A HALF DAY OF RECREATION. 



T. M. PIERCE. 



The Gallatin river, locally known as the 

 West Gallatin, heads in the Yellowstone 

 National Park and runs North through 

 and nearly the entire length of, Gallatin 

 county, Montana, where it joins the Jef- 

 ferson and Madison to form the Great 

 Missouri. The Gallatin is about ioo miles 

 long. It abounds in trout, whitefish and 

 grayling and furnishes many a happy and 

 exciting hour for the angler. Bozeman, 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY MRS. T. M. PIERCE. 



WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING? 



where I live, is 7 miles East, and 30 miles 

 from the mouth of the Gallatin. June, 

 July and August are the best months with, 

 the fly, though an expert angler or a bait 

 fisherman may have good sport in any 

 month. 



On the evening of June 19 Mrs. Pierce 

 said, "Suppose we go to the West Gal- 

 latin to-morrow morning." 



"All right," I said. A trip down town 

 myself for supplies, a visit to the dark 

 room and the filling of a tin bread box 

 by Mrs. Pierce and we were ready. Seven 

 o'clock the next morning found Mrs. 

 Pierce, "the boy" and me spinning along 

 in a single buggy on our way to the river. 

 It was an exhilarating ride. 



We reached the river at 8.30 a. m. While 

 Mrs. Pierce was arranging the camp, I ad- 

 justed my line and rod and stepped out 

 to the edge of the stream to try the water. 

 Casting downward, I was not successful 

 until I had gone about 100 yards, when 

 near the roots of a fallen tree, where a 



swift current ended in a deep pool, 

 "swish" went the water, my line tightened 

 and my rod began to bend. Holding 

 steady I reeled in a yard or so of line and 

 prepared for a fight. Suddenly, from an 

 apparent standstill, my catch started up 

 the stream. Just what I wished, to get 

 away from the roots of the old tree. 

 Twenty-five or 30 feet was all I desired, 

 but my catch seemed to think otherwise, 

 for on he went, with me on a trot over 

 boulders, a close second. Up he went 

 through a strong riffle into smoother 

 water nearly 100 yards. Then he began 

 to lag and I quietly pulled him to the 

 water's edge, where he lay limp and com- 

 pletely exhausted. I stepped out and tak- 

 ing hold of the line lifted a i l / 2 pound 

 trout from the water. Mrs. Pierce, who 

 had witnessed the home stretch, appeared 

 just in time to get a snap shot of the 

 closing scene. I have had many a fight 

 with a trout and many a play, but this 

 was my first 100-yard sprint with one. 

 The try of the water was satisfactory. 



Al.lAl „,; PHOTO BY MRS. T. M. PIE-CE. 



PAPA I VE GOT HIM. 



Returning to camp, I donned my fish- 

 ing outfit and we went to a point higher up 

 the stream. 



"Where are you going?" asked my son. 



"To find a good fishing place," I 

 answered. 



"I will find one," said the boy, running 

 ahead. When we came out of the woods 

 he stood on the brink of the river in a 



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