A CHAMPLAIN CHAMPION. 



BY A. LLOYD LOCK. 



A friend of mine from Watervleit, N. Y., 

 and myself were camping out near Plattsburg 

 on the" shores of Lake Champlain, gunning, 

 fishing and having the general good time that 

 such a vigorous life affords. 



Every morning we would take our rods and 

 tackle and row out around Valcour island, a 

 spot noted for its large bass, pike and pick- 

 erel. The water on the southern side of the 

 island is from twenty to forty feet deep, and 

 clear as crystal. We started out one morn- 

 ing about 5 130 and traveled around the is- 

 land for an hour or so with poor luck, only 

 landing two small fish. As we had some live 

 bait and we desired to try our luck at cast- 

 ing for black bass, we drifted inshore to a 

 place called "The Caves," where the water 

 had worn the rock of the cliffs into all sorts 

 of fantastic shapes, and we had very good 

 luck, for in less than an hour we landed seven 

 beauties between us, when we concluded that 

 we had enough sport for one day and were 

 about to disjoint our rods, when our atten- 

 tion was attracted by two men who were 

 rowing slowly toward us in a St. Lawrence 

 cedar skiff. 



They were particularly noticeable, as the 

 man handling a Bristol steel rod in the stern 

 must have weighed between two hundred and 

 fifty and three hundred pounds, and as his 

 companion at the oars did not weigh one-half 

 of that, the result is better imagined than 

 described. The skiff resembled a new moon, 

 with the bow high in the air, and the oars- 

 man nearly as high. 



Well, " 'tis to laugh," and so we did-- 'at 

 the expense of the other fellows" ; but we 

 laughed too soon, as subsequent events will 

 prove. 



As they pulled slowly by, my friend drew 

 my attention to their spoon, revolving like 

 a live thing in the clear water, and as we 

 watched, a long, dark-green body shot past 

 the spoon about two or three feet. There 

 was a splurge in the water, a momentary 

 glimpse of a white belly, the spoon disap- 

 peared and then there were doings in the 

 skiff as the rod bent double in his hands. The 

 fat man reclining in the stern promptly threw 

 his feet in the air, in a vain endeavor to gain 

 a sitting posture, but hung on to the rod 

 like grim death. His companion hastily drop- 

 ped the oars and made a wild dive for the 

 bow, apparently to even her up a bit, as the 



stern gunwale was perilously near the sur- 

 face. 



Then followed as pretty a battle royal as 

 ever I witnessed. First he was under the 

 boat, the next off towards the open, in a mad 

 rush, "the reel singing merrily" ; now we get 

 a glimpse of him as he broaches heavily and 

 falls back with a splash ; now he pulls against 

 the line and sulks, and the fat man reels in 

 slowly; but he's off again, and this time he 

 sounds until the line is almost straight down 

 under the skiff. The fat man reels in rapid- 

 ly, as the fish comes up again, and he 

 broached' once more less than twenty feet 

 away from our boat ; he kept up these tactics 

 for more than ten minutes before he tired. 

 Then they brought him alongside, a gleam of 

 steel and the gaff sunk into his side, a last 

 feeble flap, and all is over. 



We rowed nearer to get a look at him, and 

 the fat man perspiring but proud, held him up 

 for our inspection. It was a monster musca- 

 longe, weighing between twenty-five and 

 twenty-eight pounds. 



A NOVEL WAY OF FISHING. 

 BY ADALINE P. ATWATER. 



The Committee had been discussing ways 

 and means, and were now discussing a very 

 good lunch. 



The conversation had ranged over many 

 subjects, and now a chance remark from the 

 doctor on the long, severe winter, and the' 

 opinion that there would be an early spring, 

 brought the statement from the wife of the 

 bishop, at the head of the table, that she knew 

 spring was coming, for she found the bishop 

 sorting over his fishing tackle only that 

 morning, his study table being all covered 

 with hooks and lines, and flies of all kinds 

 and colors. 



As the doctor, the lawyer, and the clergy- 

 man were enthusiastic fishermen, this brought 

 on an animated discussion on that subject. 



Fishing in mountain streams for brook 

 trout, in the lakes of Maine and Canada and 

 Labrador for salmon, followed. 



The doctor said he always considered 

 Queen of the Water, Yellow Sally and tht 

 Royal Coachman, three of the best flies for 

 brook trout, while the lawyer said that Bee 

 Pond and Dragon were among the best for 

 lake trout. Fishing stories followed, and at 

 last the bishop, who is a great authority on 

 that sport, was called on for a story. 



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