and bald 

 heights where storms and strong winds and possibly great fires have raged 

 and wrought desolation, and a scene of such imposing majesty as to move you, 

 it you have the reverent soul, to lift your eyes to the heavens over you and feel in 

 your heart of hearts a new reverence and worship for the power of which this 

 majestic grandeur is an expression. On such a day as this on the heights, the 

 lover of the great forest gets very near the elusive secret of his love. For this 

 day, the minor delights and joys of his forest life recede and are silent for a 

 while, and this heart communion with the deities of this rugged garden of the 

 gods fills all his soul. 



Blessed is the sportsman who can come now and then to this height of experience, 

 and then descend to the common life retaining something of its inspiration. When 

 again, in quieter scenes and in gentler ways, he, still a sportsman, but one who 

 has seen visions and dreamed dreams, is tramping the shaded trails, or swaying 

 his supple rod over smiling waters, or before the evening campfire talks with 

 chosen companions and thinks of the themes of common life, there is a subconscious 

 thought through it all, an undertone of feeling that came down the mountain 

 with him hidden in the very soul of his soul. Of these he cannot talk; they are 

 sacred, and henceforth, even if unconsciously, a part of his very life. 



"It is not all of fishing, to fish." 



