a hasty toilet, took my rod and threw into the pool, within forty
feet of my tent, and took during a few minutes three trout weighing
three-quarters, one and a-quarter, and one and a-quarter pounds
respectively. M. soon followed and caught two of one and a-quarter
pounds each. Breakfast over we sent our guides with the canoes down to
the _chaloupe_ for the rest of our tents, stores, etc., and consequently
we can only fish the home pool to-day. With a hatchet I cut out a path
through the laurel thicket to the head of the pool, six or eight rods
distant; returned to camp, put on my India rubber wading pants and
rubber shoes (having a leather sole filled with Hungarian nails), took
my rod, walked to the head of the pool, and cast my flies on the swift
waters. In an instant a pair of capacious jaws emerged from the water.
I struck, and as the head disappeared, saw the tail and half the body of
an enormous trout.... In twenty minutes the fish was in my landing net.
I walked proudly and in a most contented frame of mind back to camp.
“That,” said Mr. Macdonough, “looks like old times.” The scales were
hooked in his jaw, the index showed three pounds, eight ounces.... Our
camp is on a sandy point of land around which curves the pool, and from
which, for the space of about one-eighth of an acre, all trees were cut
and the land cleared off, under the direction, tradition states, of
Sir Gore Ouseley, who first encamped here about twenty years ago, with
eighteen servants, retainers, and guides, of whom my guide was one, and
the cook. The stumps have rotted away, and the clearing is covered with
timothy and red-top grasses. We have cut much of this with our knives,
and intend to finish haying to-day. The grass when cured is to be used
in making our beds more luxurious. The pool in front is nearly two
hundred feet across at one point, and in places ten or fifteen
feet deep. In the centre and near the foot is a rock island about
seventy-five feet long. In the foot of the pool between this rock and
our camp large trout have been seen at all hours of the day.
Opposite our camp is quite a hill covered with spruce, larch, and white
birch. We have canvas beds, supported by crotched sticks about eighteen
inches high, upon which poles are laid and the canvas stretched.
5 P.M.—I have filled two canvas sacks with hay for a bed, and a
pillow-case with the same, for a bolster. These, with my small feather
pillow, sheets, blankets, and night-shirts, will render sleeping in the
“bush” Christian-like and endurable. 7 P.M.—I have just cast into the
pool and caught a pound and a-half trout, making for the day six trout,
weighing nine pounds four ounces, and have not fished in the aggregate
one hour. The guides, Captain and Fabian, have arrived with the three
canoes and all stores.
_Aug. 6th_, 7.30 a. m.—We have just finished breakfast. It consisted
of coffee, trout fish-balls, broiled ham, rice and wheat _crepes_
(pancakes) with butter and maple sugar. My guide is an excellent cook
and our stores abundant and of good quality. We purchased them in Quebec
at a cost of $73.59 in gold. A tub of butter, barrel of bread, and sack
of coarse salt, to preserve the trout, were purchased at Tadousac, and
cost $11.34 in gold.
5 P.M.—I have just come in from my first day’s fishing. Began at 10 A. M.,
quit at 4 P.M. I fished below and Macdonough above the camp.
“M. killed 15 fish, weight 26 lbs., 4 oz.
“F. „ 25 „ „ 31 lbs., 4 oz. = 57 lbs., 8 oz.
_Aug. 7th_.—... Dinner is a great institution with us. Next to
catching a trout of three pounds or over it is the event of the day.
Ours of this evening was as follows:
“Soup: bean with extract of beef.
“Fish: boiled trout.
“Vegetables: potatoes and boiled onions.
“Pastry: rice cakes and maple sugar.
“Dessert: crackers, cheese, and orange marmalade.
“Wines: claret and sherry.
“Tea: English breakfast.”
Our canoes are beauties. They are eighteen feet long, three feet three
inches wide in the centre, and fifteen inches in depth. With two men in
they draw but three or four inches of water.
_Aug. 9th_.—We left our camp with one tent, two canoes, and provisions
for four days; walked through the woods three miles to a lake, through
which our river runs, which is eight miles above us by the stream.
... It is a lovely sheet of water about three and a-half miles long
and one and a-half wide, surrounded, except at the inlet and outlet, by
rocky cliffs, in many places five to eight hundred feet high....
_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_.
[Illustration: 0092]
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.