We Go A-Fishing 1 1 5 



its hills and woods, its farmhouses and hay- 

 stacks. From our point of view, about a mile 

 out in the bay, we can see the spires of half-a- 

 dozen villages Bellport, Patchogue, Bayport, 

 and Sayville among them. The prevalent idea 

 to the effect that Long Island is a flat stretch 

 of sand, is one of the first impressions to dis- 

 appear when one gets out upon the water here. 

 There are no mountains, to be sure, but we 

 have respectable hills, and when seen from the 

 water in certain lights they give a mountainous 

 background to the country along the shore. 

 To get the full effect of these Long Island hills 

 as an imposing background, one has to sail 

 from the Great South Bay down to Moriches 

 on just such a morning as this. Starting from 

 Patchogue at five or even at six o'clock, if the 

 wind is fair, the entrance to the narrow strait 

 at Smith's Point is reached before the mists 

 rise, and one gets a view of Moriches, which 

 has reminded more than one person I know of 

 a miniature Swiss landscape. The little village 

 seems to nestle at the foot of a range of moun- 

 tains, more or less imposing, according to the 

 power of the sun upon the mists. Sailing out 



