June 16, 1894. J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



616 



gave to Kenosh, who had expressed a wish for it, as he 

 desired to mount it for a household ornament. 



Ned declared it was one less fish-eating glutton, and 

 presumed it had fattened on many a lovely trout, and 

 greatly regretted that he had not extinguished the pair. 

 Well do I recollect one season at Pelee Island, Lake Erie, 

 when six of them were captured at one haul in the "pot" 

 of a fisherman's poundnet, which they had entered through 

 the channel in their pursuit of fish. Once in, they were 

 safe, as it requires 100ft. or more for them to raise on wing. 

 In the morning, when the pound men came to make a 

 "lift," the entrapped fowls made such a plaintive outcry 

 as to almost move the fisherman to release them, but as 

 they looked on the profit and loss account of it, the fish- 

 eating fowls were at once dispatched with the oars, an 

 immolation to mammon. 



The boatmen, replacing their blades once more, bent to 

 their work, intent on reaching camp as soon as possible, 

 being fearful of more rain and a strong head wind. Turn- 

 ing a projecting point, we came suddenly upon a duck 

 with a brood of five, all paddling along in a bunch quite 

 close to the shore. Ned again prepared to shoot, but when 

 I reminded him of the utter worthlessness of summer 

 ducks aud of its being the close season here, as I was in- 

 formed, he regretfully laid his gun aside with the remark, 

 "I could have secured the entire lot with one shot." 



A mile or two before we reached our quarters the sky 

 began to lighten, and soon the sun peeped out, sending her 

 crimson-tipped arrows to the mountain tops, into the quiet 

 woods and glens, and along the ragged cliffs and upon the 

 broad lake. 



The leaden clouds rapidly retreated before the celestial 

 radiance, and by the time we reached camp the sky was 

 ail aflame in gorgeous tints, and the wind singing a lull- 

 aby as it came from the flowered land of the south. 

 "All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair; 

 The sun's mild lustre warms the vital air." 



What a rapid change; but such is the capriciousness of 

 the elements on this grand old lake; shower followed by 

 sunshine, storm by calm. Such golden libations, such 

 balmy airs, such silvery seas, at once filled us with the 

 ardor of angling, and no sooner was the dinner over, the 

 dishes washed and the camp put in order than we were 

 off for a three-mile run along the shore to Gravel River 

 with our "sweet singer of Israel" warbling: 

 "The wind is quite invitin', 



An 1 it's gettin 1 down to play, 

 Where the freckled trout are rism 1 



In the big pools far away ; . 

 The violet 's peepln' from the sod, 



The sweetheart 's at the gate; 

 One angler 's got a fishing rod— 

 Another flies, for bait," 



Ned deeply regretted that he had not yet secured the 

 desired field mouse for a practical experiment on a big 

 trout. They were evidently so rare at this camp that not 

 one of them had been seen, though all hands were at 

 times on the sharp lookout for the tiny rodents. Fifty- 

 miles above Ned said they were very thick, and that one 

 season they had made one of his blankets so ragged as to 

 almost ruin it. They had their little homes in the deep 

 mosses on the rocks, and many a time he had driven a half- 

 dozen or more from under his bed. We all promised to 

 keep up the search for the four-footed lilliputs of the field, 

 as he was very anxious to experiment on Kit Clarke's 

 statement in his "Practical Angler," a very readable and 

 instructive, book, by the way. I assured Ned that when 

 trout took almost any living bait, even to small birds, he 

 need have no fear but what a swimming mouse would 

 soon attract and disappear in the tough jaws of the S.fon- 

 tinalis. 



Ned, before leaving camp, had made a decided change 

 in his flies by discarding his fancy creations and selecting 

 a red-spinner for his stretcher and a Lord-Baltimore for 

 his dropper, while I took a Parmacheene-belle for my 

 stretcher and a red-ibis for my dropper, both popular flies, 

 and as I have found, quite attractive. 



We flogged the first point just above our camp, till we 

 were satisfied that no trout, if there, wanted to form the 

 acquaintance of our somewhat fanciful lures. We now 

 go nearly half a mile without dropping a fly, as we had 

 never caught any trout here but those of an undesirable 

 size. 



Striking the higher ridges of a serrated shore, backed 

 by the deepening green of the forests and the gray rocks 

 that fret the mountain wall, we solicited a call from some 

 of the dotted dwellers beneath the darkened lines. They 

 answered our summons instantly, for on the very first 

 cast I impaled a dandy that set the little wheel revolving 

 to a cadence of sweet deliciousness. He was — 

 "Heroic, stubborn, full of fight, 



Quici to the bottom depths he flies; 

 Then dashes left and right, 

 Nor yields submissive till he dies." 



He was a fraction over two pounds, and a beauty, radi- 

 ant in all the glories of the rainbow hues. Ned was not 

 far behind me, for no sooner was my painted princeling in 

 the net than he strove to win renown in the capture of an- 

 other Red-Jacket with the royal insignia, who had paid his 

 respects to Lord-Baltimore rather unceremoniously. He 

 fought like a Trojan, but his bravery availed him naught, 

 for he, too, fell a victim to the duplicity of the white- 

 haired rodster. This was all we secured here, though we 

 worked for about a half an horn- in expectation of captur- 

 ing a fin or two more; but it was all in vain. 



Just around the massive piece of rigid masonry, which 

 ran boldly into the lake for a few hundred feet, was a de- 

 lightful little cove; but its glowing tints, deep shades and 

 graceful curvature were all that rewarded us, for we had 

 no sight or sign of trout, and, therefore, were alone con 

 tent with the charming landscape. It was a picture shut 

 up, as it were, in a basin of rough-hewn battlements, and 

 one of many that greets the gentle angler on these rugged 

 shores — 



"Where rushing waters split on hostile rocks, 

 Spouting aloft the iridescent spray." 



We push along under azure skies, and by shores of 

 rocky wrath and ravage, that yield us no return for our 

 * constant work. Our flies sail into every nook and cranny, 

 over every shaded line and around every rock where the 

 waters dash and the sunshine plays. At last as we were 

 about to give up in despair, Ned hung a lovely trout that 

 fairly made the water boil around his stretcher. From 

 the start he handled the trout with great care and 



patience, for he was fearful it was not well hooked. He 

 would give it no "butt" nor allow the least slack, but dal- 

 lied with it as tenderly and carefully as if it were of price- 

 less value. He played, and played, and played it, until I 

 was so tired of seeing his delicate manipulation that I 

 urged him to bring it to net without further delay. The 

 advice went unheeded until at last I pulled out my watch 

 to time him, crediting with the fifteen minutes already 

 consumed. This failed of effect, as he was not to be ridi- 

 culed into undue haste. Worried out, at last the trout 

 showed a spangled side to the blazing sun, and then he 

 pulled him about as carefully as he had played him. 

 Finally the net fell around the victim and he was duly 

 boated, much to my relief. Ned, eager to examine the 

 embedding of the hook, found that his surmise was cor- 

 rect, for the trout was hooked by the very slightest shred 

 of skin which did not even hold the weight of the fish, 

 which was only 2^1bs. 



"That's what I call artistic angling," said Ned, when he 

 found he had scored a point in the gentle art. 



"I always gave you credit for modesty, Ned, but am 

 willing to admit you're artistic in one thing." 

 "What's that?" he eagerly inquired. 

 "Trumpeting." 



The boys, strange to say, caught on here and smiled 

 broadly, and to brighten the occasion still further Kenosh 

 had to utter his old chestnut: 



"No flies on him," and then the laugh rang out. 

 Ned accepted the pleasantry without demur, but I well 

 knew he would endeavor to even up on the first oppor- 

 tunity. 



We caught no more around the ramparts of gray and 

 wave- worn rocks, and taking up the advance the boat 

 pushed along for some distance till we reached what we 

 fancied a cosy retreat of the tinted autocrats of the lake. 

 It was a place shadowed by a perpendicular cliff of frown- 

 ing aspect, the top of which waved with dark pines and 

 evergreens, upon which the afternoon sun was playing in 

 bars of quivering gold. Here last year we had caused 

 lamentation among the trout tribe, robbing it of many a 

 proud and peerless beauty. In hopes of reaping the same 

 good fortune the war of pure deceit commenced with the 

 artful lures searching every inch of the ground where a 

 scarlet foe was supposed to lurk. 



I was the first to get a rise, but made a failure to 

 impale. At the next fall of the flies he took my dropper 

 with a savage snap of his iron jaws and then there was 

 trouble in the trout family. Desperately he plunged for 

 the bottom and on arriving there concluded to take the 

 fast line for a Southern tour. He was checked off, how- 

 ever, after he had passed a station or two, and compelled 

 to make the return trip by a tramp over a rocky road 

 that so wearied him that he was fain to seek repose in a 

 much-needed rest. It was but a short time after this 

 that he was gently consigned £o a couch in a hammock 

 of close-woven threads, which gracefully swung him 

 to the boat. Here he slept so soundly that he never 

 awoke. He was only a two-pounder, a weight that was 

 now quite acceptable, for owing to the very poor fishing 

 this season we were not curling our lips in contempt at 

 this size. A three-pounder was somewhat of a rarity, 

 and a four-pounder decidedly a rara avis. 



After various perplexities from a few misses by both 

 of us, Ned was fortunate enough to catch one about the 

 same size. Two more trout, one a pound and a half and 

 the other a pound, were caught, and then we reeled up 

 and ordered the sails hoisted for the return. 



A gentle breeze, which was increasing with the glow- 

 ing shadows, was in our favor, and as our sails filled 

 and we skimmed o'er seas in radiant sparkle and musical 

 murmur, I thought: 



"How happy are we, now the wind is abaft, 

 And the boatswain he pipes, 'Haul with our sheets aft; 1 

 'Steady, steady,' says the master, 'it blows a fresh gale; 

 A'e'll soon reach our port, boys, if the wind does not fail. 1 " 



We had fully three miles of a sail to camp, and as the 

 sun was two hours high the beauty of a declining even- 

 ing was to be realized in gorgeous grandeur. Mountain 

 ranges towered above us with their peaks in marvellous 

 tints, golden glint and tangled shadows filled the green 

 woods, while soft and hazy repose were in every vale. 

 Overhead the arched dome was fretted in roseate clouds ; 

 that dropped fanciful figures upon the silvery sea, while \ 

 to the west celestial hands were weaving a royal robe for 

 the advancing Phoebus. 



"Purple, violet, gold and white; 

 Royal clouds are they; 

 Catching the spear like rays in the west- 

 Lining therewith each downy nest, 

 At the close of the summer day. 



Our half-breeds, who had grown very tired of our pres- 

 ent quarters, took up the Point Brule theme as we sailed 

 along, giving us such elaborate romances of the big and 

 numerous trout there, that Ned at last fairly became im- 

 bued with the spirit of embarking for the Eldorado. 

 Weather permitting, we were to be off early in the morn- 

 ing. It was about twenty -five or thirty mile sdistant, and 

 with a fair breeze would make it inside of five hours. 



Nothing was now thought of or talked about but the 

 onward move and big trout. Peter had a red-coat of 

 lordly proportions behind every stone and in every chasm 

 and ledge at our prospective quarters, until at last we 

 were so wrought up about it that we came very near 

 making a trip to it that evening. The last words Peter 

 said to Ned, as he stepped out of the boat on landing, 

 seemed so audaciously fairy-like, that I was positive he 

 was now drawing the long bow. His fancy was evidently 

 becoming as elastic as gutta percha. 



Point Brule had formerly had a reputation as goodtrout- 

 ing grounds, but it had been fished so much recently that 

 its finny population must necessarily be somewhat limited 

 by this time. 



We went to bed that night with Peter's trout tales— 

 which at the camp-fire had still further elongated— ring- 

 ing in our ears and filling our minds until finally I fell 

 asleep and dreamed of capturing in strange waters trout 

 so large that the landing net was insufficient to hold 

 them. 



Dawn finally came after the night of blissful deception, 

 with our enthusiasm for the angle at Point Brule whetted 

 to the keenest edge, but alas, there was a leaden sky with 

 ragged clouds trailing from the edges of the eastern 

 horizon and a head wind that at once dampened our 

 ardor. Soon the mist gathered, in the valleys and the 

 rain ere long began to patter, and then we concluded 



that the long looked for change in the weather was about 

 to take place. Sombre clouds were to succeed the golden 

 fleeces, howling storms the bright calm, while the gentle 

 murmur of gentle waves would again in memory be. 



We growled a little at our disappointment, but finally 

 made the best of it by remaining in our tent while the 

 shower lasted, and taking up our old game of cribbage 

 until that at last wearied. Ned then made an attack on 

 his tackle box, and getting out a fanciful assortment of 

 feathers set his fertile brain to work evolving some novel 

 lure. He was serenely happy in this work, and as he 

 selected feather after feather would gaze upon them with 

 that pure delight which genius only feels, and then after 

 satisfying himself of the color combination would com- 

 mence the construction with his nimble fingers as if he 

 expected to achieve immortal fame. Always looking to 

 perfection in the fly, he would invariably add a beaded 

 eye, and a pair of horns that stuck out very much like 

 spear points. He copied after nature, be said, but if he 

 did he failed to strike it with anything like fidelity. Occa- 

 sionally he tied a fly that proved a taking one, but a red 

 or white rag, in certain conditions, is also attractive. He, 

 however, got a world of pleasure in the creation of his 

 feathery fancies, and it therefore paid him handsome 

 dividends. 



I had frequently suggested to him to name his pet cre- 

 ation, but he cared little for that; so thinking this a good 

 time for a little facetiousness, I picked out a few from his 

 book, and as I held each aloft I thus named them: The 

 Holy-Terror, Red-Avenger, Dolly-Varden, Beaded-Bug, 

 Horny-Frog, Rainbow-Beauty, Kiss-me-quick, Razzle- 

 Dazzle, Snatch-'em up, the Killer, the What-is-it, Bushy- 

 Ranger and the Never-get-'em, and so on, for quality. 

 Ned smiled just a wee bit and said there was nothing in a 

 name, as they would lure just as quick by one name as 

 another. 



"Or fail, all the same," I put in. 



•'You are always critical or nothing, but I am like Sir 

 Izaak." 



"How's that?" 



"Though I love civility, I hate severe censures." 

 "Beg pardon, Ned, I thought you always courted criti- 

 cism." And the subject and the flies were dropped at the 

 same time, as the old sportsman was evidently nettled at 

 my humorous harping on his gentle handiwork. As there 

 was a brief cessation of the rain just then, I thought it 

 best, in order to give Ned time to recover his equanimity, 

 to walk out to the rocky ramparts in front and hear what 

 the wild waves were saying. 



It rained at intervals till about 4 o'clock and then the 

 dark and vaporous clouds broke, the sky began to clear, 

 the sun gleamed out and the lake glittered in silvery 

 spangles, while the jagged cliffs with their furred forests 

 flamed with a flushing radiance. 



Such propitious weather inclined us to make a trip to 

 the "big rocks" in the bay with evident intent to replen- 

 ish our larder with the toothsome trout. As we slipped 

 o'er the crystal waves we are ardently enthused, after 

 emerging from the long hours of deep gloom, with the 

 ravishing enchantment into the luminous light from the 

 great orb which presented a panorama so infinitely pic- 

 turesque, so strikingly suggestive. 



Ned, who was very sanguine of success, had concluded 

 to use his new creation of the morning, giving it first 

 place as "stretcher," and a Henshall, which he held in 

 high esteem, as dropper. I stuck to my two flies of the 

 previous day, a Parmacheene-belle and a red-ibis. They 

 had done me good service and would, I opine, again 

 prove highly attractive. We caught nothing till we 

 reached our old favorite rooks and here Ned secured one 

 at the upper end of the gigantic granite before I began to 

 cast. I was, however, not far behind him, for my third 

 cast was successful, it bringing me a prize of almost 

 21bs. After a thorough whipping of the waters at my 

 end of the granite without a rise, I deserted it and 

 hastened along the shore over rocks in the mo r i disordered 

 confusion, climbing up one place and sliding down 

 another, leaping over an intervening chasm that blocked 

 my way and then circling around an abutting spur. 

 Along this rough shoreland I was sometimes casting from 

 a level surface, and then again from a steep incline; but 

 as it took me over a bottom of the lake that disclosed a 

 perfect chaos of fallen or upheaved rocks, just the desired 

 cover for the frescoed beauties, it mattered not. A long 

 distance over the tortuous route had been made before I 

 secured a trophy, but it repaid me for all the vitality I 

 had expended as it was well on to 31bs. , and a romance 

 in tints ^that blushed with the rubies and roses so gorge- 

 ously painted in the dying fires of a sunset sky. 



Peter, who had accompanied me as netter, as well as 

 an assistant in scaling the rocky obstructions, advised me 

 when I was through thrashing this place to go a short 

 distance further to an elevated jutting and there try for 

 the trout. It was somewhat difficult to reach, but when 

 once there you had an ideal, as well as isolated place, 

 which you would wager on its giving you delightful 

 sport. 



I took the half-breed's advice and was soon working 

 my way over a savage piece of rockery that made the 

 beads of perspiration fairly rain upon the moss-covered 

 trail. At last the toilsome tramp was over, and after a 

 short respite I took position on the outer edge, sitting on a 

 smooth and steep incline that ran some ten feet to a nar- 

 row and level ledge below. Peter cautioned me to be 

 careful when I was casting, for a loss of balance meant a, 

 slide to the projecting bottom, if not into the icy coldlake. 

 On my third cast there was a leopard-like leap and a 

 splash so sudden that I forgot all about my insecure posi- 

 tion, and after striking with my right hand and hanging 

 the gleaming trout I raised my left for manipulating the 

 reel, and away I slid, stopping fortunately at the small and 

 smooth ledge below. Peter, on seeing that I had escaped 

 a cold bath, was so convulsed with laughter at the sudden 

 manner in which I had taken my departure for the bot- 

 tom, that he came near going the same route while lean- 

 ing over to look at me. The fish was still fast, and as I 

 now had a good base for operating I killed him in the 

 usual time after he had gotten through with his acrobatic 

 performances, the grand and lofty tumbling. I called 

 for Peter to slide down and net him, but before he would 

 do so inquired as to getting back. As the distance was 

 not over ten feet I suggested the pyramidal style, a shoul- 

 der climb. 



"All right," he said, as the plan dawned upon him as 

 practicable, and on handing me the landing net slid down 

 with the agility of an athlete, being checked by me when 

 within reach. The fish, which was a 2^-pounder, was 



