PUSHING A MUSKALONGE. 



E. E. HICKOK. 



Leaving Chicago at bedtime after a hot 

 August clay, the morning found us spin- 

 ning Northward over the Wisconsin Val- 

 ley Division of the C. M. & St. P. R. R. 

 There were 2 of us in the party. All sum- 

 mer we had been looking forward to this 

 trip, and from time to time had visited 

 tackle stores until our outfits were more 

 than complete. Little rlies and big spoons, 

 from No. 6 up to No. 12; sinkers, bobs, 

 landing nets and gaffs; little guns and big 

 guns; we had them all. 



Charlie had been up that way before and 

 had persuaded me to come from the South- 

 land for this vacation with him. 



Before noon we reached the lake region, 

 the road winding about between beautiful 

 sheets of water, some a few acres in ex- 

 tent, others several miles across, with all 

 sizes between the 2. Charlie says nearly 

 all the lakes have fish, but some more than 

 others, and that one lake may be noted for 

 bass, another for jack salmon, another for 

 muskalonge, while some have all kinds. 



The stations along the line are near- 

 ly all summer resorts, but there are so 

 many lakes there is plenty of room. There 

 is no danger of the lakes ever being fished 

 out or of the region becoming so civilized 

 a^ to spoil the game. The State has passed 

 stringent laws looking to the preservation 

 of the purity of the waters, making it a 

 misdemeanor, punishable by fine, for any- 

 one to throw any refuse, even a dead fish, 

 into any of the lakes. The lands are prac- 

 tically unsettled, so the game is not driven 

 away; while the second growth timber 

 furnishes abundant protection, and with 

 proper enforcement of the game laws. 

 Northern Wisconsin will always remain a 

 hunter's and angler's paradise. 



Charlie had selected Plum lake for our 

 destination, which is easy of access, yet in 

 a manner out of the world. He says this 

 lake has deeper water than any of the 

 others in that section, and that more and 

 larger muskalonge are caught in it. while 

 in close proximity are numbers of other 

 lakes famous for the several varieties of 

 fish. For instance, it is % of a mile to 

 Star lake, l / 2 a mile to Razor Back, a mile 

 to Bass lake, with Lost lake, Found lake. 

 St. Germain, big and little, all in walking 

 distance. There are good accommoda- 

 tions, too, and good boats, all at fair 

 prices. 



A substantial dinner and the usual smoke 

 from the little old black pipe (cigars and 

 white shirts are put away) makes us in 



even better humor with the world, if such 

 could be, and we feel glad we're alive and 

 glad we're here. 



To describe our stay, the numbers of 

 fish we caught; to tell of Charlie's big fish 

 that got away; his rod that dropped over- 

 board in 15 feet of water 100 yards from 

 shore and how we fished for it, off and on, 

 the better part of 3 days before we dragged 

 it from the deep with the 8-inch ringed 

 perch still holding to the hook; of the rock 

 bass which might be caught by the wagon 

 load if one wanted them; in fact, we 

 did fish an hour for them, just for curiosity, 

 returning them carefully to the water as 

 soon as caught, and by actual count had 

 115, only quitting because we were tired 

 ol pulling them up; of fishing in Razor 

 Back outlet for trout, in St. Germain for 

 wall-eyed pike, in Lost lake for the small 

 mouth black bass; of the visits to a near- 

 by summer lumber camp and dinner with 

 the men by courtesy of the owner; the 

 story of the capture of the mysterious and 

 hitherto unknown terror of the Northern 

 woods, the "Hodag"; all these would 

 make too long a story. 



The most exciting and interesting of our 

 experiences was toward the last of our 

 stay. The morning was bright, with just 

 enough breeze coming up the 3-mile 

 stretch from the West to make a ripple on 

 the water and cool enough so that we but- 

 toned our coats. I pulled down the North 

 bank, Charlie holding the line, as we were 

 trolling for muskalonge. We had out 

 about 100 feet of line, with a No. 12 spoon, 

 which is about 4 inches long, and no rod. 

 Usually we kept 2 lines out, with a 6-foot 

 rod, one on each side of the boat. We 

 reached the mouth of Razor Back without 

 a strike, and then Charlie took the oars 

 while I held the line. Down at that end 

 of the lake, % of a mile out from shore, 

 there is a shallow place, 50 feet wide by 

 500 feet long. On that bar the water is 

 some 15 or 20 feet deep, and on both sides 

 it shelves off into water 70 to 100 feet in 

 depth. When I took the line I put out 

 one of the rods with a No. 8 spoon, and 

 soon got a pickerel of about 6 pounds, a 

 good enough fish, but "only a pickerel." 



On our third trip over the bar I had a 

 strike on the hand line which I at first 

 thought was a log, so solid was it; but in 

 an instant I knew by that peculiar electric 

 sensation that it was a fish and a good one. 

 At the first tightening of the line Charlie 

 pulled off into deep water, and took in the 



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