SUMMER HOLIDAYS ON A HOUSEBOAT. 



H. E. BEATTY. 



II. 



Three weeks of our holiday life passed 

 rapidly and Nature was ever propitious. 

 We smiled as we loafed on the veranda, 

 fanned by cool July breezes, off from fresh 

 water, while reading in newspapers of dusty 

 streets, a burning temperature of 90 de- 

 grees in the shade, of sunstrokes, etc. The 

 air of the early mornings was fresh and 

 bracing, that of the days balmy and pleas- 

 ant, and of the nights cool and agreeable. 

 The elder people drew from it longevity 

 and apparent rejuvenation, and we youths 

 health and big appetites. 



One feels like swimming, rowing, sail- 

 ing, and fishing in such an atmosphere, and 

 we did plenty of it. 



We broke no records in our angling, nor 

 did we land any extraordinary specimens. 

 Muskalonge are not plentiful around the 

 good bass fishing grounds of Georgian 

 bay, but those taken run large — some as 

 high as 45 pounds. 



One morning while fishing for bass, with 

 light rod and tackle, my father put on a 

 small spoon, about the size of one's thumb- 

 nail, in lieu of a fly, and while casting near 

 some rushes the head and part of a muska- 

 longe's body shot out of the water as he 

 took the bait. A tug! Then a strong, 

 long rush, running the line from the reel 

 with fearful rapidity. We pulled the boat 

 after him to relieve the strain on such light 

 tackle. The angler tried to curb the fish 

 by pressing his coat sleeve as a brake on 

 the line still wound on the reel, but could 

 not succeed until the 100 yard line had paid 

 out within a few yards of the end. The 

 great fish when first checked leaped into 

 the air fully 6 feet, and as the silver spray 

 flew from his flashing sides against the 

 sunlight, we estimated him a 40 pounder. 

 After breaking water a second time he 

 turned into a shallow bay, towing the light 

 skiff quite easily. By careful handling, the 

 tip of the rod being elevated to minimize 

 the strain, the boat was brought within 

 20 feet of the fish, which was now quite 

 visible in the clear water. When Doctor 

 Davison, the other angler in the boat, saw 

 him he said, " This is an all day job. You 

 can never land that monster with such 

 tackle," and lighting his pipe he settled 

 down in the stern seat to watch the battle. 



The fish no sooner felt the line tighten 

 than he again darted forward with a veloc- 

 ity scarcely conceivable. The rod bent 

 double and the line darted out its full length 

 before the boat could be put in motion. 



Then the fish turned and towed us into 

 deep water where there was no danger of 

 contact with weeds or other obstructions. 



The line was kept taut while reeling up and 

 the fish allowed to tow us around for some 

 time. When he deigned to stop, a check 

 would start him off in another direction. 

 Great caution and skill were then required 

 until the boat's direction could be changed 

 and it got well under motion. The fight 

 thus continued more than half an hour, 

 when the fish rose to the surface, turned 

 on his side, and appeared to surrender. 



We no soonc" got near enough for a blow 

 at him with a paddle than he again darted 

 off, taking us in tow and running out 60 or 

 70 yards of line. His runs thereafter be- 

 came short and shorter and at last he lay 

 on the surface of the water exhausted. We 

 drew the boat up cautiously, and with one 

 blow of the edge of the paddle gave him his 

 coup de grace. 



This fish weighed 23 pounds and was the 

 largest muskalonge ever landed by us on 

 light rod and tackle. 



Deer were plentiful and frequently seen 

 in the early mornings or late in the even- 

 ings, around grassy shores or wallowing 

 through shallow ponds feeding on water 

 lilies, etc. They were quite tame and seemed 

 to realize our game laws protect them until 

 November 1st, after which the open season 

 lasts only 15 days. 



Mr. O'Brien, of Toronto, our leading 

 Canadian artist, spent 2 weeks with us on 

 the Ark. One day he and mother wished 

 to sketch a bit of scenery at the entrance 

 to Lake Tadenac. Father and I rowed Mrs. 

 O'Brien and them to the spot and landed 

 them in the shade of wide spreading trees, 

 near the entrance to the lake, which was 

 a narrow passage cleft between high rocks. 



After leaving them, we rowed 2 miles 

 down the lake to get some bass for dinner. 

 The first place we tried, the fish bit so 

 freely that in half an hour we hacT all we re- 

 quired, kicking in the boat. 



The day being hot and bright we paddled 

 near the shore and were loafing along in 

 the shade of tall forest trees, extending to 

 the water's edge, over which they hung, 

 throwing a deep shadow on the lake. Fa- 

 ther whispered, " Keep perfectly still; don't 

 move; there's a deer swimming out from 

 shore ahead of us. Now, you may look 

 around." 



.1 turned and saw a beautiful buck, his 

 antlers reflected in the water, swimming 

 leisurely along. 



" Let us give chase," I proposed, " and 

 drive him through the narrows, past our 

 artist friends." 



" Agreed. Pull hard and fast or he will 

 reach the shore before you can turn him." 



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