45 2 



RECREA TION. 



more cast and quit. Some good angel must 

 have prompted that; or, perhaps, the god- 

 dess of fate had relented. At any rate, from 

 the moment the flies settled on the water, 

 at the completion of the cast, until it was 

 too dark to see, I had my hands decidedly 

 full. The tail fly, a Parmachene Belle, was 

 seized by a rainbow trout, about 6 inches 

 long, who was promptly landed, with the 

 exclamation, " world, I'm not skunked any- 

 how." 



I cast again with a resulting flash of white 

 and silver, and a churning of the waters 

 that made the pool fairly bold. Phtw! I had 

 something this time with a vengeance. 

 Back and forth across the pool he flew, 

 breaking water constantly, leaping 2 or 3 

 feet in the air, angrily shaking his head the 

 while in his effort to loose the barb from 

 his jaw. It appeared as if the fish was made 

 of springs, and that each time he struck 

 the water, he was projected therefrom 

 again by some great catapult. 



After some 3 minutes of this work, the 

 steady strain of the rod, aided by the press- 

 ure of the automatic reel, began to tire 

 him, and he sought the depths of the pool, 

 where he doggedly held on, refusing to 

 move, but giving queer little quick jerks 

 on the line. From being cold, I was now 

 bathed in perspiration, and in the battle had 

 waded in above my waist. But what cared 

 I provided always I could win in the end 

 and land the prize. 



Having neither landing net, nor gaff, it 

 was a delicate proposition. In the anxiety 

 of the moment, it seemed as if his royal 

 highness remained in the bottom of that 

 pool for an hour or so. It was probably not 

 more than 3 minutes, but when he finally 

 did make up his mind, his decision was 

 made and acted on instanter. Away he 

 went, the reel singing merrily, straight 

 down the pool and out of it, down the 

 stretch of river to the next. Having only 

 100 feet of line, I followed as best I might, 

 floundering in holes up to my arm pits, 

 barking my shins against unseen rocks; 

 once falling flat and dropping the rod, 

 to pick it up with fear and trembling. I 

 found, to my grea^t delight, that I still had 

 him. 



Finally, having reached the lower pool, he 

 began to sulk again; but his struggle was 

 nearly ended, and after the most exciting 

 half hour I ever put in, I dragged him, 

 panting but unconquered, out on to a gravel 

 bar. Just as I stooped to pick up my prize, 

 the hook slipped out of his jaw, and away 

 he went, in frantic flops, toward the river 

 and safety. A wild foot-ball dive, on my 

 part, and a mixed up jumble of arms, legs, 

 water, pebbles and trout; a lucky slipping 

 of a finger in his gills, and I arose tri- 

 umphant. Twenty inches if he was an inch! 

 Full bellied, with absurdly small mouth for 

 the size of the fish! The back an intense, 

 greenish blue, while the sides were clear 



silver and the belly white. Such was my 

 prize — the Quinault trout. I should judge 

 he would weigh a trifle over 3 pounds. 



Wiping my brow, and making sure the 

 brown hackle that took him was fit for an- 

 other battle, I cast again, this time in the 

 lower pool. Again a monster fish was 

 hooked, and again every nerve in me shook 

 with excitement until, the fight being over, 

 he lay beside the other on the pebbly 

 beach. At 7.30 I had 8 trout, all of a size 

 and all of equal fighting qualities. 



The sun was just dipping behind the low 

 hills to the Westward, so I made up my 

 mind I would try to catch one more, to 

 make it 3 a piece, in case the other boys had 

 been unsuccessful. A dozen casts were 

 made without a rise, when, just as I was 

 about to lift the fly off the water for a final 

 attempt, I saw something long and brown 

 come slowly up to the top fly — a Reuben 

 Wood. The great jaws opened, making a 

 cavity large enough for me to put my fist 

 in; and when I struck it felt as if the hook 

 had imbedded itself in the trunk of a tree. 



The instant he felt the pain of the pene- 

 trating hook his sluggish movements, of 

 the moment before, developed into those 

 of lightning rapidity. He did not break 

 water at all, but around, across, up and 

 down the pool he went, the line making a 

 hissing noise as it cut through the water. 

 The occasional glimpses I got revealed a 

 great brown fish with a yellow belly. Mak- 

 ing up my mind I was fast to a salmon, and 

 one at least 3 feet long, I yelled and howled 

 for the other chaps to come and help me 

 out; but the roaring of the river kept them 

 from hearing me. 



I played that fish until my wrist was so 

 tired I could scarcely hold the rod; and 

 finally, when his tremendous speed slack- 

 ened, I seated myself on a rock and simply 

 let the rod and reel keep a steady pressure 

 on him, knowing that he must tire, in the 

 end. Finally he gave up and turned on his 

 side, and ye gods! A broad, deep red stripe 

 ran down his side from head to tail. There, 

 within 6 feet of me lay the grand-daddy of 

 all the rainbow trout I ever saw or heard 

 of. He was hooked fair in the hard mus- 

 cles, at the top of his jaw, and if the tackle 

 had been strong enough I could have 

 hauled him bodily out on the sand. But I 

 knew his weight alone, if unaccompanied 

 by any jerk, would break my leader; and 

 so I attempted to reel him in short until I 

 could get my hand in his gills. 



Carelessly I had let my reel down, neg- 

 lecting to take up the last 3 feet of line, so I 

 stripped the rod, carefully pulling the line 

 in with my fingers. When I grabbed him, 

 my foot slipped and down I went on my 

 hands and knees. Away went the trout, the 

 crashing of the stones having put new life 

 into him. I was not at all worried, know- 

 ing I could soon reel him in again; but 

 horror of horrors! miserabile dictu! In. 



