The
hounds were called off, and with our game in one of the boats, we
rowed back around the promontory, and passed on towards the Saranac
River, which connects by a tortuous course of five miles, the Lower
Saranac with Round Lake.
Midway between these two lakes, is a fall, or rather rapids, down
which the river descends some ten feet in five or six rods through a
narrow rocky channel, around which the boats had to be carried. While
this was being done, Smith and Spalding adjusted their rods, eager to
make up in catching trout what they failed to achieve in the matter of
venison. And they succeeded. In twenty minutes they had fifteen
beautiful fish, none weighing less than half a pound, safely deposited
on the broad flat rock at the head of the rapids. "One throw more,"
said Smith, "and I've done;" and he cast his fly across the still
water just above the fall. Quick as thought it was taken by a
two-pound trout. Landing nets and gaff had been sent forward with the
baggage, and without these it was an exciting and delicate thing to
land that fish. The game was, to prevent him dashing away down the
rapids, or diving beneath the shelving rock above, the sharp edge of
which would have severed the line like a knife. Skillfully and
beautifully Smith played him for a quarter of an hour, until at last
the fish turned his orange belly to the surface, and ceased to
struggle.
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