great attraction, however, of this region, is the brook trout,
with which the streams and lakes abound. The water is of excessive
coldness, the thermometer indicating 44 deg. and 45 deg.in the springs,
and 47 deg. or 48 deg. in the smaller streams. The trout are generally
small, but in the more remote branches their number is very great. In
such localities the fish are quite black, but in the lakes they are of
a lustre and brilliancy impossible to describe.

These waters have been much visited of late years by fishing parties,
and the name of the Beaver Kill is now a potent name among New York
sportsmen.

One lake, in the wilds of Callikoon, abounds in a peculiar species of
white sucker, which is of excellent quality. It is taken only in
spring, during the spawning season, at the time "when the leaves are
as big as a chipmunk's ears." The fish run up the small streams and
inlets, beginning at nightfall, and continuing till the channel is
literally packed with them, and every inch of space is occupied. The
fishermen pounce upon them at such times, and scoop them up by the
bushel, usually wading right into the living mass and landing the fish
with their hands. A small party will often secure in this manner a
wagon-load of fish. Certain conditions of the weather, as a warm south
or southwest wind, are considered most favorable for the fish to run.

Though familiar all my life with the outskirts of this region, I have
only twice dipped into its wilder portions. Once in 1860 a friend and
myself traced the Beaver Kill to its source, and encamped by Balsam
Lake. A cold and protracted rainstorm coming on, we were obliged to
leave the woods before we were ready. Neither of us will soon forget
that tramp by an unknown route over the mountains, encumbered as we
were with a hundred and one superfluities which we had foolishly
brought along to solace ourselves with in the woods; nor that halt on
the summit, where we cooked and ate our fish in the drizzling rain;
nor, again, that rude log house, with its sweet hospitality, which we
reached just at nightfall on Mill Brook.

In 1868 a party of three of us set out for a brief trouting excursion
to a body of water called Thomas's Lake, situated in the same chain of
mountains. On this excursion, more particularly than on any other I
have ever undertaken, I was taught how poor an Indian I should make,
and what a ridiculous figure a party of men may cut in the woods when
the way is unce