e upper Shelburne River, which was said to
flow through a sheet of water called Irving Lake. But where the river
entered the lake and where it left it was for us to learn. Already forty
miles or more from our starting point, straight into the wilderness, we
were isolated from all mankind, and the undiscovered lay directly
before. At the end of the stillwater Del said:
"Well, gentlemen, from this on you know as much of the country as I do.
All I know is what I've heard, and that's not much. I guess most of it
we'll have to learn for ourselves."
Chapter Eleven
_By lonely tarn, mid thicket deep,_
_The she-moose comes to bear_
_Her sturdy young, and she doth keep_
_It safely guarded there._
Chapter Eleven
We got any amount of fly-casting in the Pebbleloggitch stillwater, but
no trout. I kept Del dodging and twice I succeeded in hooking him,
though not in a vital spot. I could have done it, however, if he had sat
still and given me a fair chance. I could land Del even with the treetop
cast, but the trout refused to be allured. As a rule, trout would not
care to live in a place like that. There would not be enough excitement
and activity. A trout prefers a place where the water is busy--where the
very effort of keeping from being smashed and battered against the rocks
insures a good circulation and a constitution like a steel spring. I
have taken trout out of water that would have pulverized a golf ball in
five minutes. The fiercer the current--the greater the tumult--the more
cruel and savage the rocks, the better place it is for trout.
Neither do I remember that we took anything in the Shelburne above
Irving Lake, for it was a good deal like the stillwater, with only a
gentle riffle here and there. Besides, the day had become chill, and a
mist had fallen upon this lonely world--a wet white, drifting mist that
was closely akin to rain. On such a day one does not expect trout to
rise, and is seldom disappointed. Here and there, where the current was
slow-moving and unruffled, Eddie, perhaps, would have tried his dry
flies, but never a trout was seen to break water, and it is one of the
tenets of dry-fly fishing that a cast may only be made where a trout has
been seen to rise--even then, only after a good deal of careful
maneuvering on shore to reach the proper spot on the bank without
breaking the news to the trout. It wasn't a pleasant time to go
wriggling through marsh grass and thi
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