302 



RECREA TION. 



It was an extremely warm day in August. 

 The scene was a large shoal in Lake On- 

 tario, near Stoney Island, a few miles off 

 Henderson Harbor. The sun shone un- 

 tempered by a single cloud. Not a ripple 

 stirred the surface of the water. It looked 

 like an immense sheet of plate glass. So 

 clear was it that the top of the shoal was 

 plainly visible at its varying depths of 8 to 

 20 feet. A craw fish crawling on the rocky 

 bottom was as plainly visible as though 

 only a highly-polished show window inter- 

 posed. With the coming of the calm the 

 fish, which had been biting freely during 

 the morning, ceased to pay attention to the 

 lure; and at a convention of the 5 boat- 

 loads into which the party was distributed, 

 it was agreed, with one dissenting voice, 

 that it was folly to continue fishing under 

 the prevailing conditions, and an adjourn- 

 ment was had to a neighboring island for 

 pipes. 



I, however, refused to be bound by tradi- 

 tion. Besides the opportunity too well 

 served for an experiment I had long wished 

 to make; so, leaving the others to their fish 

 yarns I rowed away to a fish experience 

 which I would not have missed for a great 

 deal. Under my direction the boatman 

 pulled to a deeper portion of the shoal, 

 where it was much broken, the -ridges ris- 

 ing to within 12 or 15 feet of the surface and 

 the jagged sides sloping away 30 feet or 

 more. In the cool depths of these pools we 

 could see schools of bass lying motionless, 

 or lazily swimming about with a barely per- 

 ceptible motion. 



Unshipping the oars we paddled noise- 

 lessly about from pool to pool. It was like 

 a visit to a mammoth aquarium. Great, full 

 bellied, aldermanic-appearing fellows most 

 of them were; looking even larger than 

 they actually were, owing to the magnify- 

 ing quality of the water. The bronze of 

 their backs shone like burnished metal, 

 glistening under the liquid glass. 



We spent half an hour studying them, 

 fascinated by the novel sight. We spoke 

 only in whispers and scarcely propelling the 

 boat. Then I removed the sinker from my 

 line, selected a smooth, new mist-colored 

 leader; thrust the point of the hook 

 through the tail of a crawfish and gently 

 cast to the edge of the pool, letting the bait 

 settle slowly to the bottom. As the crawfish 

 sank, with wildly waving claws, a 4 pounder 

 swam lazily upward and scrutinized it. He 

 seemed to me to cock his eye at it, for all 

 the world like an epicure with sated appetite, 

 gazing askance at some not very tempting 

 dish that is set before him. The examina- 

 tion did not please him, evidently, for, turn- 

 ing about Mr. Bass swam lazily off, with 

 something so suggestive of a swagger, in 

 the wagging motion of his body, that both 

 angler and boatman burst into a laugh. 



The disdained crawfish was withdrawn 

 and a helgramite impaled in its stead. 



These creepy, scorpion-like creatures are 

 seldom met with in those waters; so it was 

 with a high hope that I cast it carefully 

 forth and watched it settle in the pool. At 

 first its reception was most encouraging. 

 My old friend the 4 pounder, seemed really 

 quite interested, making a complete circuit 

 of the be-legged and wriggling stranger, 

 while 6 or 7 smaller fry — of one and 2 

 pound calibre — hovered about in a decided 

 state of excitement. The result, however,, 

 was no more fruitful than before. One by 

 one the fish withdrew and the scorned Dob- 

 son was in turn withdrawn. 



The situation had become intensely in- 

 teresting. To see these hearty beauties in 

 full view and not to be able to induce a 

 strike was, to say the least, mortifying. As 

 a last resort I turned to that ever faithful 

 friend of all fishers (even on occasion of 

 certain fly fishermen whom I have known), 

 " the meek and lowly angle worm." Se- 

 lecting a particularly fat and lively speci- 

 men I festooned him in 2 loops and 2 flow- 

 ing ends, carefully washed all bits of soil 

 from hook and worm, and let fly. 



The 4 pounder, looking more aldermanic 

 than ever, had retired to a cleft in the rock 

 at the other side of the pool. I have never 

 seen a fish asleep. In fact I must plead a 

 distres-ing ignorance on the subject, as to 

 when and how, or, for that matter, whether 

 they sleep at all or not. This fellow, how- 

 ever, seemed to be taking a nap. I cast the 

 worm gently to the extreme limit of the 

 pool and as it sank, drew it gently across so 

 that when it reached the bottom it grazed 

 the head of Mons. Bass, arousing him from 

 his reverie, or siesta, whichever you please. 

 He bristled up his fins, and looked very 

 fierce; but was at once mollified on recog- 

 nizing the nature of his disturber. He 

 looked the worm over with a discriminat- 

 ing eye; nibbled in an indifferent fashion at 

 the ends and at last drew the morsel slowly 

 into his mouth. At this point I struck and 

 the bass became keenly alive to the situa- 

 tion. He fought as only a game fish, bred 

 in cold and exposed waters, can, and every 

 detail of the battle was as plainly visible as 

 the type on this page. The commotion 

 aroused a decided interest among the other 

 fish in the pool, and the hooked fish was 

 attended, at a discreet distance, by 7 or 8 of 

 his fellows, in his rushes to and fro. 



At last the finny fighter lay safely in the 

 landing net and the operation was repeated, 

 this time the pocket scale registering 2 

 pounds. And so, for 2 hours, I kept at it 

 and carried home 11 as fine fish as I ever 

 saw in a " car." Not one weighed less than 

 2 pounds, every one of less weight, that 

 took the bait, having been carefully un- 

 hooked and restored to the water, with 

 mental thanks for having contributed to so 

 exhilarating a confirmation of my conten- 

 tion that, under certain circumstances, 

 bait fishing may afford even keener sport 



