^&2S*Sp\T*“d NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JUNE 11, 1874. 
Volume 3, iVimiber 18 
17 Chatham St. (CityHall Sqr.) 
For Forest and Stream. 
AN ANGLER’S INVITATION. 
I F I’m a judge of jaded men, 
Who need a check upon their preaching, 
One Dr. B. should drop his pen, 
And go where forest leaves are bleaching, 
To angle and camp out. 
Dost not admire the springing grass, 
Rejoicing in the vernal showers? 
The dancing waters as they pass, 
Invite to streams and woods and bowers 
To angle and camp out. 
The South is sending us warm gales, 
And birds intent on jocund singing, 
And they revisit hills and vales 
To tempt us forth, our tackle bringing. 
To angle and camp out» 
A saw-mill dam to hang around, 
Is but a place for lazy boobies I 
We’ll go where rocks and whirls abound; 
Where tempting eddies glow like rubies, 
To angle and camp out. 
A wild and lonely forest night, 
With bovver built and fire before it, 
Is truly a romantic sight, 
A place to rest and chat and snore it— 
To angle and camp out. 
Forsooth the rain and lightning’s gleam, 
And thunder’s crash may dash our trouting 
As once they did on Pleasant Stream, 
But we’ll submit, disdaining pouting, 
To angle and camp out. 
Lift up your eyes and snuff the breeze^ 
And hail the fog and bless the morning; 
Then feel your pulse and trembling knees, 
And own you need no further warning, 
To angle and camp out, 
Yon soaring hawk, yon staring owl, 
Yon crow his caws eternal pleading, 
(Mosquitoes 1 whack! and with a scowl!) 
Yon country boys and country girls, 
Yon cat-birds, jays and nutting squirrels— 
All stare at us two gents proceeding 
To angle and camp out. 
Montpelier. 
For Forest and Stream. 
\yortz in ^nU/fornm. 
No. II.—TROUT FISHING AT HUMBOLDT 
BAY. 
TN my first number, although I alluded to outfit, and 
A stated that all necessary information could be obtained 
m San Francisco, as clothing was not intended to be in¬ 
cluded in that term, and as the climate of California is pe¬ 
culiar—varying with each locality —I will add a few words 
°n this subject. 
For the Humboldt Bay country heavy clothing is indis¬ 
pensable at all times. Linen clothing, or, rather, the usual 
summer wear of “the east,” is never needed. Whatever 
be the style, quality, or color of the outer dress, the mate¬ 
rial should be wool, and the goods should be strong, for the 
undergrowth is heavy, and will try the capabilities of the 
garb to the utmost. As to color and pattern, every sports¬ 
man has his own opinion, and the general principles of the 
armony of colors are so accurately laid down and well 
known that little need be added, save that from the coast 
!° eastern side of the belt of redwood forest the foliage 
is evergreen. East of this redwood belt, in summer, the 
oare hills become the color of dead leaves—not the russet 
°ur autumns, but a pale yellowish or whitish, brown. 
I be foliage generally is, however, still evergreen. A 
sportsman of no mean celebrity considers the color of 
withered fern” the best, and when well worn and soiled 
With the vicissitudes of a month’s tramp this color is cer¬ 
tainly remarkably invisible at a short distance, as it blends 
®o harmoniously with any and all surroundings. The 
a med Indian smoke-tanned buckskin, which is a rich ru 3 - 
Set brown, and is so generally used by Indians and hunt¬ 
ers, cannot compare with it. At 500 yards this buckskin 
can be picked out at once; but take a well-worn and travel 
stained suit of the withered fern, and it will be a remark¬ 
ably correct eye that can detect the wearer if he does not 
move, and this, too, if he be lying on the bare and open 
ground. 
The climate of this favored region varies but little. The 
extremes generally are from seventy-two to seventy-six de¬ 
grees Fahrenheit. During the two years I was stationed at 
Fort Humboldt, on two occasions ice formed nearly as thick 
as a pane of ordinary window glass, and was a matter of 
wonder to “the oldest inhabitant.” A snow squall also 
once struck us, leaving a feathery impresssion on our pa¬ 
rade about half an inch in thickness. All these instances 
happened during the night, the thermometer returning to 
its accustomed level by breakfast time next morning. The 
highest rise of the thermometer during my sojourn was 
eighty-two degrees, which occurred on one 4th of July. 
But the regulation temperature is, as stated, seventy-four 
degrees. 
“The four seasons” do not obtain in the Humboldt Bay 
country. There are but two—the wet and the dry. In 
this respect the climate is remarkable; notin that a wet and 
dry season are unusual, but that at Humboldt it almost 
never rains during the day , even in the rainy season. Dur¬ 
ing the dry season there may be an occasional shower, but 
very seldom. During the rainy season it rains regularly 
once every twenty-four hours, with but few exceptions; 
but the rain commences about ten P. M. and ceases about 
four A. M., and this with such regularity that one might 
almost set his watch by it. This is owing to the inter¬ 
change of the land and sea breezes, and as these are 
regular in their rise and fall so is the rain in its commence¬ 
ment and cessation. It will rain tremendously every night, 
and all night, but the mornings will be as soft and balmy 
as May—bright, clear, and slightly hazy—an Indian sum¬ 
mer day with the freshness of spring. They are absolute 
perfection. During my two years residence at Humboldt 
Bay it did not rain during the day more than ten times. 
The advantage of this peculiarity cannot be better appre¬ 
ciated than by the sportsman, and if he cannot guard 
against the nocturnal inundation, and make himself snug 
and keep dry, he must be helpless indeed. 
As a result of this division of the seasons, and the uni¬ 
formity of the temperature, vegetation is almost tropical 
in its luxuriance. The hills, ravines, and woods are cov¬ 
ered and filled with a heavy undergrowth, which is be¬ 
spangled with lovely flowers, and teems with berries of 
various kinds. The oleander and rhododendron are there 
in profusion, with a hundred others unknown to me by 
name. I have ridden through miles of the waxberry, once 
a irreat favorite in our eastern gardens. It is a wild shrub 
there. Of the edible berries I remember the salmon berry, 
which is like a large raspberry, but straw colored and 
tinted with red; the thimbleberry, the strawberry, the rasp¬ 
berry, the blackberry, the dewberry, the whortleberry, the 
bilberry, the partridge berry, the mulberry, the salal berry, 
the service berry, the redberry, and many others. The red- 
berry is remarkable in that the tree which bears it grows to 
the height of twenty feet. It has a trunk of six feet, and 
ahead like that of the osier willow, and these berries, 
which are of a brilliant crimson, semi-transparent, and 
about the size of the cranberry, are strung along the 
branches like currants on their stem. Their taste is slightly 
acid, and much like that of a currant, but more delicate. 
The leaves of the tree are small, and, I think, lanceolate; 
of rather a lightish green, like the willow, but darker. 
The tree has an open head, and in the sunlight the berries 
seem like little balls of transparent red candy, and present 
a very beautiful appearance. They make a fine jelly, 
highly prized by the ladies for its beautiful color and deli¬ 
cate flavor. When I left Humboldt I brought several jars 
of this jelly with me, but during my varied journeyings I 
found a warmer climate, and the jelly, fermenting, burst 
the jars, upon which my wife facetiously christened it 
“blew up jelly.” 
The lover of ferns would be enchanted with this coun¬ 
try. The hillsides are covered with a profusion and wealth 
of variety seen nowhere else save in the tropics. From the 
tiniest and almost invisible form to the gigantic “tree 
ferns,” their feathery fronds wave in every breeze, and 
their delicate tracery adorns alike the sequestered nook 
among the hills, the open forest, and the broad and undu¬ 
lating savanna. 
Flowers grow with a luxuriance unusual in these lati¬ 
tudes. At the close Of the rainy season the hills and for¬ 
ests are abloom with every variety of form and color, while 
in the gardens the rarer varieties are cultivated with a suc¬ 
cess that would make a New York florist gape with won¬ 
der. One lady in the little town of Areata had eighty va¬ 
rieties of roses in her garden—not puny shrubs, but many 
of them large trees, with trunks as thick as the arm of a 
large and fleshy man. . These were crowned with hundreds 
of flowers, in all stages of perfection and development. 
The beautiful “Geant du Battaille ” was in very truth a 
giant. The tree—for it is folly to call it a bush—was fully 
fifteen feet high, and many of the flowers were as large as 
ordinary saucers. The tea roses—those most lovely and 
fragrant of all the rose tribe—were there in all their glory, 
with a daintiness of tint and exquisiteness of perfume that 
realized the fabled glories of the gardens of “G-ul” and 
“larnistan.” The climbers, too, were in unrivalled masses 
of beauty and bloom. Pinks and carnations, dahlias and 
lilies, hyacinths and tuberoses, with hundreds of others, 
lent their brilliance and perfume to adorn this most exquis¬ 
ite of gardens. 
The graceful Fuchsia, the “ladies-ear-drop,” here attains 
a luxuriance I never before even dreamed of. At Trinidad, 
some thirty miles north of Humboldt, on the bl ink of the 
mighty Pacific, I saw a vision of beauty that will remain 
with me forever. I had arrived at this deserted town dur¬ 
ing the night, after a hard ride and a hairbreadth escape 
from Indians, and slept in an old barn on the hill. In the 
morning 1 came out just as the sun was rising over the 
mountain back of the town. I had crossed this mountain 
in the darkness of the night. The deserted farmhouse at 
the foot of the hill on which I stood—a long, low building 
of one story—was covered, top, gable, and sides, with the 
scarlet fuchsia in full bloom. Tne dew hail been heavy 
during the night, and the rays of the rising sun had just 
reached the house. Every dew drop sparkled in its beams 
like a diamond. It was an immense scarlet mantle be¬ 
spangled with gems. Its magnificence was unequalled. I 
had seen many houses over which the fuchsia clambered in 
rich profusion, but never anything like this. It was grand. 
Ah, how magnificent the glorious handiwork of the great 
Creator! Who is like unto Him? 
Speaking of the beautiful flowers recalls a rather annoy¬ 
ing incident which occurred to your correspondent. My 
quarters at the post were in a one story house, with a front¬ 
age of some sixty or more feet, along wdiich ran a veranda. 
During the dry season our parade became as' brown as a 
berry. Being fond of flowers, and knowing what irriga¬ 
tion would do in that climate, I lined the entire front of 
the veranda with a row of boxes, which, through the kind¬ 
ness of some lady friends, I Lid been able to fill with roses, 
pinks, and many other varieties of flowering plants, and I 
had carefully tended them. They were in full bloom, and 
at once the envy and the delight of the ladies of the garri¬ 
son, whose tables were decorated with many a fragrant 
bouquet from my charming parterre . Everything else on 
and around the parade wore its summer livery of brown. 
One morning I got up to find my cherished plants shorn 
close to the earth—not a stem or blade was left. Through 
the negligence of the sentinel, the gate at the entrance of 
the garden had been left open during the night, and a 
couple of cows entering soon discovered my treasures, and 
despoiled my garden of its beauties. Was it not atrocious? 
Those horrid cows! as our fair friends would say. Well, I 
tried again. Once more my plants put on tlieir robes of love¬ 
ly hue, and the delighted eyes of one and all were feasted 
with beauty, when again the same negligence produced a 
