Irish Trout and Salmon Streams. 
Amid the yellow blossom furze, commonly 
called the whins in Ireland, on which the 
ripened pods are crackling open in the July sun, 
we sit silently this glorious summer morning, 
with a wild tangle of blackberries behind, and 
almost overhead a perpendicular cliff of white 
limestone, to which a green mantle of luxuriant 
ivy clings summer and winter. Having rained 
all last night, there is a bit of a fresh in the 
river, and as we are a short mile from the sea, 
some fine fresh run fish are on their way up, 
probably to visit the place of their birth, and 
have here to negotiate a most important piece 
of business in ascending the falls. We are lying 
low in this quiet bend just below the pool at 
the foot, that we may watch these fine fellows 
in their brave efforts to scale what seems an 
insurmountable barrier in their journey. How¬ 
ever, if Robert the Bruce could learn from the 
spider, we ordinary mortals might here get 
from our silvery finny friends, a most wonder¬ 
ful and magnificent example of patience and 
perseverance, for, be it remembered, the falls 
have a drop of about forty feet, though of 
course, not in one sheer cascade, but broken up 
by ledges of rock, with small pools here and 
there. 
There is no ladder, and the salmon having 
made up his mind to reach the upper waters, 
must start by bounding from the deep black 
pool at the foot to the top of the lowest ledge 
right above and then by nimble leaps, scrambles 
and floundcrings, make the summit by slow and 
laborious efforts. 
The first leap would be far beyond the power 
of any champion athlete to attempt, and the 
whole ascent has to be accomplished in the face 
of a tremendous weight of water by -reason of 
the height and quantity of water coming down. 
One cannot describe what an intense interest it 
is to watch these plucky fish as with backs like 
bows they spring from out the bubbling, foam¬ 
ing pool, and after failing several times to clear 
the ledge, at last “grit and got” wins the day. 
We frankly admit that no jumping of five- 
barred gates by a smart youth or clearing of 
hurdles by a clever huntsman ever gave ns one- 
half the pleasure which we often enjoyed at the 
salmon leap on the Bush. This little river has 
long been famous for its excellent supply of 
salmon, also for nice brown trout; and is well 
known as running through the snug little town 
of Bushmills in County Antrim; and within two 
miles of the world renowned Giant’s Causeway. 
Our first memories of this delightful little 
river go back to over forty years ago, when 
the household party used to set out upon their 
own individual pursuits, which after all is what 
constitutes a real holiday, and turns it into a 
recreation or true rest for both mind and body. 
One was botani.zing, another sketching, one 
painting and another collecting butterflies and 
beetles; one digging for worms to take trout 
in this flood, and yet another deep in Dickens, 
while the head of the family lay nearby enjoy¬ 
ing the roar and talk, while meditating a sermon 
for his far-off city church. 
Oftentimes in those days we boys used to 
hunt about the shallow pools above the falls 
for the mere fun of coming across a fish which, 
being “out of wind.” as we would say, from its 
big climb, would be resting there, and it was 
our delight to see the salmon dart off to the 
broad deeps further up, with a splash and a run. 
Down at the sea the tidal pools at the ri\-er’s 
mouth were netted soon after sunrise and again 
in the evening each day, and many hundreds of 
silvery fish have we seen boxed there for 
Liverpool or London. When the water was 
low we sometimes had the enjoyment of watch¬ 
ing some adventursome fish, impatient for the 
fresh waters above, come wriggling up the 
shallows with his back almost out of the stream, 
but these daring fellows never turned back when 
once they had made up their minds to go ahead. 
It is not often that one meets so good a sports¬ 
man and so generous a landlord as the owner 
of the fishing rights on this river, who for the 
last half century has not only carefully itrc- 
served and protected both salmon and trout, 
but has always made liberal lettings, while re¬ 
taining some hours of every day in the season 
for himself and his many friends. 
For several generations past, there has stood, 
just above the Leap, an old dismantled flax 
scutching mill, which, however, with its mossy 
green walls and great wooden water wheel, is 
rather a picturesque addition to the river bank. 
We are sorry to say. however, that of late years 
modern civilization has invaded the river Bush, 
and greatly taken from the charm of these de¬ 
lightful falls and deep brown pools by the erec¬ 
tion upon the bank opposite to the old flax 
mill, of a grim brick machinery house, where 
the throbbing engines and rattling turbine spoil 
the whole natural beauty of the spot. The 
power here generated is sent down by cable to 
the track of the tramway, which runs from the 
Giant’s Causeway to Portrush. and is interest¬ 
ing as being the first line run by electricity in 
the British Isles. Though the fences are good, 
and the gratings well protected above this 
power house, yet with a flood in the river it 
is almost impossible to prevent some fry and 
trontlings being carried down the lead,, and yet 
many of these unfortunate little travelers have 
been known to pass right through the turbine 
itself, and come out alive, though doubtless 
none the better for their rough journey. 
.^fter all. much more damage is suffered by 
the fish in this, as indeed very many Irish 
ri\-ers. by the annual outlet of flax water into 
the stream in times of low water. This water, 
which has been stagnant for several weeks with 
the rotting flax in steep, is foul, black, evil¬ 
smelling and highly poisonous to fish life. If 
the farmer be careless and lazy, he can go at 
night, and with a few turns of his spade, set the 
deadly stuff free into the river, which, in case 
of low water, as is frequently met with in sum¬ 
mer. means the destruction of hundreds of the 
valuable stock in the river. If he be a 
prudent and careful man, he will either spread 
the flax water upon his farm to the benefit of 
the land, or let it lie in the flax holes until he 
sees a good supply of water in the river. 
It is true that the law is strict as to river 
pollution, yet it is mighty difficult to get a 
conviction on account of the absence of proof, 
as one can easily understand. On these small 
Irish rivers one always comes across a native 
of the locality who "knows the ropes,” and we 
cannot forget one Easter Monday in the County 
Tyrone, when several of us set out for the 
village stream, and spending some time in fix¬ 
ing up our rods, picking out our flies and try¬ 
ing to discover a good fishing ground to start 
with, we found to onr amusement that the 
village schoolmaster, who had only set out a 
little before ns, had already secured a nice 
basket of small trout, and was now on his way 
home, leaving us to return about two hours 
later with no catch worth speaking of. 
All over the country you will encounter a 
sporting brother of the rod, in the shape of a 
jolly member of that fine force—the Royal Irish 
Constabulary—who, having an hour or two off 
duty, saunters down to the river and almost 
nex'er returns empty-handed. These good fel¬ 
lows know all about pools and fish, as well as 
about places and people, and are excellent com¬ 
pany upon a fishing expedition. They do their 
best to prevent poaching and run many a risk 
in this effort. Piscator. 
One Way to Cook Fish. 
Omaha, Neb., April lo.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: The days for camping and fishing 
will soon be upon ns again and I want to en¬ 
lighten those who are contemplating this kind 
of an outing about one thing, and that is cook¬ 
ing fish. It is the way Sam Marshall, the well- 
known guide, the Barrister and I used to serve 
them at Lake Washington. While this is one 
of the easiest ways of cooking fish it is abso¬ 
lutely the best, and it makes no difference what 
species they are—bass, pike, croppie, sunfish or 
bullheads. 
Having built a fire of a size in proportion to 
the amount of food to be cooked let it burn 
down to a glowing mass of coals and ashes. 
Wash and season yonr fish well and then wrap 
them up in clean, fresh grass, leaves or bark. 
Then, after scraping away the greater part of 
ihe coals, put the fish among the ashes, cover 
np with the same, and heap the glowing coals 
on top. The fish cooks quickly—fifteen or twenty 
minutes—according to their size. 
If you eat fish or game cooked after this 
fashion you will agree with me that it cannot 
be beaten by any method known to camp culi¬ 
nary savants. Clay also answers the purpose 
of protecting the fish or game from the fire if 
no other material is at hand, and for anything 
that requires more time for cooking it makes 
the best covering. Wet paper will answer, es¬ 
pecially for cooking fish. Try it and see if it 
does not beat the best efforts of any skilled 
chef that you have known. Sandy Griswold. 
