Fishing Brigus Gullies As a boy in my teens there were spots I remember Where I fished so often in the month of September Not only in that month, but others as well But that month seemed best, I so plainly could tell The gullies were near, up the river a piece Where one could go always to find utmost peace The trout there were plenty and of large size I fished them there often with a cast of two flies Not very accessible and hard walking to boot But when you arrived there you knew there was loot As the shore there was lined with bull rushes so tall Providing protection for trout one and all Silver Doctor and Black Nat were the flies of renown For they seemed so good, and available in town The trail that they left was enticing no doubt And seemed to attract most every kind of trout Behind that gully a steep mountain face lay Heavily treed and a route for moose in the day And one day while casting I heard a loud crash And watched a large moose emerge with a dash He stood there serenely with snout in the air< To detect scent of human that might be near But I was down wind so he got nary scent And I stood quietly there not a muscle was bent Then he walked so slowly out into the gully With water and bulrush up to his belly Standing there eating alone on that spot Til I clicked my fly reel and then off he did trot With water a flying and crashing for sure Til he reached the safety of the far shore And stopping a moment with snout in the air Then off he did trot through the bush far out there With the day at an end I thought I ne're might See again before me a more majestic sight The trip was worthwhile on that count alone So that's why I had to jot down this poem. This little ditty describes an event I experienced as a lad while fishing on Brigus Gullies in the mid 1900s, near our family summer home. Sights such as these are what undoubtedly draw me back to my roots. John Cornick Halifax, Nova Scotia   Submitted By: John Cornick