THE PICKEREL. 393 



No wonder! nose bleeding, hands torn and scratched, 

 pants spht into ribbons — but I had my fish, and kept a close 

 mouth. The ram was a valuable animal, of choice breed, 

 and I knew that in case he died there was a choice licking in 

 store for me. "Silence is golden," sometimes, and I kept 

 mum. For years my old enemy and I understood each other 

 thoroughly. 



Rams seldom die, unless killed. I could always thereafter 

 fish that stream again unmolested; but let me go out of the 

 pasture gate without a stick, and the ram was rampant. 



HOW CAN I CATCH PICKEREL.^ 



With anything — a walking-stick, and a string with a spoon- 

 hook on it — or with a long stick cut beside the stream, a 

 tow line as large as your little finger, and a big hook impal- 

 ing a mouse, a frog, a piece of fat pork; a slice of bacon, 

 with the outer skin left on and cut about two inches long, 

 shaping the bait like a minnow. The Pickerel is a fool fish 

 when hungry, and I am inclined to think will jump at even 

 bare hooks, if only they spin. But there is as much concen- 

 trated essence of fun in fishing for Pickerel, with fine tackles, 

 as you can get out of the mailed warrior, boasting the grand 

 lineage of a Micropterus Dolomicu; and the former fish com- 

 pletely puts in shade the StizostetJiiuni vitreian, for fighting 

 to the last gasp. 



With a Bethabara wood rod, whose tips would slip into a 

 barley straw, a fine Trout line, a rubber click-reel, and a 

 single Sproat or Sneck-bend hook, impaling a Storer's min- 

 now, or silver shiner through the back, I have hooked and 

 landed Pickerel, after fighting them for several minutes. No 

 Trout ever gave more fun than Pickerel will, when they do 

 take a notion to rise to a fly. Large gaudy flies, allowed to sink 

 beneath the surface, are attractive lure for any of the reticu- 

 latus family. 



Where cold, clear streams abound, the Pickerel give an 



