A DAY'S BLACK BASS FISHINGZAYT UPPER WOODS LAKE, PA 
BY ANNA MCCOY. 
I had often heard of ‘‘ Beautiful Upper 
Woods,” the home of the Wayne Rod 
and Reel Club, justly celebrated amongst 
lovers of the gentle art for its hospi- 
tality, its artistic club house and lovely 
surroundings. Although but little ex- 
perienced in the use of a Leonard or 
Henshall rod, and with an equally 
meagre knowledge of the mysteries of 
a fly-hook, still, an ardent desire fora 
few days’ outing in the grand old hard- 
wood forests of Wayne county, and the 
tempting prospect of enjoying, at an 
altitude of fifteen hundred feet above 
sea level, the fine, bracing atmosphere 
of that ideally beautiful resort, soon 
determined me to act upon the advice 
of friends whose enthusiasm, born of 
personal experience, eventually proved 
too strong for me to resist. 
Enlivened by the most delightful an- 
ticipations, our party bade adieu to the 
heat and turmoil of Gotham, ‘‘nor cast 
one longing, lingering look behind” as 
each one of us eagerly discussed the 
coming joys of a new experience, and 
already saw, in her excited imagination, 
a splendid fruition awaiting her in the 
shape of huge strings of the Wicropterus 
as fitting reward of her prospective 
efforts. The propitious fates smiled 
wooingly upon a most auspicious day, 
late in August, as the time chosen for 
the date of our departure, and we soon 
found ourselves cozily ensconced in a 
parlor-car of the Erie railroad, whirling 
along towards Lackawaxen and through 
scenery whose varied beauty and gran- 
deur is unsurpassed east of the Mis- 
sissippi. Arriving at Honesdale, the 
county seat of Wayne county, about 
noon, we were met at the station by 
the club steward with an ample three- 
seated buckboard and a team of horses 
that, notwithstanding the sixteen miles 
they had already travelled that morn- 
ing to meet us, looked as fresh and 
vigorous as though they had jjust left 
the stable. As we sped along behind 
them I wondered whether this lovely 
Eden would show itself as gracious to 
us as it had to our equine friends. No 
bevy of school girls enjoying an unex- 
pected holiday was ever happier than 
we were that morning. Whether it 
was the grateful thought of returning 
home with renewed health; whether it 
was the air, than which I never breathed 
purer in my life, combined with feeling 
of unrestraint and perfect freedom from 
all conventionalities, I know not, but 
our exhuberant spirits plainly showed 
the beneficial effects of the change thus 
early in our journey. 
With a delicious premonition of ap- 
petites keenly sharpened by our two 
hours’ ride through smiling valleys, 
across widely-winding brooks of loud 
and stately march; through the umbra- 
geous dales of the Upper Woods forest, 
so exquisitely suggestive of ‘‘cool grot 
and mossy cell;’’ with either side of our 
road literally strewn with myriads of 
wild flowers and ferns, we were bent 
upon extracting the very essence of 
every minute’s enjoyment. Uncon- 
sciously our driver paid a glowing 
tribute to the beauty and never ending 
interest of our journey when he told us 
that, although he had driven over the 
