Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXIII. September 12, 1914 No. 11 
Martin H. Glynn’s First Trout 
For a Few Delightful Days in the Adirondacks the Governor Forgot the Cares of State and Became a 
Confirmed Disciple of Izaak Walton 
“My first trout!” shouted Governor Glynn, 
as he dropped his rod and reached with eager 
hands to net a fine speckled beauty swirling atop 
the water alongside the boat. The pound and a 
half specimen of Salmo fontinalis had put up a 
marvelously cunning and strong fight. Martin 
Glynn was breathing hard from excitement and 
exertion, but the gleam of a well-earned victory 
was in his eye. He exulted again, holding his 
prize aloft, “My first trout!” 
The sun had jus't disappeared behind the ser¬ 
rated horizon of spruce on Dexter Lake when 
the battle began. But at the conqueror’s cry, 
Old Sol bobbed from behind a thick clump in 
the tree wall and dropped a radiant wreath of 
congratulations over the angler’s head. Gover¬ 
nor Glynn’s hat was not in the ring at that mo¬ 
ment. He was unconscious of the fact that it 
had been flung off in the struggle and was now 
dancing amiably among the lilies down the bay, 
paying court impartially to every “water nymph” 
it met. 
Still contemplating the beautiful fish with ad¬ 
miring and gratified eyes, Martin Glynn finally 
said, “When I was a boy, I used to catch shiners 
in the old farm creek in Columbia County. Af¬ 
ter I grew up, I fished for pickerel, perch and 
bass occasionally with indifferent success. But 
a't last I have landed a big trout and I feel 
that I am entitled to be classed with real 
anglers.” 
“No question about that!” heartily assented 
Glynn’s boat companion. “It was a pretty 
fight!” 
In August the big trout of Dexter Lake are 
to be found lurking in the deeper pools along 
the shore, where they are protected by trees that 
have fallen into the water. At the first strike, 
the powerful fish dart for cover and the most 
experienced angler is at his wit’s end to stop the 
initial rush for the submerged brush. Three 
times out of five the trout is the winner under 
those conditions. 
Profiting by former defeats, on the next strike 
Glynn set the hook hard and promptly started 
the trout at right angles from the great log 
under which he had been hiding. Circumvented 
in his attempt to snub the line under his home 
brush pile, “the prize fighter of the waters” 
darted across the narrow bay for the advantage 
of a network of stumps and roots. The angler 
gave him the butt and reeled in desperately. 
Toward the boat gleamed the fish. Just by a few 
inches Glynn prevented his playing ring round a 
rosy with the anchor rope. Off again, in a de¬ 
termined dash for the old log, the trout doubled 
the rod until the tip went two feet under water. 
The veins in Glynn’s head stood out like whip¬ 
cords as he braced for the supreme test. Slowly 
but surely, there was an upward gain of the rod, 
the gamey fish swerved 'to the left, and the line 
described a silvery arc toward deep water. Piv¬ 
oting in his seat, the angler faced about to con¬ 
tinue the battle under more favorable conditions. 
The ‘trout sounded bottom in strong rushes, 
Glynn yielding line for safety, but keeping a taut 
hold on his antagonist. Out went fifteen yards 
of line, as the trout attempted to make the 
kindly cover of the lilies on the bar. This loss 
was recovered, but Glynn’s wrists glowed as in 
a furnace heat from the exertion. When within 
five yards of the boat the fish again darted for 
an anchor rope, missed it, ran back and under 
pressure broke water. The fish was again in 
the vicinity of the home log, before the angler 
regained control of the situation. The landing 
net was in the water and Glynn commanded, 
begged, entreated, “Get him in! Reach him! 
Oh, don’t lose him!” Three times the fish was 
brought to the boat, but each 'time, although 
apparently well nigh spent, eluded the net mouth. 
Finally, a swift sweep from behind, and the 
speckled beauty was landed gasping in the boat. 
“Way back in the eighties,” said the Governor 
with a happy sigh, “I read in Forest and Stream* 
a poem, which I liked very much, but I never 
before got its real meaning or beauty. I have 
now thrilled it and felt it: 
If the bending rod and the ringing reel 
Give proof that you’ve fastened the tempered 
steel, 
Be sure that the battle is but begun 
And not till he’s landed is victory won. 
Then, give me the trout of the mountain stream, 
With his crimson stars and his golden gleam; 
When he, like a hero, gasping, dies, 
The angler has won his fairest prize! 
“Entitled to be classed with real anglers, is 
Martin Glynn?” Well, I wish our brother 
sportsmen of the state had seen the Governor 
in action up at Couchsachraga, Dexter Lake. 
I know the ayes would have it unanimously. 
After a daylight ride from Utica, Governor 
and Mrs. Glynn and party arrived at Couchsach¬ 
raga Lodge about five o’clock, in the afternoon, 
came a confirmed disciple of Izaak Walton. 
Dinner was announced for six o’clock and the sea¬ 
soned anglers in camp glanced at each other with 
pleased surprise, when the Governor excused 
himself saying that he was going to get into 
his fishing clothes and didn’t care for anything 
to eat until he had landed a trout. However, 
he was persuaded to reconsider the postpone¬ 
ment of dinner. It was almost twilight before 
the anglers got onto the lake, too late for trout 
angling in those waters, but Glynn persisted un- 
* (Forest and Stream, 1889). 
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