April, 1921 
FOREST AND STREAM 
179 
stopped at Myton, in the middle of the 
reservation, that night, and were on 
the road in the morning at five. Eleven 
o’clock saw us just below the mouth of 
Wolf Creek Canyon. 
“We’re going to get home too early,” 
complained Davy. “Let’s stop here and 
do about three hours’ fishing!” 
We were only about 75 miles from 
home, and I immediately recognized the 
inappropriateness of getting in at two 
or three o’clock. Davy turned out 
under the trees beside the west branch 
of the Du Chesne and we got out the 
rods. 
I went downstream meditating upon 
the fact that none of us had caught a 
really big trout on the trip. I won- 
dered if now wouldn’t be a good time 
to drag one out. 
Within fifty yards I hooked a nice 
one, but after a brief struggle he got 
off. A little farther down I took an 
eleven-inch trout on a riffle, and at the 
head of the pool below lost another like 
him when I had him by my bootleg. 
In the dense shade of a grove of pines 
was a deep shoal of black water. Care- 
fully I began working it from the upper 
end. Suddenly the leader straightened 
and I struck. I felt the weight of a 
big fish, and then he shot into the air 
with a wriggling motion that threw the 
fly aside before I could pull him down. 
Again and again I came back to the 
place, but raised nothing. The big trout 
was sulking, and I couldn’t blame him. 
He had been grossly mistreated. The 
time when I must get back to the car 
was getting perilously close when, hav- 
ing taken but two more, I turned back 
up the bank for a last try at the dark 
pool. From the upper end I dropped a 
small gray hackle down over the shoal- 
ing water. The slightest of commotions 
disturbed the surface and I struck. 
Instantly the line began cutting the 
water and I knew I had another chance 
to land a good one. He veered down 
across the current and jumped when I 
held him hard at the corner, of a mass 
of drift. The leader looped a projecting 
stick, but fortunately this came loose 
from the drift, and downstream we 
went, stick and all. Over my boots I 
went among the boulders, following the 
stick that zigzagged down the shoal and 
into a stretch of fast water where for 
fifty yards I had to run to keep up. 
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At the foot of the rapids was another 
pool with a fallen pine resting upon the 
rocks. The floating stick came to rest 
in the quieter water, and then was agi- 
tated by little jerks as the fish tried to 
get among the submerged branches of 
the tree-trunk. A careful strain on the 
line and he was coaxed around the snags 
to the lower end of the pool where the 
current washed him into the shallow 
water among the stones. 
He was a three-pounder and his cap- 
ture furnished the thrill that fittingly 
wound up the expedition. My compan- 
ion had taken eight of a half pound each 
and was likewise in a pleasant humor. 
When lunch had been prepared and dis- 
posed of we stowed the duffel for the 
last time and soon were humming along 
up the eleven-mile grade of Wolf Creek 
Canyon. 
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