The reproductive power of the mountain trout is equal to all the tax likely to be levied against it here by legitimate sportsmen, and if dynamiting and netting are prohibited hereafter as heretofore, no fear need be felt as to the future supply.
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.