File:Outing (1885) (14796243773).jpg

Identifier: outing58newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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A RELIC OF PIONEER DAYS. had read of a pioneers wonderful workin this wilderness while my own ances-tors were busy in distant Greece, toilingand hoping for a country that had lostan ancient prestige, and was not yet readyto regain it. I tried to picture the vision and thedream that had drawn the men of thatday westward and was peopling my for-ests with red Indians and buckskin-cladheroes, when suddenly Garland cameupon me. I caught twenty, he said. And I ahead of you caught onlyfour, I admitted, with some littleshame, yet glad to know that I waslearning, even if slowly. We know the Boones, he went on,when I pointed out the sign to him, anddown the Linville Gorge, at Banner Elk,theres still a lot of em living. We callem Boonins, and theyre a mightyscrappy lot, settin much store by theirgreat-granddaddy Daniel. I could hardly believe I had come soclose upon the pathway of the westward-bound empire. I can show you, saidGarland, over by Grandfather Moun-
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THE STREAM THAT ALWAYS LAUGHS 69 tain, the very place where Boone campedand fought the Indians. Theres moreyarns about him in these parts than youcould count in a coons age. But there were too many fish still tobe caught for us to waste our timedreaming of pioneer heroes. Taking tothe stream again, we soon worked ourway to the forks of Linville River, wheretwo streams lead upward to the heightsof Grandfather Mountain. That wasthe end. Each fork was small and sosteep that hardly any trout would wantto leap its way along, the pools being farbetween and of no size. A third stream,Grassy Ridge, offered some possibilities,but we found it overhung with laureland crossed by many fallen logs, so thatthere was no chance for the free play ofeither rod or line. We became entan-gled in the underbrush, swore at thefallen trees, and finally abandoned ourfishing to enjoy the beauty of the hiddenbrook, which lavishly repaid us for oureffort to pass along its banks. The Stream That AlwaysLaughs, said

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