
A good way to start off the season. 
HEN old Sol starts his prelim- 
Vf inary work of spring cleaning 
by favoring us with a few days 
with the thermometer ’round 55 or so, 
he also wakens the fishing bug into 
almost immediate action. Rods, tackle 
cases with their treasures, net and the 
thousand and one cherished belongings 
of the angler needs must be minutely 
examined while the fly book is con- 
stantly a source of worry and joy to 
its proud possessor. Former trips with 
their whys and wherefores are next in 
order and during one of these joyful 
reminiscences we lived once more our 
first trip to the beautiful Margaree 
with its equally beautiful salmon and 
trout. 
I think it was about September 2nd 
that I decided to shift my moorings as 
it were from the Dead River region in 
Maine, where I had spent many delight- 
fully profitable fishing trips, to some 
other grounds where I hoped larger fish 
might be caught—that I met one of 
Izaak Walton’s ardent admirers named 
Alec L—, with just the same hanker- 
ing of new fields to conquer that I was 
experiencing. 
Where to go was the problem, maps 
were laid out in abundance and likely 
places jotted down, but it was not until 
I had consulted Mr. Parker of the C. N. 
Railroads that we definitely decided 
that Cape Breton must be a veritable 
happy hunting ground. Mr. Parker 
very oblingingly made out our reserva- 
tions to leave on the afternoon of the 
fifth on the Prince George, sailing from 
Boston, arriving the next morning at 
Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, thence by train 
480 
through Truro, to Iona, Cape 
Breton. 
etc., 
At one-thirty sharp there we were 
looking in our camping rig with dun- 
nage bags like a couple of Polanders 
headed for the logging headquarters, 
but brimming over with anticipation, 
as were also a couple of natives who 
were going back to the home town for 
their vacation, well prepared it seemed. 
The sea and Alex evidently are not the 
best of friends, for although it was al- 
most calm as a mill pond Alex suddenly 
decided that he would like to take a 
nap and the announcement of food far 
from helped the situation. For my part 
I enjoyed the sail immensely and wished 
we could swap the next day and night 
trip via train for this pleasanter form 
of travel. 
Next morning, however, we eased up 
through a heavy curtain of fog to the 
pier where we were ushered quickly 
through custom formalities, and pack- 
ing away a substantial breakfast, pro- 
ceeded to get out for our ride to Digby, 
Truro, etc., to Iona. The Annapolis 
Valley is beautiful, especially so it 
would seem in apple blossom time, as 
there are countless thousands of apple 
trees for miles at a stretch, but we were 
just itching to limber up the old 5% 
ounce Thomas and try the new dry flies, 
so we did not fully appreciate the 
beauty of the surrounding country. 
INE 8 o’clock we left Truro and 
shortly “hit the hay,” for we were 
told that we had to get off at Iona the 
next morning at 5.45 or thereabouts. 
The train was on time to the minute and 
My Friend 
the 
Margaree 
A Tale of the Salmon 
Waters of Nova Scotia 
By WINSLOW CROWELL 
we alighted to view the great Bras d’Or 
Lake. It was a beautiful morning, 
absolutely cloudless with the September 
chill in the air and the sight of this 
great inland sea dotted with its islands 
was long to be remembered. 
FTER a wait of some 4 hours our 
next mode of transportation, the 
Blue Hill, appeared and took us down 
the lake, stopping at Whycocomagh to 
leave some freight, thence to Baddeck, 
where Alexander Graham Bell spent 
many years, and now is buried. One 
must take the trip down the lake to 
appreciate it, with its blue water and 
rugged shore, for description alone can- 
not do it justice. 
Following instructions of Mr. Parker 
we hunted up Mr. Anderson and placed 
ourselves in his hands, knowing he had 
the fishing possibilities at his finger 
tips. We had arrived at a most op- 
portune time it appeared, as he had 
news that the Margaree River, some 35 
miles away, following a heavy rain was 
just teeming with the fall run of sal- 
mon. We couldn’t get our lunch quickly 
enough that day, although scarcely a 
half hour had passed, it seemed hours 
before Mr. Anderson’s charming daugh- 
ter announced that she was ready to 
take us to North East Margaree. 
The ride from Baddeck to the Mar- 
garee is filled with surprises at every 
turn. You are continually exclaiming 
about the beauties of this or that piece 
of woods, what an ideal piece of water 
for a lurking trout, or inquiring more 
about the Indians from the reservation 
which you see with their pails of blue 
noe er 
Pte!) ae 
ee 
