AN INCIDENT IN MOUNTAIN FISHING. 



JAMES R. WATSON. 



After waiting 10 days for the water to 

 reach a suitable stage of clearness, my com- 

 panion and I arose one morning at 4:30* 

 ate heartily of the breakfast which the 

 landlord of a West Virginia mountain ho- 

 tel had prepared for us, and set out for a 

 day's black bass fishing. We carried all the 

 paraphernalia of anglers, even to the flask 

 of good old Bourbon without which no well 

 ordered angler ever leaves home. The ne- 

 cessity for an antidote for the bite of rat- 

 tlers, which abound among the rocks in this 

 section, is perhaps greater than in most 

 other localities, although certain malicious- 

 ly inclined persons assert its larger use to 

 drive away that tired feeling attendant on 

 ill luck. 



Walking briskly through the yet sleeping 

 village, we crossed the long toll bridge 

 which there spans the Shenandoah, and on 

 the center of which one may stand at the 

 convergence of the boundary lines of 3 

 States, Virginia, West Virginia and Mary- 

 land. The Virginia end of the long 

 bridge reached, we swung off down the 

 road to the left, which, for a mile or more, 

 winds through one of the wildest sections 

 of the old Commonwealth. War's ruthless 

 hand left its heavy imprint there, as wit- 

 ness huge dead and uprooted trees, tremen- 

 dous boulders shattered by the impact of 

 shells from the Union batteries which 

 crowned Maryland Heights during the great 

 civil conflict, and great caverns in the 

 mountain side which gave shelter to many 

 a party of Yanks or Johnny Rebs. Once 

 out of sight of the bridge and around the 

 turn of the road, the evidences of civiliza- 

 tion are few. They consist for the most 

 part of a small clearing in the thick woods, 

 where economically inclined Virginians tie 

 their lean animals, hitched to ancient ve- 

 hicles, to save paying toll, and, crossing the 

 bridge on foot, carry their produce into 

 the village. In the distance is an occa- 

 sional cabin, standing at a frightful angle 

 against the mountain side. 



We soon left the road and emerged on 

 the river's bank at a favorite spot for ang- 

 lers known as the Three Boulders. Rods 

 were quickly jointed and rigged and our 

 lines were soon being merrily whisked 

 about by splendid shiner bait. During the 

 first half hour the confident expectation 

 that the next moment would bring a strike 

 would not brook even the momentary lay- 

 ing down of rods. At the end of that time 

 this confidence began to weaken, and we 

 were content to lay aside our rods long 

 enough to fill and light our pipes for the 

 morning's smoke. Another half hour 



passed in silence, except for alternate 'low 

 voiced conjectures on the part of Billy and 

 myself .as to why the fool fish did not bite. 

 Then that silence was suddenly and rudely 

 broken by the discovery that Billy's line 

 was fast on the bottom. His ejaculations 

 of disgust, coupled with his vigorous ef- 

 forts to dislodge it, startled me from my 

 semi-expectant reverie. Our joint repeat- 

 ed efforts were finally rewarded by the re- 

 covery of his line minus the hook. An- 

 other hook was quickly made fast and si- 

 lence again reigned. That time a small 

 toad was sacrificed by way of bait. After 

 another hour the strain became too great 

 to be borne. I resigned to Billy sole pos- 

 session of the field, along with the care of 

 my rods, and set out to find some new deli- 

 cacy with which to tempt the appetite of 

 the reluctant fish. 



Going back to the road from which we 

 had turned off and continuing down it half 

 a mile, I came to a log cabin which stood 

 50 yards back. A small clearing of about 

 half an acre surrounded it. A loud "hallo- 

 00-00" brought out on the rickety steps at 

 the front door a motley crowd, consisting 

 of a woman, an even half-dozen scared 

 looking children and a lean, lanky half- 

 hound-half-mongrel dog, with 3 of her 

 playful offspring. In reply to a rather 

 doubtful "Who air ye, stranger, 'n whut do 

 ye want?" I stated my desire for the aid 

 of some of the youngsters in securing cray- 

 fish which swarm among the rocks around 

 the springs there. My offer of money wa^ 

 met with that habitual indisposition of the 

 mountain classes to work. The sight of 

 my pipe, which I began refilling, changed 

 their indolent attitude, and almost in a 

 single breath they volunteered to catch me 

 "tew doz'n crawfeesh" if I would give them 

 a "snack uh t'bacca." A promise that they 

 should have the whole paper when they re- 

 turned with the bait sent them in search of 

 it. It was more than an hour before they 

 returned with the stipulated 2 dozen large 

 crayfish. During their absence I carried on 

 a conversation with the mother of the fam- 

 ily. She had the usual tendency of the 

 rural classes to tell a stranger all about 

 themselves. In spite of the direst poverty, 

 she seemed hapny and content. Her story 

 was short, but it covered her lifetime of 50 

 years. 



"I wuz bawn up th' mounting a ways." 

 These people have no conception of dis- 

 tance other than the boundary formed by 

 the summits of their native mountain 

 ranges. 

 "We wuz reck'nd a fair fam'ly. Pap had 



