TROUTING IN THE BLUE RIDGE COUNTRY. 



173 



peace of mind counts for something, and I 

 made no complaint. I shall never forget 

 the misery caused by that pocketful of yel- 

 low jackets. 



Below the other fall I came nearer to 

 committing a murder than I have at any 

 other time in my life. It was at the 

 time of another trip when, at my starting 

 point, I met an old gentleman who asked 

 to be my companion for a day or 2. As 

 he seemed a pleasant old chap, and there 

 was plenty of water, I consented. During 

 the 20 mile drive to our destination, I en- 

 dured the old man's tales of his youthful 

 prowess as a trout fisherman, and accepted 

 with true fisherman spirit his oft repeated 

 assurance that he would show me how to 

 catch trout. I almost hesitate to tell this 

 story, because he was a New England 

 man. I, too, am from that sacred soil, and 

 I feel keenly that this man was a blot on 

 the fair name of my native land. He 

 should have died, not as Macbeth said his 

 wife should have died, "hereafter." He 

 should have died heretofore, and I felt that 

 it would be both wise and right to drown 

 him at that time. 



An early hour, on the morning after our 

 drive, found us at the foot of that upper 

 fall. The old gentleman decided to begin 

 his decimation of the fish in that stream, at 

 that point. My guide and I pushed on 

 down the river, a mile or so, to fish up 

 stream. We were to join our companion 

 again at whatever point we chanced to 

 meet. We had good luck, and took all the 

 fish we wanted ; but we saw nothing of our 

 patriarch, who was to instruct me in the 

 art of taking trout. We decided he must 

 be scooping them from the big pool, by the 

 bucketful. As we turned a bend in the river 

 we saw him sitting on a rock beside the 

 pool, smoking and staring at the water. 

 Beside him, on a forked twig, was one lit- 

 tle trout 6 inches long. Stuck into a crev- 

 ice in the rock was a pole, cut after we 

 had left him. It was a dozen feet in 

 length, and a half inch in diameter at the 

 tip. Attached to the line which hung from 

 the pole, and floating on the quiet surface 

 of the water, was a cork ! Three feet or 

 so under the cork was a big hook, shank 

 deep in a great, fat earthworm. The pos- 

 sibility of its becoming known that such a 

 thing as he had ever had its origin in New 

 England was almost too much for me. 

 With great difficulty I restrained myself 

 from pitching him headlong after his float- 

 ing cork and drowning worm, and piling 

 rocks on top of him. 



I have had some good fishing on the 

 other prong of the river. I have taken 

 good strings from the upper waters of the 

 main stream and from several of the creeks 

 tributary to it, though the fish, as a rule, 

 run too small for much sport. But there 



is scenery of enchanting beauty and endless 

 interest. There are fish enough to insure 

 against starvation, and there is the pos- 

 sibility of an occasional bit of play with a 

 trout running from a ^ pound to a pound 

 in weight. 



I spent a few nights in that vicinity 

 a year or 2 ago, with a resident whose life 

 and environment, except for his large fam- 

 ily, came nearer to a Robinson Crusoe ex- 

 istence than any other I have known. His 

 place was about 40 miles from the railroad, 

 and, owing to the character of the high- 

 ways, a trip to the settlements was some- 

 thing of an undertaking. In consequence, 

 the settler was largely dependent on his 

 own resources. This mountain Juan Fer- 

 nandez consisted of a cluster of log cab- 

 ins which served a variety of purposes. 

 The family lived in one, and cooked and 

 ate in another. There was a log stable and 

 a log hen house. In one 'building were 

 spinning wheels and a hand loom, on 

 which was made the cloth out of which the 

 family garments were made. In the yard 

 were 3 poplar logs, hollowed out to form 

 great troughs. These were tanning vats, 

 in which hides from their own cattle were 

 turned into leather, to make shoes for the 

 family, and rude harness for the stock. 

 Another house was a smithy, with bellows 

 and anvil, tongs and hammers. A half 

 mile from the dwelling house, at the side 

 of a charming waterfall, was a home-built 

 grist mill. The place furnished practically 

 all the requirements of life, and the ap- 

 pliances for making them available. It 

 was, naturally, a somewhat lonely life, but 

 it was a life of entire freedom, and blessed 

 with an abundance which was limited only 

 by the inclinations and energy of the fam- 

 ily. The flocks and herds supplied meat, 

 wool, and leather. The farm, garden, and 

 orchard gave vegetables and fruit. The 

 boys caught trout and shot squirrels, rab- 

 bits, quails and grouse. An occasional 

 hunt gave wild turkey, bear and venison. 

 I do not know that I should want to live 

 under such conditions as a permanent 

 thing, but even as a permanency such a 

 life is not without its compensations. 



Other fishing places in the region pre- 

 sent features similar to those of the Tucka- 

 seigee. The streams are mainly of the same 

 general character, and the land through 

 which they rush and tumble is beautifully 

 wild and picturesque. High mountains 

 with heavily wooded slopes ; rich floral 

 growth ; a marvelous variety of metals and 

 minerals ; quaint cabins and bits of study 

 in endless variety, all serve to make the re- 

 gion a place of rare attraction and interest, 

 not only for the fisherman and the nature 

 lover, but as well for the botanist, the ge- 

 ologist and the artist. 



