Adirondack Guide, Adirondack Mountains, Adirondacks, Alfred Donaldson, Alvah Dunning, Blue Mountain Lake, Boreal Swamp, brook trout, canoe, Charles Hallock, Chateaugay, Dr. Joseph Stickler, Durant, fly fishing, French Louis Seymour, geese, Herr Jagger, Indian Pass, John Leaf, loggers, Monsieur LaPineaux, Nobleboro, Railroads, saranac, Thomas Tahauwas, West Canada Creek, William Henry Harrison Murray, Woodcock
Wouldn’t you believe it?
Just yesterday I was telling you about Old Ralph and Fred; two of my fishing buddies. Lo and behold who do I run into today but those two troublemakers.
I was surprised that they didn’t have Abel the sport, “protector of the north woods”, along with them – – – and his long gun of course.
Old Ralph and Fred had found a nice hole to fish. Well Old Ralph, he decides to go up on the boulders to see if he can tell Fred where to throw his bait. His shadow was enough to scare all the fish down to the other end of the hole – – – maybe they even swam all the way to Lake Champlain as far as I know.
I was fishing by myself when I heard the commotion. I thought I had the whole river to myself but apparently not. I recognized the voices of Old Ralph and Fred. So I decided to stop fishing and listen to what was going on.
There was Fred – – – just madder than a burlap bag full of baby raccoons. He was hollerin’ at Old Ralph.
“Why you snaggly-toothed, wall-eyed, son-of-a-salamander – – – get down from there. I prob’ly won’t catch another fishes for five week out of this hole. How ignorant can a man get?”
Old Ralph wasn’t going to take that standing up (or standing on a boulder or standing anywhere).
He responded to Fred’s outstanding command of the King’s English.
“You wern’t catchin’ a thing anyhow. You should’a brought the stick a the dynamite you usually fish with – – – that’s the only luck you’re gonna have.” And then as an afterthought he finished up with “you possum eatin’, porkypine lovin’, pickled sucker kissin’ sport – – – yeh’, that’s what you are – – – a sport.”
Well I didn’t hear any more kind words being spoken and thought the argument was over. Then I heard the splash and more cuss words than I care to tell you about.
By time I reached their fishin’ hole they were standing in the middle of it. Each one had the other by the sleeve of a soaked shirt and were doing their best to do damage to each other.
It was not pretty to see two good fishing buddies in a fight.
“Hey you two rubes – – – what the hell are you doing?” I hollered from afar.
They stopped fighting to look my way.
Once they realized how silly they looked and how idiotic they were acting they both started laughing and helped each other out of the fishing hole.
By the time I reached them they were getting their pipes out of their pants pockets. It was then that they saw their tobacco pouches floating downstream. The pouches had fallen out of their shirt pockets.
I had the only dry tobacco so you know who furnished it.
We sat on a boulder and talked while the bright sun dried out their clothes.
“What are you two guys doing out here without Abel your protector?” I asked.
“He had to go back to Boston to take care of some business” replied Fred.
“Yeh’ – – – Monkey business I bet” added Old Ralph. “I bet he has a lady back there in Boston.”
Then they told me that Abel had just finished another painting of the two of them. It seems as though they told Abel some cock-a-mamey story about them in a canoe and a mountain lion. Another canoe story wouldn’t you believe it?
That finished off our day of fishing so we walked back to the village.
Old Ralph told me to follow him to his house so he could show me Abel’s last painting of those two old fools – – – and fishing buddies in perpetuity.
Poor Abel. He would believe any old story those two liars had coming out of their mouths.