124 



RECREATION. 



Yes, let us go. Let us talk it over if we 

 don't go. Half the pleasure of such trips 

 is embraced in the anticipation ; the other 

 half in discussing the events after they ex- 

 ist only as a memory. We can get the an- 

 ticipation now, and I know of no good rea- 

 son why we may not also get the trip and 

 its reminscent after joys. 



By the way, I suppose our grayling boats 

 are on the misty lakes and rivers where our 

 old friend Porter is sailing. They were 

 not particularly handsome, yet they served 

 our purpose well and are still hitched to a 

 sturdy stake on memory's shore. I should 

 like a trip in the old boats, a camp on the 

 old spots, shelter under the old tent, just a 

 small nip from the old bottle, a breath of 

 air warmed by the old camp stove, and a 

 morning's nap broken by Billy singing, 

 "Wonderful things in the Bible I see." 



Probably Time has 'broken up the old 

 outfit. He has little sentiment for these 

 things, and seems to revel in destruction. 

 Many things will have to be replaced ; and 

 when our promised trip becomes a memory 

 of the past, the new and the old will blend 

 and, I hope, become equally dear as we 

 recall the men we have camped with on 

 the Au Sable. 



Camping trips, be the game never so 

 thick, the fish never so large, the camps 

 never so well located, the company never so 

 genial, the smiles of Old Probabilities 

 never so benign, all, for the moment, fall 

 short of anticipations. The anticipation is 

 relegated to the past and is forgotten ; the 

 real enjoyment develops slowly as we sit 

 by the home hearth and -recall the incidents 

 that passed with hardly a note or a com- 

 ment. They are trips that end not when 

 the boat is ashore, the baggage packed and 

 the energies concentrated on getting home 

 and engaging in the sterner duties of life. 



My friends who have yet to become 

 acquainted with the terrors of the wilder- 

 ness ; men whose experiences are limited 

 to casting the fly for fingerling trout, toss- 

 ing the bait for large mouth bass and 

 shooting ruffed grouse along the border of 

 cornfields. They are all right, however, 

 and can be relied on in, times 'of emergency. 

 They are in the prime of life, and if there 

 are any embryo bristles along their spines 

 it will take more than a log jam and a 

 night with wet clothes to develop them. 



Each and every one of trjese gentlemen 

 would help to make an Au Sable trip mem- 

 orable. I shall paint in roseate hues the 

 beauties of the Au Sable, and fill their 

 imagination's game bags and creels with 

 deer and birds, trout and grayling. I shall 

 let them get whiffs of the pungent smoke 

 from some of our old camp fires, and smell 

 the grilling grouse, the frying fish, and the 

 venison sizzling in its bed of onions. 



I shall, without doubt, introduce you and 

 Billy and make them thoroughly ac- 



quainted with you. When another autumn 

 arrives I hope one or all of them will be 

 able to join us, and contribute their part in 

 making the outing of 1901 a memorable 

 one in their annals as well as in our own. 



Q. W. Miles. 



A PICKEREL CATCH. 



T. W. RICHARDSON. 



During the fall of '99 I spent a few 

 weeks, on Lake George, in the vicinity of 

 Cauldwell. I had not been there long 

 when I became aware of the fact that 

 there were pickerel to be caught ranging 

 from 6 to 14 pounds should the angler 

 find the right spot. Of course we all know 

 from experience how the wily native can 

 come home in the forenoon and with an 

 unconcerned look on his face lift an 8 or 

 10-pounder out of his boat, and walk off 

 with the remark that there's "purty good 

 fishin' hereabouts." But I decided to find 

 out how the natives pointed their boats 

 in the morning, and I was successful. I 

 espied one of the lucky anglers quietly 

 holding a line, with a float attached, on the 

 end of which I knew he had a fat perch to 

 tempt Mr. Pickerel and I noted this 

 choice position. 



The next morning I was firmly moored 

 in the identical spot, about 40 yards 

 off shore, over a shelving, sandy 

 bottom, and near the edge of a 

 field of long, grassy sea weed which came 

 almost to the surface and which occasion- 

 ally showed a bare spot, the favorite haunt 

 of the fresh water sharks. As bait I used 

 a medium sized perch, running the hook 

 through the back under the dorsal fin. 

 I was careful to use a small length of gimp 

 over the hook, so my expected catch would 

 not bite through the line and escape. 

 This I attached to about 3 yards of line 

 which, in turn, was fastened to a float 

 sufficiently buoyant to keep on the sur- 

 face and hold the perch. Then, flinging 

 out my line, I sank into a gentle reverie 

 until some obliging pickerel should awake 

 me to the occasion. 



I had sat thus nearly 25 minutes, with 

 frequent glances at my boat, which 

 was acting as if it were alive, showing to 

 my satisfaction that the bait was energetic 

 in its attempts to escape. Suddenly the 

 float disappeared with a pop which startled 

 me, and the next moment the line was 

 humming out over the gunwale with a 

 speed that betokened a run of about 50 

 yards. 



I was all attention and keeping the 

 line slight taut I let the coil unwind 

 off- the seat until, with a slight jerk, 'it 

 came to a pause and slowly settled in the 

 water. At last Mr. Pickerel had found a 

 suitable spot for his lunch, but I gave 

 him short time to enjoy his meal. In 



