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FOREST AND STREAM 
[July 8, 1905. 
larly good at the oars, possessed of good judgment, 
and is remarkably quick to act in emergencies. Half 
a mile further on we succeeded with some trouble in 
making a landing under the shelter of a point, got the 
water out of our boat, had a short smoke and a council 
of war. 
Retreat found no advocate — instead, we concluded to 
abandon fishing for the time being and push on for the 
head of the lake as rapidly as we could. We had two 
miles more to cover and worked the passage with oars 
and paddle and unhampered by the troll, at a little better 
pace, but not much. A mile an hour for the two of 
us was as good a record as we could make with that 
fearful sea and wind dead ahead, so with some narrow 
escapes from ramming by those submerged floating 
terrors, and a barrel of water in the boat from shipped 
seas, we finally ran into Mill Brook Cove and under the 
lee just before noon. 
Great Scottl but wasn’t it a welcome relief to get out 
of that hurricane. We found some dry stuff, got a 
good fire going on the ledge at the mouth of the brook, 
partly dried out our clothes, warmed up the coffee and 
had lunch. I put together a light fly-rod that I had 
brought along, and went to casting for trout, for which 
this is a famous rendezvous. I didn’t accomplish much, 
however, it was not at all a good day for fishing, and 
the time- — mid-day — was the worst that could have been 
chosen. Toward evening, especially if the wind should 
subside, would be much better, although, as it was, half 
a dozen small trout (M to i pound) rewarded my ef- 
forts. All of these I returned alive to the water. We 
should not need them, provided we made camp that 
night, and there was neither apology nor excuse for 
killing them. 
Meanwhile, the return trip was occupying our 
thoughts. The wind tempest had not abated at all and 
the voyage would be very rough and wet, and as to 
what other elements of mischance might be thrown in 
to give it plenty of incident, we could only speculate. 
It would be a wise precaution to give ourselves ample 
time to make the run in daylight, or if the boat should 
come to grief, to find the land trail through the woods 
and reach camp before dark, and we adopted it. As_we 
rounded the point of the little bay and got a view 
ahead down the lake, we discovered, much to our satis- 
faction, that the wind had driven the driftwood well 
ashore and that, for a mile or two at least, by keeping 
off eight or ten rods we should have comparatively clear 
water, and though it was a forlorn hope, I put on a 
fresh minnow and let put the trolling line. There was 
no need now of working the oars to propel the boat. 
Twitchell used them to direct the course and be ready 
to give way quickly should a big sea threaten to board 
us astern. By keeping a sharp lookout against swamp- 
ing, we ran down two miles to the point where we had 
landed coming up, with some degree of cornfort. Here 
we had to round up a bit to weather the point, bringirig 
the wind on our quarter for a moment, and the boat in 
the trough of the sea. 
It was- ticklish business, with great risk of s;^amping, 
but Twitchell was equal to the occasion and handled 
the oars so well that we quickly rounded off before the 
wind again without accident. I had had no signal from 
the minnow since we left the head of the lake and 
thought I would reel in and see if it was spinning well, 
when a rapid glance ahead showed that we were run- 
ning into a lot of driftwood. That settled the fishing 
for me, and I said to Twitchell: “It is perfectly useless 
to try for a fish any longer. We couldn’t land one in 
that inferno ahead, except by a miracle, if I could raise 
him, and I’ll just reel in and quit for to-day.” 
“I guess it’s the only thing to do,” said he, “but it’s 
too bad to go in without a fish, after such a stiff day’s 
work as this, and we the only boat on the lake that 
has dared to face the music.” 
“I feel a good deal that way myself. It’s only half 
past two, we’re nearly half way back and have plenty 
of time to spare. We’ll make a landing here and tie 
up for an hour and the wind may decrease, in which case 
we’ll go to fishing again with some small show of a 
strike. 
“Good idea; let’s do it.” 
I had just twisted around to straighten out the rod 
and make the line run free in reeling in, when there 
came a sharp, quick strike at the troll, that sent a thrill 
through me like an electric shock, and instantly the 
reel was screaming like a calliope. 
“No snag this time, Twitchell, it’s a fish sure. Come 
about into the wind quick and put to sea if you can.” 
“All right. I’ll try.’’ ^ ^ in 
“Remember those derelicts to leeward, and push her 
into the wind for all you’re worth. It’s our only hope 
or chance.” - . 
He just nodded assent and, leaving him to manage the 
boat, I gave my whole attention to the fish. The line 
had suddenly slackened and I was reeling in very fast, 
but I couldn’t feel the fish and knew he must be run- 
ning up on me. I doubled the speed and in three 
seconds had him in hand again, and to my unspeakable 
joy, I saw from the angle of the line that he was deep 
down and making out into the lake. 
He swam slowly with a strong steady movement, en- 
tirely unchecked, though I had a good strain on him, 
and knew he was securely hooked. ^ His occasional 
jig-jig on the line indicated a good sized fish and an 
ugly one. 
What I had hooked was something of a mystery, 
though from the vicious strike he made, I should have 
thought it was a salmon, except that he didn’t leap, and 
it is my experience that nine out of every ten, either 
landlocked or sea salmon, will leap when they first 
feel the hook. Thep again a salmon is as much more 
alert and agile than a trout as “lightning is quicker 
than a six ox team,” to use the local vernacular. Of 
these characteristics my fish had thus far given no indica- 
tions but if it was a salmon, I should very soon be 
relieved of any doubt about it. My greatest interest for 
the moment was not so much in the species, but as to 
whether he proposed to choose the open water or the 
snag area for the battle ground. 
Every foot of advance now was a remove from the 
lurking perils behind us, and I said to myself: “Keep up 
that pace and direction three minutes more, old man, 
and if this treacherous sea doesn’t swamp or capsize 
us we’ll give you the fight of your life.” 
“How do you size him up?” from Twitchell. 
“Salmon, I suspect, but acting queerly — we’ll mighty 
soon know — 6 -pound fish anyway — probably better.” 
The suspicion was growing on me every second that 
he was a very much heavier fish than I had stated to 
Twitchell, and visions of the long struggle to come 
before I could hone to land him, if ever, flashed through 
my brain, with a numerous following of pessimistic 
forebodings in their train. I was mentally running over 
the pros and cons and debating the outcome with my- 
self, and it is strange what singular association of ideas 
. brings to mind, especially in moments of excitement and 
peril, the most incongruous and often frivolous sub- 
jects. I recalled the old deacon’s fight with the bear, 
with only a clasp knife for a weapon, and the long odds 
against him, and his fervent appeal to Deity: “If you 
won’t help me, O Lord, don’t help the bear,” and 
thought I’d rather like to have known the deacon. 
I also wondered if, with the line-Up of the forces in 
this fight, it was quite fair to the salmon for me to in- 
voke the aid of the powers supernal. There was the 
salmon and his mighty allies, the gale, the angry sea, 
and the driftwood, arrayed against a well-trusted green- 
heart rod, Twitchell, my Fidus Achates, and myself. 
To be sure there were two intelligences against one 
for the salmon, but the preponderance of the combina-. 
tions of natural and physical forces was immeasurably 
in his favor, under present conditions — but possibly 
superior strategy might modify the too effective in- 
terference of wind and sea, and more nearly equalize 
the rush lines. 
Then I fell to speculating as to whether the rapidity 
of transitions of thought would ever be measured in 
time space, and what was , the connectyig link that 
brought such ideas to mind, when the attention was 
supposed to be intently fixed in a diametrically op- 
posite direction. 
Through these ramblings I know my attention never 
left the fish that I was distinctly conscious of every 
tremor and move, and on the alert for any change of 
tactics. 
The salmon had zigzagged about during my_ solilo- 
quizing (which hadn’t probably occupied two minutes), 
but his general course was still out into the lake. He 
ha- 100 feet of line out, but I couldn’t recover an inch 
of it. In fact, I had all I could do to hold him to that, 
while keeping the line taut all the time. Presently he' 
came to the surface, but did not show himself. Instead 
he turned tail and made a quick dash right for the boat. 
I was on my feet in a second. I could not have helped 
it had the danger of capsizing in that sea been ten times 
as great. I must stop or circumvent that rush, and I 
couldn’t do it sitting. Throwing the tip well back of my 
head and working the reel very fast, I prevented his get- 
ting a slack line on me, but there was no such thing as 
stopping him and, as he was heading, he would pass di- 
rectly under the boat, which was broadside on to him. 
If he had had any sort of a show to do it, Twitchell, 
who was as keenly alive to the risk of breaking the rod 
as I was, would by two or three sharp quick strokes 
have sent the boat a length ahead and averted the danger, 
but the handicap of wind and sea was too heavy. He 
attempted it and gained a couple of feet. I swung the 
rod hard astern with every ounce of strain I dared put 
on it, swerved the fish a little from his course and just 
as he passed under the boat, quickly threw the tip across 
and to the other side of the stern, thereby doubling the 
line under the boat, and instantly the line was clear. 
I dropped into my seat and breathed more freely. As 
the fish passed under us I got a glimpse of a silver side 
and knew then for a certainty that it was a salmon, and 
also a very large one. This latter discovery was not 
particularly comforting, for my regret would be all the 
more harrowing if I should fail to land him. Twitchell 
couldn’t have seen him from his position and I was glad 
that he did not. My nerves were on about the same ten- 
sion as my leader, but I felt that I could hold myself to- 
gether to the finish, if Twitchell didn’t get rattled. He 
was not likely to do so, but the sight would not act on 
him as a sedative, when the fish should show himself. 
The latter had sounded again after passing the boat and 
was now to leeward and directly astern of us, making 
shoreward, and for that infernal driftwood, which was, 
however, 200 feet away. Oh how I longed for plenty of 
clear sea room. Only give, -me that and then let Aiolus 
loose all his war dogs if hie, had any left, I wouldn’t have 
asked for quarter if they had driven . us high and dry on 
the rocks. I think we would have saved our fish even 
then, but the irreparable disaster, of fouling the line in 
one of those floating windfalls, some of whose branches 
might extend twenty feet under the surface, and from 
whose entanglement there was no escaping, was enough 
to induce heart failure in a graven image, 
"Well, speculation as to the future and the overture to 
the opera ended abruptly right there, and the business 
proper was on for certain. 
■With one of -those glorious mad rushes that only a 
salmon can make, he spun a hundred feet off the reel 
in a twinkling, and six feet into the air went a magnifi- 
cent 12-pound salmon. ' ■ 
I lowered the point of my rod instantly as he made 
the leap and he was back in the water again without 
having broken away, and tearing along on a limited 
ticket right up the wind. 
Twitchell expended some precious breath_ in one ex-, 
ultant shout, but got down to work again in a second. 
There was intense suppressed excitement in his eyes, as 
we exchanged glances after that leap, but a most reassur- 
ing do or die determination about the mouth that' was 
both eloquent and prophetic of his staying qualities. 
But the salmon was not allowing anything to call off 
my attention for a moment from himself. He occupied 
the center of the stage just then, and proper respect for 
royalty was not only expected and demanded, but was 
most willingly accorded, since it was surely up to me to 
keep on as good terms with him as he would permit — at 
least for the present. 
There was no doubt that he would have it all his own 
way for some time yet, but every minute the struggle was 
prolonged multiplied the contingencies that threatened 
from every quarter, and I must force the fighting with all 
the tactics at my command, and prevent, if possible, any 
attempt at sulking to renew his wind and strength. It 
was now twenty-five minutes since I struck him and, 
though he had been under a heavy strain all this time, 
and had never rested for a second, he was apparently as 
fresh as when he started in. 
He had got down deep in the water again, moving very 
slowly and jigging at the line. I threw my wrist back 
sharply, bringing the line up very taut and struck the butt 
of the rod four or five quick light blows with my knife 
handle. I could feel the vibrations run through the rod, 
and the fish seemed tp be aware of some sensations out 
of the ordinary, for he started like a shot out of a cata- 
pult, made a short, sharp rush, another fine leap, was 
down and off again like a motor car on a long 
run, ending with still another leap, and then he 
sounded. Down into the depths he went, but now 
my innings was commencing, and he had to work 
so hard for every foot of line I reluctantly gave, that he 
yielded to the heavy drag and slowly rose to the surface 
again thirty feet away from the boat. He rested, rolling 
in the heavy seas, for just one breath, during which time 
I fancied he was looking us over critically and especially 
taking in the position of the boat. Whether his conclu- 
sions were reached by logical deduction from his obser- 
vations, or by a sudden impulse, he had evidently jaer- 
fected his plan of campaign instantly; for, scorning any 
sparring for wind, he was off again like a bullet, without 
a sign of warning, heading shoreward and straight for 
the snags. 
Well, the gage was thrown in my face then for the 
combat a I’outramce. Reach that “Devil’s Hop Yard,” as 
Twitchell had christened it, he never should, if the rod 
and the guide stood by me. I felt as sure of one as the 
other. Both had been often called on in critical situa- 
tions and had loyally responded and, though we were 
facing the hardest combination of opposing forces we had 
ever encountered, with very desperate chances of suc- 
cess, yet the trio would accept the challenge. 
Twitchell had meaneuvered so well that we were fully 
a hundred yards off shore and 200 feet outside and to 
windward of the nearest snags, which extended from the 
leeward shore about a hundred feet out into the lake. But 
how long could he keep that welcome gap open? His 
arms and wind had been severely tried in the last half 
hour, and the violence of wind and sea had not abated 
a bit. Game as he was, there was still a limit to his en- 
durance. Never mind, the limit hadn’t been reached yet 
and we would cross that bridge when we came to it — 
meanwhile to head off this rush for the snags. 
I had the salmon close hauled with about thirty feet 
of line out when he started, but though I snubbed him 
hard, the best I could do was to hold him down to a 
hundred feet when he stopped. He didn’t leap nor did 
he sound. The sharp work of the last five or six minutes 
was telling on him and he was getting tired. 
I told Twitchell to let the boat drift slowly astern while 
I recovered my line and got closer to the fish, but to be 
prepared to check it instantly if occasion required, and 
in this way I picked up what line he had run off, hold- 
ing him so hard that he couldn’t get a foot nearer the 
snags. He was more submissive for the moment and 
inclined to sulk, but though it seemed rather unchivalrpus 
to take advantage of the noble fellow’s momentary weak- 
ness, I couldn’t afford to let up a particle and he must be 
kept going. ■ - 
I had discovered a little while back that telegraphing 
him produced a decidedly enlivening effect, so I sent him 
another and more imperative message. 
Then ensued a series of gymnastics, hand springs, 
trapeze work, and ground and lofty tumbling, lasting five 
minutes of continuous performance, during which the 
now half-frantic fish was on' all sides and everywhere 
about us, and culminating in a flurry of fireworks, one 
more rush and another grand leap. 
After that he was pretty well done up. "Without giving 
him time for a breath, I had Twitchell run a little quar- 
tering to the seas and row farther out into the lake. 
This was a very rocky wet trip for a few minutes, but it 
materially widened the gap between us and the snags. It 
didn’t take very much persuading to make the salmon 
follow the boat, so I had him close reeled when we came 
up into the wind again. It was now evident that within 
another ten minutes we would secure him, if ever. 
The most critical moment of all— the netting — was 
close at hand, and how that very delicate and hazardous 
operation was best to be managed had been occupying 
my thoughts for some time. It was taking too big a 
risk for me to attempt to manage the rod and the net 
too. It would have been an easy task with a smaller 
fish in quiet water and I had often done it, but with the 
boat pitching and careening as it was, and a large and \ 
powerful fish to control and guide, my handling the net 
was too hazardous to be thought of, especially as in that 
wild sea it would be jeopardizing everything for me to 
get on my feet, where alone I could work both rod and 
net to any advantage, if at all. 
On the other hand, how was Twitchell, whose preroga- 
tive it naturally was, to do- the netting. He would have 
to drop the oars to do it, and leave the boat to take care 
of itself, which meant that she would almost inevitably 
broach to, with an infinite risk of swamping. 
I was between Scylla and Charybdis and, whichever 
of the two not ver3^ inviting alternatives I adopted, I 
should be likely, when regrets were unavailing, to wish 
that I had chosen the other. I was satisfied that we 
should have but one chance to secure the salmon. The 
first attempt to net him would be successful or totally 
disastrous. There would be no second chance. 
Now I had seen a good many fine fish lost through 
bungling and unskillful work in the netting, when there 
was no excuse for it. Twitchell was unusually good at 
this work — quick and at the same time deliberate and 
sure, and I determined on this plan : 
I would allow the salmon all the time I dared to give 
and, unless forced to it by some unforeseen happening, 
not attempt to net him until he was thoroughly drowned. , 
Twitchell should keep the boat’s head right in the eye 
of the wind, and just hold her from going astern. "When 
I should give the signal that the opportune moment had 
come, he was to drop both oars (leaving them to swivel 
alongside the boat) seize the net, quickly pass it under 
the fish, lift him aboard, recover his oars, and right the 
boat. I calculated that if he was equal to the occasion 
and the dire necessity, he would execute this programme 
in ju.st Uve seconds, in which time the boat’s head would 
not fall off enough to bring her into the trough of the 
