The most reliable food supply of the region is fish, and Bruce and Ray now set [[104]]about securing enough fish so they might later on give all their time to exploring and looking for some clue of the whereabouts of Jack Dutton. [[105]]
CHAPTER XIII
AT THE BIG POOL
Few streams in North America furnish a better place for rainbow trout than the Big Pool just below the falls of the Michipicoten, so Bruce and Ray naturally decided to try their luck in its black whirling waters.
“You should catch some big trout in that pool,” Bruce commented as Ray put a piece of red flannel on a hook which looked large enough to hold a three-pound bass. For a little while the trout, if there were any in this pool, seemed indifferent to this fake bait, as Ray called it. “If I could only find some worms in this country, you would soon see me pull them out,” he remarked a little impatiently.
“Well, you know, Ray, that there are no angleworms in a wild country, and you might as well try patiently to catch one on [[106]]the flannel bait. After you catch the first one, you will soon catch more.” After trying patiently in several places, Ray did land a small trout. “Now,” Bruce advised him, “dress this fish right away, and use its fins for bait and see what will happen.”
It has often been claimed that fish do not know one kind of bait from another, and that they will strike at anything that moves or is conspicuously colored. To a great extent that is true of such voracious fish as the pickerel, but rainbow trout are perhaps the most intelligent of all fresh-water fish. They may bite at times on a piece of cloth or on bacon or pork-rind; but the man who uses flies, worms, minnows, fins, or other parts of a fish for bait will catch more trout.
After Ray had baited his hook with a fin, it was not long before the fun began, and the lads were soon in the midst of more exciting fishing than they had ever dreamed of. Ray caught no more small fish. They were all bigger than any trout he had ever seen in the streams near his Vermont home. [[107]]Of course, Ray had no reel, no dip-net, no creel or stringer to take care of his catch. When the line suddenly tightened and began to cut the swift, whirling current, Ray grew wildly excited. “Get him, Bruce, get him!” he would call, while he made an effort to swing the line around so that Bruce could get hold of it, and the older lad in turn became almost as excited as Ray; and in truth to catch brook trout that run from two to three pounds and over in weight is exciting enough to make the blood of even an old man run fast again.
“Oh, Bruce, you let him get away,” Ray exclaimed, after they had been pulling out the most beautiful and lively fish for an hour. “It was a big one, a real giant. I saw him come after the bait almost to the surface. I was going to hit him with the pole, because I thought it was a big pickerel. He was almost a yard long. Honestly, Bruce, he looked as big as that!” and Ray indicated the size of the fish by holding up both of his hands. [[108]]