3 2S 



RECREATION 



right over to the bridge on the road to Sim- 

 kins mills. I was in a hurry to catch a 

 glimpse of those trout. I crept up to the 

 bridge, and lying flat in the dust peered over 

 the edge and searched around in the pool 

 for the fish. It was twilight, but I could still 

 see down in the water for some distance. I 

 caught sight of two and they were half- 

 pounders. Then I found the big fellow. 

 He was hugging the stone pier. Two 

 pounds easily, I judged, as I watched him 

 with greedy eyes. And I swore that he 

 would lie in my creel before many days. 



"Well, I tried every fly in my book the 

 next morning. I took every precaution in 

 casting, not a sound did I make, no shadow 

 of mine or the rod fell across the pool. But 

 not a rise did I get from any of the five trout 

 that lay under the bridge. 



"Again that evening I tried. Grasshop- 

 pers and crickets, lively fellows, too, didn't 

 prove attractive. I fished through the twi- 

 light. I played white millers, a Jenny Lind, 

 and even a glittering minnow over the pool. 

 I tried a firefly. I used every trick that I had 

 learned in my twelve years of fishing. The 

 trout did not rise to a single cast. It was so 

 the next day, and the next. 



" On the fourth day I did nothing but lie 

 for several hours at the edge of the bridge 

 and watch the fish down in the pool, slowly 

 fanning the gravel with their red fins. That's 

 all they did during six hours of silent watch- 

 ing. The next day I began to wonder if they 

 would take a worm. I tried the lure, both 

 angleworms and fat grubs. No rise. But 

 late that afternoon when I went to the 

 bridge again I heard the splash of a rising 

 fish. I peeked through a crack in the bridge 

 quickly and saw the old two-pounder set- 

 tling back into his lair, with a widening 

 circles of ripples above him. What on earth 

 had he risen to ? I looked about for evening 

 insects. Not a bug was stirring, except in- 

 numerable grasshoppers jumping about in 

 the last mellow rays of the sinking sun. I 

 quickly caught a handful. And as I caught 

 them I noticed that several of them were of 

 different sizes and colors. Perhaps that 

 difference, I thought, might solve the prob- 

 lem of the trout's appetite. 



"I dropped a big, fat, brown hopper 

 through the crack. It fell just over the big 

 fellow's lair and floated down stream un- 



molested. A green hopper followed after 

 the same manner. Another brown one with 

 big wings paddled himself ashore undis- 

 turbed. He certainly looked like tempting 

 bait to me. The big trout stuck his nose out 

 from beneath the shelving pier in a half- 

 interested way, but moved no farther. 



"The last hopper in my closed fist was 

 small, brown, mottled with black, and had 

 tiny wings with red streaks on them. I 

 dropped him in half-reluctantly. My eyes 

 fairly bulged as I saw the great trout leap 

 for it and spring entirely clear of the water. 

 And by the time he had flopped back to his 

 hiding place I was chasing wildly across 

 the meadows to get my rod. 



"I found Jim at the house, and grabbing 

 rod and creel and net yelled for him to be 

 in at the death. He came and we hurried 

 back to the bridge. Both of us then began 

 a grasshopper chase that would have put an 

 entomologist to shame. After catching 

 about a dozen of every kind but the one 

 wanted, Jim got hold of the mate to the one 

 swallowed so eagerly a few minutes before. 

 I strung the finest leader I had and my 

 smallest Aberdeen. I put the hopper on 

 with care. Then I gave Jim instructions 

 and we crept up to the bridge. 



"I stood back about two paces from the 

 pool. Jim took the baited hook in hand and 

 crawled onto the bridge. I was going to 

 take no chances with a danger-warning cast. 

 Stealthily the squirming hopper was dropped 

 over the up -stream edge of the bridge . Iga ve 

 line and the lure floated down with the gentle 

 swirl of the current. A tense moment of 

 expectancy and then came a vicious strike. 

 A turn of the wrist and I had the hook fast 

 in him. I shouted and so did Jim. 



"At the first prick of the steel away he 

 went down the pool, down into the riffles at 

 racing speed, carrying half the line out be- 

 fore I could put the drag on. I stepped up 

 to the pool to be ready for the battle. As the 

 big trout felt the strain he turned and came 

 back more furiously than he had gone done. 

 Frantically I reeled in, trying to take up the 

 slack that his swiftness had won for him. 

 Clear up the pool he rushed, among the 

 rocks at its head. There he stopped and I 

 had the line taut once more. He sulked and 

 hung on the line as a dead weight. All the 

 strain that the tackle would stand I put on 



