TRYING FOR A BIG ONE. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY A. W. FILBY. 



has almost ceased discoloring the river, 

 the water becomes very clear, taking on a 

 deep, transparent, greenish shade. Then 

 the large trout will rise to the fly, and an 

 expert can hook plenty of large fish. 

 Every deep pool in the Pecos river, from 

 old Captain Dalton's place down to Valley 

 ranch, contains big trout. I can whip any 

 of these pools, during June and the early 

 part of July, and catch trout running from 

 y 2 pound to 3 pounds. I use a 4-ounce 

 split bamboo rod, 8^2 feet in length, a 

 light, enameled fly-casting line, a 5-foot 

 single gut leader, very thin, and only one 



fly- 



If there is any more exhilarating or 

 healthful recreation than fly casting, with 

 light tackle, thin rubber hip boots, under 

 a New Mexican sky, and on the Pecos 

 river, it is beyond my ken. The air is 

 mild, yet tingles with ozone. This is truly 

 the land of perpetual sunshine. A broad 

 brim straw hat affords sufficient shade for 

 comfort, and 2 blankets were necessary to 

 keep us warm at night, for the nights are 

 cool in the mountains. 



I once spent a night at the house of 



Jose Gonsaulus, a Mexican. His ranch is 

 10 miles up the river, from Valley ranch. 

 I had the best room in the place, and they 

 killed and cooked a kid for supper. The 

 next morning my Mexican host drove me 

 back to the Valley ranch in his wagon. 

 As we reached the summit of the rocky 

 road, I looked down into the valley 

 below, and saw the river, with its green 

 fringe of fields and meadows. At one 

 long bend of the river the meadows were 

 fairly alive with wild roses. 



It seemed impossible to leave this 

 charming spot, so we lingered far into 

 September. As I sat in the wagon, home- 

 ward bound, once again we climbed the 

 mountain roads. Then I saw the Mexican 

 ponies, tied 5 side by side, trotting in a 

 circle, trampling the grain. Women with 

 black shawls over their heads stood in the 

 doorways of the adobe houses, and waved 

 us a parting salutation. The fleecy clouds 

 hung like feathers over the mountains, 

 that reached away, range bevond range, 

 into unseen space. So we left this beau- 

 tiful Pecos river region, hoping to return 

 to it in 1902. 



Papa. — "Tommy, you mustn't behave 

 that way. Everybody will be calling you a 

 little glutton. Do you know what that is?" 



Tommy. — "I suppose it's a big glutton's 

 little boy." — Catholic Standard and Times. 

 426 



