Around the Sawtooth Range 
Ten Dalys’ Tramping and Trout Fishing in 
the Adirondacks 
By ARTHUR LESLIE WHEELER 
Winner of one of the "Forest and Stream” Prizes 
(Concluded from Page 98.) 
r HE stream on which we were camped is 
one of the wildest in the mountains. It 
is crossed everywhere by windfalls and 
s bed is one moraine of rocks of every size, 
ust above our tent was a large, still pool with 
convenient sand bar at its lower end, an ideal 
antage ground for casting. Thither the Engi- 
eer repaired, rod in hand, and ere long had 
mded on said bar a trout of twelve inches. We 
Dok turns at the sport in the intervals of camp 
(hiding, and five or six fish, all of uniform 
ze, rewarded our efforts. Next day we fished 
tat brook up and down, but only one trout 
any size did we take from all the rest of it. 
e returned to the home pool and again took 
■ur or five goodly trout. The brook was very 
w, for the great drouth had already begun 
affect the springs, and we seemed to have 
ruck the assembly pool of the brook. The 
Vro, who had never cast a fly before, took the 
i'gest fish! 
I can begin to see that there is some sport 
; tllis here Ay fishing,” was his sage remark, 
■s, the germ had begun to work. He was im- 
pving. 
Jhe Engineer vowed that he must leave us 
' a day or two and unfortunately the tote road . 
(ered too easy a route. Next time I shall 
t:e him so far into the wilds that he will have 
t stay and push through. But as our entreaties 
Pre avail, we decided to keep some of 
^ ar &est fish for him. The Tyro constructed 
^reserve in the edge of the brook by building 
wall of small rocks. In this we placed several 
1: .’ stl11 flopping, from the pool, and they soon 
'■lved. 
Have you ever tickled trout?” I asked the 
Bmeer. He had not heard of it. As for the 
0, he scoffed at my account of the way the 
'g was said to be done in Ireland and other 
j' eS- And i ust to prove me no better than 
average angler, who has to bear the repu- 
aan of being a wanton fabricator, he at once 
l, -eeded to put my directions into execution, 
fn 0! they worked. Gently approaching one 
•he trout, which we had nicknamed “Billy,” 
</ery gingerly placed his hand near the fish’s 
!< softly tickled that fanning member, 
s owed no alarm. Then very slowly he 
mued the tickling along Billy’s side and 
• Did Billy resent it? Not he. Lying half 
v on his side, he acted as though he" were 
'otized and obviously would have closed his 
eyes if he could have done so. The Tyro, as 
much dazed as the fish, gradually working his 
tickling fingers up along Billy’s side until finally 
he quietly seized him about the gills and lifted 
him from the water. For once the angler’s 
veracity was vindicated. And yet this same 
THE ASSEMBLY POOL. 
Billy would dash wildly about his prison if 
we made any sudden movement in his vicinity. 
“Well,” remarked the Tyro, “if anybody had 
told me that I could do that trick and I had 
not actually demonstrated it, I should have 
called him a lineal descendant of Ananias 1” 
The Engineer was not destined to enjoy Billy 
on a platter, for he and his comrades escaped 
in the night over the Tyro’s barrier. It was 
another vindication of my veracity in matters 
piscatorial, and he would not believe the tales 
I told of instinct displayed by escaping fish. 
About a half-mile away in the forest lay 
Mountain Pond. From our friend, the lumber¬ 
man, we had heard rumors of large fish in this 
pond and we decided to try it. Accordingly we 
started out on the morning of the day on which 
the Engineer was to leave us, and after some 
search found the pond. It did not look “trouty." 
Its shores were low. its bottom was mud, and 
it appeared to be very shallow. But an old raft 
and an older dugout, moored by stakes in the 
long grass, raised our hopes. Apparently some¬ 
body had found navigation profitable. In the 
midst of a light shower two of us put out, 
one on the raft, the other in the rag-chinked 
dugout. We cast at every likely spot, but the 
water was nowhere more than three feet deep, 
even if the mud was bottomless. Not a fin did 
we see nothing but frogs and leeches—and so 
at noon we gave it up and returned to the 
brook to put in the rest of the day in more 
promising waters. 
But first we lunched; and I remember that 
lunch because in its preparation the Tyro nearly 
caused me the loss of a finger. The water for 
our tea was just coming nicely to a boil and 
I was about to lift the pail from the fire, which 
we had built for safety among the boulders of 
the brook, when that now ardent angler, who 
was whipping the nearby pools, lost his balance 
on a huge boulder and descended, rod and all, 
with a great clatter into the brook. Distracted 
by this interesting sight, I forgot that the pail 
had been in a hot place and absently laid hold' 
of the bail. Before I could drop it—but Tyros 
have no right to display their skill so near the 
cook. The Engineer, who was neither burned 
nor drenched, was the only calm partaker of 
that lunch. 
We fished the stream with fair success and 
in mid-afternoon the Engineer departed for 
the cabin from which we had started with the 
lumber team. It was a sad parting, and al¬ 
though the Tyro and I had more room in the 
tent that night, we were in no proper frame of 
mind to appreciate a comfort that reminded us 
of the absence of our friend. 
Our next advance brought us to the extreme 
outpost of the lumbermen, Number 5 camp, 
and again they were to prove their usefulness 
to wandering campers. We arrived in the clear¬ 
ing. just before noon and the hospitable boss 
invited us to lunch. We gladly accepted, for 
we had planned to camp on the next pond 
above, and this invitation saved us the necessity 
of unpacking our supplies. The small gang of 
men at Number 5, all French Canadians, was 
engaged in constructing roads for the coming 
winter’s work. With them we trooped into the 
cook’s shack, a large log structure about twenty- 
five by thirty-five feet in size. At one end stood 
the huge cookstove and along one side ran the 
table with its solid, backless benches—no need 
for a back rest when eating becomes a real busi¬ 
ness. The fare was coarse but good—the in¬ 
evitable pork and beans, prunes, pie, tea, hard¬ 
tack, and excellent bread and biscuit. We fell 
to with a will, ministered to by the cookee, and 
for twenty minutes nothing was heard but the 
clash of arms. Perhaps our presence imposed 
a restraint on conversation, although there was 
certainly nothing in our appearance—save per¬ 
haps the Tyro s already draggled khaki breeches 
—which could give us airs. I should dislike to 
think that these supposedly mercurial French¬ 
men are always so silent. 
Thanking our host—pay was not to be thought 
as 
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