ME, MY BOY AND THE BASS. 



THE upper Potomac and its tributaries flow 

 through deep gorges and mountain passes, 

 sandy and rock bottom alternating. My son 

 and I were happily located near the confluence of 

 the former river and the Shenandoah. Rocky walls 

 standing almost perpendicular, with lofty layers and 

 rugged croppings on the surface all the result o'f 

 some great convulsion of nature, on the faces of 

 which were pictured fantastic designs bearing the 

 names ascribed to them by the natives of the locality, 

 hemmed in the clear, swift and sparkling waters of 

 these two streams. The former presented a dark 

 blue tint the color of the sky, the latter a greenish hue 

 caused by the reflection of the verdure which grew 

 along the upper mountain sides. Innumerable rocks 

 and boulders lifted their heads above the surface of 

 these waters, the romance of the picture broken by 

 artificial dams and runways which harassed the power 

 of the streams for milling purposes. Along in the 

 fifties, so the legend goes, a locomotive engineer 

 transported several thousand small-mouthed black bass 

 in the tank of the engine tender to the head 

 waters of the Potomac, and there gave them their 

 freedom. These multiplied, increased in numbers to 

 thousands more, coupled with time, caused them to 

 develop not only in size but in extreme viciousness 

 as well. 



Nowhere in the world can there be found a fish 

 which possesses the fighting qualities, the gameness, 



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