344 



RECREATION. 



and unreeled the trolling lines. H. while 

 rowing managed to hold between his feet 

 a pole, attached to which was a fly of his 

 own invention. Two white feathers from 

 the wing of a plover and a bit of scarlet 

 flannel from our camp rug made an en- 

 ticing bait for bass. We pulled slowly 

 along near shore until we had caught 3 or 

 4 perch. Then cutting strips from the bel- 

 lies of these we made permanent bait and 

 were ready for business. 



The perch were all at home and hungry. 

 They fairly swarmed amid the aquatic 

 plants at the bottom of the bay. By the 

 time a fish was taken off one line there 

 was one on the other; and when both lines 

 were clear the rod bowed gracefully to the 

 pull of a third fish. H. dropped his oars 

 to attend to his fish, the boat stopped, my 

 lines sank down and were fouled amid the 

 water plants. Then they were drawn in, 

 their points cleaned, and the boat moved 

 slowly on again while the hungry fish 

 fairly quarreled over the hooks and the 

 honor of being taken into our boat. We 

 soon had enough, 25 in all, in weight about 

 7 pounds. 



Then we pulled out into deep water and 

 tried for bass. We trolled half an hour, 

 but not a bass could we hook. They all 

 appeared to have gone off somewhere to 

 a convention. If we could but strike that 

 convention! Never mind; we had fish 

 enough, so we manned the oars and were 

 off for camp. 



It was about 10 o'clock. There was no 

 breeze, and the lake was like a mill pond 

 beneath the hot sunshine, as we pulled 

 away with monotonous stroke, leaving a 

 long trail running back to Picnic Point. 

 Suddenly H. dropped his oars, exclaiming, 

 "Look there!" I looked and saw a goodly 

 sight. For many rods in front and on 

 either side quiet ripples showed where the 

 perch were lazily rolling about and sun- 

 ning themselves in the water. They were 

 not going anywhere in particular, and were 

 not crowded thickly together, but a foot or 

 so apart were scattered over the lake, 

 acres in extent. We knew what that 

 meant. When perch behave in that way 

 the white, or silver, bass is about in num- 

 bers. 



Both lines were quickly dropped over- 

 board, the glittering spoon gleaming in the 

 clear water like an electric bulb. There 

 was a flash of silvery light and the quiver- 

 ing of the line showed that a fish had been 



hooked. I pulled in, hand over hand, and 

 lifted the flapping, flashing beauty into 

 the boat. That was but the beginning, 

 and the others followed in quick succes- 

 sion. So absorbed were we that we took 

 no note of time. We only stopped long 

 enough to exclaim with ever increasing 

 emphasis, "This is fishing!" Occasionally, 

 too, an impatient exclamation was heard 

 as a fine fish shook the hook from his 

 mouth and splashed back into the water, 

 or one of the now despised perch got the 

 hook meant for the bass. I thought I dis- 

 covered that H.'s rod and fly got more 

 than their proportion of bass, and the 

 spoon somewhat more than was desirable 

 of perch. Acting on the hint, one of the 

 lines was reeled up, and rod and fly num- 

 ber 2 took its place. After that I fished 

 with one rod and one spoon, the rod hav- 

 ing rather the best of it. 



Sometimes as we pulled in our fish we 

 could plainly see 3 or 4 of his comrades 

 swimming along by his side to see where 

 he was going. At length the biting ceased. 

 We looked around and found that we had 

 drifted awav from the charmed circle. 

 Turning the boat, we again entered the 

 ripples and again the royal sport began. 



The bass averaged a little less than a 

 pound in weight. A few weighed more 

 than a pound, but more about 24 of a 

 pound. They were gamy fellows, those 

 pound bass, and as the hook came near 

 they pulled out from the boat like a wild 

 colt at the end of his halter. 



Two hours and a half passed in this ex- 

 citing work, when we found ourselves near 

 Maple bluff. The fish were still biting, 

 but we had enough. Slowly we pulled 

 over to our tent, where we counted our 

 spoils — 88 bass, 53 perch. 



Thus was the wolf driven from our door, 

 and we had meat in plenty. We were 

 somewhat late with our breakfast that day, 

 but when we did draw up to our broad 

 backed bench, which we had rigged up as 

 a dining table, we proved ourselves most 

 valiant trenchermen. Then when the 

 shades of evening drew on corroding care 

 fled our camp, peace and plenty like white 

 winged birds flapped their pinions amid 

 our poplar trees, and the very mosquitoes 

 seemed content. 



Why should you take so many bass? A 

 dozen each would have been plenty. — 

 Editor. 



NOT HIS TAILOR'S FAULT. 

 His trousers legs, as here you see, 



Are never built amiss: | 

 But when he draws the garment on 



They always look like this: () 



— Chicago Tribune. 



