THE ANGLER AND HUNTSMAN 71 



black bass, or his first trout, has missed a great deal of 

 the joys of fishing. These are joys never forgotten. In 

 his old age, the angler will recall those pleasant memories, 

 memories that never die while life remains. The writer 

 can recall fishing trip after fishing trip just as vividly as 

 tho' it happened yesterday. I distinctly remember one 

 outing in particular that I shall never forget. 



Leisurely we paddled the small boat up the silently 

 flowing Licking River, nothing intervening to mar our 

 pleasure or peace of mind on the way. 



"Gosh, this is a darned sight better 'n pining away back 

 there in town, isn't it?" chimes Doc. 



"Those are exactly my sentiments, old top," I an- 

 swered. 



So we paddled on, finally reaching the mouth of Raven 

 Creek, fishing waters long noted in local history. 



With a few deft strokes of the oars, Doc had the craft 

 in a good position in the center of the creek where it emptied 

 its crystal flow into the broad waters of the Licking; 

 then we fished down stream, the current carrying our 

 floats, or corks, swiftly toward the river. 



This is the season when artificial bait is used in this 

 region. Earlier it would have been useless to use flies, or 

 spinners, as the waters that flow through the level portion 

 of the State are very muddy during the rainy season. 

 Nothing less than live minnows, crawfish, angleworms, or 

 "devils" would attract a denizen of the deep during that 

 period. 



Now, however, late in summer, the rains abated and 

 the water was clear as that of a mountain torrent, and so 

 flies and spinners were in order. 



I distinctly remember every detail of the trip. It 

 comes back to me as a vivid dream, only more real, of 

 course. Doc was the first to land his quarry. It was a 

 whopping black bass of the species "Micropterus dolo- 

 mieu," a small-mouth. Submarines weren't in the running 



