io8 



RECREATION. 



hugging the Eastern shore of the Dis- 

 charge and beaching the canoe in a quiet 

 little cove. The guides dragged it up in 

 the bushes and we started overland for a 

 walk of a mile and a half to the fishing 

 grounds. Joe Morel could talk but little 

 English and I knew no French, so there 

 was nothing to do but follow my leader.. 

 Incidentally I gathered the impression that * 

 Joe and his son would rather walk than 

 paddle, in spite of his oft repeated asser- 

 tion, "Portaj de canoe, no time feesh.'' 



Ever as we walked through the rough 

 trail that had been hewn out of the under- 

 brush, I could hear the reverberating roar 

 of a distant waterfall, which penetrated the 

 silence of the woodland and forced itself 

 on the senses with an insistence that could 

 not be shaken off. A sudden turn in the 

 trail took us out into the open and in full 

 view of the grands chute, the first falls of 

 the Grand Discharge, a roaring fall of 

 some 15 feet, extending like a huge dam 

 entirely across the stream, which was in 

 the neighborhood of 1,000 feet wide, and 

 terminating in a series of fearful rapids. 

 To me they seemed as voluminous and 

 powerful as the whirlpool rapids of Niag- 

 ra and infinitely more terror striking and 

 awe inspiring because of the primeval 

 grandeur of the scene. 



Huge boulders of gneiss and granite as 

 large as a house were lying about on every 

 side, with a profusion that bespoke some 

 terrific convulsion of the earth's surface 

 centuries agone. The surge and roar of 

 the rushing waters were appalling. Al- 

 most overcome by the terrific spectacle I 

 turned to Morel, the guide, and asked him 

 wher.e we were going to fish. 



"On de rock we feesh," he replied, 

 pointing to a huge boulder that jutted out 

 from a point near where the swirling 

 waters rose and fell like the swell from 

 an ocean liner. Suiting the action to the 

 word, he unlimbered the rod- and ran out 

 the line, with a big grey fly on a double 

 hook at the end and another smaller fly 2 

 feet above. The incongruity of the situa- 

 tion was almost painful and as the mind 

 sometimes reverts to the ridiculous under 

 excitement, the old lines from 'Mother 

 Goose" came trooping through my brain, 



"Simple Simon went afishing 



For to catch a whale, 

 And all the water he had got 



Was in his mother's pail." 



The idea of throwing a hook into that 

 cauldron of rushing water, with the ex- 

 pectation of catching a fish, was too much 

 for me and in a dazed condition of wonder 

 and incredulity I told Joe to go ahead 

 while I sat down on the rock to watch 

 him. I had never seen a fly cast. It was 

 mighty interesting to watch the clever 



twist of the wrist which carried the line 

 30 to 50 feet out into the stream and drop- 

 ped it as deftly on the water as if it had 

 been laid there by a fairy's wand. Sud- 

 denly the point of the rod went down 

 and Joe put the rod in my hands that I 

 might experience, for the first time, the 

 sensation of a lusty fish fighting for his 

 life on 30 feet of silken twine run out from 

 a 7 ounce rod. 



Once more a case of unconscious cere- 

 bration. The only thing I could think of 

 was an incident in my boyhood in the 

 country, when I vainly tried to navigate 

 a bull calf with a rope out of a 10 acre 

 lot. How that fish did pull ! Instinct- 

 ively I began to reel in the line. Joe's ex- 

 perienced eye noted that I was proceeding 

 with more zeal than knowledge and he 

 cautioned me to take it easy. He had 

 scarcely spoken when the line suddenly 

 slackened and like a bar of burnished sil- 

 ver flashing in the sunlight, a handsome 

 fish leaped into the air twice in succession. 

 Away went the line, singing through the 

 reel. 



«. "No so fast," cried Joe, apparently as 

 much excited as I was; and he grabbed 

 my hand away from the reel, to prevent 

 my making a fiasco of a fine chance. With 

 a look of anxiety on his face which be- 

 trayed only too well his fear that I would 

 lose the game, yet too experienced a guide 

 to offer to take the rod from my hands, 

 he directed me as a mother would a child, 

 until little by little, after about 15 min- 

 utes, the fish was brought up close by the 

 rock and Joe cleverly scooped him in with 

 the landing net. 



"Wannaneesh," Joe said laconically, as 

 he held up the fish to view. 



"How big?" I queried. 



"Oh, leetle more dan pound and half," 

 came the astounding reply, for I was sat- 

 isfied there had been fully 5 or 6 pounds 

 of fish on the end of the line. He was 

 well hooked, having swallowed the fly, 

 which jolted my pride a little, for already 

 I was becoming impressed with my ability 

 as an angler. 



For the next hour or so I held the rod 

 and made my first attempts at fly casting, 

 during which time I hooked Joe's trousers, 

 my own back, a big log lying on a boulder 

 high above my head, and the rock itself. 

 I seemed able to land the fly on almost 

 any spot within a radius of 50 feet except 

 in the water. The precise measure of rank 

 disgust experienced by old Morel was a 

 mystery to me, for every time I looked at 

 him he was either busy lighting his pipe 

 or looking the other way; a most consid- 

 erate guide. I began wondering if, after 

 all, it was unsportsmanlike to troH for 

 ouananiche, for I was becoming satisfied 



