THE brook trout, or char, with the beautiful and suggestive name of Salvelinus fontinalis, by which it is known to the naturalist, is fast disappearing from its native streams. The altered conditions of its aboriginal environment, owing to changes brought about by the progress of civilization, have resulted in its total extinction in some waters and a sad diminution in others. In many instances the trout brooks of our childhood will know them no more. The lumberman has gotten in his work—the forests have disappeared—the tiny brooks have vanished.

The lower waters still remain, but are robbed of their pristine pureness by the contamination due to various manufacturing industries. In such streams the supply of trout is only maintained through the efforts of the federal and state fish commissions. It is to be hoped that by this means the beautiful brook trout, the loveliest and liveliest fish of all the finny world, may be preserved and spared to us for yet a little while. Its introduction to the pure mountain streams of the Far West has given it a new lease of life, and the time may come when, outside of the game and fish preserves of wealthy clubs, it will be only in its new home that it can be found.

Back Log Reveries

On long winter evenings the angler, sitting before his cheerful fire, may be meditating on the passing of the brook trout—that his angling record for the last season was not so good as the year before, and that next summer it may be still worse. But such disheartening thoughts are quickly dispelled as his glance falls on the fly-book and tackle box within his reach. His fly-book is eagerly overhauled and frayed snells and leaders and rusty hooks discarded. Some well-worn flies that recall the big trout that gave him sport galore in the long summer days are, on second thought, snugly and affectionately tucked away in a separate pocket of the book, to be brought forth on occasion, to excite the envy of some brother angler, while relating with minute detail the story of the part they took in the capture of the "big ones."

Through the rings of smoke rising from his brier-root he sees the stream rippling and sparkling as it courses around the bend. And in fancy he is wading and casting, and as eagerly expectant of a rise, with his feet encased in slippers, as when plodding along in clumsy wading boots. The pipe-dreams of retrospection are as engrossing and enjoyable as those of anticipation to the appreciative angler. The pleasures though passed are not forgotten.

He even smiles as he remembers the slippery and treacherous rock that caused his downfall, and the involuntary bath that followed, just as he hooked the biggest fish in the pool. He is even conscious of the chill that coursed up his spine as the stream laughed and gurgled in his submerged ear—but he remembers, best of all, that he saved the fish, and that he laughs best who laughs last. There is a saving clause of compensation in every untoward event to the philosophic mind.

In "the good old summer time" thousands of weary toilers from every station in life are leaving the home, the school, the workshop, the office, for a few weeks of rest, recreation and recuperation. And nowhere else can the overstrung nerves and tired muscles find surer relief and tone than beside the shimmering lake or brawling stream. The voices of many waters are calling them, the whispering leaves are coaxing them, the feathered songsters are entreating them—to leave the busy haunts of men and repair to the cool shadows and invigorating breezes of sylvan groves and shining waters.

Here, indeed, may be found a solace for every care, a panacea for every ill, furnished without cost and without stint, from Mother Nature's pharmacopoeia of simples: fresh air, pure water and outdoor exercise. But while all of this is patent to the seasoned angler, the preachment of the resources of Nature for the relief of the "demnition grind" of those who dwell in cities cannot be too often reiterated.

Trout fishing is lawful in several states during a part or throughout the entire month of April; but unless the season is exceptionally forward and pleasant the wise angler will lose nothing by ignoring the privilege.

May and June are, by all odds, the best months for brook trout fishing. By May Day most of the streams of the Eastern States have cleared sufficiently for fly-fishing, and their temperature has sensibly diminished.

"About this time," as the almanacs say, the most interesting literature for the impatient angler is the catalogue of fishing tackle. After a final overhauling and inspection of his tools and tackle he is impelled, irresistibly, to pay a visit to the tackle store for such additions to his stock, be it large or small, as he thinks he needs, and is not happy until his wants, real or fancied, are supplied.

A woman at a bargain counter is a sedate, complacent and uninterested personage compared with an angler in a tackle store at the opening of the fishing season. He is covetous to a degree, and would walk off with the entire stock should he follow the dictates of his inclination as to his fancied requirements. As it is, he buys many things he will never have any use for; but he thinks he will, all the same, and leaves the attractive place an impoverished but happier man.

Of course it is best, when one can afford it, to provide duplicate rods and reels and a liberal supply of minor articles. But the careful angler, with but one ewe lamb in the shape of a tried and trusty rod, and a single, reliable click reel, with a limited but well-selected supply of leaders and flies, will take as many fish as his prodigal brother with a superabundant equipment.

The length and weight of the rod depends on the character of the waters to be fished: whether open water or a small brushy stream. Good rods can be obtained running from nine to eleven feet and from four to seven ounces. For narrow, shallow streams overhung with trees and shrubbery, and where the fish are small, the lightest and shortest rod is sufficient and most convenient. For larger streams or open water the rod should not exceed ten feet, and six ounces. Where trout are exceptionally large, as in the Lake Superior region or in Maine, the maximum of eleven feet, and seven ounces will be about right for most anglers.

Fly-rods built for tournament work, especially for long-distance casting, are marvels in their way, but it does not follow that they are adapted, or the best, for work on the stream. The essential and most important office of a rod is that which is exhibited after a fish is hooked—in other words, in the playing and landing of the fish. In practical angling the act of casting, either with fly or bait, is merely preliminary and subordinate to the real uses of a rod. The poorest fly-rod made will cast a fly thirty or forty feet, which is about as far as called for in ordinary angling. But it is the continuous spring and yielding resistance of the bent rod, constantly maintained, that not only tires out the fish, but protects the weak snell or leader from breakage, and prevents a weak hold of the hook from giving way; and this is the proper function of a rod.

The reel should be a single-action click reel, the lighter the better, if well made. The best, and in fact the only, line for fly-fishing, is one of enameled silk, its caliber corresponding with the weight of the rod. Only the best quality of silkworm fiber should be purchased in leaders for sizable fish. A leader of six feet is long enough for three flies, and one of four feet with two flies is still better.

Artificial Flies

The subject of artificial flies is a most complex one. All fly-fishers have their favorites, with or without reason, and swear by them on all occasions. Some confine themselves to the various hackles, others to half-a-dozen winged flies, while still others are only satisfied with a fly-book filled to bursting with scores of all sizes and colors. In this connection it is as well to say that about the beginning of the century there was a discussion in the London Fishing Gazette as to what artificial fly, in case an angler was restricted to a single one, would be preferred for use during an entire season. The consensus of opinion was in favor of the "March brown," with the "olive dun" as a good second. These are both killing flies in America as well as in England for trout fishing.

In addition to them the coachman, professor, Montreal, dotterel or yellow dun, with the black, brown, red and gray hackles should be sufficient on almost any stream, if tied in several sizes, say on hooks Nos. 6 to 12, with a preference for the intermediate numbers. From my experience I would be satisfied with such an assortment. Other anglers, of course, would think otherwise, and would prefer quite a different selection—but this is in accordance with one of the accepted and acknowledged privileges of the gentle art. And this, at the same time, is as it should be. One who has had more success with certain flies than with others, all things being equal, should pin his faith to them. And this, moreover, explains why there is such an extensive list to choose from in the fly-tier's catalogue, which contains the preferences of many generations of fly-fishers.

The question as to the best fly to use at certain seasons, or at any season, is a vexed one. Whether it is the colored dressing of the fly, or its form, that is most enticing to the fish, will perhaps never be known, except approximately. Of the long list of named artificial flies the choice of most anglers has been narrowed to a score or two, and for the only reason that they have been more or less successful with them. We are apt to look at the matter from our own viewpoint, and often without reference to that of the fish.

Reasoning from the appearance of artificial flies in general, it would seem that on a fretted surface almost any one of the many hundreds should get a rise from a fish, if in a biting mood, and, indeed, this is in a measure true. But one swallow does not make a summer. There are times and places when any old thing, even a bit of colored rag, will coax a rise. I have had good success with a bit of the skin of a chicken neck with a feather or two attached. Then there are times when nothing but natural bait proves alluring.

We may assume as almost a self-evident proposition that a fish takes an artificial fly under the delusion that it is a natural one, or something good to eat—otherwise it would not take it at all. If this assumption is correct, then it would follow that the best imitations of natural flies or insects should be the most successful. This is, in the main, a reasonable conclusion, though on the other hand certain flies that are universally considered and used as good ones, do not, to our eyes at least, bear any resemblance to any known insect—for instance the coachman, professor and other so-called fancy flies.

An artificial fly on the ruffled surface of the water presents a very different appearance to the same fly when held in one's hand, even to our own eyes; what, then, does it look like to the fish? That's the question. I have often attempted to solve it by diving beneath and viewing the fly on the surface. If the water was perfectly clear and calm, without a ripple, it simply looked like a dark fly, no matter what its color, though I could sometimes discern the lighter color of the wings when formed of undyed mallard or wood-duck feathers. When the surface was ruffled it was so indistinct that a bit of leaf would have seemed the same. A somewhat similar experiment may be performed, in a minor degree, by placing a mirror at the bottom of a barrel of water and viewing the reflection of the fly on the surface.

We can surmise that fish are not color-blind, otherwise there would be no reason for the beautiful colors that many male fishes assume during the breeding season. Fishes are possessed of keen vision, and possibly have the faculty of distinguishing colors in a fly, even when on a fretted surface, where to our eyes they are very indistinct, and where even the form can not be well defined.

In Great Britain it is the rule to use certain flies at different seasons, that is, to employ the imitations of such natural flies as are on the water at the time. This seems quite reasonable in view of the fact that the trout streams there are shallow, and especially so in the case of the chalk-streams whose bright colored bottoms may enhance the visual powers of the fish in discerning, by the reflected light, the form and colors of the artificial fly.

We may conclude, then, that as trout are in the habit of feeding on such flies and insects as resort to, or are hatched in, the water, that the best imitations of such natural flies, from the trout's viewpoint, would be the most alluring. I think it goes without saying, that all past experience has proven that the imitations of some of the commonest aquatic insects have been the most successful under all conditions. This would include not only the imago, but the larva, as represented by the various hackle flies.

The old rule to use light-colored flies on dark days and high or discolored water, and darker flies on bright days, or with low and clear water, has been followed for centuries, and in the main is true and reliable. As some anglers have found that a reversed application of it has been successful, at times, they are inclined to doubt it altogether. However, they do not look at it intelligently. With clear water and a clear atmosphere a light-colored fly will show as plainly on the surface as a dark one to the fish below. If we gaze upward during a fall of snow, the flakes appear quite dark, while on a level or below the eye they appear white. Apparently, then, there are other conditions that must be taken into account. With a sunken fly, for instance, the case is different, for a dark fly then appears more distinct than a light one, in clear water; but with milky or discolored water a bright fly is more easily discerned below the surface—hence the rule. And on the same principle smaller flies are suitable for bright days and clear water, and larger ones for dark days and discolored water.

In a very interesting address delivered before the Anglers Club, of Glasgow, Scotland, on "Why do trout sometimes not rise to the artificial fly?" the lecturer after naming and discussing many of the reasons usually advanced, said:

"And what is the conclusion of the whole matter? Shortly, this—that there is a great deal about the question that we know little or nothing about."

He advised his brother anglers to "Watch narrowly the facts as observed in nature, note them down carefully at the time, compare them with those of brother anglers on occasions such as this, and out of all evolve theories which, when reduced to practice, will be found to have carried us nearer to the truth."

This is very good advice freely given—and by the way advice is more easily given than reliable information in a case like this. Nevertheless fly-fishers should consider that a "condition, not a theory," confronts them in the rising or non-rising of a trout to an artificial fly, and should endeavor to ascertain, if such be possible, just what conditions are present to account for the peculiar actions, at different times, of those elusive creatures of the adipose fin, that according to popular opinion seem to have as many moods as specks or spots.

There is one feature of this subject, however, that I have never known to be alluded to, which is this: That the rising or non-rising of trout may depend on the scarcity or abundance of the fish. In regions where trout are unusually abundant I have never, in my experience, known them to fail to rise to the artificial fly, at any time of day, or under almost any condition of wind or weather. It is only in sections that are much fished, and fish consequently scarce, or "educated," as some term it for want of a better reason, that trout fail to respond to the solicitations of the fly-fisher.

Abundance of Trout

In the wilds of Canada I have had trout rise to my fly by the dozen, day after day, so that all semblance of sport disappeared, and only enough were taken for the frying-pan. In Yellowstone Lake the merest tyro can take the red-throat trout until his arms ache, at any time of day, beneath clouds or sunshine. And in the river below the lake one can stand on the bank in plain sight of the trout, which, with one eye on the angler and the other on the fly, rushes to his doom by snapping up the tinseled lure, contrary to all conventional lore. This is an extreme case, of course, for the trout are extremely abundant, or were so as late as the summer of 1904.

One can imagine that in the clear and shallow streams of England, which have been thrashed by the flies of anglers, good, bad and indifferent, for centuries, and where trout are consequently and necessarily scarce, or "educated," that they fail to rise—in other words they are not always there. This, I think, is the reason that dry fly-fishing is becoming the vogue in that country, where the angler waits patiently by the stream until a trout rising to a natural fly proclaims its presence. The rest is easy.

For obvious reasons it is always best to fish down stream where there is a current; in comparatively still water one may fish up-stream or down. I would advise the angler, by all means, to wade, as he has more command of the water on either hand, with plenty of room for the back cast, and can float his flies under overhanging bushes and banks, or in the eddies of rocks. As the water is cold at this season he should be warmly clad, putting on two pairs of woolen socks or stockings, with rubber hip boots or wading pants. He should move slowly and cautiously, fishing every available spot before advancing a step. By hurrying along as some anglers do, he soon gets heated, even in cool weather, with the result that his nether extremities are soon bathed in a more or less profuse perspiration, and he is altogether a "dem'd, damp, moist, unpleasant body." To make haste slowly is the wise and proper thing in wading a stream. It is the slow, deliberate angler who gets the trout.

Some streams are likely to be occasionally swollen or roiled by spring rains or by the June rise. At such times, when not too much discolored for fly-fishing, the angler will do well to avoid the channel of the stream and cast his flies along the edges, where the water is clearer. This tip may add many a fish to an otherwise scanty creel.

When the stream is at its ordinary stage, and clear, the riffles and eddies are the most likely places at this season, and will be pretty sure to reward the careful angler. In fishing such places the flies should be floated over them, allowing them to sink below the surface occasionally. In addition to the flies mentioned for May, the stone fly, gray drake and brown drake will be found useful, especially in localities where the May-fly or sand-fly puts in an appearance. During the hottest days of summer, when the water is warmer, trout are more apt to be found at the mouths of small spring brooks, or in the deepest portions of the stream.

Churning the flies up and down, or wiggling and dancing them, should be avoided; the only motion, if any, should be a very slight fluttering, such as a drowning insect might make as it floats down stream. Strike lightly. Should the trout leap after being hooked, as it sometimes does in the shallow water of riffles, lower the tip slightly for half a second, but recover it immediately—in other words it is simply a down and up movement about as quickly as it can be done.

And talking of lowering the tip—it may not seem out of place to make a few observations concerning that proceeding which some anglers do not seem to understand, or at least do not fully appreciate. The rule of lowering the tip to a leaping fish is a very old one, centuries old in fact, and is founded on the experience of anglers for many generations past. Its usefulness and reasonableness is as manifest in the twentieth century as at any former time.But because some thoughtless anglers at the present day have succeeded in landing a leaping and well-hooked fish without observing the rule, they decry it as entirely unnecessary, and declare that it ought to be relegated to the limbo of obsolete and fanciful notions and useless practices. The iconoclast usually attacks his images without thought or reason, and often in sheer ignorance. A little reflection might enlighten him and cause him to stay his hand.

The rule originated in Great Britain and pertained particularly to fly-fishing. The very small hooks on which trout flies were tied offered but a slight hold on the mouth of the fish, and in case that a leaping fish threw its weight on a taut line and raised rod it was almost sure to break away—hence the rule to lower the tip and release the tension for a brief moment. As the fish regained the water the tip was raised and the former tension resumed. It must be understood, however, that "lowering the tip" does not mean to touch the water with the tip, but as the rod is usually held at an angle of forty-five degrees, a downward deflection of the tip for a foot will usually suffice.

So far as my observation goes the objections to the rule have been raised by black bass bait-fishers who use heavy rods, strong tackle and large hooks. Under these circumstances a fish is usually so securely hooked by a vigorous yank that the lowering of the tip, when it leaps from the water, is not so essential, inasmuch as the angler has a cinch on his quarry whether the line be slack or taut.

But even in bait-fishing, with a light rod and corresponding tackle and a small hook, it is a wise plan to follow a leaping fish back to the water by slightly lowering the tip, especially on a short line—with a long line it does not matter so much, as the "give" of a pliant rod and long line is usually sufficient to relieve the increased tension when a fish is in the air.

Dry fly-fishing is the latest angling cult in England, but I do not think that it will find many adherents in this country. For one reason, the dry fly must be cast up-stream, which will never be a favorite method with American anglers for well-known reasons. Then again, our trout streams are usually swift and broken, and under these conditions the dry fly is soon drowned and becomes a wet fly, thus subverting the cardinal principle of dry fly-fishing. In England this method is practiced on comparatively smooth, shallow streams with but little current. The flies are constructed with rather large, upright wings and spreading hackle, and often with cork bodies, to enhance their capacity for floating and buoyancy.

While fly-fishing, wet or dry, is unquestionably the highest branch of angling, and far preferable to bait-fishing for trout, it does not follow that fishing with the dry fly, or floating fly, is a superior art to fishing with the wet or sunken fly, as claimed by some of the dry fly-fishers of England. Indeed, some of the ultra dry fly enthusiasts have arrogated to themselves the distinction of practicing the most artistic and sportsmanlike method of angling, and look askance, if not with disdain and contempt, at the wet fly-fishers, whom they designate as the "chuck and chance it" sort.

I can not think that the position they have assumed can be justly maintained, or that it is warranted by the facts of the case. As dry fly-fishing is being taken up by a few American anglers, it may be well enough to give the alleged superiority of the method some consideration.

Modus Operandi

Some years ago the modus operandi of dry fly-fishing was explained to me, personally, by Mr. William Senior, editor of the London Field. The angler waits beside the swim until a trout betrays its whereabouts by rising to a newly hatched gnat or fly, creating a dimple on the surface. The angler then, kneeling on one knee, sometimes having a knee-pad strapped on, cautiously casts his floating May-fly, with cocked wings, and anointed with paraffin or vaseline. The fly is deftly and lightly cast up-stream, a little above the swirl of the trout, and is permitted to float down, as naturally as possible, over the fish. There being no response after a cast or two, the angler switches the fly in the air to dry it, and awaits the tell-tale evidence of a fish before again offering the buoyant lure. Now, I cannot imagine why this method is claimed to be on a higher plane of angling than the "chuck and chance it" method. Certainly a knowledge of the habits of the trout is not essential, inasmuch as the angler makes his cast only on the appearance of the fish.

On the other hand the wet fly-fisher, wading down stream or up stream, brings to his aid his knowledge of the habits and haunts of the trout, and casts his flies over every likely spot where his experience leads him to think a fish may lie. It is this eager expectancy, or fond anticipation, with every cast, that makes up much of the real pleasure of angling, and which is utterly lost to the dry fly-fisher, who waits and watches on the bank, like a kingfisher on his perch.

While there can be no objection to dry fly-fishing, per se, and which, moreover, I welcome as a pleasing and meritorious innovation, I feel compelled to enter a protest against claiming for it a higher niche in the ethics of sport than wet fly-fishing. And with all due respect for the dry fly men of Great Britain, I can not admit that they trot in a higher class than those "chuck and chance it" fishers of honored and revered memory: Sir Humphry Davy, "Christopher North" and Francis Francis.

It is the practice of some anglers to confine themselves entirely to natural bait in trout fishing, the favorite bait being the earthworm or "barnyard hackle"; also grasshoppers, grubs, crickets, or bits of animal flesh. While not so artistic, or for that matter not so successful as fly-fishing when the streams are clear, there are times when bait-fishing can be practiced without prejudice, and to better advantage than fly-fishing: as when streams are rendered turbid or roily by rains.

A capital bait is the beautifully tinted anal fin of a trout, which in water with some current waves, wabbles and flutters in a most seductive manner on the hook. Its effect is heightened, and its resemblance to a living insect is more pronounced, if the eye of a trout is first impaled on the hook through its enveloping membrane, care being taken not to puncture the eyeball.

I was once fishing with fin-bait in Wisconsin, early in the season when the stream was milky, when one trout was badly hooked, the point of the hook forcing out the eyeball, which hung on its cheek. I carefully unhooked the fish and plucked off the eye, when the unfortunate trout flopped out of my hand into the stream before I could kill it. I added the eyeball to my fin-bait, and strange to say I soon caught the same trout with its own eye! While this story may be more difficult for the uninitiated to swallow than for the trout to bolt its own eye, it is nevertheless true, and may be taken as proof that fish are not very sensitive to pain.

The equipment recommended for fly-fishing will answer just as well for bait-fishing, as the baits commonly used are light. In some instances, however, a slightly heavier or stiffer rod may be employed, especially if the small casting-spoon or a small minnow is used for large trout. Hooks from Nos. 5 to 7 are about right.

Whether the sea-trout, or salmon-trout, of the Gulf of St. Lawrence is a different species from the speckled brook trout of the upper parts of rivers emptying into said Gulf has been a mooted question for many years, arguments pro and con having been advanced by a number of intelligent and observant anglers. In 1834 Hamilton Smith described it as a new species under the name of Salmo canadensis, and in 1850 H. R. Storer named it Salmo immaculatus. Later and better authorities, however, have decided that it is only a sea-run form of the speckled brook trout, Salvelinus fontinalis. I unhesitatingly indorse this opinion. Many years ago Dr. W. W. Dawson and myself investigated the matter thoroughly while salmon fishing on the Restigouche River. About the Metapediac, and below the railroad bridge, we caught the brook trout with its crimson and yellow spots, and near Campbellton, at the mouth of the river, we took the fresh-run form of bright silvery coloration, with scarcely any markings on the back and without spots. We also caught them a little higher up the river in transition stages, when the characteristic spots were beginning to appear, more or less pronounced. We compared hundreds, from plain silvery form to those with bright crimson and golden spots, but could find no structural differences.

Marine fishes are very constant in coloration, the non-colored portions being quite silvery, while fishes of fresh waters are subject to frequent changes in hue, being much influenced in this respect by the character of their haunts. So when the brook trout "goes to sea" it loses its spots and takes on the silvery livery of marine fishes, but resumes its original coloration soon after entering fresh water.

Just why the winninish of the upper St. Lawrence, which is but a dwarfed form of the Atlantic salmon, does not also proceed to sea after the spawning season, like its prototype, is another puzzling proposition. It has been argued by some that the winninish is the original, or typical species, and that the anadromous salmon is descended from individuals that took on the seafaring habit. But such speculative theories can never be proven.

Twenty years ago, Dr. W. W. Dawson, of Cincinnati—then president of the American Medical Association—and myself were guests of Surgeon-General Baxter, U.S.A., at his fishing lodge near Metapedia, on the Restigouche River, New Brunswick. Twenty years ago! How time flies! Since then my dear friends, Doctors Dawson and Baxter, have both crossed the silent river, though it seems but a few weeks since we were casting our lines in the pleasant places on the famous Restigouche. Indeed, that pleasant summer seems as but yesterday, when Mrs. Baxter killed with her own rod six salmon, running from twenty to thirty pounds, and was not more than thirty minutes in bringing any of them to gaff.

One day at Campbellton, at the mouth of the river, I met Mr. Dean Sage, of Albany, N. Y., who kindly gave me permission to fish his excellent waters, farther up the Restigouche. I also met there Mr. Light, Chief Engineer of the Dominion of Canada, who gave me such a glowing account of the trout streams that had just been rendered accessible by the Quebec and Lake St. John railway, that Dr. Dawson and myself gave up our contemplated trip to the Nipigon, and decided to go up the Batiscan River in accordance with the advice of Mr. Light.

He recommended taking with us from the Restigouche two GaspÉ canoes and canoemen who were accustomed to swift and rocky water; for the Batiscan, he informed us, contained numerous rapids that would tax the strength and prowess of the most experienced canoemen. We engaged two Restigouche men to accompany us, and decided to take but one GaspÉ wooden canoe, thirty feet long, and to procure a smaller and lighter one at Quebec.

Arriving at that quaint and historic town, we obtained, with the help of the American consul, Mr. Downes, a new basswood canoe, built on the model of a birch bark, about fifteen feet in length; this we procured from an Indian tribe near the city. Through our letter of introduction from Mr. Light to Mr. Beemer, the contractor of the Q. & L. St. John railway, we had no difficulty in getting transportation for our canoes and camp equipage to the Batiscan River, which was then the terminus of the railway. Indeed, Mr. Beemer kindly went with us to that point, to see that we were started right on our exploration of the Upper Batiscan. Our objective point was Batiscan Lake, some ten miles as the crow flies, but the distance by river unknown, for its upper waters had never been fished by white men. A railroad survey party had gone a short distance up the stream by land, but beyond that it was a terra incognita to the angler. I questioned an old French trapper, who told me that he had been to the lake with sled and snowshoes in winter, and had fished through the ice; also that the trout ran up to ten pounds in weight. It was to be a veritable voyage of discovery, and Mr. Light was quite desirous to know something of the resources and particulars of the region, having leased the fishing privileges from the Dominion.

Arriving at the river, I found Mr. Farnsworth—who has written so entertainingly of the French inhabitants—established in a pleasant camp a mile below the railroad crossing. I also met Captain Seaton, president of a Quebec fishing club, the lessee of the Lacs du Rognon, near the railroad crossing of the Batiscan. Captain Seaton showed me a basket of brook trout averaging five pounds, but to my surprise he stated that they were taken with the trolling spoon, as the trout of those lakes—more's the pity—utterly refused to take the fly, giving as a reason that those waters abounded in myriads of chub, on which the trout habitually fed.

We embarked in the canoes and proceeded up the river, which we found to be a wild, rocky stream, with long rapids, up which it was impossible to propel the canoes. This entailed the labor and delay of long portages, making our progress extremely slow. Between the rapids were long stretches of smooth, but very rapid water. The mountains rose up on each side from the edge of the stream, so that the portages were on a side hill of Laurentian rocks overgrown with moss a foot or two in depth. Owing to these difficulties we were six days in traveling five miles, and failed to reach Batiscan Lake, though I saw its waters from the top of a mountain.

That we found trout galore is no name for it. They were as numerous as the black flies by day or the mosquitoes by night. And the chub were both plentiful and gamy—great dark, round, stout fellows, weighing sometimes two pounds, and gamier than the trout. We at last reached a fall, or rather twin falls, aggregating some thirty feet in height, and the most beautiful sight I have ever seen on any stream. The summit of the fall flowed in a straight, unbroken line across the river, over a solid ledge of rocks, with a curve as true, uniform, and unbroken as a mill dam. "Batiscan Falls"The waters fell into a circular basin of considerable extent, and then, divided by a small island in the middle of the lower fall, plunged down again to the lower level. On this little isle were twin fir trees of remarkable beauty and symmetry, standing like silent sentinels in the silent Canadian forest—for no sound was ever heard except the rushing of the tumultuous waters beneath. The absence of birds was remarkable, only an occasional song sparrow being heard.

Our last camp was at the summit of the fall, a few feet from its edge. Above the fall were nothing but brook trout; not a chub to be seen; great lusty trout from one-half to three pounds—none less, none more. And they were too plentiful for real sport. A dozen would rise to the single fly at once, knocking it about sometimes like a tennis ball. We fished only a few minutes in the early morning and toward sundown, as we took only enough to supply the camp.

Most of my fishing here was from the very verge or curve of the fall, where the trout were playing. Strange to say, none went over, as I ascertained by careful watching below. Indeed, there seemed to be none in the circular basin below. I could, at least, see none, neither could I get a rise, though I tried repeatedly. When hooked, on the verge of the fall, the fish always started up stream. As there were two feet of water going over the fall with a velocity of five or six miles an hour, or more, the strength and activity of the trout can be imagined. These trout were the most beautiful and highly colored I have ever seen; their bellies a bright orange-red, and their sides sprinkled with gold and intensely crimson spots, and their fins edged with jet black and pure white. The coloration was unusually vivid and pronounced.

From this camp we could hear all day the workmen on the railroad blasting near Lake Edward, which was but a few miles away, and which has since become so noted as a fishing resort.

This was, in truth, a virgin trout stream. No artificial fly had ever before fretted the surface of its pristine waters. The only sign of man was the mark on a tree, near our camp, where a chip had been cut out by a trapper, years before. Just above our camp was a narrow trail leading from the cliffs to the river, but the only tracks were those of caribou, bears, 'coons, and porcupines.

There are other species of trout in American waters that are fished for in much the same way as for brook trout; they are the rainbow, steelhead, red-throat, golden, Dolly Varden and Sunapee trout; also the introduced European brown trout. These various species are being introduced in trout waters in a number of states, so that it may be well to briefly refer to some of their characteristics.

In the Rocky Mountain region there are three groups of trout belonging to the Salmo genus—the steelhead, rainbow and red-throat, or cut-throat as it is sometimes called. They are all black spotted. In widely separated sections of country these different species may be readily distinguished by certain characteristics, but in other localities, where they co-exist naturally, it is sometimes a difficult matter to distinguish one group from another. At one time, indeed, the rainbow and steelhead were pronounced by competent authority to be the same fish, the steelhead being supposed to be the sea-run form of the species. At the present time, however, they are held to be distinct species.

The Dolly Varden, or bull-trout, belongs to a different genus (Salvelinus), and is related to the brook trout of Eastern waters, having also red spots. While the red-throat trout inhabits both slopes of the Rockies, the others named belonged originally to the Pacific Slope.

The red-throat trout is the most widely distributed of the Western trouts. It inhabits both slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and, as might be inferred from this extensive range, it varies in external appearance more than any of the trout species. There are a dozen or more well-defined sub-species or geographical varieties, but all have the characteristic red splashes on the membrane of the throat. By means of this "trademark" it may be readily distinguished from the rainbow or steelhead trouts, both of which are also black-spotted.

But while the red-throat trout varies considerably in contour, coloration and markings, in different localities, it is identical in structure wherever found. It is known by the United States Bureau of Fisheries as the "black-spotted trout," a most unfortunate designation, inasmuch as the rainbow and steelhead trouts are also "black-spotted." The name red-throat is distinctive, and is preferable to the rather repulsive name of "cut-throat" trout by which it is also known. The red-throat trout is designated in its native waters by such names as "trout," "brook trout," "speckled mountain trout," etc. As the Eastern red-spotted "brook trout" is rapidly being introduced to Western waters, the name "brook trout" should be applied only to that species.

Where the red-throat trout grows to a larger size than usual, as in the Yellowstone and other lakes, it is often called "salmon-trout," and the bull-trout of the Pacific Slope is also sometimes known by the same name, but the only "salmon-trout" is the steelhead trout. The red-throat trout rises to the fly more freely than the Eastern brook trout, though in gameness and flavor it is hardly its equal. Its habits are also somewhat different. It usually lies in pools and holes, and does not frequent the riffles so much as the Eastern trout. In size it is somewhat larger than the Eastern trout in streams of the same relative width and depth, and like all trout species grows to greater weight in lakes and large streams. I have taken them on the fly weighing from three to five pounds in Soda Butte Lake in the Yellowstone Park, and in Yankee Jim CaÑon on the Yellowstone River. In Yellowstone Lake some are infested with the white pelican parasite, rendering them emaciated and lacking in game qualities; this condition, however, seems to be disappearing somewhat, while those in the river below are well-nourished and gamy.

The same tackle and artificial flies used for the Eastern brook trout are as suitable, as a rule, for the red-throat, though preference is given to the stone fly, coachman, professor, black gnat, cinnamon, Henshall, and the various hackles by Montana anglers. The red-throat seldom breaks water when hooked, but puts up a vigorous fight beneath the surface. As the mountain streams are usually swift and rocky and fringed with alders, willows and other small trees, the angler must be wide awake to land his fish and save his tackle.

The steelhead, or salmon-trout, is the trimmest and most graceful and the gamest of all the trout species, being more "salmon-like" in shape and appearance. On the Pacific Coast, where it is native, and runs to salt water, it grows to twenty pounds or more in weight, when it is known as steelhead salmon, and many are canned under this name. Its spots are smaller than in the other black-spotted species. It has, sometimes, especially the males, a pink flush along the sides, but not so pronounced as in the rainbow trout. Its color is also of a lighter hue, with steely reflections. Its scales are somewhat larger than those of the red-throat, but not so large as in the rainbow trout.

As a Game-Fish

It seems to be pretty well established in Lake Superior, where it was introduced by the United States Bureau of Fisheries, some fine catches having been made of late years. It has also been introduced into several states on the eastern slope of the Rockies, which seem to be very suitable for this fine fish. In Montana I have taken it up to five pounds. It rises eagerly to the fly, and when hooked breaks water repeatedly like the black bass. It is very trying to light tackle, and must be carefully handled by the angler. The flies named for the red-throat trout are just as killing for the steelhead. Like the red-throat it is also susceptible to bait, which in Montana is the "rock-worm," the larva of the caddis fly. As a food fish it excels all of the trout species as might be surmised. "Remarkable Growth"In fresh water lakes it should grow to eight or ten pounds. Near Virginia City, Montana, is located Axolotl Lake, so named from being inhabited by a species of axolotl, but it contained no fish of any kind until stocked with a few thousand steelhead trout fingerlings from the Bozeman Fisheries Station, in 1902. In September, 1907, two of my friends, while trolling from a canvas boat on this lake, caught eleven trout weighing in the aggregate seventy pounds, the largest weighing thirteen pounds, an extraordinary weight for a five-year-old trout. But this is easily explained when it is considered that the trout had been feasting for several years on such nutritious diet as these curious amphibians afforded, and in great abundance, but which now are said to be scarce.

The rainbow trout has also been introduced to Eastern waters by the United States Bureau of Fisheries, and seems to be well adapted to ponds of considerable extent, where water plants and grasses flourish. Such waters seem to be more congenial than the colder mountain streams; and moreover it has a way of disappearing from the smaller streams to seek those of greater depth. It will thrive in warmer water than the other trouts. The rainbow is similar in contour to the red-throat, though somewhat deeper, and with shorter head, smaller mouth, and larger scales. Its distinguishing feature is the broad red band along the lateral line, common to both male and female. It is a handsome fish, with considerably more gameness than the red-throat, but is not so vigorous on the rod as the steelhead of the same size. Owing to its tendency to descend streams it is particularly liable to enter irrigation ditches, in which event its doom is sealed. As a food-fish it is superior to the native red-throat trout.

In no new waters has the rainbow done so well as in those of Michigan and Colorado. In the former state it has populated streams that were once the home of the grayling, more's the pity. In Colorado, in the Gunnison and neighboring streams, it furnishes sport galore to hundreds of delighted anglers, who visit the locality especially for the fine fishing. No trout surpasses the rainbow in rising to the artificial fly, and almost any trout fly will capture it, though the silver doctor, coachman, and the different hackles, seem to be more favored than others.

The Dolly Varden, or bull-trout, sometimes erroneously called "salmon-trout," is the only red-spotted trout native to Western waters. It belongs to the same genus as the Eastern brook trout, but grows much larger. It is found only on the Pacific Slope, in both lakes and streams, growing to twelve or fifteen pounds under favorable conditions. In the streams it is a gamer fish than in lakes, though the larger fish are rather lazy and logy. Compared with its Eastern relative it is hardly so vigorous on the rod, when of similar weight, and not quite so good for the table.

It takes the fly readily, also any kind of natural bait, and in lakes or broad streams succumbs to the trolling-spoon. It is not so great a favorite as the other Western trouts, except in Alaska, where it is abundant in all lakes and streams.

The brown trout is the brook trout of Europe, and was introduced to the United States from England and Germany, under the auspices of the United States Bureau of Fisheries. Those from Germany (the eggs), were donated by Von Behr, and his name was unfortunately applied to the fish as "Von Behr trout," also "German trout," two most unfortunate and ridiculous names. It is the "brook trout" of Europe and "brown trout" of Great Britain. In Germany it is "bach forelle," which means brook trout. Among English-speaking people it has been known since before the day of Walton and Cotton as "brown trout," and brown trout it should be world without end. To rob this fine fish of its good name and substitute the misnomers mentioned was both unwise and absurd.

I sincerely hope that those names, together with the equally absurd name of "black-spotted trout," as applied to the red-throat trout, will soon be relegated to the shades of oblivion, never to be mentioned in polite angling society. If the fish mentioned was the only black-spotted trout inhabiting its native waters, it would be a good and suitable name, but unfortunately its congeners, the rainbow and steelhead trouts, are also "black-spotted" as before mentioned. The name originated, I think, about the same time as "Von Behr." When the first eggs were taken East and hatched the fry were called Rocky Mountain trout and California trout, the former name being more applicable than the latter, but neither were very suitable. Our technical knowledge of the Western trouts must have been sadly deficient, however, when they were displaced for "black-spotted trout."

The brown trout has both reddish-brown and black spots, of a larger size than those of its American cousins. Altogether it is a fine fish, much prized in Great Britain, but in American waters it is hardly so gamy, and not quite so good a food-fish as our native trouts. It grows to a larger size than our brook trout, and will thrive in warmer water. A variety of the brown trout, the Loch Leven, was introduced into Firehole River, in the Yellowstone National Park, some years ago, and it is remarkable how well they thrive in the warm geyser water. They must have been planted in some stream in the Park tributary to the Yellowstone River also, for I know of two being taken near Livingston, Montana, one weighing more than ten pounds, the other about twelve. In a pond near Bozeman, Montana, some brown trout fry were planted, and at the end of four years two were taken weighing six pounds each, both of which were weighed by myself.

The brown trout rises well to the fly, as well if not better in American waters than in England, and does not seem to be so fastidious as to the color or shape of the fly offered. Any of the popular trout flies will answer, and it seems to have an inherited fancy for the imitations of the May-fly, the green and gray drakes, when the natural May-fly is on the water. This fly is also known as the sand-fly.

High up in the Southern Sierras, about 10,000 feet, in the neighborhood of Mount Whitney, California, are several species or sub-species, of "golden trout," apparently related to the rainbow trout. For beautiful and varied coloration they excel all fishes of fresh waters and rival those of the coral reefs of the tropics.

For many years the golden trout of Mount Whitney has been described at various times by enthusiastic anglers in the sportsmen's journals, but not until lately have these fishes been properly systematized. In the summer of 1904 a party headed by Dr. Barton W. Evermann, under the auspices of the United States Bureau of Fisheries, proceeded to the locality mentioned, and thoroughly explored the different streams, and collected hundreds of specimens of the trout inhabiting them. As a result of this expedition the following species of golden trout have been established by Dr. Evermann:

Golden Trout of Soda Creek (Salmo whitei),

Golden Trout of South Fork of Kern River (Salmo agua-bonita),

Golden Trout of Volcano Creek (Salmo roosevelti).

These trout are all small, averaging six to eight inches, but are quite gamy and very free biters. The golden trout of Volcano Creek is the handsomest and gamest. Of this fish Dr. Evermann says:

"This is the most beautiful of all the trouts; the brilliancy and richness of the coloration is not equaled in any other known species…. In form it is no less beautiful; its lines are perfect, the fins large and well proportioned, and the caudal peduncle strong; all fitting it admirably for life in the turbulent waters in which it dwells. It is a small fish, however. The largest example collected by us was eleven and one-fourth inches in total length, and the heaviest one weighed ten ounces."

From a color sketch by Sherman F. Denton.

Sunapee Trout. (Salvelinus aureolus.)