Aug. is, iqqsJ- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
ISI 
Angling in Nova Scotia. 
Arout July I we were looking hourly for a tele- 
gram that the trout had appeared. At last it came. 
Several had been taken by boys off the wharf, and, as 
we had previously made all necessary preparations, 
were soon on the road to our favorite resort twenty 
miles away. 
Two carriages were ^ necessary, and one that con- 
tained our provisions, etc., was to be sent back at once. 
The day was hot, and on going through some_ woods 
on our way, not far from our objective point, I noticed 
for the first time, some blue-winged flies darting about, 
a fair counterpart of our artificial Jenny Linds, and I 
mentally selected from my book my favorite fly for 
the day. 
It was late in the afternoon when we launched upon 
the cove and my companion before the boat had en- 
tirely left the shore, was hooked into a splendid sea 
trout. In another moment, as quickly as I could throw, 
I had one, too, and for an hour the sport went on in 
feverish haste. We anchored the boat and had scarce 
any necessity to change our berth, they were so 
plentiful. We had indeed struck the time to a nicety, 
and were able to send back with the returning wagon 
three dozen splendid fish averaging 2>2 pounds each. 
The next day we had a glorious time. Never was 
our visit more propitious, more successful. Some 
captures ran up to 4 pounds, and we often caught two 
at a time, but not 4 pounders. When the sport slack- 
ened a little we thought we would try some of the pools 
well up the small river that emptied into the cove. 
There are two rapids near the mouth rather difficult 
to face, but with local help a small boat was carried 
successfully past them, while we portaged the rods and 
oars and landing nets. On the level reaches above 
there was scarcely any current, and we rowed leisurely 
along. Here and there, however, we came to favorite 
spots, and a good sea trout was hooked, and the ex- 
perience was novel and dehghtful. What a stretch of 
lovely level water running into the barrens two miles 
up! The country was flat and desolate except for a 
thick coat of low brush, and here and there a few 
stunted wind swept spruce; but the fish were ready for 
the fly, and many fine ones came to our net. It was 
virgin ground to us, and the sights and the few strange 
sounds affected us strangely. The quiet hush of the 
wide waste, the utter stillness for miles around, far 
from any habitation, contrasted with our spirits, and 
the taste every now and then of a new-found prey, kept 
us agreeably excited. When not casting we let our 
flies trail behind, the rods lying idly over the stern, and 
it was the acme of fun to see when, every now and then 
a fish would strike and the reel sing, how eagerly we 
would grasp the rods and play, and net the fish. On 
this singular canal-like stream for two or three miles, 
are numerous places where the trout rest, and the 
sportsman is kept fever on the alert. At evening we 
came back over the rapids at a dangerous pace, and 
shooting out into the cove again found the fish still 
responding to our casts. Climbing the wharf, we could 
not resist the contemplation of our little fishing pre- 
serve, as it lay beneath the bright moonlight, quiet and 
lovely in its rugged embrace of sand and rock. Then 
we were the only fishermen, and for a few years later; 
but ten years after, at the same season, were counted 
at one time no less than ten boats, each with a couple 
of anglers, swinging their rods over the very spot 
where we had netted our choicest fish. It had fallen a 
prey to telegraphs and railroads, and the invisible 
communication of thought and news. Gradually our 
fond little bit of water had attracted to itself an army 
of sportsmen, its exclusiveness to us had passed awaj^ 
leaving us the fragrant memory of many succesful 
visits, and is now known from Canso to Montreal, and 
even New York. 
June, July and August are favorable months for these 
sea trout, and we found that the ocean tides had much 
to do with success. At the mouth of some frequented 
stream, perhaps some small rivulet flowing through a 
bank of sand barring the entrance of the Atlantic- to 
a wide and spacious inlet, where the tide ebbs and 
flows, they are sure to be found. I have learned that 
as the water is about to turn at its lowest ebb, they 
seem niost playful, most apt to take. On one occa- 
sion this was very marked, just where the outflowing 
water of the river mingled with the first flush of the 
returning tide. They seemed to be waiting for the 
turn, for, as we threw into the inviting swirls they 
readily took our flies, which before were refused, and 
excellent sport they gave. Handsome trout, bright as 
polished silver, and fresh from the ocean. The time 
and the occasion passed rapidly, however, as the rising 
waters drove us further up where the stream widened, 
and where we were not so successful. On most of the 
rivers, however, flowing into the Atlantic, are well- 
known spots beyond the reach of the tides, where the 
fish always rest, but dUring a freshet, following a 
drouth, they ascend rapidly and seldom remain long 
in their resting places near the sea. This is the time 
to cast for them, for, if they remain long in the river, 
they are not apt to rise to a fly. When fresh from the 
ocean either trout or salmon are surer sport, and water 
often flowing with considerable force and rapidity is 
• better than still pools. I have seen them ascend rapidly 
between these, over shoal stretches, with a strong and 
steady flight, that seemingly nothing would swerve and 
observed them congregate in deep spots, but small and 
contracted. Lying well out in the center they would 
scarcely move, and keep their respective places for 
hours at a time with no perceptible motion or exertion. 
Salmon often accompany sea trout. In many pools I 
have frequently seen them lie side by side, waiting 
patiently for the long-looked-for rain to swell their 
highway and broaden it for their flight to the lakes be- 
yond. It is during this waiting time that dangers 
gather thick and fast around them. Boys with stones 
and snares of various kinds, in the clear water, soon 
become an especial peril, and the spear driven,' often 
by the hand in need of food, ends the life of nianv a 
noble fish. The most tempting lure has little attrac- 
tion. To it they scarcely ever rise, and if they are 
capable of experiencing the emotions of hope and fear 
these must be ever preseot with them during this wait- 
ing time in their narrow home, for the mechanical de- 
vices of the hand and brain of man, on half a hundred 
streams, could nightly tell their tales of destruction and 
death. I was once fishing on one of the streams of the 
island of Cape Breton some years ago, and returned to 
the dwelling of my host late in the evening, unsuccess- 
ful. He seemed annoyed that the poor fish had not 
volunteered to be slain and respond to my oft repeated 
throws, and promptly offered to drag the pool we had 
cast into that very night with his net. This I suppose 
he had often done with the dexterity and indifference of 
an old offender. After the excitement of the day and 
the anticipation of legitimate takes from this very 
pool on the morrow, we preferred a restful sleep and 
immunity from any official visit from the not too watch- 
ful river warden, as a sequel of the night's adventure. 
The Margaree, in Cape Breton, is a splendid stream. 
Not so much perhaps on account of its lovely fish, as 
for its clear and sparkling water, its ever winding 
course, and above all its superb pools and shady reaches 
where the fish love to linger. I have seen in the thick 
mist of the early morning the salmon fisher, quiet and 
ghostlike, wade carefully, stealthily, step by step, slow- 
ly,^ slowly, far out over the clear gravelly bottom of 
this famous river till the water came waist high, and 
then throw and hook his fish with all the skill, the cer- 
tainty, the dexterity that alone comes after long prac- 
tice and success. I have seen this repeated time and 
again till the fruit of his triumph lay like a line of 
silver sparkling upon the river's bank. Year after year, 
season after season, numbers of fishermen have had 
this experience till the water has become in its fame 
world wide, and identified with all that is best and 
loftiest in the sport. On this branch of the river, well 
up, and perhaps a little later, good sport is always 
tolerably sure. There the pools are well multiplied 
and are often near the houses of prosperous farmers, 
where good lodging and accommodations can be had. 
I have wandered over the meadows continguous to 
these pools, and thrown my flies upon the circling 
eddies of the stream, and landed many a splendid fish. 
At all times great care should be exercised and strong 
tackle is essential. One morning, a companion around 
a bend of the river from where I was fishing, happened 
to throw just over the spot where a monster trout 
was lying. For a brief instant the reel sang and the 
rod bent with the force of a 3-pounder, which carried 
away flies and cast forever. Often the deepest spots 
lie well under a perpendicular wall of rock or slate, 
when a long wade and a long cast are necessary. 
Many times has my unusual care in this respect been 
richly rewarded in thus approaching a suspected spot, 
with the result that a sea trout, of perhaps 2 or 3 
pounds' weight, has had to fight unsuccessfully for its 
life. 
Many features of river fishing are very attractive, 
but after all, give me that in or near the salt water. 
To me this is always welcome sport; for there is a 
variety along the seashore that is never found inland. 
Its ever changing scene, its sounding music and .its 
sweet and bracing air give it a peculiar charm. There 
is, moreover, a greater variety in the weight and size 
of the fish, and a chance for some novel experience. 
On one occasion in an ocean cove, we had cast in vain 
near the entrance of a stream, and then rowed down to- 
ward the ocean, where we threw our flies and were re- 
warded with some good takes. Sometimes a three- 
quarters of a pound fish would come to the net, then a 
much larger one, and again perhaps a half pounder, 
and so on with varying luck. Once, when the sport 
slackened, the head of a common seal, that strange 
link between the bear and the otter, rose not far from 
the boat, and wonderingly looked around. We were 
near enough to see the quaint little eyes and peculiar 
nose, and to diversify the sport, and insure some ex- 
citement, my friend tried hard to get hooked into it. 
Once I thought he had succeeded and held my breath 
for a moment, conscious of what would surely follow, 
but the hook came skipping back over the water and 
the chance and the opportunity passed. It seemed too 
bad, as we had quickly, in imagination, while the 
quarry was in sight, pictured a long and desperate 
struggle oceanward with this huge Phoca vitulina of 
the sea, that would have eclipsed everything we ever 
had with the insignificant Salmo fontinalis of the 
streams. I was at the oars and did all I could to as- 
sist in the attempt, and had the hook found a resting 
place in the thick scalp, the strong semi-salmon rod 
and tackle of my friend, and the quick motion of the 
boat, we would have together put up a good Santiago 
fight. Near by, where this occurred, is a curious little 
lake, quite near the sea and only connected with it 
by a tiny rivulet running beneath a culvert across the 
highway. It would be thought absurd that trout of 
any size would ever attempt to gain the lake by this 
little contracted avenue, but we were told that at cer- 
tain seasons it was alive with fish. We landed from our 
boat and endeavored our best to throw into it from the 
bank, but without a skiff it was impracticable, and we 
had reluctantly to turn our backs on — as we supposed 
from the stories told of the spot— a million barrels of 
sea trout at least a couple of feet in length. 
It_ is most interesting and curious to listen to the 
stories of the ordinary fisherman as to the best spots 
for angling, and their estimate of the size and numbers 
of the fish. They are always engaged in more profitable 
work and are not generally reliable upon the subject, 
not having experience. We were told on one occasion 
by an old fisherman in his own peculiar drawl, that 
there was no use for us to ascend a certain stream we 
were bound for, that there were no trout there and 
we would have our labor for our pains. We went, how- 
ever, and when returning, our creels in the boat were 
like lead, filled to the brim. The old man met us at 
the landing place and when within hearing distance, I 
praised his prophesy. At my suggestion, when we 
landed, he undertook to toss like a bundle of hops 
without the least suspicion, the empty baskets, as he 
supposed, from the boat. After a moment's struggle 
his words came with fierce and pronounced invective 
"I call you nothing but beggars." He tumbled quickly 
to the true position of affairs, with aistonishing comical 
gestures and grimaces that would, I believe, have defied 
an Irving to imitate, while we as quickly tumbled to 
our full length on the grass, weak at knees, and scream- 
ing as never before with laughter. 
Lake fishing is indulged in all over Nova Scotia, 
and excellent sport is annually afforded, for there is 
scarcely a county that oanttot boast of some good 
water. Many are thickly dotted with lakes abounding 
in trout. Guysborough and Halifax counties, and some 
in Cape Breton, are particularly fine. Often takes of 
fifty or a hundred are made in a few hours, and while 
the vast majority no doubt weigh less than a pound, 
many would turn the scales at 3 and 4, and maybe still 
heavier. As a matter of taste, as intimated, I prefer 
the streams near the shore, and the ocean coves where 
the brilliant Salmo fontinalis love to linger, and when 
hooked show royal fight. There is generally too much 
sameness in the size and quality of the fish upon a 
lake, and one easily tires of the sport. I have had an 
interest in a folding canvas boat for many years, and 
have used it a great deal in this kind of angling, but 
the novel and pleasant drives to out of the way places, 
the exploration of virgin waters, far from any human 
habitation, in the heart of some immense tract of wood, 
often coming upon some wild and picturesque scene 
and starting to hurried flight many a waterfowl, has de- 
lighted me more than the actual capture Of a hundred 
fish. It is true that at the proper time they take the 
fly with great gusto, and little skill is required, but to 
me this is an absolute drawback to the sport. We 
never use bait. The artificial fly is the only lure 
necessary, and two can be thrown on the same cast 
with safety and profit if numbers is the point aimed at. 
I have found a Jenny-Lind and a Jeremy-Diddler both 
good killing flies, but these fish are not fastidious like 
their cousins near the sea, and any ordinary fly will 
usually do. I often wonder how many thousand per cent, 
of profit, in pleasure, we have derived from our out- 
lay in that little canvas boat from Ohio. Scarcely ever 
have we had an expedition that was not marked in one 
way or another, by some pleasant or humorous inci- 
dent. _ I have often dreamed of it, when half asleep, 
that it was dangerous, and partly concluded never to 
venture in it again, but somehow when the resolution 
is broken, like a temperance pledge, and I am afloat 
again, all fear vanishes, especially when reeling in a 
stubborn and unreasonably obstinate 3-pounder. On 
one occasion we had a novel and strange experience 
with loons. It was on a small, lonely lake, far from 
the highway and fringed with lordly spruce and hem- 
lock. The great birds would dive and often reappear 
right under our rods, frightening us every time with a 
great sudden, startling splash, the young coming quite 
close to the boat apparently bewildered and then, with 
lightning motion, again disappear. Many times this 
was repeated till we tired of the fun and left them 
unmolested at the further end of the lake. 
In the vicinity of some of these fishing spots for sea 
trout along the eastern shore of Nova Scotia, every 
prominent point and many a sunken ledge has its story 
to tell of shipwreck and disaster. Hereabouts, al- 
though many a lighthouse throws its warning light far 
over the ocean, many fine ships have found a grave 
and many a brave seaman a tomb. The coast lies 
near the track of ocean steamers, and will be fraught 
with interest so long as the sea remains the highway 
between the old world and the new. At Cape Canso, 
including Hazel Hill, there is an aggregation of ocean 
cables, forever transmitting their electric signals from 
many distant points, which distinguishes it as the 
largest cable station in the world, while its own geo- 
graphical position must ever single it out as a port of 
importance to mariners that can scarcely be overesti- 
mated. Connected with all parts of the world, many 
ships call here for orders. In fogs and at night along 
the coast many shipwrecks occur, and in the early 
morning some fisherman may come across the frag- 
ment of a broken wheel, the shred of a sail, the splinter 
of a mast, or perhaps the mangled remains of a human 
form tangled with the seaweed and shingle of the shore, 
which tells the gruesome tale. Once a body was found 
near a village on the eastern shore in this way, bear- 
ing evident marks of high attainments in Free Ma- 
sonry. Those of the order in that quiet place gave it 
a decent burial associated with their solemn rites. It 
was afterwards found that the remains were those of 
a master of a gallant ship from the shores of England, 
high in the mystic art, and from his mother lodge, in 
due time, came the thanks across the sea for the kind- 
ness done. A trip along the coast hereabouts, at the 
proper time, fishing here and there as one would go, 
would be sure to afford a splendid outing and excel- 
lent fishing. Sometimes on the little streams inland, 
sometimes at the head of some long inlet, sometimes 
by the seashore, sometimes by some quiet, still water 
not far from the ocean, and maybe a visit to a neighbor- 
ing lake, would fill the time with variety and pleasure. 
There would undoubtedly be some strong contrasts, 
and if the traveler would invite the recital he would 
be sure to hear, in rough but graphic words, from 
the honest toilers of the fishing boats, tales of noble 
endurance, and rescue, perhaps of suffering and death. 
He might be fortunate enough to witness in all its 
grandeur, as I have done from a lofty headland, one of 
those terrible storms which come up so siiddenly along 
the coast and rouse to seeming madness and tumble 
against the bulwarks of a continent with fierce immeas- 
urable force, the waters of the Atlantic. 
Many of the fishing resorts here spoken of can now 
be more easily and readily reached, and more com- 
fortably, than some years ago. Within the past few 
months the railway facilities in Cape Breton have been 
greatly extended, and now one can go via the Grand 
Narrows, on the Sydney line, and reach easily by car- 
nage the Margaree and other streams. Or he can if 
he choose, go by rail all the way to Broad Cove from 
the Straits of Canso, via Port Hood, up the western 
side of the island, and be within easy reach of many 
fishing resorts. These comfortable traveling facilities 
will be sure, year by year, to cause an increasing in- 
flux ot sportsmen to this favored land of fishing coves 
and streams, and lakes, and where the heat of summer 
is always so finely tempered by the ocean breeze carry- 
ing over the country its sweet invigorating air 
