The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1892-08-24


than is possessed by any other fish that
swms, with the possible exception Of
the small-mouthed bass" observed Fidus
Achates, as he blew cloud of smoke at a
particularly persistent mosquito. The
lighting qualities and the wariness of the
trout please me-" continued Fidus, as he sat
on the edge of the brook and dropped his half
baked fishing boots in the cooling waters.
" am willing to tramp ten miles down
brook, crawl on my abdomen through an
alder swamp, fight mosquitoes and get wet
to the epidermis-all for few trout. But
when the trout in a brook acquire such an
academcal education that they will dash
down stream when they see gossamer
leader attached to a worm, or rise to ex-
anime a fly and then slap it with their
tails-that variety Of fishing gives me severe
pains"
at is rather discouraging," assented,
alphabetically; will you kindly pass the
tobacco?"
We were sitting, one blazing day in the
latter part of July, year of grace, 1892, on
the bank Of White River, in Granville, at
this point only few feet wide and scarcely
deep enough in any pool to touch high
water mark on our fishing boots.
Attracted by natural love for mountain
scenery, and at the suggestion of the editor
of the WATCHMAS, had arranged for few
days sojourn among the hill towns Of Mad
River Valley. An open buggy was my
craft. Under the quarterback was slowed
away fish rods, baskets, boots rifle and
camera, and hitched to the stern was
strong, square box with twenty-four COM
partments, bearing on the cover the famil-
lar legend, Return when empty" So,
one morning, when jocund day stood tip
toe on the misty mountain top" | set sail
for the headquarters of Mad River, with
Fidus Achates for travelling companion and
Dan for motive power. Dan at one time
was splendid specimen of the equine race,
but an attack of la grippe had impaired his
constitution, and no amount of persuasion
could accelerate the gentle pace which he
himself set. We were in no hurry, how
ever, and were well satisfied when noon
found us at the source of the river. Led on
by the glorious scenery and desire to
explore to a limited extent the valley of
the White River we crossed the divide,
1t was a grand view that stretched before
us. even in the blazing monotony of mid
day. And wherever You go in Granville
you will always see that eternal bit of back
ground and middle dstance-two mount
aims sloping toward each other and the dis
tant blue hills filing in the sky between.
Far down in the valley to our right we
heard the song of the brook, as it plunges
through four miles of forest to Granville
village. AS we sat in the carriage and dis
cussed the ample lunch which Heinrich had
put up for us that morning we also dis
cussed the feasibility of fishing the brook to
the village. A blackboard and two sun
Drowned country youth drifted by. Would
half dollar tempt one of them to drive our
team to the village? Well-rather. Ten
minutes later we plunged into the tall
meadow grass and one minute after that the
first trout Topped in the willow basket
Plenty of fish, but little fellows, They
are returned to their pools. The five-and-
a-half.inch $. BIS don't go back so fast
Sometimes they fall off the hook before you
can reach them; sometimes they do not
The brook is fairly alive with infant trout
but lured on by the belief that they are
larger and also plentiful further down, we
plunged into the woods Two or three
years ago, fishing this particular brook was
the Fall Mountain Paper Company built a
road along the bank of the stream all the
way to Granville village. "There may be
pleasure in the painless woods" COM
mented Fidus, but / can always use a
path, especially if am fishing"
There never was a handsomer more pic
turesque trout-brook than the one over the
pebbly bed OF which we are wading. I'M
agine the picture: A wild gorge, with tow
ering, almost perpendicular, walls covered
with virgin forest, and just room between
them for wildwood road and rushing
stream, which is seldom tranquil and never
at rest. just bit of blue sky through the
interlacing boughs of the tall teees that
bend over the chaSm.
hear the sound of falling water, and a
bend in the brook brings me to one of the
loveliest cascades l have ever seen in Ver-
mont. tributary brook, coming from the
top of the mountain, takes its last wild
plunge from a shelf of rock far over my
head, into deep, wide pool. There are
trout in the basin, but they are rather list
less about biting, so l cool my rubber
encased legs in the pool and cool my lungs
with deep draughts OF the ambrosial air.
Melody. melody all around. What can
civilization. Fidus breaks in on my
revery with the sage comments which begin
this paper. He is much more patient
angler than I, and has tarried to fish some
of the less accessible pools.
Isn't that glorious bit of Nature s
handiwork?" 1 asked, pointing to the cas-
cade.
out of sight saw a better bit up the
brook, though-a trout about foot long"
We resumed fishing with varying success
The brook has been fished so constantly
and industriously that about all the larger
trout have cut their wisdom teeth. They
lie in the shadows, and watch the lure with
lazy Indifference Occasionally big fell
low will exert himself sufficiently to sniff at
the bait, and then return to his siesta. The
younger and less knowing ones took hold,
though, and upon comparing notes we
found we had enough for an ample supper,
with some to spare.
AS we emerged from the woods we paused
to look around in admiration at the beauti.
full scene. The gorge had widened into a
Veritable amphitheater All around us rose
the verdure-clad hills, with our familiar bit
OF mountain scenery in the background
AT some time in the years ago the grassy
basin was probably the bed of pond The
brook forsook our company for the nonce
and left as substitute a rudely built sign
with the familiar inscription: " No fishing
on these premises Per order Jim Jones,
or some other equally classic patronymic
which escaped my memory and note book
The brook from there on to the village was
posted--an entirely superiluous piece Of la
Dor, as we concluded.
This must be Goldfish Corners" said
Fidus, as we passed from the fields to g
dusty highway. A sleepy little village
stretched along the bank of White River, al
this point quite a respectable stream. A
hosiery, store, blacksmith-shop, and q
mill, formed the business part Of the hamlet
supplemented by number of dwelling
houses scattered along the river road
| see no external evidences of Goldfish
and the Corners appear to be confined prin
cipally to the buildings" commented Fidus
Possibly some speculative storekeepel
got up corner in Goldfish here in days gone
by, | suggested.
An idle speculation. Hello here's
hotel - Central house That tall ant