Ed and George hastened eagerly upstream toward the coveted pool. Heeding Ben’s instructions, they kept well back from the bank of the brook, to avoid frightening any trout which might be lurking between the falls and the river. They hoped to fish on the way down.
After some rough traveling over prostrate logs and through exasperating tangles of deadwood they arrived within sound of the falls. In their impatience to reach the scene of action they hurried forward carelessly, and were “hung up” many times by twigs and bushes which caught their lines and rods. But soon they were standing on huge, moss-grown boulders near the foot of the falls. The top was far above them. The water formed a glittering curtain, which fell into the rocky basin below with an echoing roar. Drifting clouds of misty vapor arose and blew into their faces. And there at their feet was the pool: deep, black, and dotted with patches of foam that circled slowly about its edges.
“Isn’t this great?” shouted Ed, endeavoring to make himself heard.
But George, who was only a few yards away, shook his head to show that he could not hear. Then he raised his rod and let his fly drop gently on the water close to a cake of foam.
Instantly there was a flash from beneath, a swirl on the surface, and with a swift turn of his wrist George struck and felt the hook go home. The line tightened, the light rod bent, and as the trout felt the barb and darted away, the reel began to sing.
“Good boy, you’ve got him!” yelled Ed.
George was too busy to reply, if he heard his friend at all. His fight was on. He was pitting skill and light rod and delicate line against the cunning and courage of the trout. Twice it leaped from the water in its struggles, and each time the glistening body shot into the air it appeared larger in the eyes of the excited boys. Then down it went into the depths of the pool again, and the taut line cut widening circles through the crust of foam.
Ed was too absorbed in the battle to think of wetting his own line. Rod in hand, he stood idly by cheering on the efforts of his friend. Several times, as the fortunes of war shifted from one to the other of the combatants, Ed almost slipped from the rock upon which he had recklessly climbed.
George played his fish skilfully, and soon began to work it, inch by inch, toward the spot where he stood. It was not yet subdued, however, and in one of its frantic rushes it caught the young angler off his guard and came near smashing his rod. After that he was more careful, and at last the plucky fish, weakened by the long struggle against the spring of the rod, was drawn slowly in; and presently George landed it on the bank, glistening and beautiful in its brave dress of dark back, vermilion spots, and ivory-lined fins.
They fished the pool for a time, and then started down the stream, fishing it carefully from either side. By the time they reached Ben they had a splendid catch of trout to show for their work.