Upper Kennebec Valley High School - Boreas Yearbook (Bingham, ME)

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14 BOREAS He didn't want to ask his father stupid questions, so he gave it up and soon forgot it. After a while he said, I don't hear it H Don't hear what? The Hulling Machine! I thought it made an awful noise! He was dis- appointed, Wait till we get up there, his father laughed. They left the car parked just below the old railroad bridge that crossed the East Branch. As soon as he climb- ed out, he heard a faint roaring, which seemed to come partly from the river below and partly from a long way off. His father strapped the pack on and started off on the trail, walking as easily as though it were an ordinary sidewalk, while he stumb- led after him, taking two steps to his father's one. The trail led along the river but farther up on the bank, so that most of the time the river was hidden by the trees. The roaring grew louder and loud- er. He was panting now, while his fa- ther walked without any apparent ef- fort. At last the trail turned and headed down to the bank. He thought he heard his father say something but the roar of the water drowned it out. They stood on a ledge by the river and he gazed at the Hulling Ma- chine . He watched the rushingwater- fall and spray. The drop was not very far, but there was so much water booming down over that the roar was deafening. He threw a stick into the white water and it disappeared at once. His father climbed down the ledge which ran along the river and helped him climb down. The ledge was flat- ter below the Hulling Machine , so that it was easy to fish here. His fath- er was telling him to stay away from the edge, and helping him rig up his line. When he was ready, his father moved up and fished above the Hull- ing Machine. He could see him cast- ing easily into the white water. He threw his leader with the White Ghost into the water. He stared at the dark water flowing past him and tried to see his line. At last he pulled as hard as he could, the fly came whizzing out of the water and shot over his head. It lay on the rocks behind him. He laid down his rod and went to pick it up. He walked as near as he dared to the water's edge and threw the fly in again. He ran to get his rod before a fish got off with the whole thing. He stood for a long time holding on tight- ly. Watching the swift water in the sun made him sleepy and a little dizzy. He looked at his father. He was still casting, lifting the rod easily, holding it a second, then moving it forward. The line sailed out gracefully. It was about time for him to cast again, he decided. He lifted his rod carefully, but the line wouldn't come -it held fast. He had snagged it on the bottom, he was always doing that when he fished with worms. But how would he get it out? What would his father say if he lost the whole thing, White Ghost and all? Suddenly the line moved---it was going up towards the Hulling Machine . A fish-he had a fish! he though excitedly. He shouted for his father, but the roar was louder. He looked desparately in his direction. His father was watch- ing-he almost thought he was laugh- ing! The line went out farther and

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BOREAS 13 . A 32iO35!3iQZ83 A 'IECl3C828Z82l l,llT'lERARY THE VETERAN ANGLER The day had come at last! He had dreamed of it ever since he was old enough to understand what goin' fishin' meant. His Dad was always going fishing up on the East Branch. He had often heard the other fisher- men tell about the one that got away right there below the Hulling Ma- chine . And every time in answer to his questions his Dad had said, Tell you what, I'll take you up there some day, when you can handle a rod. Well, he certainly was no expert at handling a rod . Six-year olds sel- dom are. In fact, he had made a mess of trying to cast out on the lawn but Dad had chuckled and said, Guess you can go with me tomorrow. Just like that-as though it were nothing! He was up before anyone else was awake. He waited impatiently and wondered why his father took so long in getting ready. He managed to get in his mother's way while she packed their lunch, until finally she sent him out of the kitchen. He sat in the back steps and whis- tled. Whistling bothered him a little, because one tooth was missing in front. The other front tooth was loose, too. He hoped it would come out to- day. Pug -he was leader of the neighborhood gang-had lost both his front ones, and he had said it sure was a sign of being old and tough. So he wiggled it back and forth and watch- a robin on the lawn digging for a worm. He sort of wished he was going to fish with worms because it was fun to dig them, but he was a fly fisher- man like his Dad. The screen door slammed shut. Dad appeared with his pack and rod. He raced out to the garage ahead of his father. When he got to the car, Lad was behind him, barking and dancing up and down. So he had to haul him back to the house and convince him he couldn't go. Dad had the car backed out in front of the house. He rushed back and got in, slamming the door. Where's your rod? On the porch, he remembered. He ran faster this time for fear his father would get impatient and leave with out him. Back in the car he had everything, and Mom had Lad in the house. The ride to the Forks in the glorious sum- mer morning was just a necessary waste of time to him. At The Forks they turned onto the dirt road. He sat up, more excited now. They reached Moxie Lake, beautiful in the morning sun. Now, his father told him as he swung the car onto a very narrow road, we're on the old railroad track. He thought this over a while, puz- zled. There was no track or sign of a train, only a narrow straight road.

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BOREAS 15 farther. Sometimes he was sure the fish had got away, then the line would move again. After a long time he got mad at that fish and pulled hard. The line came swiftly in and he got a glimpse of a huge fish. He stopped pulling. He was so surprised. He wished his fath- ed would help him! - 1. After a while he thought, I'll pull hard and pull him out onto the rocks g but when he tried the fish flapped once and went off with more line. He was sweating hard. Gee, it was a big fish! He set the rod down, stepping carefully on the line so that the fish couldn't go any farther. Then he pulled in the line, hand over hand, slowly so as not to scare the fish. His father had given him a little net. How would he get the fish in? He pulled it up out of the water and it hung dan- gerously with its tail flapping and he put the net under it and dropped it in. To his surprise it went in easily. His father was coming toward him. He looked surprised and pleased. Hold him up so we can measure him, he said. He had the fish pinned down to the rocks with both hands. So his father put his rule beside it. Sorry, Son, he's just twelve inches --got to put him back. Law says four- teen inches on salmon. That's part of the game, you know. His father wet his hands and took hold of the fish. He slipped the fly out of its mouth. Here, he said, You put him back and let him grow a couple inches while we're eating our lunch. He carried it with both hands to the river edge and dropped him in. The fish stayed on top for a second, and then disappeared. He climbed back up the ledge to the top and sat down beside his father quietly. His father didn't say anything, just passed him a sandwich. He sat there eating and already he felt a lit- tle better. Wait till I tell the gang, he thought. Just wait till I tell them about the fish I caught! He took a big bite and stopped chewing. Some- thing hard was in the sandwich. He felt cautiously-it was the other tooth! Nellie Macdougall '45 if Sl' lk fl' MID-WINTER SCENES The sun with all its flaming glory, peeps over Fletcher Mountain to cast a weathered eye on the old familiar, though much battered, landscape and seems to contemplate what should be done about it. At this early hour the snow casts off a crystalline brilliance which only the sun could possibly look upon with scorn. Even the trees nearby seem to acknowledge the fact that it is morn- ing for they are stretching their long, grey limbs toward the sky, as though yawning after having had an excellent night's sleep. Those are, of course, the hard woods, for the soft-woods still seem to sleep, nodding their heads un- ceasingly in the refreshing morning air. The mountains, however, vary in their appearance, for old Moxie fto the north and east! raises a bold, but bare, head above all the surrounding country as though it too, agreed with the sun. The fact that it has a white, though slightly dirty, cap pulled low over its massive head only helps to emphasize its contempt.