Personal Narrative: Half A Mile From Portage To Blackstone Lake

932 Words4 Pages
The final carry of half a mile from Portage to Blackstone Lake was made with difficulty by groping our way through the dense woods in the dark, and we gladly betook ourselves at once to the hospitable mansion of logs of the settler on the shore of Blackstone Lake. The cabin being

duly “smudged,” all turned in and slept soundly till awakened by the musical notes of the early rising mosquitoes. A net worn over our heads both night and day contributed largely to our comfort, though no such device will keep out the microscopic sand fly. Oil of pennyroyal and tar, etc., did pretty well, but the net is the best for blackflies and mosquitoes. The mosquitoes appear to thrive particularly there, and we were invited to believe that in a neighboring beaver meadow their hum was such as to
…show more content…
Our guide, as we started over to Crane Lake the first morning indulged in sundry smiles and remarked that we should break our rods, so that, although placid in outward mien, I felt inwardly a little nervous; but I didn 't mean to break down until…show more content…
Swinging around a little point, with some 20 yards of line astern, before fishing a great while I felt a sudden movement at the spoon that was more like a crunch than a bite. It took only a second to give the rod a turn that fixed the hooks, and another second to discover that I had hung something. Scarcely had I tightened the line when the fish started. I do not know that I wanted to stop him, but I felt the line slip rapidly from the reel as though attached to a submarine torpedo. The first run was a long one, but the line was longer, and the fish stopped before the reel was bare. This was my opportunity, and I had the boatman swing his craft across the course, and, reeling in the slack line I turned his head toward the deeper water. Forty-five minutes of a pretty a fight as one could wish to see left my new acquaintance alongside the boat, and before he recovered his surprise the gaff was in his gills and the boatman lifted him on

More about Personal Narrative: Half A Mile From Portage To Blackstone Lake

Open Document