THE MONARCH OF THE POOL. 
F. H. ROCKWELL. 
There is a large pool in a Northern 
Pennsylvania trout stream that a true ang- 
ler would pronounce the prettiest he ever 
saw for large trout. Even an ordinary 
angler was usually rewarded by the cap- 
ture of some of its inhabitants. 
A certain trout of that pool came at last 
to be known as the monarch. I knew him 
well. My first experience with him was in 
June, 1897. I had gone out for the after- 
noon and after catching from that pool 2 
or 3 medium sized trout, I started up the 
stream. I had gone 4o or 50 rods above 
the pool when I hooked a beauty, about II 
inches long. There was a pile of drift 
across the lower end of the hole and I had 
considerable trouble in keeping clear of 
the logs, but I finally succeeded in landing 
him. Much elated, I clapped him in the 
basket. As I did so, I noticed a white 
strip across his back, near the head. 
It was getting late and I started down 
the stream again. In order to fish the 
next hole properly I had to wade. I was 
not successful there and concluded to take 
another look at my big fish. He was not 
in the basket. The cover had become loose 
and he had flopped into the stream. I leave 
it to the imagination of the reader as to 
how I felt when I made this discovery. I 
had but one consoling thought: he is in 
the water and some other fellow may have 
a chance at him. 
This monarch trout was seen by many 
persons during the seasons following. He 
must have grown wonderfully to judge by 
the size different persons gave him. He 
was anywhere from 15 inches long to 2 
feet; but it must have been the same trout, 
as everyone who saw him agreed that he 
had a large white stripe across his back, 
and all accounts placed him in that partic- 
ular pool. The amount of fishing done for 
that trout was incredible. In the spring of 
1901 I took my little boy, 8 years old, to 
that stream. He wanted to fish, like me. 
Accordingly, I cut a willow pole, tied a 
hook on a piece of old line, attached the 
line to the pole, and put a lively worm on 
the hook. After getting the boy at his 
work I set about mine. A heavy shower 
came up and we took to a shed for shelter. 
The shower was soon over and the boy 
wanted to go back to the pool to fish. He 
said he had seen a fish that he thought 
must be a young whale, and asked me how 
long a whale is. I was, however, discour- 
aged by my own failure and said the boy 
could fish till I got the horse, when we 
would go home. 
I had just hitched the horse to the 
wagon when I heard a scream and a loud 
splash. I was behind some brushes from 
the pool and could not see what was hap- 
pening. Fearing something was wrong, I 
ran over to the pool. The boy was in the 
swift water at the head of the pool and 
floating down where it was 6 or 8 feet 
deep. He seemed towed along, as he had 
hold of his willow pole and was part of | 
the time under water. He went down 
toward the eddy. Then the towing stopped 
and the boy sank. I jumped in and after 
considerable effort I got hold of him. 
When I tried to wade out there seemed to 
be a drag. The boy still held to the pole; 
the line- was wound around him, and there 
was something tugging viciously out in the 
water. I got my boy’s head above water, 
and he exclaimed: 
“T’ve got him!” 
I appreciated the joke and said, 
“T guess I’ve got him.” 
Gradually we approached shore, but still 
felt something tugging back all the time. 
I began to think may be the boy was right 
and that he had got something. When the 
boy was safely out of the water the line 
dragged out the big trout, the “Monarch 
of the Pool.” 
It was surprising that he did not break 
loose, but on examination I found he had 
swallowed the hook, worm and all, and 
was firmly hooked in the throat. That 
white mark was across his back. He was 
171% inches long and weighed a trifle over 
2 pounds. 
“Now, William,” said the man of busi- 
ness to the office boy, “I am going out to 
get shaved.” 
“Yes, sir. Barber’s, sir, or Wall street.” 
—Yonkers Statesman. 
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