Deo. 28, 1896.J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



061 



Mr. Pierce. Mr. Mowry. 



ONE MORNING'S CATCH — 

 Photograph 



more ado brought us out on the shore of a bay— the lake 

 this time beyond doubt. 



Returning down the deadwater we had a snack, and 

 then while two of the men returned half-way for the re- 

 maining loads, the rest of us went on. I was pioneer as 

 usual, and after a hard and tangled scramble was ap- 

 proaching the shore, blazing as I went, when I heard the 

 brush snap ahead. I stopped short to listen, several 

 repetitions of the sound convincing me that some large 

 animal was not far ahead. Leaving my axe, I hurried 

 back as fast as possible for my rifle. With this and my 

 pack I again made my way back and stopped to listen. 

 Whatever it was, it was still there, so I crept for- 

 ward silently, visions of mooBe or caribou vividly in my 

 mind. 



When within about 100yds. of the shore I saw a move- 

 ment in the bushes, and carefully shifting to get a good 

 look, saw an unmistakable human arm clad in a crimson 

 sweater wielding an equally tangible fly-rod. 



We are told that thirsty travelers in "the desert become 

 insane when the beautiful streams and groves of the 

 mirage fade from view. I can sympathize with them. 



Utter and unspeakable disgust filled me to overflowing. 

 I was conscious of a strong temptation to put a bullet into 

 that shining mark— and apologize afterward, if necessary 

 — but what I did was to sit down on a wet log and wres- 

 tle with my spirit. It would have been no greater shock 

 and surprise suddenly to have come out on the corner of 

 Broadway and Fulton street. Here was our fabled wilder- 

 ness, reached after days of mortal toil, crowded with fly- 

 fishermen in red jerseys. They must have come in from 

 some other region east of us and were clearly interlopers. 

 I became stern and righteously indignant, and in this 

 frame of mind went ahead prepared for frigid and sarcas- 

 tic rebuke, but as it suddenly occurred to me that my 

 dark moving form might equally invite a leaden messen- 

 ger I stopped and forgot my dignity long enough to yell 

 loudly. The dark face of an Indian appeared over a pile 

 of fallen timber while a phlegmatic grunt answered my 

 bird-like notes. 



I scrambled over to him, He stuck out his hand, 

 grinned, called me byname and said: "You got my boy." 

 This called for a new deal. I probably looked very blank, 

 but he said: "I am Tomas Sivi. My boy, young Tomas, is 

 with you." 



My intellect began to work as I recalled the young dare- 

 devil, one-third Indian, one-third Irish and two-thirds 

 monkey, who formed a part of our retinue. "Who is 

 with you?" I gasped. 



"Mr. Mowry," said he. "We heard that you were com- 

 ing here, so I brought him in another way." Then he 

 grinned. 



It was a pretty good joke— for him. Well, it was only 

 one, a fellow member, and he had just arrived. I went 

 back and told Pierce, and we proceeded in state to present 

 ourselves. Mowry was mildly jubilant at being the first 

 to arrive. Ha had struck the lake at the upper end by 

 way of an old Indian hunting trail, coasted its entire 

 length to find if we were ahead of him, and having found 

 no signs was tranquilly fishing for his supper. Upon 

 comparing notes, however, we found that we must have 

 reached opposite ends of the lake at about the same time. 



As he stood talking and casualty casting from the rocks 

 he got a heavy strike, soon after landing a 3-pounder. Iu 

 a few minutes he followed this with a 3f fish. Our eyes 

 began to protrude. My rod was at hand, so I tried my 

 luck, but not possessing his skill I only succeeded in hook- 

 ing the trees behind. 



Just then one of our men came with a canoe. Launch- 

 ing this, Pierce paddled me out clear of the shore, and iu 

 a few moments I had one on which scaled 4lbs. loz., and 

 shortly after struck an infant terror, which, after towing 

 Pierce all over the basin, came reluctantly to net, tuning 

 up to 51bs. 2oz. 



It was then getting pretty dark, so we went ashore and 

 forgave Mowry several times. 



-THIRTY-THREE FISH, 110LBS. 

 by H. N. Curtis. 



We camped right on that spot, dark and damp as it was. 

 The next morning Mowry was out bright and early, get- 

 ting several big fellows. We breakfasted leisurely, then 

 while Pierce and Mowry began their labors in the basin 

 at the head of the river, the lake's outlet, I went with 

 young Tomas to a pool and falls said to exist about two 

 miles below. 



Passing through narrows not more than 50ft. wide, 

 connecting wide bays, we went up a lagune for several 

 hundred yards, guided by the roar of the falls. Here it 



broadened out into a pool perhap3 60yds. in diameter, 

 nearly circular, into which plunged the little river over 

 a series of rocky Bteps, a total fall of about 20ft. 



Paddling slowly and cautiously around its edges, I 

 whipped as scientifically as my limitations in that line 

 permitted, but with no result. This went on for twenty 

 minutes. The place was ideal, but we all know that 

 ideals do not exist for trout. Apparently no trout existed 

 for this ideal. 



We had slowly edged our way up to the foot of the fall, 

 holding by a rock which rose in the eddy. Suddenly the 

 water boiled close to the canoe as my flies left the water 

 after a short cast. Nothing was visible, but I dropped in 

 again not 15ft. away, let the flies rest an instant and 

 began to recover. There was a tug and then a surge, 

 and I struck firmly twice before the rush began. How 

 the reel sung. It was music for a king, or better yet, for 

 an ardent sportsman. For a few moments it was hot 

 work, then succeeded a time of sulks and pulls which in- 

 dicated big game. The canoe was worked back to a 

 sloping sand beach where I could stand up. Then I began 

 to get the mastery. The circles became smaller, the 

 plunges fewer, but in spite of the arc of the rod and a reel 

 to take in every spare inch the strain was heavy. "He is 

 a whale," I said to Tomas. 



Just then a fin and broad tail flashed up into the air, and 

 just beyond what looked like the tip of another. 



Deux I deux! Monsieur!" yelled Tomas; "deux gros 

 truite." 



"Oh, no," I replied, trying to be indifferent, "only one 

 big one, I guess." 



But he was wild with excitement and sure of two. He 

 was right. The leader was strong, the fish fought and 

 helped drown each other, and in about twenty-five min- 

 utes after the strike I swung them by him as he stood 

 waist-deep with the net, when with one swift but careful 

 swoop he netted both. 



I thought the steel hoop would break as he raised them 

 out of water, but it only sprung down at an angle, thus 

 partially closing the mouth of the net. Before they could 

 well flop he had them in the canoe. One weighed 51bs. 

 Soz. and the other 41bs. 6oz,; total 9ibs. 14oz, of fighting 

 trout. To say I was proud is putting it very softly. Not 

 even my first luck many years ago gave me any deeper 

 thrill. I stopped right there and then. There was no 

 probability of ^ equaling that feat and anything less would 

 be sacrilege. 



In a few moments Mowry paddled in with half a dozen 

 beauties, "picked up anywhere along." We exchanged 

 congratulations. When we got back to camp Pierce had 

 twelve fine fish close at hand. 



That day's catch figured up thirty-three trout with an 

 aggregate weight of llOlbs. 4oz. 



Mowry said to me at the pool: "I feel guilty about 

 catching so many magnificent fish; it's murder. I'm 

 going to stop." 



"Well," said I, "I have stopped because I don't care to 

 break the spell of my double, but I advise you to land 

 every one you can. This is our day. We will probably 

 never hit such luck again, and you can rest assured that 

 nothing will be wasted." 



H. MOWRY AND " THE BABY." 

 Photograph by H. N. Curtis, 



