86 
FOREST AND STREAM 
One Day in the Adirondacks 
A Jud Smith Story 
By Switch Real. 
HIS is the story of one day in 
the Adirondacks—one day out 
of many filled with joy. It 
was Saturday. We had hunt¬ 
ed faithfully since Monday and 
killed two deer on Friday. 
Therefore we voted to rest up 
until Monday. 
But it was hard to rest up where Jud was. 
Jud was born for stormy times and excitement. 
Rest was a word he had not yet learned to spell 
and he had spent the fifty years of his life in 
the woods and on the lakes and by the streams 
of the wilderness. 
Time was hanging very heavy on Jud’s hands 
out back of the cosy little woods hostelry when 
Miss Maggie went over and whispered earnestly 
to him for a few moments. Miss Maggie was 
the chief engineer of the household at this little 
best of all places tucked away in a grove on 
the shores of a beautiful lake. Her skill, her 
kindness, her wisdom had won for her a high 
place in the esteem of all with whom 9he came 
in contact and it is needless to say that Jud was 
one of her most willing slaves. 
Not stopping to reply to her he shot his six 
feet of hone and muscle into the air and came 
at Bill and me with a roar. 
“Hey, you fellows! Get out yer rods. We’re 
a-goin’ a-fishin’. There’s a drivin’ party cornin’ 
here from Schroon fer dinner an’ they want 
bass. Maggie hain’t got none.” 
As we were anxious to be numbered 
among Miss Maggie’s slaves we threw 
“rest” to the winds, rushed for the tackle 
case, grabbed our rods off the hooks on 
the porch and made for the boat- 
Jud met us there with some fine frogs 
and off we pushed. Bill got the stern 
seat and left me to sit on the fish can 
under the ’midships thwart. 
“Ther’ hain’t goin’ to be no foolin’ 
about this,” said Jud in positive tones, 
“it’s nigh ten o’clock an’ they’ll be here 
at twelve. We got to git fo’ fine fish an’ 
git back. I’m gwine right after some 
good ones. I’m gwine whar they be.” 
Jud was a wonderful man. In the 
summer he fished. In the fall he hunted. 
When winter came he trapped and when 
sugar time came he was in the sugar 
camps. Between sugar and trout he 
filled in his time making repairs to the 
telephone line around the lakes, a line of 
work which his brother guides claimed 
he followed only that he might spy out 
the bass beds from the tops of the tele¬ 
phone poles. To this charge, Jud would 
answer in disgusted tones, “Aw. pooh!” 
Be it as it may, when we reached the 
further shore of the lake and gingerly en¬ 
tered a small bay with the top of a log showing 
just above the surface in about twelve feet of 
water there was a fine telephone pole in view in 
the road not fifty feet away. 
“Thar!” said Jud, “ drop yer frogs both side 
o’ that log dose up.” We did. A buckshot on 
each leader caused them to sink slowly. The 
light enameled lines curved gracefully from the 
rod tips to the unrippled water, dark under the 
overcast skies- Where they entered there 
appeared to be an abrupt angle in the lines due 
to refraction. Upon this angle two pairs of 
eyes rested—Bill’s eyes on his, my eyes on mine 
and Jud’s eyes on both. 
“Hit him, Bill,” sang Jud, “you’ve got him!” 
There was a walloping lilt in his tones that 
told how well he knew the fish would grace 
Miss Maggie’s table, for when Bill bent his split 
bamboo on a bass it never straightened up until 
Jud had the net under him. 
Oh, yes, there was the usual nest of snags 
and roots on the bottom, but Jud batted the lake 
a few times with his oars and danced the little 
sk : ff out into clear water and in a few moments 
I got up off the fish can to admit the first 
occupant. 
Off we flitted to the next cove where a great 
tree overhung a huge boulder whose face drop¬ 
ped sheer into deep water. A storm years be¬ 
fore had uprooted this giant and doused one 
large branch in the lake. With a few roots 
still clinging to their native earth the tree was 
living precariously, while its under water por¬ 
“He Broke Again in the First Widening Circle.” 
tion provided a fine home for one after an¬ 
other of the big fellows we had lured to their 
last fight. Here Bill got his hook into another 
and compelled me to rise a second time. Up at 
the split rock my turn came but at the next two 
stops Bill scored and I had gotten up off the 
fish can four times for him and only once for 
my own fish. The five fish, however, weighed 
about eleven pounds and Jud declared it was 
enough, much against our wishes, although it 
was high noon and we knew we should head 
for home. 
Miss Maggie was much pleased with the fish 
and her driving party were loud in their praises 
of their dinner. 
After we had eaten, Jud came around to the 
front of the house and took us off to one side. 
“If you fellers will gwup the lake with me,” 
he stage-whispered, “I’ll show you sumthin’ ye 
hain’t never seed before.” 
“What is it, Jud?” we asked in the same 
breath. 
“You come ’long o’ me an’ don’t ask no dam- 
phool questions.” 
“Is it fish, Jud?” 
“Yaas, its fish.” 
With that I took a lead of about a rod toward 
the boat and yelled back. “Come on, Bill.” We 
started on a run but I beat him by a nose and 
got the stern seat, leaving him to sit on the fish 
can in revenge for the way he had talked at 
the dinner table about my hard luck in the 
morning. Jud got a couple of bait pails and 
loaded them with 50 or 60 of the liveliest 
pretty little green backed bull frogs 
• about as large as the first joint of your 
thumb. 
Off we went up the lake. Its surface 
was like glass. Above the mid-Septem¬ 
ber sun hung a dull white ball in the high 
mists above the mountain tops while the 
lower atmosphere was perfectly clear. 
Half an hour of Jud’s brisk strokes 
brought us to a grassy bay lying between 
the low hills and his keen eye scanned 
its surface. Far ahead a slight ripple 
broke the mirror-like water and Jud push¬ 
ed for it. In a few moments a gulping 
sound called our attention to the port 
bow and there just ahead was the grow¬ 
ing circle of a break. 
“See that?” asked Jud with quiet 
triumph in his tones. 
“Perch,” said Bill with the downward 
inflection of contempt. 
“Naw, bass,” insisted Jud in an eager 
whisper. “Watch right th'ar,” indicating 
the direction with a nod. 
In an instant “plops” and a slow lazy 
sarie broke the mirror. 
“Now,” came the orders from the old 
wizard, “when ever ye can reach one o’ 
them breaks drop yer frog into it an’ 
ve’ll git a bas. Take off them buckshot.” 
“Poor old Jud,” we said to each other. “He’s 
