The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1905-05-18

lake and into the swamp at its foot to
look for moose signs, which he wish.
ed to locate before the hunting season
opened. was sitting quietly on the
rock waiting for some big clouds which
were sailing over the mountain to give
me shadow, when a heavy splash in
the black water behind brought me
around with jerk just in time to see
big trout take a second jump for a
miller, which was fluttering about just
bit too high. l saw him plainly as
with mouth agape and his polished
sides flashing in the sunlight he sprang
eagerly up and out in his vain endeavor
to secure the coveted morsel. He was
long way off, sixty feet or more. Had
l the skill to reach him? He was hun
CRY, no doubt of that, and would take a
fly eagerly if it was properly handled.
A smaller fish could be easily fooled
but that old fellow, if l hoped to secure
him, must have the fly dropped over it
just right. An honest try was evident
ly the only chance. So carefully and
deliberately began casting in his d.
rection putting out more line each time,
thirty, forty, fifty feet. At the last
cast the feathers dropped lightly down
just right, and a heavy swirl ten feet
beyond showed 1 had interested him.
Now all attention, and with heart beat
ing wildly l sent the fly straight out
again, knowing that if l could land it
in exactly the same place l should find
the fish under it. | felt sure of that
With all the skill at my command l
sent the delusive bunch Of feathers out
and again they dropped lightly down in
the desired spot. From where l stood
| saw him coming, flash of brown and
gold, from below and his greedy jaws
closed over the bait with snap.
struck and struck hard, setting the
hook firmly into his upper jaw, fight
ing hook but secure one as it proved.
There was but sixty feet of line on
my reel and fifty of that was now out.
A run of ten feet away from me and
my fish would be gone forever; by good
luck the first rush was my way, in fact
he doubled so quickly. giving me slack
line despite my utmost endeavor to
take it in. that | thought | had lost
him, but no, he was there, and the sec
ond rush was straight down the pond.
SO far he went it seemed he never would
stop. Yard after yard OF line flew
through the rings and the reel was
singing merry tune in response. This
would never do: the line had secured
was fast disappearing. | must stop
this mad flight and stop it now. | jam
med my thumb hard down on the silk
and gave him the butt of the rod for all
it was worth. Would the gear hold?
The plant bamboo bent double under
the strain and the line sang a bow
string, but it held. Slowly the fish
turned and | reeled in as long as I
could keep him coming. Finally he
went to bottom and sulked. After a
few minutes he recovered himself; then
came rush after rush in different direc-
tons. From my position on the boul-
der l could keep him we'll in hand, until
he worked in among some big sunken
sharp and careful work. however, got
gan showing signs of weakness, his
runs were shorter, and after final
mad effort out into the lake he came to
the surface and turning over onto his
side allowed me to drag him slowly in to
the rock. Now the question was, how
could land him? The net was in the
boat with Chadbourne. l had forgotten
to take it out, and he was a mile or
more away down in the swamp. Here
was | perched up on boulder out in
the lake, hitched to four pound trout
which | naturally wanted, in fact want
ed badly. A smaller fish l could slide
up onto the ledge, but how about this
one? One careless move and he was
lost to me. He was sure to make
trouble the moment he touched the
rock: however, | must do something.
The back side of the ledge was slanting
to the water. Evidently this was my
best chance. | had wooden glove in
my pocket: this | slipped into my right
hand, then slowly and carefully | Slid
the fish up to the rock. AS | expected,
the instant he touched it he was off like
a flash. Several times | got him up
only to have him struggle back into
deep water again. Finally, by holding
my rod high l got his head out far
enough to seize him just back of the
gills. My glove prevented slipping,
giving me firm hold, so that despite
his struggles | held him hard down on
the rock until he gave MP. The fish
certainly was beauty. 1t was a male,
and being so near the spawning season
he was most goIgeouSly colored. ! fas-
tened him to my belt with string and
then began casting again, but as the
wind was now blowing hard | could do
but little and was glad to see Chad
working his way up the lake to where |
stood. After reaching the head of the
pond we landed and went up on the
side of the mountain for view down
the valley, then back to the lean-to
where we had lunch of fried trout,
cooked only as Maine guide can cook
them.
After a smoke we packed up, careful
ly extinguished the fire, and were back
into camp in ample time for supper.