May, 1919 
FOREST 
AND 
STREAM 
209 
INDEPENDENCE IN TROUT FISHING 
IT ISN’T ALWAYS WELL TO SKIP A BROOK BECAUSE OF ITS REPUTATION: 
IT MIGHT SURPRISE YOU AND CONTAIN SECRETS OTHERS HAVE OVERLOOKED 
By EARNEST WARREN BROCKWAY 
< t A IN’T he a whopper?” shouted 
little Timmy Green as he came 
running into Smith’s general 
store with a monstrous trout held out 
at arm’s length. Proprietor Smith was 
an old trout fisherman and he was the 
first among several other anglers to ex- 
claim : 
“By George, Timmy, he is a whopper! 
—hey, Tibbie and Billings, just look at 
him.” 
And they discharged a volley of ex- 
clamations while Proprietor Smith 
rushed the fish to the scales. “A two- 
pounder, boys! Where’d you catch the 
old chap, Timmy?” 
“Up’n Boggy Brook,” piped up little 
Timmy, “an’ I catched him soon’s I 
throwed in my hook under the old dam.” 
“Beats all,” drawled Proprietor 
Smith as he peered over the tops of his 
spectacles. “No one has fished that 
brook before for years to my knowl- 
edge.” 
And there you have it. No one had 
fished the brook for years for the very 
good reason that it had a wide-spread 
reputation of containing no trout. And 
what angler wants to waste time on a 
brook barren of trout? If a stream 
contains only a few, then one might. 
But Boggy Brook was reputed not to 
have one solitary trout in its waters. 
And little Timmy Green, just by luck 
caught a two-pounder at the first cast. 
Here is the secret of how Boggy 
Brook came to be inhabited. Several 
years before, unbeknown to any of the 
village anglers, Charley Brewster placed 
several hundred small trout in the 
stream. The following year he went 
west, married and settled there. The 
trout in Boggy Brook were forgotten 
by Charley when he wrote back home, 
and not another soul knew he had 
dumped them in the stream. So little 
Timmy Green while fishing for red- 
fins, caught a prize that made the whole 
trout fishing fraternity of the village 
gasp. Thereafter, Boggy Brook catches 
became famous for miles around. And 
little Timmy became renowned as a dis- 
coverer; he was but little lower than 
Christopher Columbus in the esteem of 
local anglers. 
N OW, every little while there bobs 
up a little Timmy or a big Timmy 
discoverer, who causes an old 
abandoned brook to become a center of 
angling activity. It may not have be- 
come populated by the same method as 
Boggy Brook became, but in some way 
trout came there. My discovery of such 
a brook several years ago has left me 
a memory which will never become 
dimmed. It was a little paradise for 
anglers; and the owner of the stream 
had told me it had never been known 
to contain a trout! 
.'.V 
Fishing a great picturesque brook 
The point, then, I w’ould make is that 
every trout fisherman, if he has the 
time, should be somewhat of an explorer 
and not stake all his faith on reputa- 
tions of brooks. Sometimes one of these 
surprise streams will be found in the 
very center of civilization for the very 
reason that every angler will think or 
remark, “Oh, there’s no trout there; 
never has been any.” And like the 
Levite of old he passes on. 
Oftentimes the reason for the deser- 
tion of a stream by trout cannot be 
solved. Only the fish know. And per- 
haps in a few years that same stream 
will become a center of immigration. 
Without doubt one of the chief reasons 
for the desertion of a stream is the 
inflowing of some foreign substance 
which means death to trout. Many fac- 
tories send out such substances. Saw- 
dust is an enemy of trout; seldom will 
they be found where this abounds. I 
know of sections in two streams which 
at one time were fllled with trout and 
which later became useless for fishing 
because of this reason. 
I N writing the foregoing I have had in 
mind medium and large sized streams, 
ones whose appearances were tempt- 
ing to anglers, but whose reputations 
kept them from visiting them. Now, I 
want to take up the little streams — in- 
significant ones, if you please — ones that 
would be passed by nine times out of 
ten as being too small to bother with. 
They are to be found almost everywhere 
in a district of brooks. Not a few of 
them are contiguous to big streams. 
These little streams are often surprises. 
True, no large trout, as a rule, live in 
them, but in these days of “fished-to- 
death” brooks in populous parts of the 
country, one must be contented with 
fair-sized fish. When a big fellow is 
landed, then one’s joy becomes almost 
excessive. 
In a small spring-fed brook, especial- 
ly, it is surprising how far up trout 
will go. And they don’t stop for shal- 
lowness of water, manytimes. I know 
of a half-pound trout being caught away 
back in a tiny brook among the hills 
where the water, except in a number of 
small pools, would not average more 
than two inches in depth. This particu- 
lar chap was caught in one of the pools 
about four inches deep. Now, not one 
angler among five would have deigned 
to “puggle” about in such an unpreten- 
tious place. It takes an angler with a 
sort of prophetic vision to seek out such 
places. Last season I was driving by a 
little trickling stream when I saw an 
angler fishing just the other side of the 
fence. I saluted him, but he didn’t re- 
turn the salutation just at that instant. 
But in a half-minute he did. “How’s 
that?” he called, as he flipped a nine- 
inch trout into the air. That fisherman 
was always trying little brooks and 
brooks that others didn’t fish. And he 
brings home the trout. 
W HEN one is fishing a great pic- 
turesque brook filled with long 
stretches of still-flowing water, 
with reaches of dashing rapids and with 
deep, silent pools all along the way, it 
takes a whole lot of gumption to desert 
it, even when flsh are not striking nor 
are likely to strike, and move on to some 
baby brook. From my own experiences 
I know that many a time I have clung 
tenaciously to a stream whose whole 
makeup was ideal for trout, yet in 
which there were none. I have been 
lured on and on under the bewitching 
influence of appearances. For a long 
time I was reluctant to leave a big 
stream for a little one, but when one 
day I mustered enough will-power to 
act, I was well repaid for the aesthetic 
sacrifice I made. I had fished a big 
stream for several hours with no suc- 
cess. I then went to a tiny stream which 
trickled down a steep hillside and this 
marked the finale and saving grace of 
my day’s fishing. Now, I can turn from 
a brook however alluring and success- 
looking and move on to the waters of a 
little neighbor brook with spirits high in 
the hope of success. 
Yes, it’s an excellent idea to have an 
independent spirit when one would go 
astream to take the trout. 
