AN ADIRONDACK LAKER. 



II. R. RARNARD. 



Buoy fishing for lake trout during sum- 

 mer in the Adirondack^ seems the most 

 successful method of taking this wary fish. 

 Trolling is often tried, but on the whole 

 is unsatisfactory. The guides of that sec- 

 tion do not approve of buoy fishing. They 

 think too many trout are taken that way, 

 and I presume some catches have been 

 made which warrant that feeling ; but no 

 true sportsman would carry it to excess 

 even if he had the chance. 



While camping with a small party a 

 year ago I had occasion to try various 

 methods of fishing, but was unsuccessful 

 in trolling with a spinner and in 

 drifting with a minnow. As a last resort 

 a buoy was anchored and baited faithfully 

 twice a day. with cut-up chuts, suckers, 

 sunfish and frogs, and not until the third 

 day was it fished. Three trout averaging 

 3 pounds were taken in as many minutes, 

 and then the fish failed to respond. 



Day after day the buoy was fished and 

 then baited and each person of our party 

 tried his luck without success. Those 3 

 lakers had deluded us. with a promise of 

 good luck, but as it turned out we had to 

 be content with bacon and flapjacks, al- 

 though we occasionally caught a small 

 brook trout. 



The only thing that made me and another 

 of the party persevere at the buoy was the 

 fact that about every other day one/or the 

 other would have a good bite ; but for some 

 reason we were unable to hook a fish. My 

 companion gave it up as a bad job, so I 

 was left alone. Twice a day I was at the 

 buoy. Earlv in the morning and often from 

 2 until 6 at night I would sit, determined 

 to catch a laker. 



One afternoon, out unusually early be- 

 cause of a bite the preceding day, I set 3 

 lines from the boat, which, I presume, some 

 will say was a highly unsportsmanlike pro- 

 ceeding. In addition to this I held my 

 rod in my hand and settled down patiently. 



About 4 o'clock I had a bite on a hand 

 line at the other end of the boat. Hastily 

 scrambling for it, I gave a quick jerk and 

 hooked. I began pulling in eagerly when 

 all the lines started running out and I 

 soon realized my fish had wound himself 

 around all of them. Naturally, I got rat- 

 tled in the general mix-up and lost my fish. 



My lines were badly tangled, but I got 



my rod line out all right and resumed 

 fishing. Soon another pull put my tip 

 under water. I had this one, but he made 

 known his intention of heading for the 

 buoy rope. In order to check him I grasped 

 my line and started hauling him in hand 

 over hand. He was coming pretty fast and 

 in my imagination I saw him lying in the 

 bottom of the boat, his spots gleaming in 

 the sun. He shot up into the air, unhooked 

 himself and fell into the boat — a monster 

 sucker with flaps on his mouth an' inch 

 wide. When I brought him in 2 of' the 

 party saw him and gave me the laugh, but 

 we cut off his head and palmed him off on 

 the third as a brown trout. 



I caught several nice lakers that week, 

 but during the last of mv stay succeeded 

 in getting one to be proud of. 



Early one morning I was fishing at the 

 buoy with my rod and an Automatic com- 

 bination reel, which I got through Recrea- 

 tion. In my oninion it lays over them all. 



When my bait was on bottom or several 

 inches above I had about 6 feet of line left 

 on my reel. Hardly anticipating a bite 

 that morning I was thinking of going in 

 when a fish struck and carried off the 

 slack in a flash. Being taken unawares 

 I felt my line grow taut. My tip went 

 under and my little finger pressed the 

 brake just in time. Three feet was pulled 

 from a tight spring, the boat swung around 

 and the fish was checked. The last pull 

 brought me to my feet and I certainly 

 thought I had a 30-pounder. 



Then ensued those glorious moments all 

 anglers love, when the spring responds to 

 each lunge and as quickly gathers your ad- 

 vantage. Back and forth I played him 

 until my arms ached with the strain, but 

 he was slowly losing ground. I checked 

 hard his every lunge, knowing both rod 

 and line were unbreakable when properly 

 handled. At last I had the satisfaction of 

 seeing him. From 10 feet beneath the sur- 

 face he came up steadily, thoroughly played 

 out. The strain had been too great for 

 him. Then he lay on the surface, slowly 

 rolling- himself in the line. Carefully put- 

 ting my fineers under his gills with an 

 effort I laid him in the boat. As it proved 

 later he weighed 10 pounds. I soon put 

 him out of his misery by breaking his neck, 

 let out a whoop and pulled anchor. 



"Do you believe in heredity?" 

 "Certainly ; I know a barber who has 

 3 little shavers." — Exchange. 



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