June, 1920 
FOREST AND STREAM 
295 
I had quit fishing as useless and sat on 
a stump waiting until he should suggest 
going elsewhere, when the idea entered 
my head that I would like to see if there 
really were any big trout down below. 
If there were it was my conviction that 
they could be enticed forth without great 
trouble. I walked across to the boat, 
therefore, and reaching down into my rod 
trunk fished out a veteran bait casting 
rod. On this I seated an equally tried 
level winding reel with appropriate line, 
and rigging single hook and lead I was 
ready for the work before me. Fasten- 
ing a shiner to the long shank hook I ex- 
plained to Frank that the method I was 
about to demonstrate — which is one I do 
not ordinarily care to employ in the tak- 
ing of trout or black bass, as they are de- 
serving of the fly — is deadly for northern 
and wall-eye pike and togue. Frank 
never had seen bait casting done and he 
was astonished to observe how easily the 
indicated spot in the reservoir was at- 
tained by means of the stubby rod. After 
the cast the bait was permitted to sink 
until well toward bottom, then slowly 
reeled in, with the shiner properly at- 
tached whirling in eccentric imitation of 
a crippled baitfish. The first cast brought 
a strike when the line had about been 
recovered; this trout was not hooked, nor 
was a second one under similar circum- 
stances. On the third attempt, however, 
the fish struck as the shiner had about 
reached bottom and was started in. The 
trout put up quite a fight in the deep 
water and appeared to be larger than the 
3% pounds which the scales registered. 
Frank was elated and wanted to spend 
the remainder of the day in bait casting, 
but I informed him that I was none too 
proud of my achievement, that I was used 
to catching bigger trout on the fly and 
that we would stop about there and con- 
fine our future activities to the use of the 
fly. And we did. 
T henceforth our angling was 
done on the two or three miles 
of the creek above its discharge into 
the reservoir. We would start out after 
the usual early breakfast provided with 
lunch and equipped with coffee, pot and 
broiler, cooking our noonday meal on the 
stream and thus making a long day of it. 
At times we poled the unwieldly boat up 
through the rifts and stillwaters, and 
again we would call to our assistance an 
old settler of the valley who, with his 
horse, snaked drift logs to the campyard 
for the bountiful campfires with which 
we indulged our hours of ease. 
Shortly after sunrise in following this 
latter plan, we would row across to the 
north bank of the fording place where 
the one-horse truck backed into the water 
with old “Charley” between the shafts 
awaited our coming. Placing the boat 
aboard the wagon the portage up the val- 
ley would take place, passing the tradi- 
tional country school house — they ’ve quit 
painting ’em red — and the sparse, 
weather-beaten dwellings with peaceful 
wood smoke curling up from the chim- 
neys, until our destination, an old log- 
ging road leading to what had in other 
days been a log landing, had been 
reached. Here our craft would be 
launched, to the consternation of the nu- 
Cooking our noonday meal at a favorite spot beside the stream 
merous spotted salamanders which re- 
sorted to the moist roadside, and the fish- 
ing cruise to camp would begin. 
The stream was in almost freshet stage 
during the greater part of our stay, a 
condition far from propitious for either 
wet or dry-fly angling; we took things as 
we found them, however, and made the 
most of matters. Waders were of little 
avail in the swollen creek and without 
them the water was unbearably cold; 
moreover a staff was an urgent necessity 
in the strong current regardless of the 
form of wading undertaken. I had al- 
ways heretofore vied with the sheldrakes 
for the honor of being first to brave the 
mountain waters without the protection 
afforded by rubber covering, but quite 
throughout this trip I was willing to 
grant the ducks the sole occupation of 
their element and deriving comfort from 
the example of Frank do my fly-fishing 
from the boat. 
Our angling was accomplished by 
dropping the anchor every few yards as 
the skiff glided down rift and pool, Frank 
casting below the boat with the wet-fly 
and I upstream and quartering, dry-fly 
fashion. Better results were had the 
nearer we approached the reservoir; the 
trout were more in motion thereabouts. 
while they were poorly established on the 
upper rifts, but a sufficient catch was at 
all times made in either place to keep us 
occupied. Although none larger than 
two pounds was landed and but few of 
this weight — we lost several nice fish, as 
we all lose the big ones — the trout aver- 
aged a good size. Where Frank had one 
rise on the wet-fly three trout rose to my 
dry-fly, but reversing the proportion he 
netted three to my one. This fact was 
due to the upstream casting on my part. 
The current was altogether too strong for 
the successful use of the dry-fly, the con- 
sequent bellying of the line preventing 
the quick strike required to fasten the 
hook. With a stage of water nearing the 
normal the returns would have about bal- 
anced, with the added compensation of the 
dry-fly method falling to my portion. 
We were engaged in fishing for the 
pleasure therein, however, not- for the 
fish, and after the first few meals had 
taken the edge from our appetites for 
trout it was our invariable custom to put 
the fish back in the water after netting 
them, save perhaps the two or three re- 
tained for broiling before the noonday fire 
on the stream. 
This custom of returning the trout to 
(continued on page 323 ) 
We rowed to the mouths of several brooks, picking up a nice trout here and there 
