270 



RECREATION. 



many beauties, not alone for the devotee 

 of the rod and fly, but for him who loves 

 nature. How those rapids appeal to the 

 angler; how quickly that hot afternoon 

 passed in the shade of the willows! The 

 sun was dipping behind the hills. Cau- 

 tiously I waded out against the swift cur- 

 rent, which momentarily threatened to un- 

 horse me. At the head of one of the 

 rapids I cast my line out straight for 

 the head of the rips, and my eye followed 

 the flies dancing down over the waves. 

 As the slack was taken up they swung 

 around, and under the guidance of the rod 

 treacherously made for the little patches 

 of foam just outside of the current. They 

 did not escape the eye of the trout that 

 had been lying in the swiftest waters of the 

 stream. He had followed them doubtfully, 

 but when they strove to avoid the current 

 and made for the shore he knew they 

 were the real thing and struck. I can feel 

 that electric tingle now of an evening after 

 my work is done, and I am miles away 

 in a huge city. Was he not a fighter and 

 intelligent? Straight for the swiftest water, 

 and then, taking line, down he went, to 

 make a magnificent break in the quieter 

 waters at the tail of the rifts. Sullenly he 

 responded to the pressure of the butt, 

 making ugly little tacks and rushes and 

 shakes, which I dreaded more than his grand 

 charges, as I tried to reel him up into 

 quieter waters. But he had no idea of be- 

 ing lead another yard, and again he was off 

 for the current, to repeat below twice over 

 that thrilling pyrotechnic display. I won- 

 dered how he was hooked, and was that his 

 final dash. He came in more evenly, 

 then closer and closer. With what satis- 

 faction I saw his dimensions and the well 

 fastened hook. He showed no sign of 

 turning on his side, and I wondered if he 

 was only sparring for time and wind. In 

 the next dash he convinced me that he, like 

 Paul Jones, had not begun to fight. That 

 little swirl, like a boiling spring, out in 

 the stream, marked a boulder hidden deer) 

 in the water. He had it in mind all along, 

 awaiting a chance for it. He rounded it 

 and I felt with a gasp that hope-crushing 

 pivot-like turn. There was no redress. It 

 was all over in a flash, and the line came 

 back limp. How silly I felt, hip deep in 

 the water, reeling in that empty line! I 

 went ashore, took out my book, fastened 

 on another hack, and the dog came up to 

 assure me he had seen the same mishap 

 befall experienced anglers like his master. 

 I have a warm place in my heart for 

 that faithful old dog. By breeding and 

 inheritance his tastes were all afield with 

 gun and bird, but when he saw the course 

 lay toward the stream he quietly followed 

 and left his master for my company, a most 



charming illustration of Western kindness 

 toward the tenderfoot. 



While talking over the catastrophe with 

 the dog a familiar theme became more and 

 more distinct in my mind until I recog- 

 nized it — "That was a big fish!" I wish 

 I had a few days more and could try him 

 again. I admit he won fairly, and the re- 

 frain grew louder — that was a mighty big 

 fish! But there are other rapids and that 

 is not the only trout in the river. To-night 

 as I recall that scene and see again the 

 mists rising and marking the uncertain 

 course of the stream, I rejoice that just 

 that episode came into the day's sport, to 

 add flavor to the experience. 



And with fish, so with game of all kinds. 

 It is practically exterminated or rapidly 

 disappearing in the vicinity of mining 

 towns and camps. There seems no re- 

 dress, although excellent laws are enacted 

 for its preservation. The bloodthirsty Ital- 

 ian io there with his gun, and just as thor- 

 ough a Nihilist as at home. In the East 

 this blight is on all life, slipping through 

 the woods and fields of the suburbs, kill- 

 ing every little bird and animal. In Colo- 

 rado the natural preserves of the South 

 have been rendered lifeless in large areas. 

 There are sections where game still 

 abounds, but it is appalling to see the 

 barrenness of vast stretches of territory 

 which would naturally furnish life to an 

 abundant and varied fauna. 



Even in the face of this unfortunate 

 condition of affairs, Colorado will always 

 be the most attractive State in the Union. 

 No other State can compare with it in 

 beauty, grandeur and resources. My so- 

 journ of a few weeks in her mountains is 

 among the most delightful of my experi- 

 ences. 



I recall asking the hospitality of a soli- 

 tary miner, up on the mountain side, late 

 one afternoon. I had been caught in a 

 thunder shower. That was a regular daily 

 occurrence. I was tired and cold. His 

 greeting was, "I hate like thunder to take 

 you in 'kase I h'aint got the best kommo- 

 dations," but within a few minutes I was 

 cutting up bacon and he making bread, 

 as though we had known each other for 

 years. I liked him because he was a manly 

 man; a gentleman. He refused to take a 

 drink from my flask because it was so 

 small. I appeal to every sportsman, was 

 not that the quintessence of politeness. 

 When I insisted he poured out a full cup 

 and refused water, saying, "Let 'er burn." 

 That was the only time I ever enjoyed 

 seeing a man drink. I fail to see how one 

 who would live close to Nature and read 

 Recreation can afford to. Certainly much 

 of the best in this world must escape him; 

 but in the case of this man I felt like a doc- 

 tor who was doing a patient a service. 



