THUMPING FOR BASS. 



A. M. MANN. 



There rung through Susquehanna coun- 

 ty, in the Keystone State, along the hill- 

 tops and skirting picturesque woodland and 

 fertile farms, a railroad known as the nar- 

 row gauge. This road has been in opera- 

 tion many years, has earned its modicum of 

 success, and is more or less known to fame 

 as the only railroad in the United States 

 without a dollar of indebtedness. It is 

 noted, as well, for the obliging spirit of 

 its management ; having been known to 

 stop its trains to permit a party of pretty 

 girls to pick blackberries from the bushes 

 that fringe its tracks. 



While a passenger on this quaint old 

 road a number of years ago, I met a stran- 

 ger. In endeavoring to exercise the divine 

 quality of patience, we drifted into conver- 

 sation, finally reaching the subject of the 

 gentle art of which Izaak Walton is the 

 exponent and I an humble and persistent 

 follower. Speaking of an adjacent lake well 

 known for its black bass, the stranger re- 

 marked that the angling was not good at 

 present, but people who visited the place 

 were capturing numbers of fish by thump- 

 ing for them at night. I thought I detect- 

 ed a fish story ; but an inquiring mind is 

 -ever willing to be informed. According to 

 the narrator, it was the custom of sports- 

 men of his acquaintance to rig up a skiff 

 with wings of canvas running fore and 

 aft, and then at night row along the shore, 

 the oarsman thumping vigorously on the 

 stone bottom with the inshore oar; a per- 

 son seated in the stern of the boat mean- 

 while directing on the water the rays of 

 light from a lantern. Whereupon, fish 

 feeding near the shore, frightened by the 

 thumping and blinded by the light, would 

 jump into the boat in their frantic efforts 

 to escape. 

 v Persistent cross examination elicited but 

 renewed assurances of the truth of the 

 story, and an anxious and evident desire 

 to dispel from my face the expression of 

 disbelief which even courtesy could not 

 prevent from appearing there. 



On reaching home, I unloaded this fish 

 story on the partner of my fishing joys, 

 my companion on many a trip, the Judge, 

 than whom a better or more sportsmanlike 

 angler never wet a line. The Judge had 

 heard many fish stories, but this was new 

 to him. Both skeptical, we yet resolved to 

 test this new method of bass catching. 



At the larger of the Twin lakes, which 

 lie in a valley surrounded by high hills, 

 glittering jewels in a setting of green, the 

 Judge had planned for the coming week a 

 camping trip with a party of lawyers and 



physicians. I, with my wife and the girl 

 who, at 8 years, promises to be as fond of 

 the woods and the water as her father, 

 were to occupy our cottage under the big 

 pine tree on the shores of the same lake. 



With some misgivings, the Judge and I 

 imparted to the men in camp our thump- 

 ing story and invited them to participate 

 in our experiment. We were requested to 

 go out and cool our heated brains in the 

 lake. Somewhat dismayed, we left our 

 friends to their slumbers and started out, 

 the Judge at the oars and I in the stern 

 of the skiff with a lantern, using my storm 

 stained fishing hat, which is ever a harbin- 

 ger of success, as a reflector. For 10 min- 

 utes we paddled along without sight or 

 sound of a fish, the light keeper meanwhile 

 anxiously flashing the light here and there 

 on the water. Our confidence in my com- 

 municative stranger was evidently mis- 

 placed. Nothing but the thought of our 

 reception at the hands of our friends pre- 

 vented us from returning and sneaking in 

 discomfited at the back door. Suddenly 

 there was a splash, a flash of silver, and a 

 yell like the cry of a lost soul from the 

 Judge as he fell over backward in the boat. 

 A big bass shot out of water, struck the 

 Judge in the side and fell back into its na- 

 tive element. Another struck the lantern, 

 startling me so that it dropped from my 

 hands into the water, to be rescued by a 

 lucky grab. Occasionally a large fish 

 would make a beautiful arching jump clear 

 over the boat. From that time on ensued 

 the most remarkable exhibition of fish that 

 was ever witnessed. The water fairly 

 boiled with their jumping, most of them 

 striking the high sides of the boat. Occa- 

 sionally one would land on a thwart, flop 

 as only an active bass can, and go over- 

 board again. The excitement was intense, 

 and I could not repress a feeling of ner- 

 vousness in the uncertainty as to where I 

 was going to be struck. This continued 

 during 2 trips around the lake, and until 

 we slowly pulled for home at midnight. 



Our catch consisted of one bass, weight 

 about one pound, which the Judge carried 

 to the camp as corroborative evidence to 

 our companions of the successful demon- 

 stration of the feasibility of thumping. I 

 returned to the cottage to receive a sleepy 

 remonstrance from my wife at the undig- 

 nified behavior and indecent hours of a 

 man of family. 



Early the next morning my peaceful 

 slumbers were disturbed by a message that 

 I was wanted' below. Hastily dressing, I 

 descended to our living room to find my- 



