The market fisherman of whom I spoke was a faithful devotee to the fly, and never would use any other lure. A white or gray hackle was his favorite. He used a stiff, heavy pole, however, about ten feet long, cut from the jungles that grow on the river bottom, and a heavy line, a foot shorter, with double gut for attaching the fly. He fished from the shore or waded, as was necessary to reach the best water. He cast with both hands, and the instant the fly touched the water he would raise the tip so that the line would just clear, and then trail or skitter the fly gently, but rapidly, toward him. Thus, the line being taut, when the fish arose to the fly he would simply hook himself. Then he was ignominiously "yanked," and either landed high and dry on mother earth or in the ranchman's gunny-sack.
Although devoid of sport and requiring little skill, it was the most effective method of filling a "bag" that I have ever seen practiced. I have seen him take ten to twenty-five trout in an hour's fishing and not miss a single rise. I had this man with me on a hunting trip, and whenever we came within two miles of a trout stream our table was sure to be supplied with an abundance of fish.
I visited Fort Maginnis in September, 1883, and during my stay, Capt. F. H. Hathaway kindly invited me to spend a day trouting with him on Big Spring creek, a beautiful stream that flows out of the Snowy Mountains about twenty-five miles from the post. We left the captain's quarters at noon, comfortably seated on his buckboard, while Sam, Fishel, and Dick Thomas rode their horses and drove a pack-mule, which carried a part of our provisions, the remainder being carried on the buckboard.
We covered the twenty-five miles by six o'clock, camping at the base of the Snowies, within two miles of the source of the creek, which source is a cluster of large cold springs. We pitched our tent on the bank of the creek, where it murmured sweet music in its course over the rugged bottom and lulled us into quiet and refreshing sleep with its rhythmical sounds. When we awoke the next morning the foot-hills all about us glistened with frost, and the high peaks, three or four miles away, were draped in a mantle of spotless white, which the storm-king had spread upon them a few days ago.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the season, a few musquitoes began to sing about our ears as soon as the sun came up. Fishel, who was full of droll good nature, observed them.
"Well, look here," he said, as he broke the ice in the water pail and dipped out a basinful to wash in, "I'll be doggoned if here aint a lot of these measley musquitoes buzzing around here with buffalo overcoats on."
The keen mountain air at this low temperature, and the grand scenery with which we were surrounded, combined to sharpen our appetites, and our breakfast beside a rousing camp-fire was enjoyed as only a meal can be enjoyed amid such surroundings. As soon as the sun had risen high enough to banish the frost and warm the air slightly, the grass all about us was set in motion by thousands of grasshoppers who gamboled playfully, in order, apparently, to warm up their benumbed limbs and get an appetite for breakfast. All hands then turned out and harvested a goodly supply of them, for we had been advised that the trout in that stream would not take a fly so late in the season.
Then we proceeded to business; the captain and Dick fishing up the stream and I down, while Sam took his rifle and went across the hills in search of game. The stream, where we started in, was not more than three to four feet wide and two feet deep in the deepest holes, yet at the first cast I hooked a trout that after a few vigorous plunges took the barb off my hook and departed. I put on a new one and had better luck next time, for in another hole a few rods farther down I took one that weighed a pound and a half.
In the meantime the captain shouted to me, and looking up the stream I saw him displaying one of about the same size. We each followed our courses, and did not meet again for some hours, when the captain came down to see how I was getting on. He had eight and I had six, the average weight of which was over a pound each. He relieved me of my load and returned to camp, and from that time on did but little fishing himself, preferring, in the fullness of his generous nature, to devote the most of his time to accompanying me, showing me the most favorable points, exulting in my success, and in every way possible promoting my comfort. Whenever he left me for a short time he would send one of his men to take my fish to camp, dress them, and do anything and everything else possible for me.
I fished down the creek nearly two miles during the day, going over parts of the stream two or three times, not ceasing from the fascinating sport long enough to even eat a lunch that I carried in my pocket. Nor did I turn my steps toward camp until it became so dark that the fish would no longer rise. Then, when I started campward, I met Dick coming with an extra saddle horse which the captain had kindly sent for me to ride.