900 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 6, 1908. 
With Rods in an Irish Glen. 
“Waken up, old chap, it’s nearly five o’clock, 
and we must catch the six train for Ballymena, 
so look sharp if you want a bit of breakfast be¬ 
fore you start.” After a hasty meal we were 
soon seated comfortably in the mail train for 
Londonderry, and enjoying the outlook over 
the upland meadows with the haymakers at 
work this glorious July morning, and the fields 
green under the rich crops of flax, clover and 
corn. 
In an hour we left the mail at Ballymena and 
entered the little carriage of the narrow gauge 
line which should take us to Parkmore. We 
crawled up the winding little track at about 
twenty miles an hour, and when at last we 
reached our destination the tiny locomotive 
seemed out of breath after all its panting and 
puffing for the last half hour. 
“Here ye are, yer honor, for the Glen of 
Glengariffe and Waterfoot.”’ But we preferred 
our legs to the ride on the jaunting car which 
stood beside the little platform at which we 
arrived, and enjoyed a spanking walk all the 
way down to the coast. From the turf land just 
beside the station which was white with bog 
cotton, one sees a little trickling stream and this 
is actually the water on which our day was to be 
spent, which, by gathering all the rivulets and 
brooks en route, becomes quite a lively little 
stream before it reaches the sea. 
We swung down the road, and shortly we 
entered the glen and were soon on the river 
bank, and seated under a hawthorn hedge with 
trails of honeysuckle and sprays of wild rose 
over our heads; the bees humming all around; 
the larks rising from the small meadow at our 
side full of song and life; the small trout below 
making a late breakfast on the gnats and midges 
of this morning’s birth, and nothing to disturb 
the quiet of this most lovely valley, save the 
bleating of the frisking lambs, the bark of a 
shepherd’s collie, or the soft call of the wood 
pigeons across the glen. 
Picking out some Wickham’s fancy, olive duns 
and blue gnats, we got to work, creeping very 
gently, as the banks are high at times, and in 
this bright sunshine our little friends in the 
stream soon saw a biped on the shore, and 
prudently retired. When fishing on the level we 
often had to lie on the gravel and drop our 
flies from an overhanging bush, but if neatly 
done this rarely failed to secure a rise, and a 
trout, if one was alert. 
Presently, having taken a few nice fish, small, 
but fresh and plucky and always fighting to the 
last, we turned off to the Tea House for some 
food; then passing on down with the stream, we 
rested about noon, while the sun was strong on 
the water and the fish were reluctant to rise, to 
watch the dragonflies flitting about; most 
gorgeous creatures with shining bodies and their 
glittering wings of almost all the colors of the 
rainbow, sparkling in the sun. 
IIow strange it seemed that a few days ago 
these magnificent fellows that were now darting 
over the stream, or fluttering in the next 
meadow, were lying at the bottom of the river 
in their dull larva cases, to burst forth in due 
time for a few bright days in July sunshine. 
While reposing with our backs against a boulder 
in a dry bend of the river, and enjoying a rest¬ 
ful puff of good Virginian weed to compose our 
minds and keep off the midges, old Murtagh 
came out of his patch of ground, where he was 
thinning his turnips, and discoursed the weather 
and the stream. It seems that there was a 
“plump” of rain one day last week, and as 
Murtagh said, “A bit of a spate,” which brought 
a few enterprising salmon up the river, and our 
friend had seized the opportunity, and armed 
with his long ash rod—simply a branch of his 
own tree—a stout string, a long piece of gut 
and a bunch of worms on a good hook, had 
soon secured a fine fresh-run fish of nine 
pounds, and for the next few days Murtagh and 
his better half lived on hot or cold salmon. 
Here was a happy, healthy old man, who had 
never been in a railway train or on the sea 
which shone in the distance, but was quite con¬ 
tent to do his duty at the side of his own turf 
fire, and look faithfully after his goats, pigs 
and turnips. “Look, Pater, a kingfisher," 
whispered my companion, as we half dozed in 
perfect quietness after our smoke, and just then 
like a flash of blue, green and black, the tiny 
bird passed up stream like an arrow from the 
bow, and noiselessly waiting, we had shortly 
the pleasure of seeing the little fisherman re¬ 
turn, skimming the water in his straight flight 
and perching again on an old stump close to the 
hole in the bank, where his little wife and family 
were doubtless housed. Surely this is one of 
the great enjoyments of the angler’s holiday, 
that he can in truth see nature at home, and 
learn so much by simply quietly resting during 
his rambles by river and lake, and silently 
watching the life in the water, meadow and 
wood. 
The afternoon went on and we had dawdled 
down through the glen until we were now on a 
level stretch of three or four miles at the foot 
of this lovely valley, and on rich loamy soil, 
evidently at one time in the past ages a bay 
of the sea, and now most fertile in crops of po¬ 
tatoes, oats and hay. We hooked a few nice 
little trout in the runs on our way, but it 
needed skill to lure our sharp-eyed friends in a 
July sun, so we walked on to Waterfoot. This 
is a primitive little hamlet—two rows of one- 
story thatched cottages—excepting the post office, 
which is also the coach office and the village pub¬ 
lic house. The one and only street is generally 
monopolized by hissing flocks of long-necked 
geese, sundry fat pigs : —“the gentlemin that pay 
the rint”—and a score of mongrel curs, which 
yelp at all the tourists, travelers and tramps who 
pass along this fine coast road these summer 
days. In one of the aforesaid snug cottages we 
consumed excellent tea and home-baked soda 
scones, enriched by delicious fresh butter, and 
then betaking us to the sandhills, we watched 
the young rabbits come out for their green 
supper while the crimson sun had set away to 
the west, and the salt tide rolled in and out at 
our feet. 
Having changed our small day flies for some¬ 
thing larger and with more color, we watched 
for the incoming tide, and as it began to flow 
in from the Atlantic in some small pools close 
to the river mouth, we began to try our luck 
for white trout. With the tide came up a nice 
little breeze, so with a good curl on the sur¬ 
face, and the tide going against the current, we 
made good use of this hour of dusk, and before 
pulling down our rods, had landed between us 
six nice salmon trout, averaging about two 
pounds each, of most silvery scales, and when 
cooked next day, of clear red flesh, firm and 
delicious. 
Strange to say, an old coal boat from the 
opposite Scotch coast, was alongside where we 
had to fish; yet our best rises were just under 
the shadow of her hull. 
We now had just time to catch the tourist car 
which runs all the way from Larne to the Giant’s 
Causeway and back, and makes the journey of 
over fifty miles daily. An exquisite dr-ive it is. 
Never in the British Isles, on the Continent, or 
in the United States have I found such rugged 
and beautiful scenery, combined with the fresh 
sea breezes, the scent of wild flowers and the 
cries of gulls and the songs of shore birds, as 
enrich this County Antrim shore road. 
As we crossed a field this afternoon a farmer 
lad offered to sell us a badger, which he had 
killed a few days ago among the boulders at the 
foothills in the valley, with his dog and the help 
of a stout stick. As, however, we found that 
the young fellow, though he might “skin” a 
tourist, was not capable of skinning the badger, 
we had tO' come away without the trophy. It 
seems that these creatures are got at times up 
the sides of this glen, though becoming very 
scarce in other places. The heather and turf 
highlands are full of fine hares, and when 
strolling down this morning, quite a number, 
pricking their ears at our approach, started off 
with a bound and a skip so nimble and elastic 
that they seemed barely to touch the sod, and 
were a thousand yards distant in a few moments. 
Seated on the long car, which holds about 
fifteen to eighteen persons, with our faces sea¬ 
ward, we have a lovely view of the Scotch coast, 
in some places only twenty to thirty miles off, 
and as the stars come out and the lighthouses 
on the various points become visible, we enjoy 
a lovely ride in the cool evening air. 
At Larne we get the last train to Belfast, and 
are quietly seated over our after-supper pipe 
and recounting the day’s pleasures long before 
the clock chimes twelve. Among the rushes and 
grass in our baskets we count over three dozen 
nice brown trout, and adding the half-dozen 
glistening white trout, we are indeed well satis¬ 
fied with this summer day in the lovely Glen of 
Glengariffe. Piscator. 
Chicago Fly-Casting Club. 
Chicago, Ill., May 25.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: The scores of the participants in the 
cast-off of the postponed contest from May 2 
were as follows: 
D. F. Beatty . 
%-ounce 
Bait. 
... 98.5 
, Accuracy, 
Fly. 
Salmon, 
Fly, Feet. 
(). E. Becker. 
... 90.9 
96 6-15 
T. H. Bellows. 
... 97.6 
99 3-15 
93 
Dr. C. F. Brown. 
... 95.1 
97 8-15 
97 
Dr. Cleveland . 
... 93.9 
Mr. Crompton . 
... 97.6 
G. A. Hinterleitr.er. 
... 97.S 
99 5-15 
85 
lohn Hohmann . 
... 98.4 
98 4-15 
E. R. Letterman_ 
... 98.3 
98 13-15 
O. J. Loomis. 
... 98.0 
98 12-15 
H. Wheeler Perce... 
... 98.1 
99 3-15 
90 
E. P Sperry. 
... 97.1 
99 4-15 
98 
Geo. A. 
Davis, Sec’y- 
Treas. 
Rainbow Trout in the Saugatuck. 
A report received from Westport, Conn., says 
that the first rainbow trout ever reported as the 
result of the stocking of the Saugatuck River 
with this fish was caught recently by W. G. 
Krieghoff. The fish measured sixteen inches and 
was a beauty. 
