Notes and Quertes 
to produce undue excitement. But it is at 
Fort Myers that another phase, equally la- 
mentable, of the tarpon craze occurs, which is 
even more unhappy in its reflection upon the 
gentle art of angling. We all know that at 
this point, particularly in April, the tarpon are 
numerous, and it is at this time that a practice 
is in vogue which, if followel on a trout or 
bass water, would excite the criticism of all 
good and true craftmen and debar the perpe- 
trator from membership in any reputable ang- 
ling club in the country. We refer to ‘“ fish- 
ing for a record’”—a record of numbers. 
Those who follow this practice never wet a 
line for tarpon until the month when these 
fish swarm at Fort Myers, where they are 
more abundant than at any other point along 
the gulf coast. 
In view of the above fact, is it not most 
time for you, Mr. Editor, and others with the 
good of the Craft at heart, to protest against 
such an unsportsmanlike practice, under which 
tarpon angling is rapidly becoming the biggest 
kind of pot fishing ? Op Fin. 
Harem, N. Y., April 26. 

Fishing «“Now’’ and « Then.” 
During the angling season it is not unusual 
to hear a fisher on a stream cry out, particu- 
larly at the moment of failure to connect with 
a rising fish: 
‘““This is not as it used to be—fishing is 
played out here.” 
To a measurable extent and from his stand- 
point he may be correct. But there is a great 
deal of bosh in the croaking of many fisher- 
men when they complain of diminished fish- 
ing in their favorite waters. To those who 
jishtor fish, thenumbers of their victims have 
certainly become less, season on top of season, 
but this condition can easily be condoned if the 
fisherman will be more indifferent to making 
a maximum score than to the maximum of 
sport to be obtained in the deceptive luring of 
his quarry. The old waters are nowadays 
more closely fished and creels don’t fill so 
rapidly, but given even a partially depleted 
water where trout were once at the beck and 
yank of the most clumsy and ignorant of rod- 
sters, and there are propitious days, certainly 
hours, when the experienced angler can make 
a good score under the highest development 
of his art. And these are red letter days to 
him. 
143 
Again, under the growth of public opinion 
and an economical policy, the fishing waters 
all over the country have reached a halt in 
their hitherto rapid process of depletion. To 
be sure the coarse fishes, so called, have di- 
minished in waters adjacent to populous cen- 
tres, but the black bass, the trout and other 
species of the salmonoids have increased in 
numbers in waters easily accessible. We, of 
course, refer to the changed condition of the 
last decade or so, and do not compare the 
virgin waters of thirty or more years ago to 
the same waters of to-day. 
The true angler, one who is imbued with the 
spirit of the environment of his sport, and 
goes to the stream intent on luring, rather 
than killing, the brook beauties which he 
knows will, under propitious conditions and 
the skilled handling of his tackle, come to his 
creel, can get all the fish his moderation wants 
and more enjoyment from his outing, than 
the butcher fisher of fifty years ago who fished 
for fish and yanked them out. 
It has happened more than once, in our an- 
gling outings, that we have heard a good old 
fisher, when angling in waters swarming with 
fish, cry out to his guide: 
“Take me some place where there are not 
so many fish.” 
And we have seen him reel up and leave 
the over fruitful fishing grounds. Of such 
are the kingdom of anglers, and no admittance 
therein for men like ‘‘Old Ike,” whose experi- 
ence suggested the above notes after reading 
his plaint in the New York Szz, of recent 
date: 
‘““They ain’t no good!” said Uncle Ike; 
‘“*An’ all the thing I wish, 
Is ’at them city chaps could see 
. The way I us’ ter fish. 
‘““We didn’t hev no clickin’ things, 
Ner highfalutin’ duds; 
We didn’t hev to wade the creek, 
An’ lash it into suds! 
““We us’ter cut a straight birch pole, 
An’ dig a mess 0’ bait; 
Then jes’ set down ’longside a hole, 
An’ chaw terbac—an’ wait.”’ 
Then just o demonstrate the fact, 
Old Uncle Ike went out; 
He guessed he’d “set below the dain, 
An’ ketch a mess o’ trout !”’ 
We went at noon and took a peep ; 
There Uncle [ke sat, still 
And motionless as if asleep, 
Beside the rippling rill. 
