970 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 19, 1908. 
1 
placed the dry fly directly over the pocket. Like 
a bit of fluff it gradually settled down and it 
had barely touched the water, when—bang! A 
fish struck and everything seemed to be happen¬ 
ing at the same time. The first rush carried the 
trout past me and dangerously near some shal¬ 
low rapids. After a heart-breaking struggle, 
during which a four-ounce tournament rod was 
taxed to its utmost limit, I managed to work 
below the fish and drove him back to the deeper, 
safer water above. Just when the fight seemed 
over he suddenly passed me a second time and 
now there was no stopping him. Down he tore, 
headed straight for the shallow water, but luck 
was on my side, and when he had shot the 
rapids and entered the deep pool fully a hundred 
yards below, he was still on. Here it was safe 
to fight it out hard, and in a few minutes he 
was in the net—a fourteen-inch brown trout. 
And ever since that time, when people say a 
brown trout will not fight, I am strongly tempted 
to tell them to go to—Claryville. 
As was fitting, this gallant fight ended my 
fishing for the trip. It had been my intention 
to fish the next day either at De Bruce, on the 
Willowemoc, or at Lew Beach, on the Beaver- 
kill; but as my family was to spend the summer 
on the Beaverkill about six miles above Roscoe, 
it occurred to me that it would be a good idea 
to push on and get things in readiness for them. 
As the distance was about twenty-five miles, and 
I had no idea how hard the traveling was to 
be, 7 o’clock found me in the saddle. 
We crossed the East Branch a short distance 
below Claryville, and then crossed the West 
Branch, following up along the stream for about 
a mile. There the road divides, and I turned 
to the left, crossing the ridge that separates 
the West Branch of the Neversink from the 
Willowemoc. A long, hard climb took us to 
the top of the ridge where the road skirts a 
large beautiful lake known as Round Pond. 
Shortly after beginning the descent on the 
other side, I had my first glimpse of the begin¬ 
nings of the Willowemoc, and then my experi¬ 
ence on the Esopus was reversed; for in that 
instance the stream got smaller and smaller 
until it was little more than a rill, while here 
the little brook gradually increased in size, until 
at De Bruce, which I reached at noon, it was a 
very respectable stream. The road from De 
Bruce to Livingston Manor is always in sight 
of the stream which winds from side to side 
in a broad level valley. Although the country is 
pretty well built up, it is very beautiful. 
After leaving Livingston Manor, in order to 
avoid the long but easy road around Beaverkill 
postoffice, I headed the pony due west and 
climbed the Steep ridge known as Burnt Hill. 
After a sharp descent it was only necessary to 
cross the iron bridge over the Beaverkill and 
climb a couple of hundred yards up the opposite 
hillside to reach the cottage which was to be 
our home for the summer. 
From the top of Burnt Hill I had my first 
view of the true Beaverkill, and for the four 
months that followed the dear old stream was 
in plain sight of our windows. As I wrote this 
I had only to raise my eyes to see its rushing 
waters, the scene of many hard fought victories 
—and defeats. Its beauty never grows old, and 
in autumn, with the reddened foliage along its 
banks it is just as alluring as it was that peace¬ 
ful evening in early June. 
Teaching Busier How io Rest—I. 
By SAMUEL MANSFIELD STONE 
L IKE most nicknames, some even less euphon¬ 
ious than Charlie’s had clung to him 
almost from infancy; it was, so I have 
been told, a name first bestowed upon him by 
a friend of the family—so called. One after an¬ 
other picked it up, his own people the last of 
all, until, by the time he reached man’s estate, 
the name conferred upon him at the baptismal 
font had been virtually lost sight of, at least it 
THE BEAVERKILL AT CLOSE RANGE. 
THE WESTERNER AT DENNING. 
wording, though I could not repress a smile at 
the strong personality staring out from every 
word of its composition. It was typewritten 
and, barring its purport, was an ordinary busi¬ 
ness communication, as follows: 
I have felt for some time that I ought to take a rest. 
While I do not feel that I ought to spare the time 
from business, yet I have had physical warnings that 
certain functions are being overtaxed and require to be 
recuperated. It has occurred to me that a hunting trip 
up through Connecticut would be about the proper 
means to effect the end I desire. Let me know if you 
favor such a plan, at your earliest convenience, as I 
would like to start next Wednesday week, and will need 
all of the intervening time possible in which to make 
preparations. 
Of course, you will go with me, and I have ventured 
to fix the date, as you have told me that you could 
leave at one time as well as another. 
was rarely heard save, possibly, when uttered 
by his worthy helpmeet, in accents of unusual 
severity. Among his business and social ac¬ 
quaintances who knew him well enough to drop 
the “Mister,” he was seldom addressed or spoken 
of save as “Buster.” 
While to the unacquainted the name, so far 
as it showed any special significance, would 
naturally suggest a sort of rough-and-ready 
careless hilarity, the very opposite was the 
fact. The man thus handicapped, while not 
exactly of a taciturn disposition, was disposed 
to take a serious view of life in all of its varied 
ramifications, attending to whatsoever engaged 
his attention, whether it was business or pleas¬ 
ure, with an earnestness and a sort of sober 
reticence that was peculiarly his own. He con¬ 
ducted a real estate office and, incidentally, 
dealt in stocks of the gilt-edge class. 
Hence, when I received a note from him one 
day stating that he had decided to take a little 
vacation, I was not surprised at the style of its 
It was this sentence that caused me to smile: 
“I will need all of the intervening time possible 
in which to make preparations.” Knowing him 
as I did, it was superfluous for him to say that; 
certainly, if left to himself, he would need all 
possible time or, more literally speaking, he 
would take all possible time, and he would go 
about those preparations in the same business¬ 
like, sedate and forceful manner that character¬ 
ized the promotion of business matters involv¬ 
ing thousands of dollars. And this self-same, 
matter-o’-fact, business-like method would 
tincture every moment of his outing. Then an 
idea—I think I may term it an inspiration— 
struck me, and I determined to take matters 
into my own hands and teach my friend, if 
possible, the proper way in which to spend a 
vacation. Hence I replied to his note that I 
was in hearty sympathy with the sentiment he 
had expressed, and would accompany him on 
one condition, namely, that he continue on the 
even tenor of his way and leave the matter of 
preparation entirely to me. 
The following evening Buster called on me in 
person. After sundry vain expostulations to 
the effect that he disliked to impose all of the 
work upon me, he yielded to my proposition. 
My preparations consisted solely in assembling 
a temporary camping outfit, adding a blow-bed, 
a couple of light, keen-edged axes and a five- 
yard square piece of medium-weight tent canvas. 
The only provisions, aside from a miscellaneous ] 
lot of groceries and tinned goods, included in 
the outfit, were a side of bacon and a five-pound 
cube of corned pork. Guns, fishing tackle, axes | 
and sundries were wrapped up in the sail or tent j 
cloth and securely tied; everything else was 
packed in a large and very strong sole leather 
trunk. Owing to the lateness of the season and 
its attendant possibilities of cold and rainy 
weather, I included two pairs of extra heavy 
cavalry blankets and two rubber blankets. 
When I had everything collected ready for ? 
final packing. I summoned Buster to view the ! 
aggregation and suggest things I might have : 
overlooked. The expression of his face on first i| 
beholding the outfit would have forced a smile I 
to the features of a bronze statue. He looked ;! 
at me in a frightened way, as though he ex- | 
pected to see a lunatic or gibbering idiot. On j 
(Continued on page 996.) 
