On another occasion, I had taken my sketch-book and some fishing-tackle, and gone up a mountain road to the banks of Schoharie Creek, nominally for the purpose of sketching a few trees. In the very first hole of the stream into which I accidentally peered, I discovered a large trout lying near the bottom, just above a little bed of sand, whence rose the bubbles of a spring. For some thirty minutes I watched the fellow with a “yearning tenderness;” but as he appeared to be so very happy, and I was in a kindred mood, I thought that I would let him live. Presently, however, a beautiful fly lighted on the water, which the greedy hermit swallowed in a minute, and returned to his cool bed with his conscience, as I fancied, not one whit troubled by what he had done. Involuntarily I began to unwind my line; and having cut a pole, and repeated to myself something about “diamond cut diamond,” I whipped on a red hackle and passed it over the pool. The rogue of a trout, however, saw me, and scorned for awhile to heed my lure. But I coaxed and coaxed, until at last he darted for it, apparently out of mere spite. Something similar to a miniature water-spout immediately arose, and the monarch of the brook was in a fair way of sharing the same fate which had befallen the innocent fly. I learned a salutary lesson from this incident, and as I had yielded to the temptation of the brook, I shouldered my sketch-book and descended the stream. At noon I reached a farm-house, where I craved something to eat. A good dinner was given me, which was seasoned by many questions, and some information, concerning trout. That afternoon, in company with a little boy, I visited a neighbouring stream, called the Roaring Kill, where I caught one hundred and sixty fish. I then returned to the farm-house, and spent the evening in conversation with my new acquaintances. After breakfast, on the following morning, I set out for home, and reached there about noon, having made only two additions to my sketches. Long shall I remember the evening spent with this family, and their hospitality towards an entire stranger. A pleasant family was that night added to my list of friends.
Another of my trouting pilgrimages was to a famous place, called Stony Clove, among the mountains of Shaudaken. It is a deep perpendicular cut, or gorge, between two mountains, two thousand feet in depth, from twenty feet to four hundred in width, and completely lined, from base to summit, with luxuriant vegetation. It is watered by a narrow but deep brook, which is so full of trout, that some seven hundred were captured by myself and two others in a single day. When I tell you that this spot is only about one hundred miles from New York, you will be surprised to learn, that in its immediate vicinity we saw no less than two bears, one doe with two fawns, and other valuable game.
In some parts of this Clove the sunshine never enters, and whole tons of the purest ice may be found there throughout the year. It is, indeed, a most lonely and desolate corner of the world, and might be considered a fitting type of the Valley of the Shadow of Death; in single file did we have to pass through it, and in single file do the sons of men pass into the grave. To spend one day there, we had to encamp two nights; and how we generally manage that affair I will mention presently.
In returning from Stony Clove, we took a circuitous route, and visited the Mountain House. We approached it by the way of the celebrated Kauterskill Fall, which I will describe to you in the graphic language of Cooper, as you may not remember the passage in his “Pioneer.” “Why there’s a fall in the hills, where the water of two little ponds, that lie near each other, breaks out of their bounds, and runs over the rocks into the valley. The stream is, may be, such a one as would turn a mill, if so useless a thing was wanted in the wilderness. But the Hand that made that ‘Leap’ never made a mill! There the water comes croaking and winding among the rocks, first so slow that a trout might swim in it, and then starting and running, just like any creature that wanted to make a fair spring, till it gets to where the mountain divides, like the cleft foot of a deer, leaving a deep hollow for the brook to tumble into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred feet, and the water looks like flakes of snow afore it touches the bottom, and then gathers itself together again for a new start, and, may be, flutters over fifty feet of flat rock, before it falls for another hundred, where it jumps from shelf to shelf, first running this way and that way, striving to get out of the hollow, till it finally comes to the plain.”
Our party, on this occasion, consisted of three, Peter Hummel, a bark-gatherer, and myself. I had chosen these fellows for the expedition, because of their friendship for me and their willingness to go, and I resolved to give them a “treat” at the “Grand Hotel,” which the natives of this region look upon as a kind of paradise. The reader is no doubt aware, that the Mountain House is an establishment vieing in its style of accommodation with the best of hotels.
Between it and the Hudson there is, during the summer, a semi-daily line of stages; and it is the transient resort of thousands, who visit it for the novelty of its situation, as well as for the surrounding scenery. The edifice itself stands on a cliff, within a few feet of the edge, and commands a prospect extending from Long Island Sound to the White Mountains. The first time I visited the spot, I spent half the night at my bed-room window, watching the fantastic performances of a thunder-storm far below me, which made the building tremble like a ship upon a reef, while the sky above was cloudless, and studded with stars. Between this spot and South Peak, “there’s the High Peak and the Round Top which lay back, like a father and mother among their children, seeing they are far above all the other hills.”
But to proceed. Coarsely and comically dressed as we were, we made a very unique appearance as we paraded into the office of the hotel. I met a few acquaintances there, to whom I introduced my comrades; and in a short time each one was spinning a mountain legend to a crowd of delighted listeners. In due time, I ushered them into the dining-hall, where a scene was enacted which can be better imagined than described; the fellows were completely out of their element, and it was laughable in the extreme to see them stare, and hear them talk, as the servants bountifully helped them to the turtle-soup, ice-cream, charlotte-russe, and other fashionable dainties.
About the middle of the afternoon we commenced descending the beautiful mountain road leading towards the Hudson. In the morning there had been a heavy shower, and a thousand happy rills attended us with a song. A delightful nook on this road is pointed out as the identical spot where Rip Van Winkle slept away a score of his life. I reached home in time to spend the twilight hour in my own room, musing upon the much-loved mountains. I had but one companion, and that was a whip-poor-will, which nightly comes to my window-sill, as if to tell me a tale of its love, or of the woods and solitary wilderness.
But the most unique and interesting of my fishing adventures remains to be described. I had heard a great deal about the good fishing afforded by the lake already mentioned, and I desired to visit it, and spend a night upon its shore. Having spoken to my friend Hummel, and invited a neighbour to accompany us, whom the people have named “White Yankee,” the noontide hour of a pleasant day found us on our winding march; and such a grotesque appearance as we made, was exceedingly amusing. The group was mostly animated when climbing the steep and rocky ravines which we were compelled to pass through. There was Peter, “long, lank and lean,” and wild in his attire and countenance as an eagle of the wilderness, with an axe in his hand, and a huge knapsack on his back, containing our provisions and utensils for cooking. Next to him followed White Yankee, with three blankets lashed upon his back, a slouched white hat on his head, and nearly a half pound of tobacco in his mouth. Crooked legged withal, and somewhat sickly was this individual, and being wholly unaccustomed to this kind of business, he went along groaning, grunting, and fuming, as if he was “sent for, and didn’t want to come.” In the rear trotted along your humble friend, with a gun upon his shoulder, a powder-horn and shot-pouch at his side, cow-hide boots on his feet, and a cap on his head—his beard half an inch long, and his flowing hair streaming in the wind.
We reached our place of destination about five o’clock, and halted under a large impending rock, which was to be our sleeping place. We were emphatically under the “shadow of a rock, in a weary land.” Our first business was to build a fire, which we did with about one cord of green and dry wood. Eighty poles were then cut, to which we fastened our lines. The old canoe in the lake was bailed out, and having baited our hooks with the minnows we had brought with us, we planted the poles in about seven feet water, all around the lake shore. We then prepared and ate our supper, and awaited the coming on of night. During this interval, I learned the following particulars concerning the lake. It was originally discovered by a hunter, named Shew. It is estimated to cover about fifty acres, and in the centre, to be more than two hundred feet in depth. For my part, however, I do not believe it contains over five acres, though the mountains which tower on every side but one, are calculated to deceive the eye; but, as to its depth, I could easily fancy it to be bottomless, for the water is remarkably dark. To the number of trout in this lake there seems to be no end. It is supposed they reach it, when small, through Sweetwater Brook, when they increase in size, and multiply. It also abounds in green and scarlet lizards, which are a serious drawback to the pleasures of the fastidious angler. I asked Peter many questions concerning his adventures about the lake, and he told me that the number of “harmless murders” he had committed here was about three hundred. In one day, he shot three deer; at another time, a dozen turkeys; at another, twenty ducks; one night, an old bear; and again, half a dozen coons; and, on one occasion, annihilated a den of thirty-seven rattlesnakes.