Waterbury Democrat., 1902-08-05
FIGHT FOR LIFE
Mammoth Trout of lola Made a
 Plucky Struggle.

Plucky Struggle.
 Now, that trout had lived In that particular bend of the Gunnison, scorning fishermen, for five years that
 I know of, and probably more," said Charles Kendrick, just back from lola, with q sunburned smile and look of satisfaction which only a fly 1 fisherman ever attains.
 "He certainly was the warlest fish I've ever seen. Just where the river swirls around big rock, in q deep eddy where most of the grasshoppers and flies are apt to be whirled by the swift current. he was wont to lie.
 Every year when the coming of sum- mer found me back again on the big stream, I would look for him there. Sometimes I would see him the first day or two and an unpleasant fear that he was gone-caught by another man, perhaps-would cross my mind. But he would always appear at last, rising nonchalantly to the surface to take in q real fly and show me that he knew the difference between my hooks and a silly moth. So on this trip I made up my mind to devote all my efforts to him. Each year had seen him grow and grow until he seemed like monster, grown far be- yond the proportions of ordinary rain bows. even in Gunnison went down to the river with rare assort- ment of flies and sat down on the bank above my old ben, watching the few flies that drifted across the stream. Most of them were small and gray, and so selected a gray haclSle. tore most of the plumage and left the hook almost bare. With my best pole and finest line approached the deep pool. From safe distance scanned 1t q moment and then made long cast into the swiftly flowing wal ter. My fly danced along for mo- ment and then alighted again.
 cover and over whipped that pool as lightly. as l could threw that fly upon every square yard of surface in the vast eddy around it Seven fish were quietly landed, all Of good size. for the small fry avoid the deep water yet not a sign of my old com rade had I seen. Then I tied on q little brown hackle and landed several more. No sign Of the big fellow. I fastened on a tiny white miller and sent it glimmering over the ripple at the edge. Not q fish would touch it in four casts. so I tried q black gnat. This hoooked two-pounder and I used it with another nibble for five minutes. Then I discarded 1t In fa- vor of good old coachman. One trout broke the shell, and, although I tried another, it was no use
 "Next a big red salmon fly settled down on the dark pool and not fish noticed 1t. Then followed silver doc tor, q professor, black ant, queen of the waters, a Mede fly, a yellow fly with long wings, a little willow fly, more hackles and so on. I had caught four fish in the last two hours and was getting a trifle weary. I sat down on the bank. we'll out of view, and en- joyed smoke, until scattering drops told of an approaching storm. I won dered again-my annual guess whether the big fish was still alive and in that pool within 100 feet of me. opened my fly book for another look. had tried everything I could think of. On the last page I found big gaudy butterhy-one Of those things which every fisherman buys and new CT uses except to show his friends.
 "sWell,' said I, with grin at my folly. I'll just try you anyway. If all the fish jump out of the river in alarm I'll have the satisfaction of sec ing them. which is more than I've done in the last forty minutes,' and 1 tied on the gay butterfly. I made long east and the big gait had barely settled down, as if blown by the storm. before there was gleam, a fash and q splash. for I struck hard. I knew had hooked my old friend at last. It was 10:45 when the rain be- gan to fall and at 1:40 landed that trout. The big fellow was so tired that he could only flop little as I pulled him out. and I was not much fight ever had and I never saw so strong trout He made the reel hum on his runs and kept me busy reeling In when he had rushed toward me. could barely take up the slack in time, Three times he broke water in most desperate manner and on each occasion I expected something would surely snap. But my tackle was good Once he made straight for the rock, as if he were going to dash himself against 1t and end everything checked him little every yard or two and was about to test the tackle, when he turned. as If he had changed his mind. and went down stream for seventy feet. Then back again he came as hard as he could race. while was reeling Tn for all l was worth. Long before he was landed the rain was pouring down, but I never thought of 1t. What does rain matter In q case like that? We weighed him at the ranch house. I stood first on one side Of the scales and then on the other for fear he wouldn't get justice, He tipped the scales at eight pounds. five ounces. Of course I know that hiecer trout have been caught in that river. but thev can't make me believe that any trort ever fouohf any harder than the old trout of lola. .''-Denver