第 3 节
作者:
津夏 更新:2021-02-24 22:21 字数:9322
through which the amber water rushes with an unceasing thunderous roar; now plunging down in white falls; then swirling round in dark pools。 The day; already past meridian; was delightful; at least; the blue strip of it I could see overhead。
Better pools and rapids for trout never were; I thought; as I concealed myself behind a bowlder; and made the first cast。 There is nothing like the thrill of expectation over the first throw in unfamiliar waters。 Fishing is like gambling; in that failure only excites hope of a fortunate throw next time。 There was no rise to the 〃leader〃 on the first cast; nor on the twenty…first; and I cautiously worked my way down stream; throwing right and left。 When I had gone half a mile; my opinion of the character of the pools was unchanged: never were there such places for trout; but the trout were out of their places。 Perhaps they didn't care for the fly: some trout seem to be so unsophisticated as to prefer the worm。 I replaced the fly with a baited hook: the worm squirmed; the waters rushed and roared; a cloud sailed across the blue: no trout rose to the lonesome opportunity。 There is a certain companionship in the presence of trout; especially when you can feel them flopping in your fish basket; but it became evident that there were no trout in this wilderness; and a sense of isolation for the first time came over me。 There was no living thing near。 The river had by this time entered a deeper gorge; walls of rocks rose perpendicularly on either side; picturesque rocks; painted many colors by the oxide of iron。 It was not possible to climb out of the gorge; it was impossible to find a way by the side of the river; and getting down the bed; over the falls; and through the flumes; was not easy; and consumed time。
Was that thunder? Very likely。 But thunder showers are always brewing in these mountain fortresses; and it did not occur to me that there was anything personal in it。 Very soon; however; the hole in the sky closed in; and the rain dashed down。 It seemed a providential time to eat my luncheon; and I took shelter under a scraggy pine that had rooted itself in the edge of the rocky slope。 The shower soon passed; and I continued my journey; creeping over the slippery rocks; and continuing to show my confidence in the unresponsive trout。 The way grew wilder and more grewsome。 The thunder began again; rolling along over the tops of the mountains; and reverberating in sharp concussions in the gorge: the lightning also darted down into the darkening passage; and then the rain。 Every enlightened being; even if he is in a fisherman's dress of shirt and pantaloons; hates to get wet; and I ignominiously crept under the edge of a sloping bowlder。 It was all very well at first; until streams of water began to crawl along the face of the rock; and trickle down the back of my neck。 This was refined misery; unheroic and humiliating; as suffering always is when unaccompanied by resignation。
A longer time than I knew was consumed in this and repeated efforts to wait for the slackening and renewing storm to pass away。 In the intervals of calm I still fished; and even descended to what a sportsman considers incredible baseness: I put a 〃sinker〃 on my line。 It is the practice of the country folk; whose only object is to get fish; to use a good deal of bait; sink the hook to the bottom of the pools; and wait the slow appetite of the summer trout。 I tried this also。 I might as well have fished in a pork barrel。 It is true that in one deep; black; round pool I lured a small trout from the bottom; and deposited him in the creel; but it was an accident。 Though I sat there in the awful silence (the roar of water and thunder only emphasized the stillness) full half an hour; I was not encouraged by another nibble。 Hope; however; did not die: I always expected to find the trout in the next flume; and so I toiled slowly on; unconscious of the passing time。 At each turn of the stream I expected to see the end; and at each turn I saw a long; narrow stretch of rocks and foaming water。 Climbing out of the ravine was; in most places; simply impossible; and I began to look with interest for a slide; where bushes rooted in the scant earth would enable me to scale the precipice。 I did not doubt that I was nearly through the gorge。 I could at length see the huge form of the Giant of the Valley; scarred with avalanches; at the end of the vista; and it seemed not far off。 But it kept its distance; as only a mountain can; while I stumbled and slid down the rocky way。 The rain had now set in with persistence; and suddenly I became aware that it was growing dark; and I said to myself; 〃If you don't wish to spend the night in this horrible chasm; you'd better escape speedily。〃 Fortunately I reached a place where the face of the precipice was bushgrown; and with considerable labor scrambled up it。
Having no doubt that I was within half a mile; perhaps within a few rods; of the house above the entrance of the gorge; and that; in any event; I should fall into the cart…path in a few minutes; I struck boldly into the forest; congratulating myself on having escaped out of the river。 So sure was I of my whereabouts that I did not note the bend of the river; nor look at my compass。 The one trout in my basket was no burden; and I stepped lightly out。
The forest was of hard…wood; and open; except for a thick undergrowth of moose…bush。 It was raining;in fact; it had been raining; more or less; for a month;and the woods were soaked。 This moose…bush is most annoying stuff to travel through in a rain; for the broad leaves slap one in the face; and sop him with wet。 The way grew every moment more dingy。 The heavy clouds above the thick foliage brought night on prematurely。 It was decidedly premature to a near…sighted man; whose glasses the rain rendered useless: such a person ought to be at home early。 On leaving the river bank I had borne to the left; so as to be sure to strike either the clearing or the road; and not wander off into the measureless forest。 I confidently pursued this course; and went gayly on by the left flank。 That I did not come to any opening or path only showed that I had slightly mistaken the distance: I was going in the right direction。
I was so certain of this that I quickened my pace and got up with alacrity every time I tumbled down amid the slippery leaves and catching roots; and hurried on。 And I kept to the left。 It even occurred to me that I was turning to the left so much that I might come back to the river again。 It grew more dusky; and rained more violently; but there was nothing alarming in the situation; since I knew exactly where I was。 It was a little mortifying that I had miscalculated the distance: yet; so far was I from feeling any uneasiness about this that I quickened my pace again; and; before I knew it; was in a full run; that is; as full a run as a person can indulge in in the dusk; with so many trees in the way。 No nervousness; but simply a reasonable desire to get there。 I desired to look upon myself as the person 〃not lost; but gone before。〃 As time passed; and darkness fell; and no clearing or road appeared; I ran a little faster。 It didn't seem possible that the people had moved; or the road been changed; and yet I was sure of my direction。 I went on with an energy increased by the ridiculousness of the situation; the danger that an experienced woodsman was in of getting home late for supper; the lateness of the meal being nothing to the gibes of the unlost。 How long I kept this course; and how far I went on; I do not know; but suddenly I stumbled against an ill…placed tree; and sat down on the soaked ground; a trifle out of breath。 It then occurred to me that I had better verify my course by the compass。 There was scarcely light enough to distinguish the black end of the needle。 To my amazement; the compass; which was made near Greenwich; was wrong。 Allowing for the natural variation of the needle; it was absurdly wrong。 It made out that I was going south when I was going north。 It intimated that; instead of turning to the left; I had been making a circuit to the right。 According to the compass; the Lord only knew where I was。
The inclination of persons in the woods to travel in a circle is unexplained。 I suppose it arises from the sympathy of the legs with the brain。 Most people reason in a circle: their minds go round and round; always in the same track。 For the last half hour I had been saying over a sentence that started itself: 〃I wonder where that road is!〃 I had said it over till it had lost all meaning。 I kept going round on it; and yet I could not believe that my body had been traveling in a circle。 Not being able to recognize any tracks; I have no evidence that I had so traveled; except the general testimony of lost men。
The compass annoyed me。 I've known experienced guides utterly discredit it。 It couldn't be that I was to turn about; and go the way I had come。 Nevertheless; I said to myself; 〃You'd better keep a cool head; my boy; or you are in for a night of it。 Better listen to science than to spunk。〃 And I resolved to heed the impartial needle。 I was a little weary of the rough tramping: but it was necessary