In the genial October weather, during which comes the cream of the
flying, the sojourn at Carroll's Island must be enviably delightful. But
much I fear, that next autumn's prospects look brighter for the fowl
than for their sedulous persecutors. Who can say what changes may have
been wrought in the fortunes of some of those cheery sportsmen before
next season shall open. Perhaps ere that the echoes of the Chesapeake
will be waked by an artillery that would drown the roar even of the
mighty duck-gun. The sea-fishing in the bay is remarkably good, but it
is not greatly affected by amateurs; and very few yachts are seen on its
usually placid waters. Almost all the streams round the Chesapeake, in
spite of their being perpetually "thrashed," and never preserved, abound
in small trout; but farther afield, in Northwestern Maryland, where the
tributaries of the Potomac and Shenandoah flow down the woody ravines of
Cheat Mountain and the Blue Ridge, there is room for any number of
fly-rods, and fish heavy enough to bend the stiffest of them all.
Before troubles began, they used to hunt, after a fashion, in most of
the upland districts; but the sport can hardly be very exciting. The
gravest of the "potterings" of ancient days, when our great-grandsires
used to "drag" up their fox while the dew lay heavy on the grass, was a
"cracker" compared to one of these runs, as I heard them described.
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