APRIL 7, 1906.] 
FORE Od AND STREAM. 

A Day on the Jacquet. 
Our tent was pitched by the side of the Big 
Upper Pool, the largest and deepest on the river, 
about twelve miles from its mouth, and the high- 
est to which salmon ascend during the summer 
months. 
Just above our camping place was a long 
stretch of rapids, which were, when the water 
was low, impassable by canoe, and they offered 
no temptation to the angler to ascend them, for 
the reason there was but one other pool, the 
Kettle Hole, above that by which we were camp- 
ing, and to this the salmon rarely found their 
way, although it was one of the most famous 
pools on the river for the so-called sea trout, 
great numbers of these fish, some weighing as 
high as four or five pounds, making it their 
summer abiding place. 
I doubt if there is in all New Brunswick a 
more picturesque river than the Jacquet; for a 
salmon stream it is not a long one, although it 
drains a vast stretch of hilly woodlands, but it 
flows through a section of greatly diversified 
country that is full of wonderful surprises, nearly 
a third of the entire distance from the Big Pool 
to tidewater being between cliffs of various for- 
mation which often rise sheer from the river up- 
ward of a hundred feet. 
Of course a river of this description ehonads 
in rapids, for the pitch in many places is quite 
considerable, and some of these are over a half 
mile in length, the White Rapids, so-called, being 
a long incline of about three-fourths of a mile, it 
having a magnificent pool at the lower end. 
It was our last night on the river, for on the 
following day we were to return to civilization. 
For nearly a week we had been tenting on the 
shores of this beautiful stream and both Charlie 
B. and myself experienced a keen regret at being 
obliged to leave the scenes in which we had found 
such pleasures as are vouchsafed only to the suc- 
cessful angler. 
Yes, we had been successful, for during our 
stay on the stream we had sent by one of our 
guides a box containing several fine salmon and 
two or three dozen of as elegant trout as one 
could wish to gaze upon, these fish having been 
packed in snow, which in that section of the 
country is often stored instead of ice, and for- 
warded to the house at which we were stopping 
in the settlement on the shore of the bay, from 
which they were to be shipped to friends at home. 
In addition to these we had taken as many fish 
as we could possibly need for food, and it is sur- 
prising how many are needed to supply the wants 
of four men in the woods, and we still had a 
handsome lot remaining, thirty-five of which 
Charlie Boy and one of the guides had taken that 
afternoon in the famous Kettle Hole Pool up the 
river.* These fish had been laid in a large spring 
whose ice-cold water served to protect them from 
the heat of the summer sun. 
The last night in camp is with me usually a 
restless one, for I am accustomed during its early 
hours to not only recall the incidents of the out- 
ing, fighting many of my battles with the denizens 
of the river over again, but to prepare my mind 
for the changes which a return to city life really 
means. My companions, however, Charlie Boy 
and our guides, the Miller brothers, were less 
wakeful, for they had hardly stretched them- 
selves upon our bed of hemlock boughs before 
they were in the land of dreams; their heavy 
breathing at length had a somnolent effect upon 
me, and this, added to the melodious tones of the 
water passing down the rapids near by, overcame 
my wakefulness and I, too, was lost in that balmy 
sleep which is found only i in such an environment 
as that. 
Soon after daybreak on the following morning 
we were astir, and while the guides were pre- 
paring breakfast I busied myself in packing my 
belongings in the canoe, taking down our tent 
and rolling it with our blankets in the most com- 
pact form possible, and Charlie Boy improved the 
opportunity to remove the trout from the spring 
and pack them securely in the bow of the canoe, 
covering them with a thick layer of brakes or 
ferns which he thoroughly moistened in order 
that the fish might be kept cool. 
Our canoe was a large one of Mic-Mac con- 
*Tllustrated on page 393, “With Fly-Rod and Camera.” 

553 

struction, capable of carrying our entire party 
with all our dunnage down the long stretches 
of rapids which we had to traverse between pools, 
but I am free to confess I at first had some mis- 
givings when we were all stowed away in it, for 
we sank it pretty deep in the water as the guides 
with their iron-shod setting poles pushed it out 
into the pool and we began to rise over its lower 
edge into the quick water below. 
Hiram occupied the bow and William the stern, 
while Charlie Boy and myself were comfortably 
seated in the middle of the buoyant craft. Down 
the quick water we slid for a quarter of a mile 
into the pool below, the course of the birch being 
deftly guided by the canoemen who, standing 
erect, used their pliant setting poles as easily as 
if they were mere walking sticks. 
We lingered but a moment in this pool, for its 
water was shallow and as clear as crystal and 
we saw at once that it was unoccupied save by a 
few small trout, Traversing this placid basin we 
entered another stretch of quick water, a half 
mile or more in extent, at the lower end of which 
was a large, deep pool in which we expected to 
find a salmon or two, for, although it was a fa- 
vorite with us, we had not fished it for several 
days, having reserved it for our return trip down 
the river. 
The prow of the canoe was directed to a short 
strip of gravelly shore just below the end of the 
quick water, and we all quietly disembarked at 
this point. At the head of the pool I left Charlie 
Boy with William, while I with the other guide 
moved to a jutting ledge a few rods below, from 
which point I began casting. 
The morning sun, which was just appearing 
above the forest behind us, illuminated the sur- 
face of- the pool, and even penetrated its depths 
to such an extent that all: nearby objects in the 
pellucid water were plainly visible, and this con- 
vinced me that if I hoped to rise a salmon it 
would be done only with a very long cast, for 
the wary fish could easily see us and would, of 
course, move away from our vicinity. 
That was a glorious morning of that day in 
early July when I cast my lure upon the foam- 
flecked surface of that beautiful basin; it seemed 
as if the bright light of the sun had awakened 
bird life all around us; hermit thrushes in nearby 
thickets filled the air with their flute-like melody, 
white-throated sparrows, those nightingales of the 
north, sang to us in dulcet strains of “Old Bill 
Peabody, Peabody, Peabody”; a Maryland yel- 
low-throat in a little clump of bushes at the lower 
end of the pool repeated his cheerful little ditty 
of “Be Cheery, Dear, be Cheery,” and over and 
around us circled a kingfisher whose scolding 
rattle showed most plainly that we were far from 
welcome visitors to his domain. 
We had had no rains for a week or more, and 
the water was far from being in that condition 
which seems best adapted to successful fly-cast- 
ing; its temperature was cool, for the water of 
the river had not been exposed very severely to 
the rays of the sun, but I would greatly have 
preferred that it had more color. The fly I had 
selected for the beginning of my work was a 
Fairy, and one of rather a small pattern at that, 
for a larger or brighter fly would at that time 
have been of little value. 
I covered every inch of the water within my 
reach, lengthening my line more and more at 
every cast, until I had sent my lure even to the 
shallow water on the other side of the pool, quite 
beyond the probable range of any spot in which a 
salmon might be lurking, but although I made my 
offering carefully and persistently I met with no 
response. Even the trout, if any were present, 
refused to accept it. 
“Tt’s no use!” exclaimed the guide, “we are 
working from the wrong side and the salmon 
don’t want that fly, either; the sun is behind us, 
and every time you make a cast, every time you 
move a hand you cast a shadow in the pool; the 
crafty fish have seen it, I make no doubt and have 
gone to the bottom. We’ve got to rest this pool 
a little while and then fish from the other side. I 
don’t think we’d better bring the canoe into it 
just now, but we had best wade the shallow water 
at the outlet and cast from that little open stretch 
yonder; it will _give you the best chance for a 
back-cast there is here.” 
To the guide’s advice I quickly acquiesced, for 
I had been convinced before he spoke, that my 
success would be limited indeed on the somewhat 
elevated point on which I was standing. Caution- 
ing the others to remain where they were and not 
disturb the pool farther down, my guide and I 
waded across the river and soon occupied the 
little patch of gravelly beach that he had pointed 
out to me. 
_ Here we seated ourselves for a short time dur- 
ing which I changed my fly, putting on a Mon- 
treal of sober hue which Hiram declared ought 
to be the right fly for that occasion. 
While we were seated in that retired spot we 
watched the movements of the young angler at 
the head of the pool and saw him successfully 
bring to the landing net several fine trout which 
seemed to prefer the fly he was using, a Silver 
Doctor, to that which I had been casting. 
“Good enough,” exclaimed Hiram as the third 
trout, a 2-pounder at least, was successfully 
landed. ‘The boy is a chip of the old block, all 
right, and he’s doing a good thing in killing those 
sea trout. I wish he had them all, for they’re a 
great nuisance on this river, they destroy no end 
of young salmon all through the summer.” 
“Yes,” I.replied, “the trout are a pest on every 
salmon stream, for they not only eat the fry and 
the parr, but they take the fly before a salmon 
can reach it, and flounce about when they are 
hooked until the pool is spoiled; many a good 
salmon have I lost by the quickness of the little 
beggars. Well, I think we’ve rested this water 
long enough, and now we'll try for a: 10-pounder 
at least.” 
At these words I stepped to the endge of the 
water and began delivering my fly. Near the 
middle of the pool was a large boulder whose 
top rose a foot or more above the surface of the 
water. I knew that, although there was but little 
current in the basin, there must be some move- 
ment which would create an eddy below the rock, 
and I felt reasonably certain that if there were a 
salmon present he would be lying in or near that 
eddy, and with this idea in my mind I essayed to 
put my fly in the water close to and just below 
the great rock. It required a very long cast to 
reach the desired spot, but I finally succeeded in 
dropping my lure on the other side of it, when, 
permitting it to sink a foot or more I gave it the 
short drags such as salmon anglers usually em- 
ploy. 
My fly had passed the boulder when I lifted my 
rod to make another. cast, of course dragging 
the fly quickly to the surface and into the air, and 
as it was lifted above the water I saw a swirl and 
then the dorsal fin of’a fish appeared above the 
surface and then disappeared into the depths 
below. 
“That’s too bad, altogether!” exclaimed the 
guide, “that was a right good fish, and you just 
missed him.” 
“Ves,” I replied, “I lifted the rod a little too 
soon, but perhaps he’ll come again.” 
“He will, no doubt,’ was the reply, “but we'd 
better wait a minute or two before casting.” 
“Yes,” I responded. “I had a feeling there was 
a fish below that rock, and I am reasonably con- 
fident we'll get him.” 
“We kept the fly from the water a few minutes, 
and then I resumed my casting, covering the basin 
everywhere until I had enough line out to enable 
me to reach the rock, when I carefully dropped 
my lure on the farther side of the eddy as I had 
done before and allowing it to sink again, I 
slowly began to recover. The fly was pretty deep 
in the water, and as I was facing the sun I could 
not watch it as it moved toward me, but as it 
passed the rock and swung into the eddy I felt 
a heavy tug, and raising my rod sharply to strike 
the hook well home, I found I was fast to a heavy 
fish. For a few moments the salmon paid no at- 
tention to the strain that was put on it and ap- 
peared to regard almost with disdain the delicate 
casting line which seemed a frail thing indeed to 
Pee any restraint on the movements of a large 
sh, 
It soon began to move, however, in a short 
circle around the rock and then returned and 
settled in the bottom of the pool from which it 
had risen to my fly; it evidently failed to take in 
the situation and hardly seemed inconvenienced 
by the presence of the hook in its jaw. 
I dallied with my fish a few moments, permit- 
