20 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 7, 1911. 
spring holes, and only on rare occasions will a 
trout rise a second time if he has felt the point 
of the hook on his first leap. 
We fished on down toward the Grindstone, 
whose rushing waters we could faintly hear in 
the distance, and before long reached the point 
where the Canachagala Creek flows into the 
Moose. Canachagala Creek was originally the 
outlet of the lake which bears the same name, 
but the outlet had changed its course and the 
stream, which now enters the Moose at this 
point, still retains the old name of Canachagala. 
The creek is approximately ten feet in width, 
and at the point where it enters the Moose, a 
long deep pool stretches off down stream for 
forty or fifty feet. We approached very cau¬ 
tiously, as the slightest motion would send the 
trout helter-skelter into mid stream. Phil pushed 
his paddle deep into the sand and brought our 
little craft to a standstill. My first cast was 
welcomed by three almost simultaneous splashes, 
and I hooked a magnificent trio. When three 
fish are hooked in this manner and each one is 
fighting in a different direction, the wisest plan 
is to land them as quickly as possible. In this 
case a fisherman will find that his landing net is 
a useless article, and Phil chuckled with delight 
as he tossed the trout one by one into the boat. 
The largest tipped the scales at a pound and a 
half, while the other two weighed about one- 
half pound each. 
The supply of trout in the Canachagala spring 
hole seems to be inexhaustible and we spent 
a lively half hour there. 
As we had planned, we reached the foot of 
the upper Stillwater about sunset, and there be¬ 
low us lay the rushing torrent of the Grindstone. 
As we had floated down the Stillwater we had 
heard no sound save the occasional song of 
some bird, and in the distance the perpetual 
murmur of the swift water. The mountains had 
been less noticeable because they were separated 
from us by a strip of level timber land which 
stretched away for half a mile on either side of 
the river. Now that we had reached the Grind¬ 
stone, the mountains seemed to rise abruptly 
into the sky, and the huge boulders stacked up 
on either side of the boiling caldron seemed to 
be protecting the mighty mountains from the 
onslaught of the rushing torrent. Here an enor¬ 
mous rock projected out into mid stream, and 
against it the swift river dashed and rushed on 
around the end, increasing in force as the stream 
narrowed. A little further down a tremendous 
boulder stood alone in mid stream defying all 
the forces of'the river to move it from its bed. 
As far as the eye could see, thousands of other 
boulders of various sizes and-shapes were strewn 
about in the swift water, and it was among these 
boulders that Phil intended to guide the canoe, 
while I sent the flies dancing about into the 
pools and eddies which backed up on the down 
stream side of the larger boulders. 
For an instant Phil held the craft on the brink 
of the swift water, then with one mighty sweep 
of the paddle he sent her dancing off down 
stream. “Bien,” he cried, as he burst loudly 
into song, the only song I ever heard him sing. 
It runs like this: 
“Come all ye jolly maids and sit ye down beside o’ me, 
Treat my daughter kindly and say ye’ll do no harm, 
And when I die 
I’ll leave you, all my stock and farm.” 
This is the only song Phil ever indulges in. 
I have heard it so often that I can tell just 
when the outburst is to be expected. For in¬ 
stance, when we are lounging about camp, or 
tramping silently through the woods, no one 
would ever guess that Phil knew how to sing. 
But let him push a canoe into the swift water 
where he is called upon to struggle against the 
forces of nature, and nine times out of ten the 
concert will begin. Physical exertion is the only 
power on earth that can coax a song from Phil. 
Fishing in the rapids is very exciting sport; 
not only because you are constantly in danger of 
swamping, but also because the fisherman is 
called upon to bring his keenest senses into ac¬ 
tion. The splash of the largest trout is almost 
imperceptible in the swift water, and the ex¬ 
pert fisherman will give his undivided attention 
to his flies. 
The sun was fast setting in the western sky. 
Such a sky as no man could gaze upon, without 
fully realizing the power of the One who made 
it. Before us the mighty river swept furiously 
away, leaping and plunging into the distance 
until it appeared but a tiny silver thread. A 
hundred yards below, where the stream shal¬ 
lowed, a large doe stepped fearlessly into the 
rapids and started for the opposite shore. She 
was followed by two spotted fawns that pranced 
playfully at her side until finally all three dis¬ 
appeared into the underbrush on the other side 
of the stream. 
We had now reached a portion of the river 
where the rocks were so numerous and the cur¬ 
rent so swift that we were forced to take the 
canoe ashore. 1 he sun had already slipped be¬ 
hind Pico Mountain, and the remaining light was 
rapidly fading. We decided to make camp at 
this point, so Phil shouldered the packs and set 
off in search of a suitable location. 
Like many other fishermen I am especially 
fond of the last battle in the twilight, so gather¬ 
ing up my flies I pushed my way through the 
swift water to the center of the stream. I was 
now wading knee deep, but as I had my eye 
on a particular pool which was still some dis¬ 
tance beyond reach, I pushed on till my waist 
line had disappeared from sight. 
Here the current became so swift that more 
than once I almost lost my footing. But by 
holding to a friendly boulder I was enabled to 
reach the almost inaccessible pool. 
Splash! The king of the Grindstone had 
opened fire, and away he went down stream 
taking the line with him. The next quarter of 
an hour was a lively one for both of us, but 
the resistance was gradually growing weaker, 
until finally I lifted him into the net, a com¬ 
pletely exhausted two-pound trout. Above the 
roar of the swift water I could hear faintly the 
notes of Phil’s old song. And as I listened I 
could detect the dull ring of his axe as the 
blows descended in perfect tune to the music. 
Turning wearily, my eyes fell upon the cheer¬ 
ful blaze of the camp-fire. Occasionally the odor 
of steaming coffee drifted across the night air, 
and the very breath of it seemed to put new 
life into my tired body. I made my way to 
camp, quite convinced that there was nothing 
tame about Adirondack trout. 
Mark D. Dodd. 
All the fish laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Lazvs in Brief. See adv. 
Fishing for Steelhead Trout. 
San Francisco, Cal., Dec. 27. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: This is the time when the fish¬ 
ing for steelhead trout is supposed to be the 
thing. The Russian River which empties into 
the ocean fifty or sixty miles north of San 
Irancisco is the classic ground for steelhead, 
and for the past two or three weeks San Fran- 
csico anglers have been making pilgrimages to 
that stream. Some reports show good catches, 
but the last reports do not come up to anticipa¬ 
tions. Evidently the big run has not yet com¬ 
menced. Some fair fish, ranging in size from 
ten to twenty pounds, have been taken during 
the week. So far as reported Dave Sachs, of 
San Francisco, is high hook to date with a 
twenty-two-pounder to his credit. Outside of 
the Russian River there has been good steel¬ 
head and 'salmon fishing in the tide waters of 
Point Reyes and vicinity. 
Salmon fishing is fairly good at several 
points, and the fish seem to be of unusual size 
this season. W. D. Fassett, superintendent of 
the Price Creek Hatchery on the northern coast, 
reports a seventy-three-pound salmon caught at 
Eel River last week, the record for that district 
so far as known. 
Striped bass continue rather scarce in the 
waters about San Francisco, though a good deal 
of sport is had right along. The catches are 
uniformly small. Some good sized fish are 
caught, these ranging from seven or eight to 
thirteen pounds. 
The California Anglers’ Association will on 
New Year’s Day move into its new club rooms 
in the Dunn Building at Stockton and Ellis 
streets, San Francisco. The club is consider¬ 
ing buying the “White House” at White House 
Pool, in the tide waters of Paper Mill Creek, 
one of the finest fishing streams in the vicinity 
of San Francisco. A. P. B. 
Fishing in the South. 
New Orleans, La., Dec. 31.— Editor Forest 
and Stream: The weather has not been pro¬ 
pitious for fishing during the past two weeks 
and very few have gone over to the fishing clubs 
on the L. & N. road. The various attractions 
incident to Christmas and New Years have mili¬ 
tated against the sport to some extent. Num¬ 
bers of redfish and striped bass and speckled 
trout have been landed, but this luck was only 
spasmodic and fishing as a rule has been quite 
poor recently. , 
The Game and Oyster Commission has decided 
to lease a total of 400,000 acres of oyster lands 
in Louisiana during January. No person or firm 
will be allowed to lease more than 1,000 acres 
for a term of fifteen years. The prices of the 
lease will range from $1 to $5 per acre. The 
best oyster beds to be leased are in the parishes 
of St. Bernard, Plaquemines and Terrebonne. 
It is believed that a number of firms from the 
North will come here and contract to lease a 
large number of the beds which are said to 
produce some of the finest bivalves in the world. 
F. G. G. 
It is all vqry well to propose a law restricting 
the number of fish a man may catch in a day, 
but what the average fisherman wants is some 
assurance that he will catch any at all.—New 
York Tribune. 
