Chapter III: Part 3

_Aug. 10th_.—To our usual breakfast was added this morning a broiled partridge (ruffed grouse) which Fabian killed with a stick or stone yesterday, in making the portage. While at breakfast a gray or silver fox ran past us within twenty feet of where we sat. The woods are filled with squirrels; their chattering is heard constantly. Large and very tame fish-hawks abound—reminding one of the beach from Sandy Hook to Long Branch.... We have tickled the lake with a spinner, trolled with a long hand line, for pickerel. We fished but an hour with two lines. We caught fourteen, weighing thirty-four pounds.

_Aug. 11th_.—We fished down from the Middle Camp (as our present one is called). M. had the morning’s fishing in the “spring hole,” and took six fish averaging two pounds each. In the Magdalen pool I took three one pound trout immediately upon throwing in. Suddenly not ten feet from where I stood (I was in the water up nearly to my waist), and directly in front of me, a monster fish from three to four feet long, and of thirty or thirty-five pounds weight, shot up from the water, stood seemingly upon its tail for an instant, and with a heavy splash fell over into the pool. “My God! what is that?” I asked my guide. “It’s a _saumon_, sir,” he calmly replied. I was all excitement and began whipping vigorously where it rose. Failing to get it up, I put on a salmon fly. By this time salmon were leaping above me, below me, and at my very feet. I whipped diligently, letting my fly fall like thistledown upon the water, and then with a splash to attract attention, and now letting it sink and float with the current. It was all in vain; three hours of my most skilful fishing failed to entice one of the wily monsters. Neither could I get up a trout; they had all been driven away by the salmon. I caused my guide to paddle me over the still pool just above, and saw in the pellucid water, three or four feet beneath the surface, ten or fifteen large salmon. They lay perfectly still for a time, and then darted through and around the pool in every direction, as if in play. Suddenly they would congregate in the centre of the pool and lay with their heads up stream, the largest slightly in advance of the rest, as motionless as if the water had become ice, encasing the fish.

_Aug. 12th_.—At Main Camp.... The canoeing down from the Middle Camp—five miles—was delightful, and at times very exciting; that is, in running the rapids, which are numerous. In making a portage around the “Little Falls” we started up a cock partridge. It alighted upon the limb of a dead tree no higher than my head. “We approached within six feet of it, and stood for a minute or two gazing at the graceful bird. It returned our gaze with head turned aside, and a look of curious inquiry which said, as plainly as if it had spoken, ‘What kind of animals are you?’ I could easily have hit it with my landing-net handle but would not make it a victim of misplaced confidence.” This incident reminded me of the lines of Alexander Selkirk, in the English Reader, which was in use in my early school-boy days:

“They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.”

I may add that squirrels were constantly running about our camp, exhibiting no more fear than those in the parks of Philadelphia.

_Aug. 14th_.—“David build a fire between our tents, it is cold,” I called out about five o’clock this morning. “Yes, sir,” he replied; “a black frost this morning, had to thaw out my boots before I could get them on.” Our little encampment consists of two wall tents, ten feet square, for the use of Mr. Macdonough and myself. They are about fifteen feet apart, opening towards each other, upon a line twenty feet from the pool, upon ground five or six feet above it. Back of our tents is our dining-table, made of planks split from the spruce, and sheltered with a tent fly. In rear of this is the kitchen fire; and still farther back, two “A tents,” one for the use of our men, and the other for-the protection of our stores.

I do not often look into our kitchen: Seeing Fabian wipe my silver-plated fork upon his pantaloons, between courses, cured me of this. “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” I did, however, look into the kitchen to-day to see how our excellent bread was baked. It was properly made with “raising powder,” kneaded and formed into loaves. A trench was dug in the ashes and sand, forming the bed of our camp fire, wide and long enough to admit of three loaves. They were put into the trench, without any covering except the hot sand and ashes, with which they were surrounded on all sides, top and bottom. Live coals were raked over the mound, and it was left for time and heat to do the rest. An hour or so after I saw the bread taken from the ashes. It was brushed slightly with a wisp broom, which removed the little of ashes and sand adhering; and the bread was as clean as if it had just left the baker’s oven, and was of a uniform rich brown color. Lamb and green peas (French canned) formed one course at dinner to-day. The flavor of fresh mutton is much improved by non-intercourse with the butcher for two weeks.

_Sunday, Aug_. 16.—Another bright and beautiful day. It would be pleasant to hear “the sound of the churchgoing bell, which these rocks and these valleys ne’er heard,” It is now near two weeks since we entered upon our camp life, and we have seen no signs of civilization, save in our camp; nothing but forest, rock, water and sky, all as they came from their Great Creators hand. No sounds have been heard to carry us back in thought to the world of life and labor, save the occasional booming of the fog cannon at a government station on the south side of the St. Lawrence. How strangely did the warning voice of this gun, telling us of danger to the mariner, break upon the silence of the hour as we sat watching the fairy forms and fantastic shapes in our first evening’s camp-fire!

Pleasant as it is to the writer to live over again the days of which he has written—to dwell upon the scenes in which he was an actor, so vividly presented to his mind’s eye as he writes of them—pity for the too-long suffering reader has prompted him to close the lids of his journal and restore it to its place in the book-case.

It only remains to write somewhat of our success in fishing. The season was a very dry one, our river very low, and no rain sufficient to affect it fell during our stay, consequently the trout did not come up in as large numbers as usual, and the clearness of the water rendered successful fly-fishing more difficult. We caught on this occasion but two hundred and forty-three trout, of the aggregate weight of three hundred and four pounds. All these fish were taken with a fly, save one: thereby hangs a tale heretofore untold. At Tadousac, on our way out, I saw a gentleman, to whom I had been introduced, making something in the construction of which he used three snelled hooks and about three inches in length of thin white rubber tubing. I asked,

“What is it?”

“A devil,” he replied. He gave me materials, and while sailing down the river I made one. One day at the Home Pool I saw ten or a dozen large trout. They paid no heed to my flies. “Try the devil,” my guide whispered. In a moment of weakness I yielded to the tempter and put it on. The first cast caused commotion in the watery camp. At the second I struck and soon drew out on the beach a pound and a half trout. I looked upon the beautiful fish with compassion, cursed myself for resorting to such unfair means, removed the cruel hooks as tenderly as I could from the mangled and bleeding mouth, and taking off the _devilish_ invention threw it as far as possible into the woods.

... “The beasts of game

The privilege of chase may claim.”

I have not since used, and shall not in the future use, this rightly named instrument, and hope no angler will. I have narrated this only unpleasant feature of my bout to illustrate the _devilish_ ingenuity of “pot fishermen” and the curiosity of sea-trout. I wonder what was the gender of the fish!

With a view of showing the capabilities of our river in the production of fish, I have aggregated the scores from 1872 to 1882 inclusive. In one of these years three rods were in use, in three others two, and in the other years but one. The average time of fishing in each year was about three weeks.

Number of trout taken, 5,525; aggregate weight, 6,625 pounds; average about one pound three ounces. In the year 1881 the average size of two hundred and thirteen trout taken with a single rod in eight days’ fishing was one pound fourteen ounces. Not one of these fish was wasted. A few were eaten upon the stream, but most of them were given to the guides, who salted and packed them in barrels for future use. A sack of coarse salt and empty fish barrels were always included in the anglers’ stores.

Three days after the last date mentioned we were again on board our _chaloupe_ “homeward bound.” The loss in weight in our stores was made good by the barrel of salted _anadromous salvelinus-fontinalis_ which were to supplement and eke out the pork barrel of our honest and worthy guides during the long ice-bound winter before them.

Tadousac was reached about sunrise on a bright morning. At nine o’clock we were in citizen’s dress and seated at the hotel breakfast table. A glance around the room showed that summer birds and Cook’s tourists had mainly migrated to more southern latitudes. Our trunks were re-packed, our guides paid $1.50 each per day, and the captain $2.00, gold, and bade adieu. We took the Saguenay steamboat for Quebec, the Grand Trunk Railroad from Point Levi to Montreal, where we passed the night. The next morning we travelled by rail to Rouse’s Point and by boat down that charming Lake, Champlain. At the various landings many persons, including several friends, came on board.

Nearly all carried snugly-cased fishing rods, whose summer work was ended. The Chateaugay, the Saranacs, Paul Smith’s, Baker’s, Martin’s, and various other familiar names met our ears. We envied none of them. Our cup of joy, happiness and contentment was full to the brim. There was no room for “envy, hatred and malice,” but a feeling of gratitude and thankfulness to the Author of every “good and perfect gift,” welled up from our hearts.

“Every angler has his own peculiar notion in regard to the best fly; and the difficulty of presenting a perfect catalogue will be very apparent, when it is considered that the _name_ of the fly of one writer bears a different name and description from that of another, and it is more than probable that the name and description of some of the flies in my list may not be in accordance with the views and opinions of many old and experienced anglers.”—“_Frank Forester_.”

“After staying in a village parlor till the family had all retired, I have returned to the woods, and partly with a view to the next day’s dinner, spent the hours of midnight fishing from a boat by moonlight, serenaded by owls and foxes, and hearing, from time to time, the croaking note of some unknown bird close at hand.”—_Henry D. Thoreau_.

“He sat down on a lump of granite, and took out his fly-book. It is a sport, he added, as he was selecting the flies, that there is less to be said against than shooting, I imagine. I don’t like the idea of shooting birds, especially after I have missed one or two. Birds are such harmless creatures. But the fish is different—the fish is making a murderous snap at an innocent fly, when a little bit of steel catches him in the very act. It serves him right, from the moral point of view.”—_William Black_.

“There is much diversity of opinion about the manner of fishing, whether up or down the stream; the great majority of anglers, both In Europe and this country, favor the latter method, and very few the former.”—_John J. Brown_.

“‘Beautiful!’ Well you may say so, for what is more beautiful than a well-developed pound trout?”—_Charles W. Stevens_.

7. Ferguson,

8. Abbey.

9. Royal Coachman.

10. Seth Green.

11. Professor.

12. Montreal.

“Reader, did you ever throw the fly to tempt the silvery denizen of the lake, or river, to his destruction? Have you watched him, as it skimmed like a living insect along the surface, dart from his hiding-place, and rush upon the tempting but deceitful morsel; and have you noticed his astonishment when he found the hook was in his jaw? Have you watched him as he bent your slender rod ‘like a reed shaken by the wind,’ in his efforts to free himself, and then have you reeled him to your hand and deposited him in your basket, as the spoil of your good right arm? If you have _not_, leave the dull, monotonous, every-day things around you, and flee to the Chazy Lake.”—_S. H. Hammond._

“I now come to not only the most sportsman-like, but the most delightful method of trout-fishing. One not only endeared by a thousand delightful memories, but by the devotion of many of our wisest and best men for ages past; and, next to my thanks for existence, health, and daily bread, I thank God for the good gift of fly-fishing. If the fishes are to be killed for our use, there is no way in which they are put to so little pain as in fly-fishing. The fish rises, takes your fly as though it were his ordinary food; the hook fixes in the hard gristly jaw, where there is little or no sensation. After a few struggles he is hauled on shore, and a tap on the head terminates his life; and so slight is the pain or alarm that he feels from the hook, that I have over and over caught a trout, with the fly still in his mouth which he has broken off in his struggles an hour or even half an hour previously. I have seen fish that have thus broken off swim away with my fly in their mouths and begin to rise at the natural fly again almost directly.”—_Francis Francis._

RANGELEY BROOK TROUT.

By James A. Williamson, Sec. Oquossoc Angling Association.

About twelve summers ago, when spending a delightful vacation at Manchester, Vermont, under the shadow of Mt. Equinox, my attention was called to a little book which gave a description of the exceptionally large brook trout inhabiting the waters of the Rangeley Lakes.

Never having heard, heretofore, of a fish of that species that weighed more than three pounds, and never having caught any over a pound and a half (although I had dropped a line in many waters and exerted my utmost muscle in casting a line for fingerlings), I could not bring my mind to believe that such fish as were described really existed, and at once pronounced it another fish story. Although much interested in the narrative I finally threw down the book in disgust, and as I did so, observed for the first time that the author was Robert G. Allerton, a very old friend, whom I had always esteemed a man of veracity. I at once took a new interest in the subject and determined to investigate the matter personally. I came to New York, had an interview with Mr. Allerton, who was the Treasurer of the Oquossoc Angling Association, and by his advice joined the club, and in due time started for the promised land of mountains, lakes, and large trout, and after the usual vicissitudes of travel reached my destination at Camp Kennebago about the middle of September.

The forests were just developing their autumnal hues, the air was fresh and bracing, and all nature seemed to conspire to make one realize that there was health in every breath inhaled, and beauty in every phase of land and water. Having secured a first-rate guide and boat, and partaken of a trout breakfast, which was relished immensely, such as can only be appreciated by one who has left the haunts of civilization and gone into the wilderness for recuperation, I considered my first duty was to pay my respects to Mr. Allerton, who was in camp at Bugle Cove. From this location Lake Mooselemeguntic lies spread out before you, while Mt. Washington in the distance rears its snowy peak, overtopping Jefferson, Monroe, and the other giants of the White Hills of New Hampshire.

The crystal waters of the lake tempt us to cast a fly, and a suitable place having been secured, we proceed to business. After making several casts in a manner more or less scientific but without success, my former unbelief came creeping over me, and, as my arm became tired and almost refused to do its duty, a sense of despondency overcame me, which I am sure sensibly affected the beauty if not the efficacy of my casts. But suddenly I am awakened to the realization of the fact that a big fish has seized the fly and is making the reel hum in its frantic endeavors to secure its liberty. Fathom after fathom of the dainty line disappears beneath the water, and at last prudence dictates a gentle snub, which finally terminates in a decided check to the mad career of the quarry. Having succeeded in turning his head in a different direction, another rush is made across stream, making the line whiz as it cuts through the water; then suddenly he takes a downward course and ceases from all apparent effort to free himself. He now sulks for a long time, and impatience begins to take the place of the excitement with which the fight began. The guide, who, during the fray had hoisted his anchor, got ready his landing-net, and was now holding his boat in position with the oars, suggested that I had better send him a telegraphic message, which was accordingly done by striking the rod with a key. The first few strokes seemed to make little or no impression, but presently he convinced us that he was still there, although we had some forebodings that he had escaped by winding the line around a log or some other object at the bottom of the stream. He was up and alive in every sense, and performed the same tactics for liberty with apparently more vigor than at first. These were kept up for about half an hour, when he again took a turn of sulking, but this time of shorter duration, and when he again began his rushes it was with an evident loss of strength, but no diminution of determination and pluck.

A friend who was watching and timing me from his boat came over to inquire how the battle was progressing, and pertinently asked, “Whether the fish was going to take me or I the fish.” At last the strength of the tackle, the pliability of the rod, and the determination of the rodster overcame the pluck and strength of the fish, and he was brought to the boat turned upon his side and was beautifully landed by the guide. The scales were at once applied, with a result of eight pounds full weight.

My inquiring and interested friend informed me that I had been two hours and twenty minutes in the fight, and as I sat down in the boat I, for the first time, realized that I was tired.

Now, my dear reader, do not think that this kind of sport is of common occurrence, for from that time to this, I have taken but two fish of equal weight; the average, however, has been much larger than trout from any other locality in which I have fished. Any fish under half a pound is considered unfit to land, and is again committed to the water to grow larger. The number of trout does not seem to be falling off; but this can be accounted for by the annual plant of fry from the Hatching House of the Oquossoc Angling Association, who have for years past turned about one million fish into these waters, and now contemplate increasing the amount to five million; still I think there is a sensible diminution of the size of the catch, which now run from one-half to four pounds, and anything over that weight is the exception. This would seem to confirm the supposition of Professor Agassiz, made many years ago, that these large fish possibly may have reached an age of from 100 to 200 years, as they were evidently very old.

Any one who has been thrilled with the vigorous strike of one of the ordinary sized fish would be almost beside himself when one from three to five pounds rose to his fly, and if his tackle was good, the sport derived therefrom, would serve him a lifetime; and when the shades of night had fallen upon the camp, and he with his fellow-fishermen collected around the great fire, point and vigor would be given to his recital of how he caught and played the monster he that day had brought to his creel.

“Let it be seen that a love of the ‘gentle art’ openeth first the heart, then the fly-book, and soon the stores of experience and knowledge garnered up through long years, wheresoever we meet a ‘Brother of the Angle’; and that to us ‘angling is an employment of our idle time,’; that therein we find ‘a rest to the mind, a cheerer of the spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of the passions, a procurer of contentedness, and that it begets habits of peace and patience in chose that possess and practice it.’”—_Thaddeus Norris_.

“Fly-fishing holds the same relation to bait-fishing that poetry does to prose. Not only the fly, but every implement of the fly-fisher’s outfit is a materialized poem.”—_James A. Henshall, M.D._

“Between the tyro and the proficient grayling fisher there exists a wider gulf than is the case with the experienced and inexperienced in any other branch in the whole art of fishing. Practical skill and general artistic bearing are more fully exemplified in fishing for grayling, than for trout and salmon, whilst upon the same ground the unskilled efforts of the bungler stand at a yet more glaring contrast.”—_David Foster_.

“Hooking a large grayling, I had good evidences of his plucky qualities; the pliant rod bent as he struggled against the line, curling his body around columns of water that failed to sustain his grasp, and setting his great dorsal fin like an oar backing water, while we cautiously worked him in, his tender mouth requiring rather more careful handling than would be necessary for a trout; making a spurt up stream, he requires a yielding line, but after a time he submits to be brought in, rallying for a dart under the boat, or beneath a log, as an attempt is made to place the landing net under him.”—_Professor Milner_.

13. Bee.

14. Tomah Jo.

15. “No Name.”

16. Blue Bottle.

17. Grasshopper.

18. Canada.

“Do not despair. There was—alas! that I must say there was—an illustrious philosopher, who was nearly of the age of fifty before he made angling a pursuit, yet he became a distinguished fly-fisher.”—_Sir Humphry Davy_.

“Fly-fishing for grayling and trout are not altogether identical. Both are frequently found in the same water, and are to be taken with the same cast of flies. Finer tackle, as a rule, is required in the case of the former, as also smaller and brighter flies.” —_David Foster_.

“The grayling generally springs entirely out of the water when first struck by the hook, and tugs strongly at the line, requiring as much dexterity to land it safely as it would to secure a trout of six times the size.”—_Dr. Richardson._

“Grayling will often take the fly under water, rising so quietly that you will scarcely see any rise or break of the water at all. It is desirable, therefore, to watch the line narrowly, and to strike whenever you think it stops or checks, and you will now and then be surprised, although there is no break in the water, to find a good grayling on the hook. For, as is often the case with trout, the big ones are very quiet risers.”—_Francis Francis._

“To be a perfect fisherman you require more excellencies than are usually to be found in such a small space as is allotted to a man’s carcass.”—_Parker Gilmore_.

“The trout has, so to speak, a Herculean cast of beauty; the grayling rather that of an Apollo—light, delicate, and gracefully symmetrical.”—_H. Cholmondely-Pennell_.

THE GRAYLING.

By Fred Mather.

The very name of my beloved fish calls up a host of recollections that form themselves into a picture that, above all others, is the most cheerful one adorning memory’s wall. We old fellows live largely in the past, and can afford to let younger men revel in the future; and in my own case, I can say that, having filled Shakespeare’s apothegm of “one man in his time plays many parts,” there are often retrospects of life as a boyish angler, an older hunter, trapper, and general vagabond on the frontiers; a soldier; and a later return to a first love. Of these glances over the shoulder of time, a few trips to Northern Michigan and its grayling streams mark the journey of life with a white stone.

When Prof. Cope announced, in 1865, that he had received specimens from Michigan, the English anglers in America were incredulous, and there was some spicy correspondence, in the sportsmen’s papers of those days, concerning the identity of the fishes. As usual, the scientist discomfited the angler, and proved his position. The fish had long been known to the raftsmen and natives of Michigan by local names, but had never been identified as the historic grayling. Some eight years after the discovery of Prof. Cope that we had the grayling in American waters; Mr. D. H. Pitzhugh, Jr., sent some of them to Mr. Charles Hallock, then editor of _Forest and Stream_, and they were shown in New York to the doubters, who even then were not convinced.

Mr. Pitzhugh took great interest in the new fish, which, as a lumberman and an angler, he had long known as a “Michigan trout,” but had never recognized as the gentle grayling, and he has since done more than any other man to popularize it and introduce it to anglers.

He invited Mr. Hallock, Prof. Milner, and myself to come up and fish for it, and we each extolled its attractions in the press. As a consequence, the fish has been nearly exterminated by vandals who fish for count, and the waters where we fished at first are nearly barren.

Of all game fishes the grayling is my favorite. It is gamy but not savage; one does not feel the savage instinct to kill that the black bass or the pike raises in him, but rather a feeling of love for a vigorous fighter for its life who is handicapped with a tender mouth. To me the fish is always thought of as the “gentle grayling,” and the “golden-eyed grayling,” although the latter epithet is not always a correct one, owing to the changes in the iris.

In fishing for grayling it is well to use a mediumsized fly of a subdued color; a yellow body and a brown wing is the fly that should be used if only one is recommended; it is a most killing combination. Brown Hackles, Bed Ibis, Professor, Queen of the Water, and other trout flies are also killing; but the first-mentioned fly, whose name I do not know, owing to a defective memory and the vagaries of fly nomenclature, is the most killing, and a cast into the upper edge of a pool below a rapid is usually most successful. *

* Oak-fly.

The beauty of the grayling is of a kind that is better appreciated after some acquaintance. The bright colors of its “magnificent dorsal,” as the phrase went a few years ago, are not its chief claim to admiration. Its shapely contour, striped ventrals, iridescent caudal, and its beatific countenance win the heart of the angler and make him love the grayling, and feel that it is a fish to respect for the higher qualities expressed in its physiognomy, and not one that it is merely a satisfaction to kill as he would a savage pike. True, we kill the grayling, but we do it in a different spirit from that in which we kill some other thing. It was not only my good fortune to know “Uncle Thad” Norris, but to have fished with him. The dear lovable old man, who long since paid his fare to the grim ferryman, once said: “When I look into a grayling’s eye I am sorry I killed it; but that feeling never prevents me from making another cast just to see if another will rise.”

In another century Norris will be more read and appreciated than he is to-day. Of all American angling writers of this century he will stand foremost, and yet he never wrote as fully as he intended of the fish that he told me had afforded him more pleasure than any other. He had not revised his “American Angler’s Book” for some time before his death, and so his remarks on Back’s grayling must stand as he wrote them before the era of the Michigan grayling. He there says of the Arctic grayling: “The grayling being a fish in the capture of which the American angler cannot participate, we give no account of the manner of angling for them, but refer the reader who may have interest or curiosity on that score to English authors.” He intended to revise that sentence and give his own experience, but the Reaper judged him ripe for the harvest before he did it. In my opinion he was one of those who should never have been ripe for that harvest, and his loss to our angling literature was a severe one.

That the grayling will take bait, truth requires the admission; would that it were not so. I would prefer that its food was the soaring insect, or even the floating thistledown, with an occasional feather from an angel’s wing dropped in the moonlit flood; but science has laid bare its interior with the searching scalpel, and the Caesarian operation has brought forth the lowly caddis-worm and other larvae, and the bait-fisher has taken advantage of the knowledge and pandered to the baser appetite of the fish.

That the grayling does not eat other fish is proved by its small month, as well as by its known habits. It is not a leaper, like the trout, but takes the fly from the surface with merely an exposure of a portion of its head. When struck, it makes a rigorous rush, and, if it does not fight as long as the trout does, it gives much resistance at the last moment by the sidelong movement it makes when being reeled in, which is due to the size and curvature of its dorsal fin. It inhabits only the coldest of streams, and while the grayling of Europe is found in the trout streams, it is not to be found there in Michigan.

We have several species of grayling in America. Two of these only are accessible to anglers, the Michigan grayling, _Thymallus tricolor_, and one at the head waters of the Yellowstone, the _T. Montanus_, The other species are Arctic.

The Michigan fish is reported to grow to nearly two pounds weight; I never saw one that I thought would weigh much over a pound, and I have taken them in spawning season for the purpose of procuring their eggs. Whether this fish will bear acclimatization to other waters, I cannot say. I raised a few until a year old at my former trout farm in Western New York, and when I left them I opened the pond and let them into the stream below, but none have ever been taken there, as far as I know. It seems a pity to allow this elegant fish to become extinct, as it will in a few years in its limited habitat, and if opportunity offered I would again try to domesticate it.

The trout-fisher needs no special directions nor tackle to fish for grayling; he may cast in the usual manner, only remembering that the fish has a very tender mouth, and must be treated with this fact ever in mind. The Michigan grayling streams are not suited for wading, and, therefore, fishing from a boat is the rule. This may not suit some anglers, to whom I can only say, every one to his fancy, but no wading for me; dry feet are more comfortable than wet ones, and boat-fishing or bank-fishing are more suitable to my taste, than to be immersed up to my hips in cold water for half a day.

I have killed, I believe, every game fish in America east of the Rocky Mountains, except the salmon, for which I have a rod in readiness, that I hope to use soon, and I can say that while I do not think the grayling the superior of all of them for gameness, yet there is something of romance in the remembrance of the grayling, a kind of sentimental retrospect, that endears the fish to me above all others. Whether it was owing to the pine woods and the genial companionship, I do not care to consider; but each year there comes a longing to repeat the pleasant experiences of the Au Sable and its delicate grayling.

TROUT FLIES

“The trout-fly does not resemble any known species of insect. It is a ‘conventionalized’ creation, as we say of ornamentation. The theory is, that, fly-fishing being a high art, the fly must not be a tame imitation of nature, but an artistic suggestion of it. It requires an artist to construct one; and not every bungler can take a bit of red flannel, a peacock’s feather, a flash of tinsel thread, a cock’s plume, a section of a hen’s wing, and fabricate a tiny object that will not look like any fly, but still will suggest the universal conventional fly.”—_Charles Dudley Warner_.

“When you fish with a flie, if it be possible, let no pary of your line touch the water, but your flie only.”—_Izaak Walton_.

1. Coachman.

2. Leadwing Coach.

3. Royal Coachman.

4. Coachman red tip.

5. Gilt Coachman.

6. Cowdung.

7. Fern.

8. Blue Jay.

9. Abbey.

10. Red Ant.

11. Black Ant.

12. Seth Green.

13. Professor.

14. Blue Professor.

15. Dark Stone.

“A combination of English Jay is one of the most effective flies in the world, as it can be put into as gay a fly as you please, and also into as plain a one as you like.”—_Capt. Peel (“Dinks”)_.

“When I think of the great secrets of Nature locked up from our knowledge (yet under our eyes at every turn of your daily duty), and imagine what a mine of intellectual wealth remains to be opened out by quickness of sight, clearness of intellect, and the pickaxe of hard work, a great panorama opens before me. How ignorant—how terribly ignorant—are we of God’s great laws as applied to the creatures that live in the element in which we are forbidden to exist!”—_Frank Buckland_.

“The ancient belief in the stoppage of sport during a thunderstorm is not strictly true.”—_David Foster_.

“A fish will _hook himself only_ in cases where the fly first touches the water at the end of a straight line, or when the line is being withdrawn smartly for a new cast. In all other cases the skill of the angler must be employed.”—_Charles Hallock_.

“We had determined on a feast, and trout were to be its daintiest dainty. We waited until the confusing pepper of a shower had passed away and left the water calm. We tossed to the fish humbugs of wool, silk and feathers, gauds such as captivate the greedy or the guileless. The trout, on the lookout for novelty, dashed up and swallowed disappointing juiceless morsels, and with them swallowed hooks. Then, O Walton! O Davy! O Scrope! ye fishers hard by taverns! luxury was ours of which ye know nothing. Under the noble yellow birch we cooked our own fish. We used our scanty kitchen-battery with skill. We cooked with the high art of simplicity. Where Nature has done her best, only fools rush in to improve. On the salmonids, fresh and salt, she has lavished her creative refinements. Cookery should only ripen and develop.”—_Theodore Winthrop_.

“As a general thing, it is a waste of time to be forever changing your flies. If the trout are not rising, it is entirely useless to fling an assortment of flies at them.”—_T. S. Up de Graff, M.D._

“In taking the fly, I award the palm to the trout, as he usually throws himself out of the water to do so. The salmon does not, he scarcely more than shows himself; but after being hooked the sport commences, and it is all activity to the death, rarely any sulking.”—_Charles W. Stevens_

A TROUTING TRIP TO ST. IGNACE ISLAND.

By W. Thomson

Towards the end of August, 1877, I had become pretty well fagged out with office work and felt that I must have a week or two of out-door recreation or sport of some kind, so I naturally decided upon a troutfishing expedition; and I selected, as the scene, the island of St. Ignace, in Lake Superior, of which I had heard most excellent accounts in regard to fish products. I had, it is true, caught a great many brook trout throughout the summer, in small streams close at hand; but these were mostly fish of inferior size, few indeed reaching one pound in weight; while I was assured by an ancient fisherman of repute, that at the Island, the real _Salmo fontinalis_ often attained to four, five, and even seven pounds.

This was the kind of ground I had been, for many years, anxious to find, and I made up my mind to try it at all events.

The first thing to do was to secure two suitable companions, and a man or boy of all work. The former I quickly enlisted in the persons of a genial M.D. and an overworked limb of the law. The latter opportunely turned up in the shape of “Jim,” a colored youth of sixteen, as black as the ten of spades, but no less celebrated for his culinary skill than for his impish tricks and imperturbable good humor and honesty. To banish formality once for all, and put things upon an easy and familiar footing at the start, I christened the M.D. “Squills” and the lawyer “Bluffy,” out of compliment to his usual style of treating witnesses in court. In deference to my advanced age and _general good looks_, the boys called me “Governor,” I being then about fifty-three and neither of them thirty. Our supplies, consisting of a ten by twelve tent, three camp beds and bedding, two small boats, a stock of provisions for six men for two weeks, one rifle, two fowling pieces, and our fishing tackle, were soon got together, and in twenty-four hours from the first proposal, we were ready to take the cars for Collingwood. At that point we secured an ample supply of ice; and then embarked with our traps on board a steamer bound for Duluth and intermediate ports, and touching at St. Ignace on her way.

This island is situated in Canadian waters, about thirty-five miles from the mouth of Nepigon River, forty-seven miles east of the famous Silver Islet and some seventy from Thunder Bay. I say island, but there are in fact _two_ called St. Ignace; the largest being about sixteen miles long by ten wide; with generally bluff shores and high headlands, one of these rising to a height of thirteen hundred and fifty feet above the lake level. The smaller island, at which steamers touch and upon which we camped, is separated from the larger by a channel of from fifty to a hundred yards wide, and is about two miles by a half a mile in size, having one bold headland five hundred feet high. Neither island is inhabited except by occasional Indians and other fishermen; nor do either of them, so far as I observed, contain any agricultural land, the formation being rock. Both, however, as well as contiguous groups, are mostly covered with a thick growth of spruce, balsam, birch and mountain ash. This last is so plentiful that in the autumn its brilliant red leaves may be seen from quite a distance at sea, framed in a background of dark green spruce, and presenting a most charming view. The larger island contains in itself numerous small lakes which abound in pike (_E. Indus_), and what we Canadians call yellow pickerel (_Stizostedium vitreum_), really pike-perch. No one bothers catching these, however, as the surrounding waters yield an enormous supply of choicer fish, among which are said to be ten varieties of the salmon family; besides whitefish, some of which attain to seventeen pounds in weight! I took some trouble to ascertain the local names by which the various species of trout are known, and the greatest attested weight of individuals of each. I am indebted to Mr. Wm. Boon, of Barrie, Ontario, a professional fisherman who spends four months of every year upon the island, for the following list, which I give without vouching in any way for this queer addition to the salmon family:

1. Salmon trout, weight up to 70 lbs.

2. “Siskowitt,” weight up to 12 „

3. Half-breed Siskowitt, weight up to 5 „

4. “Potgut,” very inferior fish, weight up to 12 „

5. Rock or black trout, weight up to 40 „

6. Large gray or shovel-nose trout, weight up to 70 „

7. “California trout,” yellow spots and flesh,
weight up to 10 „

8. “Half-breed red trout,” weight up to 15 „

9. Common brook or speckled trout, weight up to 7 „

10. “Red trout,” weight up to 42 „

All of these, of course, are local names, but the fish are all true trout; crossed and re-crossed, I presume, _ad infinitum_. The brook trout is the only species found here with a square tail, those of all the others being more or less forked. The “red trout” is far superior to any of its confrères, and is called by the Indians—Pugwashooaneg, that is, Paysplatt—District-fish, as it is taken only in this locality, and only in the fall of the year as a rule. The Indians come from Nepigon expressly to fish for it, and care for no other trout in comparison. It is much more highly esteemed than the brook trout. This very day on which I write this article, I had a salted piece of one of these “red trout” for dinner and found the flesh of a bright pink, and the flavor exquisite. I shall refer to it again.

On our passage from Collingwood we touched at the following ports and “landings,” viz.: Meaford, Owen Sound, Killarney, Little Current, Bruce Mines, Hilton, or St. Joseph Island, Garden River, and the Sault. Thence, via Michipicoton Island to St. Ignace. I may say here, before I forget it, that among the useful productions of this last are incredible quantities of huckleberries and “sand cranberries.” The former were just in season at the date of our visit, and after the first day “Jim” always gave us capital puddings and pies made from them.

We found many pleasant people on board the steamer, with whom we picked acquaintance in that free and easy manner peculiar the world over to anglers.

After a delightful trip of four days, we made the landing on our Island at about five o’clock on a beautiful evening, and, having got our whole outfit ashore, selected a charming spot in the midst of a spruce grove as a camping ground. The tent was put up, beds and bedding arranged, supplies for present use unpacked, a table improvised and things generally “set out” in a most orderly manner by the Doctor and “Bluffy,” while I employed myself in the construction of a fish corral, the use of which will be seen further on. Meantime, “Jim” had, with a few loose stones, made for himself a very passable fire-place, and soon had tea and coffee prepared, several appetizing dishes cooked, and called us to supper at 6.30. After a hearty and enjoyable meal, we proceeded to put the finishing touches to our work; sorted out and overhauled our fishing tackle; caught a few minnows and placed them in a perforated bucket in the lake; and before dark were all in ship-shape and thoroughly comfortable. “Jim” slung his hammock between and beneath two umbrageous trees, and by eight o’clock, with a full stomach and clear conscience, was roosting in it, happy as a lord! From this coign of vantage, with the gathering darkness to hide his _blushes_, he favored us with several choice negro melodies rendered in a style and with a pathos which any “professional” might have envied. As the night deepened we drank in with appropriate senses all the delights of our surroundings. The great fire before which we three sat, lighting up with weird and fantastic effects the sombre foliage of the adjacent forest; the plaintive cry of the distant loon; the harsher notes of the bittern, and the even, gentle murmur of the softly lapping waves, all united to inspire us with a sense of freedom and happiness unknown to the busy world. Serene and contented, we “turned in” at ten, with blissful anticipations for the morrow. We had not forgotten that prime necessity of a well-ordered camp, light, but had brought with us several pounds of sperm candles, two gallons of oil and a good swinging lamp, which, suspended from the centre-pole, not only rendered the tent cheerful, but gave facilities for performing with ease and comfort the thousand and one little jobs which precious daylight could not be wasted upon. Reader, did you ever “camp out” in the midst of a dense grove of pine or spruce trees? If not, you have yet to enjoy the luxury of the most balmy and refreshing sleep which can bless mortal man. There is a something in the delicious aroma of the resinous woods which induces a perfect repose, obtainable, in my experience, through no other means. A sound, sweet, wholesome, and yet not heavy sleep; quiet and dreamless, and from which you awake, not drowsy and cross, but with a buoyancy of spirits, a strength of body and clearness of mind which make even hard daily toil seem a mere pastime. And so, with thankful hearts sank we to rest on this our first night at St. Ignace. There are no black flies on the Island, and the season was too far advanced for mosquitoes to be troublesome; facts which added not a little to our serenity of mind and took away the last excuse for ill-humor.

The next morning, after partaking of a breakfast which fully sustained Jim’s reputation as a cook, “Squills” and “Bluffy” agreed to go out in the larger of the two boats, leaving the small one for me. They were provided with various kinds of bait, including frogs, worms, grubs, grasshoppers, and minnows, as well as a goodly supply of spoons and other lures. I had decided upon trying flies for the first day, and if found effective I intended to stick to them. The boys anchored out at about a hundred yards from shore and went to work; and I moved slowly along the coast-line, closely examining the bottom and the lay of the submerged rocks, as well as the trend of the contiguous land. When an angler is in strange waters he will find this preliminary survey to be always a paying operation. By and by I found a lovely-looking reef which extended from the shore to deep water. This reef or ledge was broad and smooth on one side, but the other dipped down sharply, and presented a rough, jagged, and cavernous face. Here, if anywhere, I judged _fontinalis_ would be sure to lurk; so I anchored within twenty feet of the precipitous edge of the reef, with water apparently about ten feet deep under the boat, but of profound depth a few yards from the ledge. At that time I had no split bamboo rod, a fact which I have ever since regretted, but I had an excellent ash and lance-wood, which had killed myriads of fish, and is still to the fore. I never was and never will be a skilful fly-fisherman, or perhaps I should say—as too much modesty savors of affectation—a skilful fly-_caster_.

That is I never could, nor can I yet, make an effective and proper cast of over forty-two feet from reel to fly. I have always found, however, that I _take as many fish_ as those artistic anglers who can cast more than double that distance. On this occasion I tried a white miller as tail fly, and a common gray hackle as dropper, and they succeeded so well that I only thereafter changed them as a matter of experiment. I never at any time during this trip used more than two flies at once, as that number gave me quite enough to do.