Terms, Four Dollars a Year. ) 

 Ten Cents a Copy. J 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1876. 



J Volume 7, Aumber 19. 



1 17 Chatham 8t. (City Hall Bqr.) 



PATCH. 



» , 



From the Ontario County Journal. 



MY dog Is dead! "Well, what of that?" they say; 

 "Sometimes dogs die, and sometimes men do, too; 

 Beside, you know, each dog must have his day, 

 So thank your stars death took your dog, not you'" 



0, false philosophy ! Have you. not heard 



There is a Being mightiest of all, 

 Who rules alike e'er man, and beast, and bird, 



Who taketh note of every sparrow's fall? 



But I forgive you . Patch you did not know . 



His was a nature loving, brave and true; 

 And were he now to hear you speakiog so 



I am not sure but he'd forgive you too. 



Patch was a Cocker of the finest slrain; 



Proud in the consciousness of his blue blood, 

 To mix with other dogs he would not deign 



Unless they traced at least back to the flood. 



And thou, Patch, wast brave. Many a day 



Thou hast done battle with some humble bee, 

 Or butterfly, or cow. What in thy way 



Soever came, it mattered not to thee. 



And thou wast loving, Patch. And when the wind 



To "vex d Bermoothes" thy dear master bore, 

 He little knew the love he left behind, 



Nor dreamed thy life went out with him from shore. 



Yes, Patch is dead. ' 'And what of that?" you say; 



♦'Sometimes dogs die, and sometimes men do, too." 

 You're right, alasl The dog has had his day, 

 And I couid wish that I had had mine too." 

 *Patch, the subject of the above obituary poetry, was the property of 

 A. S. Williams, Esq., Canadaigua, N. Y., and was bred by S. J. Bestor, 

 Hartford, Conn. Patch was by imported Romeo out of imported Ju- 

 liette. 



— 1»» 



^ 



For Forest and Stream. 



\ah% of thq (^nfahill ^m^Qe. 



THAT part of the Catskill Mountains which lies south 

 of the valley of the Esopus, contains the head- 

 waters of dozens of clear cold streams, most of which are 

 celebrated as containing trout in large numbers, or to be 

 more precise, were formerly celebrated ; for their once appa- 

 rently inexhaustible supplies are now sadly depleted . This 

 region is also, with the single exception of the Adiron- 

 dack^, the wildest and least settled portion of the State; 

 the lofty and rugged hills and narrow sandy valleys, offer- 

 ing little inducement to cultivation, so that, although 

 within a few hours travel of the metropolis, the errant 

 ;angler can yet find here the log cabins and primitive life 

 of the backwoods . 



Originally the level lands and river bottoms were cov- 

 ered with a dense growth of pine, and the name Pine 

 Mountains was once used to designate the entire district, 

 but the pines were long ago felled, sawed into lumber, and 

 rafted down the Delaware to Philadelphia, and the old 

 settlers are brimfull of stories of exciting scenes on the 

 long voyage down the rapids and falls of the swift rivers, 

 or of still more exciting adventures in the streets of the 

 great city, where it is a matter of record that on various 

 occasions many a stalwart lumberman has succumbed to 

 the wiles of the seductive "confidence man," and returned 

 to his family minus his hard earned cash, but enriched by 

 stores of experience. 



After the lumberman came the tanner, and with him came 

 destruction to the trout. Everywhere along the streams 

 rose the long ungainly buildings, and the water that form- 

 erly flowed like liquid glass over its pebbly bed now ran 

 red as blood, and foul with lime and ill-savored "leach," 

 while the ground bark collected in the pools and sifted in 

 among the gravel, driving the fish from their hiding places 

 and destroying the spawning beds. The trout continued 

 to breed, however, in the numberless cold spring brooks 

 of the higher mountains, from which they descended into 

 the larger streams, and it was only when the headwaters 

 were attacked that they began to yield, until now the fish- 

 erman must penetrate to the sources themselves, and 

 even there long must be the line and light the cast that 

 calls up any but the unsuspecting youngsters, the finger- 

 lings, whom every honest angler returns to their native 

 clement with a few words of good advice. • 



A list of the fishermen who have frequented these 

 streams would include the names of every famous angler 

 of America. Herbert, Bethune, Roosevelt and Norris. I 

 might continue indefinitely, but have not all of them testi- 

 fied in print to the same effect; has not the gifted and un- 

 fortunate "Prank Forester" spoken in their praise, and does 

 pot the American "Walton, honest, dogmatic Thad Norris, 



indite countless pages in willing testimony to the charms 

 of the Beaverkill and Willewemoc? 



First among the streams of this region is the far-famed 

 Beaverkill, indisputably the most celebrated trout stream 

 of America, and worthy indeed it is of its high reputation. 

 It rises on the borders of Sullivan and Ulster counties, and 

 is formed by the union of several small, ice cold streams, 

 and its general course is southwesterly to its junction with 

 the East branch of the Delaware. Near the head of the 

 Beaverkill are several small ponds, some of which con- 

 tain trout, as Balsam lake, Thomas pond, and others; 

 some again, like Tunis lake, do not. Some of them also 

 contain sunfish and bullheads, and I presume frogs, lizards 

 and mud turtles likewise. The lizards I can testify to my- 

 self, having seen them on a hot day floating ou the top of 

 the water by hundreds, and evidently enjoying life accord- 

 ing to the lizard view of the question. 



The outlet of Balsam lake enters the main stream at the 

 Quaker Clearing, where, once upon a time, tradition relates 

 that a sturdy old son of Penn erected a log cabin, and, 

 aided by a family of stalwait sons, made this clearing, ex- 

 tending across the river bottom and far up the side of the 

 mountain. Now, however, the land redeemed by so many 

 days and weeks of hardest toil, is abandoned to the wild- 

 erness, a tangled growth of underbush covers the mountain 

 pasture, the places where fences formerly crossed the mea- 

 dow are to be known by the lines of trees that have already 

 attained to a respectable size, and it was only after a long 

 search that I was able to ascertain the site of the house. 

 Here is all the material for a thrilling tale of wrongs, of 

 griefs, and all the dire concomitants of woe, but I refrain. 

 If possessed the pen of a Prime I would hang upon this 

 slender thread I know not what of sentiment and poesy; 

 but I have not and the reader is safe. When the long and 

 sunny days of June are drawing to a close, however, the 

 wanderer by the Beaverkill will thank the old Quaker 

 whatever be his fate, for then the deserted meadow blushes 

 red as roseate lights of eve with an endless profusion of wild 

 strawberries, sour, pungent and refreshing as a draught of 

 costliest wine. 



East of the Beaverkill and parallel with it is its sister 

 stream, the Willewemoc, known and dear to many an 

 angler; near its head is Sand pond, lately rebaptized Lake 

 Willewemoc, famous for the size of its trout; this pond, 

 with Balsam and Thomas ponds, belong to the Willewe- 

 moc Club, and can only be fished by permission, which, 

 however, I imagine can easily be obtained from the oblig- 

 ing officers of that association. This stream, like the 

 Beaverkill, contains small sized trout in fair numbers. 

 East of these rivers is the Neversink, in my opinion, the 

 finest river of the whole region, although it is also the most 

 persistently fished. It is formed by two branches that 

 unite at the little village of Claraville, just on the line 

 between the two counties. Either branch is a good sized 

 trout brook, or river rather, about fifteen miles long, and 

 they formerly contained an almost inexhaustible supply of 

 fish; at present, however, it requires a long and patient 

 day's work to fill even a small basket. Some few years 

 since, when 1 first fished this stream, a party of men, who 

 drove over the mountains from the valley of the Esopus 

 in three days' time, caught more than fifteen hundred 

 trout, and they were only one of several dozen similar 

 parties that season. The West branch of the Neversink 

 has two tributary streams, Fall brook and Biscuit brook, 

 so-called from the "biscuit" stones found in its bed; both 

 of these contain large numbers of small trout even at the 

 present time. Northeast of the headwaters of the Never- 

 sink are the sources of the liondout, otherwise known as 

 the Lackawack, and sometimes called the Sandburg, al- 

 though I believe the latter name belongs properly to a 

 tributary. There is near the head of the Rondout a ham- 

 let known by the suggestive name of Sundown, and rat- 

 tlesnakes are also said to abound in that vicinity; accord- 

 ingly all anglers who fish the Rondout carry with them 

 large supplies of snake medicine, otherwise and commonly 

 known as old Rye. 



The Big Indian, a tributary of the Esopus, rises only a 

 few hundred yards from the Neversink and after flowing 

 eight miles or so through Big Indian Hollow, which, by 

 the way, is as pretty and picturesque a valley as the trav- 

 eler often sees, it unites with the main stream and pursues 

 a tortuous course to the Hudson. 



North and west of the Big Indian are several streams, 

 the best and most celebrated of which are Mill brook and 

 Dry brook; in addition to these there are many more 

 smaller streams, to all of whieh the same description will 

 apply; they are clear, cold mountain brooks that come 



tumbling over boulders and ledges and usually contain a 

 .fair supply of small trout. Indeed, all the trout of this 

 region, even in the larger streams, are small; from a 

 quarter to half a pound is a good weight, anything above 

 a half is large; the largest trout I ever saw caught in Ul- 

 ster or Sullivan counties weighed four pounds and two 

 ounces, after several months spent in a tub with an un- 

 limited supply of mummies to feed on. He was caught in 

 he main stream of the Neversink, and weighed when 

 captured three pounds and a half. Such a fish, however, 

 is a rarity, and an average day's catch will not contain a 

 fish more than a foot long, running from that size down to 

 five inches; those shorter yet are usually returned to the 

 water, as they shouHd be, and as they will be when they 

 come into the hands of honest anglers. 



The scenery of this region, especially in the mountain- 

 ous portions of Ulster, is second i o none in the State for 

 picturesque beauty. Slide Mountain, at the head of Big 

 Indian, disputes with several others the honor of being the 

 loftiest peak in the Catskill, and many others, as Pecka- 

 more, Denman Hill and South Mountain, are inferior only 

 to Slide. One mountain, if old Bailey Beers, of Dewitt- 

 ville, known and beloved of many anglers as the oddest 

 and best of innkeepers is to be believed, bears the peculiar 

 title of Shingley-moose-von-shunk, which may be Indian, 

 Chinese or Sanskrit for all I know, hut more probably it is 

 neither, but merely an effusion from the fertile brain of 

 the said Bailey; but all who know Bailey can forgive him 

 even such a name as this in consideration of his many 

 virtues and his marvelous skill at "drawing the long bow." 

 Long may he and his old woman live to welcome the 

 angler to the Neversink, and we need not object if some 

 appreciative fisherman includes his pretty grand daughters 

 in the same wish- 



The distinctive trees of the southern Catskills are the 

 birch and the maple, and from the latter the woodmen 

 make their sugar in the spring, and often in the winter, 

 when their scanty stock of hay runs out they fell young 

 maples and allow their cows to browse upon the tender 

 tops, and the cattle thrive on his peculiar diet. Often 

 when the angler is taking a short cut to his fishing ground, 

 by some mountain path or abandoned back road, he will 

 see these same cows watching him from the brush, and if 

 he ever doubted the possibility of a cow's being beautiful 

 he will doubt no longer; the cow of the Catskill is a sleek 

 and smooth-skinned animal with slender legs and meekly 

 curious eyes; and when one meets them browsing on the 

 underbrush along some mountain brook they seem almost 

 like the deer that once roamed in plenty on these hills. 



In the wilder portions of the district, about the head of 

 the Beaverkill or in the dense woods that crowd the valley 

 of the Biscuit, the lonely fisherman will often meet the 

 "prickly porcupig," as my friend Pierrepont used to call 

 him, or he may start a wandering mink or woodchuck, who 

 will scuttle off into the brush in great precipitation, or, if 

 he is lucky, indeed, as he hastens home through some 

 dusky balsam thicket in the gloom »f the evening, he may 

 come upon a black bear taking a twilight stroll before ex- 

 ecuting a flank movement upon some unprotected pig sty. 



This is a country of springs. You meet them every- 

 where, dripping drop by drop down some ledge of broken 

 slate, or tumbling headlong out of a pile of boulders, or 

 else bubbling up from the oozy grounds in the midst of 

 weeds and wild flowers. They are all cold, and in some 

 that I know of the thermometer will not mark above forty 

 degrees in midsummer; the main streams themselves are 

 cold enough to drink from all the year round, and when 

 one makes his first plunge of a morning into their icy 

 torrents it will cause his teeth to rattle like the bones of an 

 end-man on a minstrel stage. The extraordinary clearness 

 of the water is another snare for the unwary, and many 

 a novice has confidently stepped into what seemed a 

 shallow pool, only to find himself undergoing baptism by 

 immersion. The inhabitants consist of two distinct classes, 

 the tannery hands and the sel tiers; the former are usually 

 Irish, and frequently undesirable companions, while among 

 the settlers, who dwell in log cabins and frame shanties 

 along the streams, or in more pretentious houses in the 

 villages, you will often find men like Bailey Beers, men- 

 tioned above, in whose company many hours can be passed 

 with pleasure, and not without profit also to a student of 

 human nature; many of them have lived since childhood 

 in this neighborhood; some have never traveled further 

 than to Ellen ville or Rondout, and know hardly anything 

 of the great world that works and rejjoices, sorrows and is 

 glad, beyond their blue hills; and again you will find oc- 

 casionally a man who has, wandered over kail the globe- 



