62 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[July 22, 1905. 
Spring in! the Adirondacks. 
Spring in the Adirondacks is doubtless a laggard. 
She advances with as great a reluctance as winter re- 
treats, and seems loth to touch the trees with the first 
vernal tints, or free the ground from the iron bonds 
of frost; but when the ethereal colors of opening buds 
at last clothe the mountain slopes, how radiant then 
is the face she turns toward sanguine May skies! It 
is the flush of youth seen again on an aged, rugged 
cheek, and the -shy, retiring and frequently capricious 
moods given way to at this season only serve to make 
more alluring those tender moments that grow longer 
and sweeter as she draws near the serene maturity of 
summer. Laving the roots of gnarled cedars that so 
often line their shores, and held, as it were, in the 
arms of wooded hills and mountains, lie the Adiron- 
dack lakes; and what can be more satisfying or restful 
than a wilderness lake, breathing forth the fragrant 
mists of early morn, and mirroring the last pale glow 
of sunset. “It is the earth’s eye; looking into which 
the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.” 
We cannot interpret with greater beauty the signifi- 
cance of such a creation than in the remembrance of 
these lines, and once having taken nature by the hand 
how firm and true is the clasp of her fingers! She is 
constant in the beginning; constant until the last, 
changing, and yet changeless. “Nature and man,” says 
the same author quoted previously, “some prefer one, 
others the other. But that is all ‘de gustibus.’ It makes 
no odds at what well you drink, provided it be a 
well-head.” 
Thus we go through life seeking well-heads — peren- 
nial fountains where our thirst may be quenched and 
our beings renovated with a crystal draught that per- 
chance flows from some elysium. Certain influences 
and certain creations all differently affect, exalt and 
convey spiritual intimations to various mentalities, 
benefiting them accordingly — administering _ large or 
small portions as the case may be. But it is a bene- 
ficent provision of nature that the greater amount we 
are able to assimilate into a secular existence, the more 
completely does her sublime power advance us to reve- 
lations of eternity. The influence of the wilderness and 
relationship of mountains have ever seemed especially 
ennobling, and draws one with surprising vigor away 
from follies and trivialities, planting instead those things 
that time will not be likely to vitiate or the changing 
currents of years wash away. When we return to their 
environment after an absence and feel the old in- 
timacy steal through our veins like a tempered ab- 
original instinct; when the forest grows vernal with 
fresh lustrous foliage and the lakes reflect the sky’s 
deep azure, we experience a natural felicity that eman- 
ates not only from the reality, but from those potent 
invisible forces ever lurking behind it. 
The love of angling is innate, and the long-famed 
piscatorial history of the Adirondacks has caused the 
fly-rod to bloom abundantly, where it is as well known 
a symbol of the spring season as the wake robins 
holding their delicate heads above the leaves, or the 
witch-happel blossoms flecking the woods with snowy 
tints. Moreover, where the waters are still uncon- 
taminated by the introduction of black bass or pickerel, 
it often brings to net many of those crimson-sided, 
thick-set, native trout, whose lurid coloring and game 
qualities make them worthy of the highest admiration. 
And the more intimate our acquaintance becomes with 
any form of sport the deeper is our appreciation of its 
intrinsic values, and we find in it something that ex- 
pands new pleasures instead of contracting them, which 
is so often the case with many recreations that suffer 
from the vicissitudes of years, or are swallowed up in 
nonotony and indifference. 
To be abroad in the late afternoon or evening of a 
nild May day, on some sequestered woodland lake where 
he trout are rising well, results in not only the _re- 
ilenishing of the awaiting creel, but of the awaiting 
nind, for even the angler must have some dry land in 
lis thoughts if he would save himself from drowning 
n the limitless ocean of existence. Moreover, if he 
s wise, he will embrace the present with heartfelt 
hankfulness and give himself over to the natural un- 
tained chastity of his environment, or, as Thoreau 
ays, “Both for bodily and mental health court the 
(resent; embrace healthy wherever you find her. 
* * There is divinity in the wilderness; we see it, 
lear it and feel it, if we but open the doors of our 
piritLial temples and let its omnipotent breath flow 
hrough and permeate every crack and crevice that 
(erchance is dusty or'neglected. Nature moulds human 
•haracter with a serene and lofty precision, if we 
vill but allow her the opportunity of doing so. Yet 
low many will have only the roof of their earthly 
labitation to shelter them.” 
It is always agreeable after two or more days of 
vet, sober weather, to discover those signs that fore- 
ell ’a clear-up, and such a change is especially welcome 
in a fishing trip, when the angler, who _ has been 
vrestling with confinement, at last regains his freedom, 
ind hastens to seek out some favorite haunt in ex- 
lectation of making up for lost time. Thus our an- 
icipations werfe at the high-tide mark one ffloist Spring 
i|te>rnQOrt glided over thi uribrokeh surface of 
mM isfi 
the relaxation of a tempestuous brow and advanced 
our hopes with regard to the prospect of a fine clarified 
evening. 
At the lower end, replenished by many new born rills 
that fed ^nd swelled its current, the inlet poured an 
amber stream into the pond, flowing out over a wide 
expanse of shallows, and here, evidently lured by its 
wild, cold flavor, the trout had congregated — a dis- 
covery two long-tried fishermen had made the day 
previous, and who, braving the rain, were rewarded 
with a splendid catch. The “Veteran” therefore decided 
to go directly to this spot, and if the fish were still 
there we might expect some good sport, and perchance 
find a contingent of big trout waiting to seize the first 
blue-jay, Parmacheenee-belle or professor that floated 
temptingly over their heads. Once, a man, whom I had 
known but a few moments, asked me with rather scorn- 
ful intimation, I thought, how large the trout were 
which my father and I caught in the Adirondacks. I 
gave him the average weight and named the largest we 
had taken that season, feeling a trifle wrathy within 
at the tone of his inquiry, whereupon he remarked: 
“Oh, you ought to go farther north and fish for salmon 
or sea trout; they absolutely spoil any one for trout 
fishing.” 
“Well, I would never care to go further north, then,” 
replied I, rather curtly, no doubt, “for to have my ap- 
petite impaired with regard to trout fishing would be 
a loss that I should deeply regret,” and so our pisca- 
torial conversation came to an end. 
As we neared our destination the vibrant, mellow- 
peeping of shad-toads, hidden in the slushy marshland 
depths bordering the shore, fell pleasantly on our ears, 
and a fish broke with an enticing splash just opposite 
the -mouth of the inlet, sending a circle of eddying 
waves across the water’s surface, where still forms of 
vaporous clouds might be seen reflected, while in 
ephemeral mists they kissed the rain-soaked cheeks of 
the surrounding hills. I cannot refrain from eulogiz- 
ing the atmosphere, which warm and moist, seemed 
laden with subtle influences that appeared to inspire 
the woodland songsters along shore with fresh melody, 
and made the strains of hermit thrushes even more 
serene and liquid than usual. And there is no bird 
perchance, whose song is better adapted to its environ- 
ment, or whose habits harmonize so completely with 
forest solitude, unless it be some other member of the 
same family as the wood thrush or veery. Our High- 
land bard and essayist, to whom every nature-lover’s 
homage is due, pays this thrush many a beautiful tribute 
and eulogizes the quality of his voice with a vividness 
that is almost equal to the reality. His description 
can only be compared with what Thoreau says of the 
wood thrush, which, “though heard at noon, there is 
the liquid coolness of things drawn from the bottom 
of springs.” Occasionally one hears the latter in the 
Adirondacks, but the other is by far the most plentiful, 
and when from the shadowed wilderness depths its 
strain rings out on a summer evening, we are wont to 
imagine that it is the sylvan lute of Orpheus, search- 
ing for his lost Eurydice. 
A fine Scotch mist had been falling as we walked 
over the mile “carry” which led through the woods to 
the pond; but now it seemed to be quite dispelled, and 
before commencing to fish, we doffed our raincoats 
with a sigh of relief. At last reaching the chosen 
ground, Wallace let the boat drift, and we began cast- 
ing over the mirrored waters some fifty yards or more 
from shore, and above where the inlet entered the pond. 
“Perhaps all the big ones have moved out to deeper 
water,” the “Veteran” remarked and made a cast on 
the opposite side of the boat; but just as the flies 
gently struck the water, a pound fish leaped clean into 
the air like a crimson bow, and sunk from sight with 
his dearly bought morsel holding him fast. Every time 
he caught even a fleeting glimpse of the net Wallace en- 
deavored to slip under him when he came up apparently 
played out, there would be a fresh struggle with flying 
spray and foam, and occasional flashes of his brilliant 
sides; but the firm experienced hand that held the rod was 
at last victorious, and thus the afternoon’s sport opened 
with a flourish. After this first catch, it waxed fast 
and furious, and fortunately there were not many black 
flies, mosquitoes or other winged torrnents to dis- 
turb us, and therefore our full attention could be 
given to the enjoyment of playing and landing 
each fish in turn. Neither before nor since do I 
remember having witnessed such a scene of trout 
gayety; on every side they jumped and disported them- 
selves, little and big ones alike, as though the moist 
atmospheric conditions were conducive to aerial per- 
formances and also to their appetites, for certainly 
they did not demur over seizing a modest Rube-Wood 
or gaudy blue-jay, but every fly seemed congenial to 
their palates, until too late they discovered their mis- 
take. Some of the large pound or two-pound trout, 
as they gracefully cleaved the air, made my heart go 
through similar antics, and finally as one broke water 
near the boat I was able to place a cast directly over 
the swirl, and up he came again with a rush. The 
line flew off the reel at a rapid rate, but having struck 
hard, I trusted the hook would do its work, and so let 
hirti take out a good bit, when suddenly the tehsion 
rellJttd and with a triHmphatit splash my finny tvarrior 
feeling as if I had not eaten anything for a week — the 
sensation most anglers experience, I imagine, on losing 
a fish which they fully realize was a noble specimen of .j 
his kind. The “Veteran,” however, even if he did 
laugh at my wailings, also encouraged me with the 
idea that there were probably others who could rival 
the lost prize in weight and fighting propensities, and , 
just then his surmise was proved correct, for out came 
the twin brother of the former and swallowed his hand- 
fly. Watching the brisk struggle which now ensued, I 
let rny own flies drift idly, holding the rod across my 
arm in a rather careless manner, when a seething boil, 
directly alongside the boat and a sharp, sudden jolt on ’ 
the line, scattered previous disappointment to the winds ^ 
and no doubt drew from me some excited exclama- ■' 
tions, for alas! I am not destined to accept such | 
moments as these, without word or sign. Like light- f 
ning he bolted under the boat, then out again and f 
streaked across the water, giving one wild bound into 3 
the air and striking with a loud slap on the calm, i 
glazed surface, changing its placid a'spect to one of 
turmoil. This time, however, the Seth-Green — which 
fly it was that had tempted him to strike — held firm, ^ 
deeply imbedded in his horny jaw, and after fighting 
vigorously for some five minutes or more, he gave in 
and was landed without mishap, much to my satis- 
faction. 
“They’re coming pretty fast,” murmered Wallace, as 
he unhooked one trout and prepared to net another. 
“Just look at that!” he added, for as the “Veteran” ' 
reeled in his fish, a second one followed up the trailing 
flies, and lunged at them, hooking lightly, but un- 
luckily breaking loose again. It is amusing as well as 
interesting to note the different manner in which trout 
will attack an artificial fly. Some take it, generally the 
big ones, with a surging rush from beneath, or make a 
savage leap, striking as they go down, which latter 
method affords a most attractive and inspiriting sight, 
and usually signifies a well-hooked fish. Again, those 
of medium size and very small ones, will attack with 
similar vim and determination, while as often they will 
follow the fly, toying and nudging it with leisurely 
playfulness, taking good care, however, not to strike 
hard. There were plenty of these delayers in our vicin- 
ity, but their inability to swallow the flies was made up 
for by the glorious onrush and subsequent capture of 
fish whose game qualities remained apparent from first ' 
until last, and whose color and beauty was a feast for 
the most fastidious angling eye. 
As had been prophesied by -the aspect of the horizon 
earlier in the afternoon, the sun at last came out, warm 
and delicious. It was as if Helios had lifted back his 
beamy cloud helm and exposed the full radiance of his 
glowing features. The whole landscape, dripping and 
clearcut after the rain, was suddenly bathed with a 
melting luminous haze, while through the mists over- 
head broke great azure lakes of the unstained 
sky beyond. Seeing the light strike on the glisten- ; 
ing poplars and other trees that lined the shore 
brought to mind a golden thread of mythology I 
which Ovid has woven into his choice, rich verse, j 
Phaeton, who drove his father’s chariot and fell through i 
“fiery ambition o’ervaulting itself,” had sisters, so it \ 
seems, who weeping at his downfall were transformed 
into poplar trees, and thus the poet memorizes the in- | 
cident: ! 
“But yet they weep; and in the Sun their' tears 
To amber harden, by the clear stream caught, ' 
And borne, the gaud and grace of Latian maids.” 
If the birds had been bubbling over with song before ‘ 
the sun made its appearance, their vocal powers seemed 
now to be redoubled, and vireos, scarlet tanagers, ; 
thrushes and warblers poured forth an unceasing ; 
chorus, while a broad-wing hawk, wheeling high above : 
the treetops, gave out, at intervals, wild whistling 
screams. Not soon after landing a fair-sized trout, I 
lost one through over-anxiety to save him, and of ] 
course as he kept down and weighed heavy on the rod, ; 
I bitterly surmised he was larger than any that had 
been hooked previously. The lost fish, however, is ’ 
invariably summed up as the “biggest of all,” and floats ■ 
in astounding proportions before the disconsolate 
angler’s mind’s eye. Whereas, in reality, its size is ' 
probably far from extraordinary. 
All afternoon scarcely a breath of wind or fluctuating ‘ 
zephyr had dappled the pond’s surface in our vicinity, 
and it lay as smooth and undisturbed as a sheltered 
pool, which made casting a delight, and displayed the ( 
rising trout to advantage. The warm, humid sunlight •! 
might have somewhat curtailed the number of hungry 
fish, however, had it struck directly on the water, where > 
we were located, but, fortunately, the shadows stretched 1 
dark and cool along the west shore, and on our way - 
back we kept well within the limits of their shade. 
Trolling the flies, while the “Veteran” continued to ' 
cast, I had a sharp strike, which was repeated several 
times until the rod tip suddenly bent and quivered, ; 
while some distance behind the boat, hooked to the - j 
fly, a pound fish broke water. This is a favorite trick ■ 
of the rainbow trout and landlocked salmon, both of ' 
which as a general rule fight close to the sutface. I [ 
have khown instances where the manetiVerS of the ' 
farmer Wera so ^vild and vincontrollable aft^r being ® 
alme^t deffiemed, and m , 
in mm ws f sffttos «ijii teis : 
