A Brown Trout of the Brodhead. 
June 3, 1905, was a warm, sunny day on the 
upper waters of the Brodhead, and 9 A. M. 
found me dredging the deep pools and heavy 
rifts of this most beautiful of streams with the 
festive garden hackle, for this was a year before 
I became a fly-fisherman; the following sum¬ 
mer’s experience convincing me that, properly 
used, the fly is as effective in the hands of one 
who knows the stream to be fished as the worm, 
and much more deadly on low, clear water. 
I do not mean by this that I am averse to the 
use of bait when the water is in such condition 
that the fly is useless—high and muddy; nor do 
I wish to have it inferred that because I occas¬ 
ionally resort to the worm, I am one who must 
get the fish one way or another. On my last 
fishing trip we used only a fly and kept less 
than five fish a day per rod, returning many to 
the water that most anglers would have kept, 
numbers over ten inches, and I well remember 
one—which, I believe, rose again to my fly the 
next day—of twelve or thirteen inches, being 
carefully taken from the net with wet hands 
and laid back in the stream. I And that those 
who cry the loudest against the worm are those 
who know but little of its skillful use. One 
may be a bait-fisherman and still not a fish hog, 
and one may use only the fly and be a hog; 
withal it depends upon the man. 
To return to the Brodhead. I was using bait 
—worms, in fact—and it being my first day, I 
enjoyed the morning immensely, though I kept 
but four trout, about ten inches each, and all 
brownies. One o’clock found me in the vicinity 
of the farmhouse where we were stopping—for 
I had gone up-stream in the morning—and I 
turned aside to have lunch with my family and 
rest awhile before tackling the stream below. 
About 3 P. M. I again poked my six feet of 
fine gut leader and juicy worm into the most 
likely places and used all the skill at my com¬ 
mand to hook a big one, but up to 4:30, when 
I reached what is called the Natural Dam, I 
had taken but two more trout, a native and an¬ 
other brown. 
This so-called Natural Dam is a freak of 
nature; a shelf of rock reaching across the 
stream over which the water pours as smoothly 
as over an artificial dam, hence the name; and 
what a pool below! At least a hundred feet 
wide by seventy or eighty feet long, the water 
leaving at the righthand side, producing a great 
whirlpool at the left, round which the water 
turns with slow but endless motion, collecting 
sticks and bits of flotsam like a floating island 
in the center, the bottom dropping abruptly into 
the green depths under the rocky wall of the 
dam. 
Here, where the flat rock on top made it easy 
to wade to the very edge of the fall, I rested 
and decided to fish until supper time. I noticed 
a school of suckers lying close to the rocks on 
the left, within an inch or two of the surface, 
but where the water was at least ten feet deep. 
This was something I had never seen before. 
and I remember speculating as to its meaning. 
I have seen the same thing in another stream 
since, and am convinced that in both cases it 
was caused by big brown trout feeding in the 
pool and driving the suckers from their usual 
haunts. The suckers, in the latter case, lay with 
their backs awash. 
I fished for perhaps five minutes and caught 
a brownie of about twelve inches, which looked 
better than the ones already landed, and I felt 
sufficiently encouraged to say to myself that per¬ 
haps the next one would be still bigger — little 
did I dream how much bigger. In my tackle 
box I can show you to-day the leader and hook 
and dried worm attached, with which my next 
cast was made. 
Over to the right and across the face of the 
dam went the bait with a switch cast, and landed 
right in the boiling white water where a little 
gully in the rock rim permitted a deeper flow 
of water to descend from the stream above. 
Hardly had it disappeared from sight when I 
felt it stop and catch in some projecting rock 
(as I thought), for I raised my rod and pulled 
steadily, and apparently the hook was fast to 
the solid rock. Disgusted, I was about to wade 
across the lip of the dam to free my bait, if 
possible, from the other side, when, to my 
amazement, that solid rock began to move. 
Slowly and majestically at first, and then with 
little fierce jerks, it moved right in under the 
falls, and then I learned scmething that I did 
not know before, namely, that way beneath the 
surface of the pool, the solid rock wall of the 
dam was hollowed out in a cave that stretched 
across the stream and under the rocks on either 
side. 
My fish — for b}^ that time I had come to life 
again — moved into this cave, and I could feel 
the leader scrape and catch on the rocky roof 
as it led upward to my perch on top. Knowing 
that I must do something instantly or my leader 
would be cut, I waded to the left and clambered 
down over the boulders to a flat rock almost 
on a level with the pool below, and then began 
the fight. Upon reaching the rock on which I 
stood, the fish dashed across the stream like 
a race horse and then began again the rubbing 
against the rock. This time he scraped his nose, 
but not the leader, and this he repeated many 
times, as if he had been hooked before, and as 
often freed himself in the same manner. It 
occurred to me that I might pull him out of 
that white water and see how he looked, Init 
what manner of fish was this that I could not 
budge nor even worry into an extra spurt of 
speed, for when he came toward me, rubbing 
his nose against the rock, I could not even hurry 
him by pulling. 
To say that I was excited does not express 
it at all. I had buck fever worse than I ever 
had in shooting deer; mj^ knees began to tremble 
and my right hand shook so that I had to sup¬ 
port the rod with my left also, and just then 
he came out from under the rock and shot 
across the pool in full view and I had a fresh 
attack. He was the largest trout I had ever 
seen, to say nothing of being hooked up to, and 
he was playing me; I was not playing him. That 
trout could at any time have run out of the 
pool and down stream to freedom, for I could 
not follow fast and could do nothing to stop 
him. I dared not use the reel, but stripped the 
line and let it lay in coils at my feet, taking in 
the slack as he came toward me and burning, 
my fingers when he darted away. 
Now, I had heard tales of big trout and knew 
that the biggest ones usually got away, but this 
was my first experience with anything of un¬ 
usual size, and perhaps never would occur again, 
and I determined if possible not to look back 
upon this fish as a mere dream and a beautiful 
vision of the past, but to make it a reality that 
others would not smile incredulously about when 
I told the story. 
All sorts of imaginary endings to this fight 
surged up in my mind and I remember wonder¬ 
ing vaguely at what moment the leader would 
part and the fish go gladly back to his cavern 
under the dam; and again, wishing that I had 
someone with me to witness the size of the fish 
as he appeared in the water in case he got away. 
But finally these thoughts were forgotten in the 
interest I felt on his showing the first sign 
of weakness, when the steady strain began to 
be a decided burden to him in his rushes across 
the pool; and finally when he gave up in the 
middle of a run and permitted me to lead him 
toward me, I began to lay plans for netting him. 
The rock on which I stood was not more than 
six inches above the water, but the water was 
a good ten feet deep. I unhooked my net and 
knelt down, drawing the fish toward me, and 
then it came to me that this was the way fish 
w'ere lost, trying to net them in a poor place, and 
before they w^ere really tired enough. I put my 
net back and played- him a little longer, then 
crept slowly along a slanting rock where I had 
to hold on to the bushes with the left hand and 
manage the rod with the right, until finally I 
could reach bottom with my feet and wade to 
a sandy bar which stretched out from the lower 
edge of the pool. Here I towed the fish around 
until I was sure he would not balk at the net 
and then slackened line and slid the net over 
his head. 
In a second I was up the bank and the trout 
had smashed the net and lay gasping behind a 
rock. I did not want him to spoil his skin, how¬ 
ever, so finished him by sticking my fish knife 
into his brain. Then I sat down to recover my 
lireath and admire the fish and to nurse my ach¬ 
ing wrist. Looking at my watch I found that 
it had taken almost an hour to land him, and 
slowly, as I thought of my return to the house, 
I could feel that smile spreading on my face— 
“the smile that won’t come off” when you catch 
a big one. 
It proved to be a male brown trout with a 
great hook on his lower jaw like that of a sal¬ 
mon, and upon examination I found his stomach 
absolutely empty with the exception of a slight 
trace of a yellowish liquid. Other fish as large 
have been taken in this stream, but at night. 
