TWO TENDERFEET IN THE GRAND DISCHARGE. 



ROBERT FROTHINGHAM. 



While spending a part of my vacation 

 in Quebec last July my attention was at- 

 tracted by the following advertisement of 

 a local dealer in sporting goods: 



"Have you ever seen a ouananiche? 



There is one on exhibition at our store." 



Impelled as much by curiosity to learn 

 how the word was pronounced as to see 

 the fish itself, the next morning found me 

 at the store in question, only to find dis- 

 played a mounted specimen of what might 

 have been a beautiful fish when taken from 

 the water. My disappointment must have 

 been apparent to the courteous clerk who 

 inquired as he looked me over: 



"From the States?'' 



"Yes," I replied. 



"Going up to the lake after 'wannan- 

 ishe'," he ventured, glancing at my wife 

 who stood near, with a helpless expres- 

 sion on her face, wondering what my reply 

 would be. 



"Well, that depends. I thought you had 

 a live specimen of that fish here on exhibi- 

 tion, and I wanted to see it." 



"They are brought fresh from Lake St. 

 John every day," he replied, "you can see 

 one that has been out of water less than 24 

 hours;" and stepping to the telephone he 

 called a fish dealer who appeared a few 

 minutes later with a magnificent specimen 

 hanging by the gills from his finger. To 

 my wondering eyes the fish looked fully 2 

 feet long and I would have said it weighed 

 8 or 10 pounds. As a matter of fact, how- 

 ever, there was but little over 3 pounds of 

 fish. 



"How are those big fellows caught? 

 With a spoon?" I inquired, recalling my 

 only fishing excursion since a country lad, 

 trolling for bluefish off Fire Island. 



"No,"" he replied; "they are caught with 

 the fly, up in the Grand Discharge. It 

 isn't considered sportsmanlike to troll for 

 the ouananiche, and there is little of it 

 done up at the lake. Would you like to 

 see some tackle?" In a moment, for the 

 first time in my life, I held a jointed rod 

 in my hand and was trying my best to look 

 wise as the ambitious salesman talked 

 glibly of the best rods for the ouanan- 

 iche. Opening a wallet full of flies, he 

 gave me a dissertation on the superior 

 merits of Jock Scott, Silver Doctor, Hare's 

 Ear, etc., while my wife discreetly turned 

 her attention to something on the other 

 side of the store. I didn't have the nerve 

 to tell him that my knowledge of rods and 

 flies was limited by what I had seen of 



them through a plate glass window of a 

 sportsmen's supply house ; that 1 had never 

 essayed a cast nor sat in a canoe; that I 

 knew no more of the art than a child ; 

 that, in fact, I had no earthly right to be 

 wasting his time; and so, as gracefully 

 as possible, I made my escape, in the be- 

 lief that I had not given myself away. 



Nevertheless, in that brief interview I 

 had made up my mind that we would go 

 to Lake St. John and try our luck. The 

 next day found us on our way for a ride 

 of 200 miles North from Quebec 

 through the Laurentian mountains, the 

 "Canadian Adirondtacks," up the Quebec 

 and Lake St. John railway, to Roberval, 

 the Northernmost settlement between Que- 

 bec and Hudson's bay. The railroad runs 

 directly to the Hotel Roberval, the only 

 hostelry in the place. 



As I had been given to understand that 

 fishing privileges would have to be bought, 

 it was a pleasure to learn that the pro- 

 prietor of the hotel had leased from the 

 Provincial government all the ouananiche 

 waters within a radius of several days' 

 journey from Lake St. John, and that 

 they were all free to guests. The next 

 morning we started on the steamer Mis- 

 tassini, for a 25 mile sail across the lake, 

 to the Island House, at the head of the 

 Grand Discharge. There the waters of 

 the lake begin their descent, and there is 

 first felt the impetus of the current which 

 forms the terrific rapids extending all the 

 way to Chicoutimi, 40 miles below, where 

 they empty into the Saguenay. The 

 strength of the current was apparent from 

 the powerful steamboat itself which, hav- 

 ing rounded the point of the island, was 

 hurried along by the rushing water at a 

 rate that made it necessary to round to 

 before a landing could be made. 



Luncheon over, a birch bark canoe and 

 2 trusty guides, Joe Morel, one of the old- 

 est and best known of the Canadian voy- 

 ageurs around the Grand Discharge, and 

 his son, a young fellow of 20, were on 

 hand, ready to transport us to the ouanan- 

 iche pools below. Mrs. Wife looked at 

 the frail craft, in the bottom of which I 

 had taken a seat, and remarked senten- 

 tiously, 



"Two hundred and ten pounds besides 

 the weight of the guides is enough in that 

 cockleshell. I'll stay here and finish this 

 novel, while you go fishing." 



There being but half a day at our dis- 

 posal we- went down stream about 6 miles, 



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