And here I shall be generous. For this means that next year we shall go
there and find other outfits there before us, and people in the latest
thing in riding-clothes, and fancy trout-creels and probably
sixty-dollar reels.
Bowman Lake is a fisherman's paradise. The first day on the lake we
caught sixty-nine cut-throat trout averaging a pound each, and this
without knowing where to look.
[Illustration: _Getting ready for the day's fishing at camp on Bowman
Lake_]
In the morning, we could see them lying luxuriously on shelving banks in
the sunlight, only three to six feet below the surface. They rose, like
a shot, to the flies. For some reason, George Locke, our fisherman,
resented their taking the Parmachene Belle. Perhaps because the trout of
his acquaintance had not cared for this fly. Or maybe he considered
the Belle not sportsmanly. The Brown Hackle and Royal Coachman did
well, however, and, in later fishing on this lake, we found them more
reliable than the gayer flies. In the afternoon, the shallows failed us.
But in deep holes where the brilliant walls shelved down to incredible
depths, they rose again in numbers.
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