As
we approached this spot, I suggested to Spalding, who was in the bow
of the boat, to prepare his rod and fly. We approached carefully along
the willows on the opposite shore, until in a position from which he
could throw in the direction I indicated. In the then stage of the
water, there was no appearance of a spring, or any indication marking
it as a spot where the trout would be at all likely to congregate, and
Spalding was half inclined to believe that I was practising upon his
want of knowledge of the habits of the fish of this region. I had said
nothing about the spring, or the habit of the trout in gathering
wherever a cold stream enters a river, or a spring comes gushing up
in its bed.
"I don't believe there's a trout within half a mile of us," he said,
as he adjusted his rod and fly.
"Never mind," I replied, "throw your fly across towards that boulder
on the bank, and trail it home, and you'll see."
"Well," said he, "here goes;" and he threw in the direction indicated.
The fly had scarcely touched the water when a trout, weighing a pound
or over, struck it with a rush that carried him clear out of the
water. After a little play he was landed safely in the boat, and
another, and another, followed at almost every throw. Not once did the
fly touch the water that it was not risen to by a fish.
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