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father's face. To make sure his son had not stolen them from the fish traps, the kindly father asked to look at their mouths. Noting the narks where the hooks had been taken out he said, "I don't see how you could get those M.g fish out of the water. You just stuck the hooks in their mouths and pulled them out again to fool me." "Oh no, Pa! With this one, I ¦broke by pole and had to pull him out by hand." ¦Cone on, son, let's go see that broken pole." After questioning the two cousins and inspecting the broken pole, the father was made happy and the son exonerated. Some twenty-five years later, about 1902, when Idndsey was the miller at the flour mill south of Fairview, a great storm struck the Milburn and Oak Creek area. K.th tense anxiety, he watched the constant lightning and thunder. A disastrous and devastating flood was imminent. He could only watch and wait and hope. A little before nightfall, an ocean of slow-moving mud engulfed a small field just below the mill. Atop this mass of mud and debris, hundreds of beautiful trout were dead or dying. Thousands more were entombed in this great flood of liquid earth. For many years thereafter, no fish of any consequence could be found in Sanpitch Hiver. And the real big ones were gone forever. Sourcei life Story of Lindsey Blmund Brady and biography of the author. -75- |
