The daily morning journal and courier., 1903-05-23
A GOOD TROUT STORY.
THE FIGHT OF fl MONSTER
 FISH.
How ehs Judge Watched Hts Trout,
 Hooked Him, Played Him and Land

cd Hfm.
 The judge was leaving for the
 brooks of northern New York, says the
 Kansas City Star, and over the salad
 that he and three other good fellows
 were eating down at Toms the night of
 the first real spring day of the year.
 he told this story of his last years
 fishing: When fishing weather came
 last April 1 simply ached to get away ] to the woods and the brooks. The first night of real fishing weather, and it
 was such night as this. got out my
 tackle, and before the lazy fire in my
 library went through it all, just as do
 every year. Every old bedraggled fly,
 each yard of frayed line, the reels and
 the springy rods brought back memories ! of splendid days on the brooks and I planned an early visit to the singing Squawkill. But business went wrong and had a grind of it. It was not un- til the last of August that could go after the trout, and the season is pretty late then. you know. I had never
 missed spring fishing before in twelve years.
 T went uD to my country cousins farm beyond the Adirondecks. That's where the Scuawkill is, you know.
 Jim met me at the station and as we drove out to the farm he told me of ! the fish that had been creeled during
 the season. Now there's four half
 Dounders and an old fellow that will
 go nea" two pounds lying in the pool beneath Simpkin's road bridge I have tried, and Joe Reed and two city feI- lows have tried, to hook them. but we could not get even a rise. reckon I've spent more than three whole days after that big fellow, and I've given him up.
 See what you can do. it's about your only chance around here. When we reached the farm I trampled across the
 meadow in front of the house to the
 bridge on SimDkin's road. I was in a hurry to catch a glimpse of those trout
 crept up to the bridge, and lying flat in the dust peered over the edge and searched around in the pool for the fish. It was twilight, but I could see
 down in the water for some distance. caught sight of two and they were
 half-pounders. Then I found the big fellow. He was lying close to the stone pier. Two pounds easily, I
 judged, as I watched him with greedy eyes, And I swore that he would lie in my creel before many days.
 Well, I tried every fly in my book the next morning. I took every pre- caution in casting, not a sound did I
 make, no shadow oe mine or the rod fell on the pool But not rise did get from any of the five trout that lay
 under the bridge. Again that evening I tried. Grasshappers and crickets,
 lively fellows, too, didn't prove attrac-
 tive. I flshed through the twilight. I played white millers, a Jenny Lind and glittering minnow, skillfully over the pool. I even tried a firefIy. I used ev- cry trick had learned in my twelve years of fishing. The trout did not rise to a single cast. IL was so the next day and the next. On the fourth day I did nothing but lie for several hours at
 the edge of the bridge and watch the fish down in the pool, slowly flaming the gravel with their red fins. That's all they did during about six hours of silent watching. The next day began
 to wonder if they would take worm. tried the lure both fishing worms and fat white grubs. No rise. Late that afternoon when I went to the bridge again I heard the splash of a rising
 fish. I peeked through crack quick ly and saw the old two-pounder set ting back into his lair with widening circle of nipples above him. What did he rise to? I wondered. I looked for
 evening insects. Not a bug was stir ing except innumerable grasshoppers jumping about in the last mellow rays of the setting sun. I quickly caught handful. And as I caught them l mo- tced that several of them were of diff ferent color and sizes. Perhaps that
 difference. I thought, might solve the problem of the trout's appetite. l dropped big, fat brown hopper down through a crack in the bridge floor. It fell just over the trout's lair and float ed on down stream undisturbed. A green hopper followed after the same
 manner. A brown one with big wings padded himself to shore unmolested
 He certainly looked like tempting bait to me. The big trout stuck his nose out from beneath the shelving pier in half-interested way, but moved no farther.
 "The last hopper in my closed fist was small. brown mottled with black, and had little wings with red streaks in them. I dropped him half-reluctantly. My eyes fairly bulged as I saw the great trout leap after him and spring
 entirely clear of the water. By the | time he fopped back to his hiding
 place. I was chasing wildly across the meadow to get my rod. I found Jim at
 the house. and grabbing rod and creel
 and net yelled for him to be in at the death. He came and we hurried
 back to the bridge. Both of Us then be-
 gan a grasshopper chase that would have put an entomologist to shame. l After catching aboutSa dozen of every 1 kind but the one wanted. Jim got hold of the mate to the one swallowed so eagerly a few minutes befor. I strung | the finest leader I had and my smallest l Aberdeen, I put on the hopper with
 great care. Then I gave Jim instruc- l tions and we crept up to the bridge. l
 stood back naces from the edge of the pool. Jim took the baited hook in his hand and crawled on to the bridge. l was going to take no chances with a | danger waiting cast. Stealthily the l suI1irroinD hait was dronnad over fha