THE BOOK OF THE PIKE 



and away the best time for casting, evening taking 

 second place, though a close, mizzling day, with a 

 menace of thunder in the air, is ideal. Then, if ever, 

 pickerel will rise. Upon a cold, blustering day one will 

 be compelled to resort to live bait, more regarding 

 which when we take up the study of the great pike. 



Speaking of the weather reminds me of a rather 

 unique experience a few summers ago, the narrating 

 of which has been reserved through the passing seasons 

 for this work. I, in company with a lifelong friend, 

 was fishing a little unimportant river which finds its 

 tortuous way into Green Bay, an arm of Lake Mich- 

 igan. Time was when the stream contained that 

 aristocrat amid fresh- water fishes, the speckled trout; 

 but the encroachment of farmers had quenched feeder 

 springs, and the temperature of the water had risen 

 above the durance of the aristocrat, his place in time 

 being taken by the humble chub and much-maligned 

 Esox vermiculatus. The stream had disappeared from 

 the map so far as outside anglers were concerned, the 

 small boy and cane pole alone remaining to mark its 

 ichthyic course. For an angler with rod and reel to 

 appear upon its banks was to invite the good-natured 

 contempt of the farmers through whose land it made 

 its way. Nevertheless, my companion and I in due 

 time parked our cars close to the water's edge, where, 

 in days long gone, Indians had erected their conical 

 wigwams. 



My first cast out upon the placid surface of the little 

 pool before us resulted in a "short rise." Slowly reeling 

 in, I saw the little pickerel following the lure at a safe 

 distance. Probably it was the first "wobbler" he had 

 ever seen. Waiting a few moments for the water to 



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