tried it and found the lava as smooth and slippery as polished glass.

After sitting down a couple of times in water two feet deep, I concluded
to stay on shore and cast out into the pool. Following this exhilarating
exercise with indifferent success, I noticed approaching a little, old
Indian. He was bareheaded and barefooted. His shirt was open, exposing
his throat and breast. His eyes were deep set, his hair and beard a
grizzly gray. He had a willow fishing pole in one hand and a short bush
with green leaves on it, with which he was whacking grasshoppers, in the
other. He circled around on the bank near me, now and again catching a
hopper. I noticed that he ate about two out of every five that he
caught. The others he kept for bait.

Finally he approached the stream. He paid no attention whatever to me.
He selected a spot almost under me, squatted down upon a flat rock, put
two grasshoppers on his hook, threw it into the stream, and in a very
short time drew out a good six-pound trout. Filled with admiration for
the feat, while he was tying a string through the fish's gills I said to
him, "Muy mahe," which another Indian had told me meant "big trout."
Without looking up or turning his head, he said to me in perfect
English, "What sort of lingo are you giving me, young man? The true
pronunciation of those words is," and then he repeated "Muy mahe," with
just a little twist to his words that I had not given them. Resuming the
conversation he remarked, "Why not speak English? When both parties
understand it, it is much more comfortable. I intended to catch but one
fish, but as you have admired this one, allow me to present it to you
with my compliments." He had turned around now, and held out the
struggling trout, a pleasant smile upon his worn features.

Embarrassed beyond measure, I apologized for attempting to talk to him