NEW YORK, THURSDAY, AUGUST 6, 1874. 
j Volume 2, Number 26. 
» 17 Chatham 81. (CityHall Sqr.) 
Terms, Five Dollars a Year. 
Ten Cents a Copy. 
Selected. 
THE AN GLER’S CAROL. 
UR sport is with the salmon rod, 
Fine gnt, tough ravel string, 
A hook of the true “Kirby bend,” 
Dark bodiecl with white wing; 
Dark-bodied with white wing, my boys! 
A yellow bob behind. 
And deep red hackle, fastened round 
With tinsel well entwined. 
A southwest wind that steady blows, 
A dark-gray, cloudy sky, 
A ripple o’er the water clear. 
To lead away the fly; 
To lead away the fly, my boys! 
There, strike! the reel goes freel 
With a new' run flsh, as fresh and strong 
As ever left the sea. 
The yielding rod bends like a bow, 
And lifts him from his hold, 
With quivering pull and bounding leap, 
Or steady run so bold; 
The steady run so bold, my boys! 
As thro’ the stream he flies. 
Tells with what energy he fights 
Before a salmon dies. 
Reel up, reel up! one sullen plunge, 
He takes out line no more, 
Head down the stream! then haul him in! 
He gasps upon the shore; 
He gasps upon the shore, my boys! 
His weight an English stone. 
As beautiful a thingin death 
As eye e’ergazed upon. 
The sport is o’er, and home we go, 
A bumper round we bear, 
And drink “The face we never saw, 
But may it prove as fair*;” 
But may it prove as fair, my boys, 
Each ftsher drinks'wittfglee, 
And benisons to-morrow’s sport 
That it may better be. M . A. Foster, 
*Fislier’s toast. 
For Foi'est and Stream. 
BY WAGNER.. 
J UST at this season, when everybody not in the moun¬ 
tains is suffering from the summer’s heat, a few pages 
from one of the coolest places in the Union may prove re¬ 
freshing reading. 
White Top is the highest peak of the Unaka, R^nge of 
mountains, starting in Virginia, and running south-west¬ 
ward into Western North Carolina, well described not long 
ago by Prof. Sperry Hunt in a paper in which he spoke* of 
Jt as “the highest land east of the Mississippi.” This is the 
same system to which the celebrated Bald Mountain be¬ 
longs. White Top is the point where the three States of 
North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia join, and is by far 
the most interesting and commanding of all the peaks of 
the range,affording a more extensive view in all directions, 
and the most beautiful natural panorama I ever cast my 
eyes upon, from the White Mountains in the blessed 
Yankee land to the Villadama Mountains, which overlook 
Monterey and the plains in Mexico. The altitude of White 
Top has been ascertained by actual measurement to be 
# 6,800 feet above the sea—only 200 feet less than Mount 
Wasliington—and I do not hesitate to say that a visit to it 
is more enjoyable Ilian to the latter, which is, at the sum¬ 
mit, a. mere barren rock, while on White Top the feet sink 
in luxuriant moss and grass, and the foliage and unique 
shapes of the stunted Norway pines are pleasing and at¬ 
tractive. There are no ugly crags and chasms, and no 
loose boulders to render the nervous unhappy, but all is, 
beautiful and symmetrical, the features of the mountain 
being regularly curved and unbroken. The forests in the 
valleys at the base, and on the east, west and north sides 
of White Top, are.dense and almost impenetrable, having 
never felt the woodsman’s axe, for although the very finest 
timber abounds, and a line of railroad passes down the East 
Tennessee Valley, twelve miles distant, there is no access 
to this primitive forest by wheels, and the valuable lumber 
that might be made could not be taken out over Iron 
Mountain, which, running parallel with the railroad for 
many miles, rises like a giant wall, with sides rugged and 
almost perpendicular, completely shutting out the despoiler 
from these secluded wilds. 
With a congenial party of three, including a former com¬ 
rade-in-arms, and a boon companion in many an adventure 
by flood and field, I started in the trouting season for a visit 
to White Top, from the pleasant little village of Marion on 
the Atlantic, Mississippi and Ohio Railroad, in southwest 
Virginia, all well equipped for a rugged journey, and 
armed with splendid rods and the concomitant tackle. The 
distance from Marion is about fifteen miles, the first nine 
of which are required to reach the foot of Iron Mountain. 
The route lays down the valley of the South Fork of 
Holston, a beautiful dashing little river, which the road 
crosses and recrosses at frequent fords, and which—were it 
not for the stupidity of that portion of the population dele¬ 
gated to legislation, in allowing mill-owners to put. up dams 
without fish-ways—might be one of the best bass streams 
in the country. Trout are occasionally caught in it of fine 
size, but very seldom. All of its smaller tributaries are, 
however, excellent trout brooks. We started at early day¬ 
light, without breakfast, simply swallowing a cup of coffee 
to brace our stomachs until we could reach the base of 
Iron Mountain, where we calculated to leave our vehicle, 
and after breakfasting at the hospitable Squire Ransch’s, 
who is chief engineer of a snug little apple-brandy distil¬ 
lery, and proprietor of a neat farm at that point, we 
designed making the remainder of the journey on foot, as 
nothing on wheels was ever known to go over the mountain 
at Ransch’s. We had a charming drive down the valley, 
now rattling over a rough piece of road, and then splash¬ 
ing through the river, knee deep to the horses. The air 
was delightful, such as exists only in a valley 2,200 feet 
above sea level, and by the time the round, smiling face of 
the Squire greeted us over the palings of his gate, we were 
well prepared to do justice to the excellent breakfast which 
his wife spread for us, without the need even of the beguil¬ 
ing cocktail, which, with the aid of a supply of genuine 
Angostura bitters and some of Ransch’s oldest and best dis¬ 
tillation, my friend Reed concocted. By-the-way, who 
has ever known an army officer not an adept at cocktails, 
punches and toddies, both in the manufacture and con¬ 
sumption? They are jovial good fellows, too. '‘Quefaime 
lemilitaire /” To the judge, fresh from miasmatic New 
Orleans, the mountain air was particularly exhilarating, 
and as for the “mountain dew,” he sipped it “like a second 
Ettrick Shepherd.” After a cursory inspection of the 
“still-house,” situated in the usual place, up a “branch” in 
a hollow, which is very similar to all the mountain fruit 
distilleries abounding in this section, we ate our breakfast 
and departed, taking our horses to be led with our supplies 
packed on them. 
Broad-soled, low-lieeled shoes, loose and roomy about the 
toes, yet hugging closely at the ankles, are the only thing 
comfortable on such a trip, and I had the pleasure of con¬ 
siderable self-congratulation on the forethought which had 
prompted me to make ample provision in this particular. I 
have yet to find any shoes that will surpass heavy calf-skin 
or kip uppers with a half-inch sole reinforced, and extend¬ 
ing full three-eighths of an inch beyond the uppers all 
around. Lacing I dislike; the heavy gum webbing, best 
quality elastic, wears well, and, while yielding to the pres¬ 
sure of the sinews, holds the shoe snugly to the foot, and 
fits the ankle so closely that no pebbles can enter. I never 
wear them higher than the ankle bones, and carry an extra 
pair, with socks, to change after fishing, for in the brooks 
of this region no one expects success unless he wades. The 
dense laurel which overhangs them at most points, renders 
it impossible to keep the bank. Gum boots and leggings 
have proven to me a delusion. No matter how high they 
may come, the ardent angler will sooner or later venture 
too far, or, perchance, slip into a pool at the foot of a fall, 
and then he is all the worse off for his protection, which he 
finds to his annoyance will retain water as w T ell as exclude 
it. So I always go prepared and expecting to get wet, 
with a pair of old woollen pants, a heavy blue flannel shirt, 
and a light felt or straw hat. I have no fancy for fine tog¬ 
gery,and find nothing so comfortable as old clothes, and so 
cheap. 
It was pretty steep walking up the sides of Iron, espe¬ 
cially as w T e had lingered over our breakfast, until the sun 
had risen high enough to make himself felt. No effort has 
ever been made to grade the path, and it was so rugged and 
steep as to be very difficult for the horses. Several cool 
springs gush out of the rocks alongside the path, from 
which we refreshed ourselves. On gaining the summit 
those of our party who had never been there before were 
greatly disappointed by not obtaining the expected view r of 
the monarch, still hidden from sight by an outlying spur of 
Iron Mountain known as Gray’s Peak, rising to a great al¬ 
titude. The path leads over a narrow* connecting ridge to 
this peak, and then winds round its side, gradually declin¬ 
ing. We had now entered the solitude of a dense forest, 
which grew denser as we descended. Suddenly, as we 
rounded the peak perhaps a half mile from its base, we 
came in full view of the mighty mountain, rising before us 
in wonderful size and beauty. The sight is an impressive 
one, and greeting the eye so suddenly its effect is greatly 
heightened. In fact the route w*e took is the most interest¬ 
ing one by which to approach White Top, as the location 
of the peak is so favorable for a surprise. I only know of 
another great natural v T onder in this State where the con¬ 
ditions are similarly favorable, that is the Natural Bridge, 
over which I have conducted friends making their first 
visit on foot before they knew they were near it, then sud¬ 
denly turning them back and parting the bushes at the 
brink, giving them a glimpse of the depths below. The 
sensation of surprise is somewhat different, it is true, but 
in both cases the effect is impressive. An easy grade for 
a coacli-road might here be secured around the Peak, and 
this particular point w r ould be one of the most interesting 
on the whole route, for there are few places where so com¬ 
plete a view of the great mountain is obtained. Here w T e 
can take in all its stupendous proportions at a glance, 
from where it emerges out of the darkness of the forest- 
covered valley below, until it hides its head in the clouds 
above. After a pull at the Captain’s “tickler,” a swallow 
of water from a spring at the turn, a bite of lunch, and a 
puff of “Lone Jack” in our pipes, we resumed our tramp, 
stopping occasionally to express our admiration of the 
giant before us, as some new splendor revealed itself. 
Soon we found ourselves entering the valley, and the trees 
grew thicker and thicker until the light of day was almost 
excluded. The path was narrow, damp, rugged and 
greatly impeded by huge fallen timber. The mountain 
was entirely lost to sight, and only once again in at least a 
half mile did we get a glimpse of it, seemingly overhead, 
when we emerged into an “old field,” about two acres in 
extent, where we founu crickets so plentiful that we were 
soon all on hands and knees to secure a supply fortrout- 
bait, for use in the Laurel Fork, which we knew could not 
be far ahead of us, and where we afterward found them 
very convenient at points where the laurels rendered it im¬ 
possible to cast a fly. A few hundred yards farther 
brought us to the stream, wdiich was as clear as crystal, 
and flowed over a bottom of cleanest gravel and moss- 
covered boulders. "We soon secured enough trout for sup¬ 
per and breakfast, and then moved forward to find the 
domicil of a rugged little old man named Seabird Dinkins, 
who lives just at the base of White Top, and is the genius 
that presides over the mountain, entertaining in his com¬ 
fortable little log-house those who want entertainment, and 
acting as a guide and counsellor, generally. 
We retired soon after dark and arose early next morning, 
having enjoyed a very refreshing sleep on the firm “shuck” 
mattresses provided for us, and after despatching the re¬ 
mainder of our trout for breakfast began the ascent of the 
mountain, which commences at Dinkins’ back door. In¬ 
stead of taking a winding path with tolerable easy grade, 
