,3i6 



The American Angler. 



first picking our dead birds. The birds 

 had flown to a little sheltered cove 

 under the lee of a projecting bit of land 

 known as Hog Island Point. They got 

 lip wild as we neared them, and at so 

 far distance that a successful shot was 

 impossible. Tacking again as we came 

 round, I saw something that made me 

 shudder, and at the same time have that 

 nervous feeling known as the " creeps," 

 that is, the succession of chills which 

 run from the back of your neck to the 

 OS cocculus and then back again. Ugh ! 

 I haven't got over it yet. Our speed 

 had been checked, the sail was rattling . 

 in the wind, when almost under my 

 nose up from the water came a round 

 bullet- shaped head covered with hair, 

 and peering from that head a great big 

 pair of dark colored eyes, the most 

 mournful in expression that I have ever 

 seen, before or since. Was it a shock? 

 I think so. My first impulse was to 

 grab for it, and almost got overboard in 

 the attempt. Indeed, I should have 

 gone over, never to come up again no 

 doubt, had not Captain Tuthill grabbed 

 me by the tails of my leather shooting 

 jacket. I thought at first glance it was 

 a baby negro girl. Of course I was 

 horrified and didn't get over it imtil the 

 captain burst into a loud guff, and say- 

 ing at the same time, "You chump, 

 don't you know a hair seal when you 

 see it?" Well, as it was the first I had 

 ever encountered I confess I didn't 

 know it, but it made such impression 

 upon me that I'm not likely ever to 

 forget. It gives me a chill now, years 

 afterward, when I think of my feelings 

 when that dark head and sad looking 

 eyes burst out to my astonished, I may 

 say appalled sight from under the 

 waters. Possibly the vision came so 

 unexpectedly and so quickly that it 

 startled me far more than it would 



otherwise have been the case. How- 

 ever, I want no more such surprises — 

 once in a life-time is full enough. 



On inland waters the fishing for both 

 big-mouth and small-mouth black bass 

 have been something phenomenally 

 good ever since the close time expired 

 last May. As usual catches have varied 

 with different individuals. Singular it 

 is, yet it is the case everywhere, that 

 some men will be successful in a catch 

 while others not two rods away never 

 get a strike. No one has as yet that I 

 am aware given a solution of the mixed 

 problem. Greenwood Lake, Lake 

 Hopatcong and Swartzwood Lake, all 

 these in the state of New Jersey, have 

 afforded abundance of sport. The last 

 named lake, although the smallest of 

 the three, is much fished. Six weeks 

 ago two young friends of the writer ran 

 up to Swartzwood Lake for a little fish- 

 ing after the big mouths. They made 

 arrangements to remain three days. 

 The end of tw^o days saw a couple of 

 disgusted young men. They had 

 worked the waters of the lake from 

 one end to the other, the boat all the 

 time in the hands of one who knew 

 Swartzwood and its bass as well as any 

 one that lived, yet the labor was with- 

 out result. They tried live frogs, 

 "mummies," belly bits of small fish, 

 live worms, insects of all kinds, yet 

 never a strike was had. Then they 

 shifted to flies. Nothing was success- 

 ful. Then they trolled with attractive 

 lures, metal and quill, and heaven 

 knows what all. It was useless. The 

 young man remarked when he heard 

 their discussion about going home that 

 night he knew them well, for each year 

 for several past had seen the young 

 fellows spend their Summer outing at 

 Swartzwood. 



