It reminds you, of
course, of some old friend. It is a little like the Beaverkill, or
the Ausable, or the Gale River. And yet it is different. Every
stream has its own character and disposition. Your new acquaintance
invites you to a day of discoveries. If the water is high, you will
follow it down, and have easy fishing. If the water is low, you
will go upstream, and fish "fine and far-off." Every turn in the
avenue which the little river has made for you opens up a new view,--
a rocky gorge where the deep pools are divided by white-footed
falls; a lofty forest where the shadows are deep and the trees arch
overhead; a flat, sunny stretch where the stream is spread out, and
pebbly islands divide the channels, and the big fish are lurking at
the sides in the sheltered corners under the bushes. From scene to
scene you follow on, delighted and expectant, until the night
suddenly drops its veil, and then you will be lucky if you can find
your way home in the dark!
Yes, it is all very good, this exploration of new streams. But, for
my part, I like still better to go back to a familiar little river,
and fish or dream along the banks where I have dreamed and fished
before. I know every bend and curve: the sharp turn where the water
runs under the roots of the old hemlock-tree; the snaky glen, where
the alders stretch their arms far out across the stream; the meadow
reach, where the trout are fat and silvery, and will only rise about
sunrise or sundown, unless the day is cloudy; the Naiad's Elbow,
where the brook rounds itself, smooth and dimpled, to embrace a
cluster of pink laurel-bushes.
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