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MOUNTAIN CREEK 
A DELIGHTFUL LITTLE STORY OF TROUT FISHING 
WITH A NATURAL HISTORY INCIDENT THROWN IN 
By Theodore Gordon (From the Manuscript Library of Forest and Stream.) 
O NE of the most important things in 
the world is breakfast, particularly 
when one is about to start on a long 
day’s fishing or shooting. One may carry 
a lunch, but it is usually forgotten until 
late in the afternoon; so I reiterate, break¬ 
fast is vastly important. 
Now I had heard much of Mountain 
Creek, a wild stream situated far within 
the recesses of the south mountain; of the 
abundance of trout, and the wildness of 
the country through which it flowed. It 
was said that one must fish downstream, 
after following a trail to the point where 
one began to fish, and that after once en¬ 
tering the water one had few opportuni¬ 
ties of standing or walking on dry land. I 
had wished to go there but knew nothing 
of the stream or of the route to it, so when 
a friend begged me to join him in a trip 
to Mountain Creek, I at once accepted. 
One of his Conditions was that I should 
sleep at his house, as the length of the 
drive made a preposterously early start a 
necessity. We retired shortly before n 
o’clock p. m., and at I :30 in the morning 
I was awakened by my host, who said that 
breakfast would be on the table in a few 
minutes. At twenty minutes before two 
o’clock we sat down to a good hot meal of 
ham and eggs, coffee, and other substan¬ 
tial, and as far as I could sec, our ap¬ 
petites were as good as they would have 
been some hours later. 
By half past two w r e were driving out of 
town in the darkness that precedes dawn. 
As far as the foothills of the south moun¬ 
tain the road was good, and of a light col¬ 
or, so there was no difficulty in guiding the 
horse. My companion was driving, but I 
was doing nothing and felt dull and heavy; 
conversation languished and for a long 
time the Earth was very quiet. 
A T last the gray shadows appeared 
in the east and in a short time the 
sun arose gloriously in the heavens, 
promising a perfect June day, the loveliest 
month in all the year. Our first objective 
was an old forge, which had been located 
in the heart of the mountains because of 
the discovery of iron mines. Here I saw 
Mountain Creek for the first time and 
found that it had been dammed to create 
a water power. I was rather surprised at 
the size of the resulting sheet of water. 
It was like a small lake, and my companion 
said that it held the finest pike in the coun¬ 
try. 
We unharnessed the horse and made it 
comfortable for the day, then tramped up¬ 
stream. My friend cut a swiich with a 
leafy top and presently struck at some 
object with it; then he stooped and picked 
up a large horse fly. He remarked that 
while the artificial fly was of little use on 
that stream, the best bait a man could have 
was a horse fly. However, they were 
scarce, so he had brought plenty of worms. 
W E followed an old wood road for 
probably two miles, then the trail 
became narrow and dim and it was 
evident that we were rising a considerable 
grade. At one place where we had to 
cross the stream my friend stopped and 
gave me a horse fly. “Stick that on your 
hook and try in that pool,” he said, “a 
trout will nail it instantly.” Surely, the 
fly had scarcely touched the water when a 
quarter pound trout had it. My first fish- 
with that bait. 
A mile farther on we broke through the 
thick brush and found ourselves on the 
stream. It was evident that we would be 
compelled to wade continuously, and the 
only way we could fish the water was 
side by side, but as far apart as possible. 
I am satisfied that a good up-stream fly 
fisher, wet or dry, would have enjoyed 
better sport on one mile of Mountain Creek 
than we did on three or four, fishing dowrt 
with bait. If the trout had been fished for 
more frequently, it would have been use¬ 
less to go down upon them in the long 
still pools: only the heads, rapids and 
broken water would have proved profitable, 
but with these uneducated fish there was- 
no difficulty. A trout would come yards 
to annex a worm that had been cast from 
a distance to alight softly in the middle of 
a quiet pool. In fact, they often rose at 
a worm as if it was a fly, and where drift¬ 
wood had collected to form a hiding-place 
one was sure of three or four fish. The 
water was very pure and cold but the day 
was warm and we felt no chill from it. 
We waded without waterproofs, which 
would have proved cumbersome and fa¬ 
tiguing on such a rough mountain river. 
We were not a great many miles from a 
country of fine farms and fairly large 
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