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.
Well, this morning of which I am now writing, was one to make glad
the heart of an angler. A southwest wind blew softly, and the sun was
obscured by warm gray clouds. No fish of any decency or self-respect
could _help_ biting on such a day! I felt so sure of good luck that I
put overboard a wicker-work basket, with a hole in the lid, so arranged,
with a falling spring door, that fish could be put in but could not get
out. This floated astern and would keep fully a hundred pounds of fish
alive, if necessary, for any length of time. Having fixed everything to
my liking, I stood up and made my first cast along the edge of the reef.
No result! but I thought I saw a faint suspicion of a shadowy form or
two, and a slight movement of the water just behind my flies. Have been
too quick, I thought; and so tried again, letting the flies this time
rest until they sank an inch or so below the surface, when I _attempted_
to draw them slowly in. I say attempted, because they had not moved
six inches when first the dropper and then the tail fly were taken in a
rush, by two large trout which didn’t draw towards me worth a cent, for
some fifteen minutes at least. On the contrary they darted away as if
the Old Hick was after them with a red-hot frying-pan; pulling in unison
like a pair of well-broken colts and severely trying my rather too light
tackle. Any decided check was out of the question. I could only put
on such pressure as the single gut leader would bear, and that was
sufficient to make a half-circle of my rod. I had beautiful open water
in which to play the fish, but as they rushed along and down the face
of the submerged cliff, I did not know what hidden dangers might lurk in
the unseen depths, nor at what moment a sharp, jagged rock might cut the
line, or some profound recess furnish a retreat from whence it might be
impossible to withdraw my prize. So far however, all went well. The fish
in their terror had sought deep water and not touched rock at all. Soon
the distraction of the heavy, ceaseless strain caused them to forget
the glorious maxim that, “in union is strength.” and they began to pull
different ways. Now I was sure of them! and very gradually and gently,
inch by inch, I coaxed them away from the dangerous ground, and got them
safely above the smooth bottom of the plateau on the farther side of
the boat, where I could see their every motion and watch their brave
struggles for life. A prettier sight I never witnessed than the curious
way in which the movements of one fish neutralized those of the other.
If one sought the bottom, his mate went for the surface; if one rushed
away seawards, the other came towards the boat. They literally _played
each other_, and I was for awhile a mere spectator! After looking upon
these cross-purposes for some minutes, I noticed that the fish on
the tail fly became entangled with the line above his comrade on the
dropper, and both then began to whirl furiously round and round after
the usual manner of trout in a like predicament. When the wildest of
this flurry was over, I drew them cautiously to the boat and dipped up
both at once with my landing net. An immediate application of my pocket
scale proved their weight to be twenty-nine and thirty-three ounces
respectively, the heaviest trout being that on the drop or upper fly.
They were evidently a mated pair, and both were broad-shouldered, deep
fish, but not very long, the largest being only sixteen and a half
inches. Their backs were beautifully clouded and mottled, but the
carmine spots on their sides were not quite so vivid as those of dark
river-water trout. Fortunately they were merely lip-hooked, and being
at once placed in the floating creel, soon revived. Now I began to feel
big, and thought myself quite an expert, but in less than five minutes
the conceit was taken out of me with a vengeance, for on my very next
cast I struck a magnificent fish and lost him, and half my leader,
instanter. On feeling the hook old _Salmo_ went like a shot over the
brow of the declivity and (I suppose) into a hole, and cut the line
short off. After that mishap I became more careful, and never dropped my
fly more than six inches from the edge of the reef; and whenever a
fish was struck I drew him at once, at all hazards, away from the risky
ground and played him on the plateau.
By ten o’clock I had secured fifteen beauties, some running close upon
three pounds. Eleven of these were as lively as ever, but four had been
hooked in the throat and soon died.
As the day was now becoming bright and hot, I thought it time to look
after my boys, who were out of sight around a point. I soon came up with
them and found “Squills” asleep in the bottom of the boat while “Bluffy”
sat smoking, with his rod lying idly across the gunnel with the line in
the water. “What luck, boys?” I shouted. “Squills” awoke and replied,
“What luck yourself, Governor? Not one blessed fish in this region.” I
settled on my sculls, ready for a quick start, and said, “Why,
Squills, you don’t know _how_ to fish. Just compound a few of your best
prescriptions and throw them overboard. They have generally proved fatal
to your patients, and will murder the fish sure.”
“Squills” made a wicked dab at my head with his long-handled net, but
a stroke put me in safety, and I added, “And you, friend ‘Bluffy,’ just
rehash that famous trespass-case speech of yours, which gave the judge
fits and nearly killed the jury, and if you don’t have lots of dead
fish, I’m a Dutchman.” The poor boys, however, were past joking; and I
rowed back and examined their ground. They had actually been fishing all
the morning in water nine feet deep; over a bottom smooth as a billiard
table, without a weed, rock or stone to hide them from the fish; all of
which, within a hundred yards, could plainly see them and their boat. So
I said, “Come boys, we’ll go to camp and have an early trout dinner, and
in the evening you shall catch fish to your heart’s content.” Then up,
after this manner, spoke the dolorous “Squills”.
“That is all right, Governor, but it strikes me that in order fully to
enjoy a trout-dinner, it is, above all things, necessary first to have
the trout.”
“True, most sapient medicus, and here they are,” I rejoined, at the same
time lifting the lid of my creel. “Glory to Galen!”
“Thunder and turf!”
“Ghost of Walton! where did you get those, Governor?” both exclaimed
in a breath. “Boys,” said I, “you are hungry, tired, and cross; possess
your souls in patience; come to camp; take some lime-juice and water,
with a little of something in it; eat, drink, and recover your strength,
and you shall have the best afternoon’s sport you ever saw.” These words
of wisdom cheered the fellows up wonderfully, and we all put off for
camp.
That redolent and shiny youth, Jim, soon cleaned two of the dead fish,
together about five pounds, cooked them in a style of his own, and we
sat down at the unfashionable hour of eleven to our first camp dinner.
I will, for once, give the _menu_, merely to show what awful _hardships_
we had to encounter!
Brook trout, fried in red-hot lard, garnished with bread crumbs; broiled
mutton chops; baked potatoes; cold tongue; pickles; sauces and jellies:
aftercourse—pancakes with maple syrup; wind up—Stilton cheese. Didn’t
we just suffer for our country? After the inevitable and welcome pipe
(not cigars), and some choice and (I am happy to say) _chaste_ anecdotes
by “Bluffy,” we laid down for a two hours’ siesta. Oh, the glory, the
happiness of out-door life, away from posts, telegraphs, or newspapers!
Oh, the delight of feeling that every fresh breath of pure ozone-laden
air, adds to health and wholesome animal spirits, and is rapidly
re-invigorating your system, and fitting you to more effectually take
part in renewed and honest work!
At four o’clock the sun was again obscured by kindly clouds and we all
went out to the reef; the boys, as before, in one boat, and I in
the other. And then occurred sport such as is seldom seen in genuine
troutfishing. My friends stuck to their minnow and grasshopper bait,
while I retained the fly. I induced them to anchor quite close to the
edge of the reef, so that they might, if necessary, drop their lines
perpendicularly down its face. They had not fished five minutes when
“Bluffy” gave a whoop, which might have awakened a petit-juror or scared
a witness out of his boots. I glanced that way, and found the man of
law standing up in the boat with curved and straining rod and a glow
of intense satisfaction pervading his jolly countenance. “I’ve got
him, Governor! He’s a whopper; an old he fellow! None of your three
pounders,” he yelled in great excitement. Sure enough, he _had_ him, and
after ten minutes of skilful play, landed a trout of over four pounds.
This beat me all hollow! Indeed the largest _S. fontinalis_ I took on
this trip weighed three pounds, one ounce, being two ounces lighter than
the heaviest I have ever yet caught.
“Squills” now got his hand in and brought out a dashing fish of three
and a-half pounds, in a manner so pretty and artistic as to elicit a
warm eulogium from the “Governor,” who, of course, had not meantime been
idle himself. In fact, I had taken a double and single while the boys
got their two; but these outweighed my three. All through our excursion
the _largest_ fish were invariably taken by bait, but not so many of
them as by the fly. However, the fly was so much less trouble and so
much prettier, and cleaner to handle, I did not care to change, seeing
at once that we should catch more fish than we wanted anyway.
It was a great treat to me to watch the enjoyment the boys had in their
sport. Neither of them had been out before for years, and no student at
the beginning of a long vacation could have manifested such unbounded
delight at his freedom, as did they with their fishing and its
accompanying pleasures. It is a fact worthy of note that while I, using
the fly, took only speckled trout (_S. fontinalis_), my friends, with
bait, secured several of other and larger kinds.
Well, amid laughter, joke and repartee, the afternoon wore away, and
evening shades came all too quickly.
Our sport had been almost unique in its exhilarating success and
joyousness. When the sun sank below the waters we had taken in all
seventy-six fine trout, none under one pound. Of this number my fly was
responsible for thirty-two, “Squills” had taken twenty-one, and “Bluffy”
twenty-three. A lovelier lot of fish was never seen; and with the
exception of eight dead ones, we transferred them all safely to the
corral, built in the edge of the lake near our tent, with large stones.
Here, about eighty per cent, of all the fish taken on this trip remained
alive during the whole time of our stay. Whenever one showed signs of
failing we dipped him out for present use. This corral, hacked up by our
supply of ice, gave us full assurances that our good luck would not be
followed by reckless waste.
But I had almost forgotten the chief incident of this memorable day.
As we approached the camp we saw “Jim” on the shore dancing a double
“Virginny break-down” and grinning all over from head to foot; his
shining ebony face and gleaming teeth fairly illuminating the coming
darkness. On seeing us he yelled out, “I got him, gentlemen; I beats you
all; takes this nigger to catch fish!”
The imp had actually made for himself a raft of drift-wood, paddled it
out to deep water, and taken with bait a great salmon trout of twenty
pounds! and it was now swimming about in the corral like a very
leviathan among my morning’s catch. This tickled us all so immensely
that we then and there bestowed upon “Jim” an extra “quarter” each. This
boy was indeed a treasure; a first-class cook and care-taker; willing,
faithful, and honest; while his store of songs, exhibits of dancing, and
never-failing fun and good-humor, would have sufficed to keep cheerful
any camp in the world. Poor fellow! he was drowned two years later in
Lake Michigan, while bathing.
If I did not fear to spin out this already dull narrative to an
inordinate length, I should like to give a detailed account of each of
the twelve days we fished and shot in this vicinity.
_Twelve_ days only, mind you, for not a line was wet on Sunday.
Our one rifle proved a useful adjunct, but we found no use for the
shot-guns, the season being too early and the weather too fine for
ducks. The delicately sighted Winchester, however, procured us several
fine specimens of the loon or great northern diver, and one or two large
blue cranes, all of which, I presume, now adorn “Squills’” sanctum in
British Columbia.
Almost every day we had choice sport, and we limited our catch only by
the facilities we possessed for saving and carrying away the fish.
One particular day we devoted to salmon and red trout, which we fished
for away off in very deep water, all of us using either spoons or
live herring bait, in trolling. We had plenty of wholesome exercise in
rowing, and very fair luck as regards fish; taking in all, seven salmon
trout and five red trout.
The honors of this day fell to “Squills,” who captured with his spoon a
salmon trout of nineteen pounds, while I got a red trout of ten pounds.
This last named fish is as pink in the flesh and as fine flavored as
_Salmo salar_. It is said by local fishermen to be in fact the same
fish, and they suppose that in ages long past sea salmon had some means
of reaching this lake, and when the waters subsided some were left,
and that from them the red trout is descended. As I have myself no
scientific knowledge whatever I cannot offer an opinion upon this point.
I can only say that if a skilled fisherman, or even a scientist, were to
receive one of these fish from, say Quebec, he could hardly distinguish
it from the veritable _Salmo salar_, though it bears even a more exact
resemblance to the salmon of Frazer Fiver, British Columbia.
I am told that this red trout will rise to the fly, but I cannot vouch
for the fact, as all we took were captured with bait or spoon.
A rather curious, though frequently occurring, thing happened one
evening as we were all fishing, with our boats not more than fifty feet
apart. I had hooked, and was playing a medium sized speckled trout, when
it was seized and gorged by a sixteen-pound salmon trout. I realized
the situation instantly and gave line freely, so as to allow the poacher
lots of time to swallow his stolen prey. The rifle was in the other
boat, and I asked the boys to come alongside, as we should probably have
to use cold lead, the fish being too large for our landing nets. By the
time they were in position, about sixty feet of my line had gone slowly
out, and I judged that the large fish had got the small one fairly in
his stomach. I then began to reel in very gently, and was surprised to
find that the big trout followed my lead with great docility until I had
brought him quite near the surface. Then he became alarmed and dashed
off—a proceeding to which I made no resistance, as I feared pulling the
bait from his throat. Being apparently satisfied that all was right,
my unknown friend soon became quiescent, and I could only feel a slight
tremor of the line as he settled his supper satisfactorily in his maw.
Again I coaxed him slowly and cautiously towards the boat in which
stood “Bluffy” with poised rifle. This time I ventured to make him show
himself within twenty feet of the muzzle of the gun, when “Bluffy” very
neatly put a bullet through his head, and he turned belly up and was got
on board. “Well done, “Bluffy,”” said “Squills;” “your _practice_ could
not have done greater _execution_ if you had been making out a bill of
costs for a client.”
“Well, no,” says ‘Bluffy;’ “but I think perhaps one of _your curative
pills_ would have killed the fish more unutterably dead.”
“Peace, boys, peace,” said the “Governor”; “this is a solemn occasion;
we have used unlawful and unsportsmanlike means to take a game fish; but
as it could not be helped we will condone the offence by giving the fish
away to the first deserving object we meet.”
“And that will be ‘Jim,’ quietly observed ‘Squills.’”
But dear me! what is the use of trying to tell all the fun and glorious
sport we had? The pen of a “Frank Forester” or a Hallock might do
justice to the subject, mine cannot. Suffice it to say that, as the days
went on, each one made me feel younger and younger, until I found it
hard to convince myself that I was over twenty-five. As to my comrades,
we had not been out a week before they were boys of sixteen!
Last days will come, however, and all too quickly, let us bear up never
so bravely. The fifteenth morning saw us packing up and preparing to
return once more to civilized life and “the busy haunts of men.”
I am afraid to say how many trout we had at the finish, but I know that
we packed in ice more than three hundred pounds weight to take home with
us; and gave away, almost alive from the corral, nearly as many more
to the captain of the steamer, thereby calling down upon our heads the
earnest blessings of passengers and crew.
I find, on looking over this MS. that I have forgotten to say that we
discovered several places along the channel edge of the island where
most excellent trout-fishing could be had from the shore; and that, by
the advice of local fishermen, my friends tried the “hearts” of killed
trout as bait, and found such very effective. This “heart” is a piece of
flesh which lies inside the pointed part of the fish’s belly which
runs between the gill covers. It looks much like a genuine heart, and
_pulsates_ for several seconds after being removed from the fish. I
suppose that it is in fact a real heart. Never once did this bait fail
to attract a bite; but, of course, not many hearts could be obtained,
as we extracted the delicate morsel only from such fish as were required
for immediate consumption.
Me finally bade farewell to our two weeks’ elysium, with sorrowful
feelings, but before the lapse of twenty-four hours, kind and loving
thoughts of wives, little ones, and home re-asserted themselves, and
we landed at Collingwood in jubilant spirits and vigorous health, fully
prepared to resume our several avocations, and fight again the battles
of life with renewed courage and hope.
P.S.—We were absent from Barrie twenty-five days in all, and the whole
trip cost us only one hundred and thirty-five dollars, or forty-five
dollars each. Our ice was kept almost intact by being wrapped in
blankets and covered with spruce boughs. Mr. Boon, before referred to,
has built and is this winter (1883) filling a large ice-house on the
small island for his own use and that of any visitors who may fish in
the neighborhood next summer. Mr. Boon took five hundred half barrels of
choice fish on these grounds last season; with nets, of course.
THE ANGLER’S GREETING.
By W. David Tomlin.
Whither away, friend! Your black slender rod-box and the creel denote
you are on fishing intent, but where are you bound?
A momentary glance, a cordial good evening; the question then came—To
whom am I indebted for this greeting? An exchange of cards resulted in
a long and cordial grasp of hands; glad to meet you! Is it possible? The
magic pasteboard revealed two names not unknown to each other through
the columns of their favorite angling journal, and this visitor had
come to the little country station in quest of some of the fishing often
spoken of in the said paper.
The fates had led the correspondent to the railway station to bid
good-bye to a friend when the angler unlimbered himself therefrom; and
was looking around as strangers do.
“Can you recommend a quiet inn near this point where I can find decent
treatment? I am not inclined to be fussy.”
A few minutes’ walk and I introduced him to mine host, who was a genuine
piscator, and nothing pleased him better than to have an angler under
his roof: he took possession of him and considered nothing too much
trouble, so long as he gave his guests good fishing, clean beds, a
square meal, and satisfaction.
While supper was being prepared, we pleasantly chatted over the prospect
of sport, and the angler’s aim and ambition. He wanted a day or two of
trouting, and some roach fishing with a fly, as he had read some letters
giving an experience in fishing for these dainty fish, and intended
trying them. The inspection of a well-filled fly-book showed how
carefully he had selected his stock.
The early supper over, we strolled up the hillsides overlooking this
lovely vale. On the grassy downs we seated ourselves, and I pointed out
to him the various fishing points; yonder is a splendid reach where the
trout are always found; see that sheeny rivulet coming down through
that clump of trees! that is the best trout stream in this section of
country.
Note the different water-courses. The canal runs through the middle
of the valley; see here, clear away to the west, a little brook comes
tumbling in; see just below that point, a silvery-looking stream on
the farther side of the canal—that is a fine trout stream; follow its
course until it loses itself in that big clump of willows: a saw-mill is
hidden in those willows, and the stream, after supplying the mill with
power, drops into a culvert under the bed of the canal; there it is
again in that piece of open moorland; there it is coming out from that
long clump of willows, and finally joining the stream mentioned before
as the best trout stream in this region; thus the two streams, the Gade
and the little Bourne, are swallowed up in the canal; and have always
been splendid waters for roach fishing.
The hills hide the canal and streams in their winding course, or I
would point out to you the best fishing grounds for miles along this
Hertfordshire valley; but I presume there lies under your observation
enough fishing ground for a day or two.