FISH AND FISHING. 



373 



desired point, and have had a bass hooked 

 before the reel was still. This is a sports- 

 manlike method, and only true sportsmen 

 know the indescribable thrill it can give. 

 I angle for pleasure, not for pounds of 

 meat. Success, to me, is not measured by 

 the quantity of meat I take, but the man- 

 ner of taking it. There are days when bass 

 will strike any kind of bait, and anybody 

 with any kind of tackle may land large 

 numbers of bass ; but there are other times 

 when it requires skill and art to take them. 

 To me this is the time to angle, and one 

 2-pound bass taken at such times gives me 

 more enjoyment than a bushel of them 

 would at my ease. 



Trolling for bass is quite deadly, but 

 contains little sport for me; hence I have 

 ceased to troll save in deep pools, where 

 large bass stay. In bait casting one can be 

 alone on the stream with the birds and 

 flowers, the squirrels and rabbits that are 

 so abundant and interesting along our riv- 

 ers. To troll, one needs a boat and some- 

 one to handle it ; so I prefer to loiter along 

 the carpeted banks of the stream, casting 

 my line into all the likely places ; and if I 

 am forced to cast ioo feet to reach a cover 

 I like it all the more. 



Brother, what do you use and what are 

 the methods that have added most to the 

 pleasure of angling for bass from rivers? 

 Tell us about it through Recreation. 



W. S. Hoke, Wadena, la. 



TWO BIG PICKEREL. 



Of course bigger pickerel are often 

 caught, but the fact that it was taken with- 

 in a stone's throw of the village, in a 

 stream constantly patrolled by anglers, in- 

 cluding the inevitable small boy, makes it a 

 remarkable catch. 



I was in ill health that summer, and, in 

 company with a younger brother, was 

 spending most of my time in outdoor 

 amusements. A little spaniel completed a 

 trio which was no crowd, or, if so, just the 

 sort of crowd to get the greatest amount 

 of sport out of a day afield. Naturally 

 the river near by came in for a generous 

 share of our attention, and one day we had 

 the luck to hook a 2 pound pickerel, a 

 whopper for that stream, which, however, 

 escaped when nearly landed. The next day 

 we set out for the express purpose of cap- 

 turing this big fellow, carelessly providing 

 ourselves with a trout hook and line and a 

 light bamboo rod without any reel. 



After the usual order, Ned was doing 

 the fishing, while Tex and I lounged on 

 the bank on the lookout for such side at- 

 tractions as a woodchuck or rabbit. Sud- 

 denly there came a great splash, and an 

 excited "Oh, oh !" from Ned. Tex and I 

 rushed down the bank just as Ned drew a 

 monster pickerel, more than double the 



size of the one we were looking for, to the 

 top of the water. It quickly disappeared, 

 the light bamboo bending almost double. 



I had never seen such a pickerel in that 

 river before and promptly got rattled. In- 

 stead of instructing Ned, who was only a 

 boy, to go easy, I yelled, "Yank him out !" 

 Ned pulled desperately, but could get the 

 big fellow no farther than the top of the 

 water. One moment he would bring him to 

 the surface ; the next, under and away the 

 fish would go, the bamboo quivering and the 

 small line tight as a bowstring. At length, 

 in one of his rushes, the line caught in 

 bushes growing out into the water. Tex 

 was then the first to grasp the situation. 

 Plunging into the stream, he began snap- 

 ping away at the fish as it now and then 

 came to the surface. Ned and I followed. 

 It was 3 to one, but for a time it seemed 

 as if the fish must prove the winner, for 

 we were all so excited that we interfered 

 with one another. At last Ned got the 

 fish round the body with both hands. Then 

 I ran my thumb in his gills, and we had 

 him. He was 28 inches long and weighed 

 5^4 pounds. Considering all the circum- 

 stances, it seemed little short of a miracle. 



As if luck had not already favored us 

 enough, we caught, later in the day, the 

 same pickerel, we firmly believe, we 

 had lost the previous trip, and more 

 big bass than we had ever taken in a day 

 before. More, also, than we should now 

 care to take in a day, since becoming read- 

 ers of Recreation. 



J. L. Woodbury, Cornish, Me. 



It was a hot, sultry day in the latter part 

 of July. Slowly working my way around 

 the pond I had fished more than 2 hours and 

 had only caught one small bass. Just as I 

 was beginning to think of leaving I felt 

 a slight pull on the line. Allowing time 

 for the nibbler to get a good hold I started 

 to pull in. As I did so, there was a quick 

 jerk, a rush and the fight was on. When 

 I checked him there was not more than 2 

 yards of line on the reel. After a few 

 turns on the reel he started again in a dif- 

 ferent direction, but again I checked him. 

 He then tried to go under the canoe, but 

 by rapidly reeling in the line I parried that 

 move. That seemed to anger him so he 

 made a series of zigzag rushes, until we 

 were both tired. Then he lay still, while I 

 reeled in more than half of the line. Sud- 

 denly he began another series of rushes, 

 but that time he was weaker and soon al- 

 lowed himself to be quietly led up to the 

 side of the boat. Slipping my fingers into 

 his gills I lifted him into the boat, where 

 a merciful blow on the head killed him. 

 The fight, according to a gentleman who 

 had watched it from shore, lasted almost 

 25 minutes. J. F. F., Dover, N. J. 



