402 
FOREST AND STREAM 
usually preferred by persons on horseback, requiring about 
four miles travel to reach the summit, we went a shorter 
but steeper route, leading as straight as possible to the top. 
The distance seemed at least two miles, and we were obliged 
to rest very often. Most of the way we were in dense 
timber consisting of many varieties. In the valley grew 
the tall hemlock of immense diameter. Just about Dinkins’ 
house the poplar, sugar maple and oak began in succes¬ 
sive belts; next was a belt of chestnut, then a belt of the 
finest ash I ever saw, then a splendid growth of beech, 
next wild cherry in abundance, which in turn was followed 
by beech again of a more stunted growth—this gradually 
disappearing as we neared the top—tall Norway pines of 
the most beautiful and symmetrical form succeeding. 
These grew smaller in size as we ascended, and sent their 
branches out horizontally instead of upward. Finally we 
reached the top, where they were so stunted that they ap¬ 
peared to have been flattened out by weights; the branches 
being so gnarled and interwoven as to admit of one’s stand¬ 
ing upright on the top of the trees. • The moss under foot 
was beautiful. In order to obtain a view we had to pass 
around to the southwest side of the apex, where there is a 
spot free from trees. Here we spent hours viewing the 
landscape below, which was truly splendid. Looking 
down toward the west upon the Tennessee Valley, we could 
see all the towns, villages and farms nestled in it, and be¬ 
yond the Clynch and Cumberland Mountains. Even Cum¬ 
berland Gap, toward which the boundary between this 
State and Tennessee makes from this point in a direct line, 
fully a hundred miles distant, could be plainly discerned. 
What heightens the interest of this view is the fact that 
Cumberland Gap is also the point of junction of three 
States—Virginia, Tennessee and Kentucky. On the south, 
overlooking all the big hills, we saw “Old Baldy,” Mount 
Mitchell and Mount Black, in North Carolina. Occasion¬ 
ally the view was obscured by a passing cloud, which en¬ 
veloped us in impenetrable mist—once a shower fell—but 
in a few moments the stiff breeze would waft it by, and all 
would be clear again. It was interesting then to watch the 
clouds after they had passed us, speeding away below us, 
as it seemed, and trailing their shadows over the hills and 
valleys. A complete description of our enjoyment of the 
cool, rarified air, and our sensations and feelings, would 
lead me into what might seem like extravagance, so I de¬ 
sist. Suffice it to say that we spent the day on the moun¬ 
tain, and left it toward evening with great reluctance. 
Descending we took the longer path referred to, and were 
afforded a fine view of the south slope, which is entirely 
free from timber, and covered with a superb growth of 
blue-grass, where some of Dinkins’ cattle and ‘ nags” were 
feeding. We were not specially equipped for game, else 
we might have shot a fine string of squirrels, as they were 
very numerous. We spent another night at Dinkins’, and 
returned home next day by way of the Squire’s, which is 
the route I would recomn\end to all who are sufficiently 
impressed by this description to desire to visit White Top. 
The streams at the base of this mountain are famous for 
trout, and they are very seldom visited. Among them are 
the Laurel Fork, White Top Fork, Horse Creek, Fox 
Creek, and Helton Creek, the first emptying into waters 
which lead to the Gulf by way of the Tennessee, and the 
last named passing into New River and thence into the 
Ohio. I doubt if there is any section in the Union, so 
near civilization, containing so many virgin trout-brooks as 
this. 
For Forest and Stream. 
BASS FISHING IN LAKE WAWAYANDA. 
- 
F EW are aware that the veritable lake bass of the north, 
(Grystes nigricans ,) exists in New Jersey; yet I have 
found him in Sussex County, of this State, in all his 
gaminess, vaulting, diving and resisting. I had been told 
of the bass fishing I could enjoy should I visit Lake Wa- 
wayanda about twenty-five miles from Newton, N. J., but 
satisfied myself the fish referred to must be the bass of the 
western rivers, ( Grystes salmoides ,) which does not readily 
take the artificial fly and affords less sport than his north¬ 
ern cousin. When I learned that the fish with which this 
lake was stocked came from Newburg, N. Y., I became 
more interested and a party was made up at once to sift 
the question to the bottom the following Saturday, July 
18tli. Our numbers consisted of four gentlemen, all ardent 
sportsmen, and three of them, at least, well known to the 
editors of the Forest and Stream, Theo. Morford, Esq., 
Mr. James Northrop and Mr. Horace Smith, your cor¬ 
respondent making the fourth. 
I arrived at Newton from Philadelphia just fifteen 
minutes before I found nlyself seated in tbe wagon which 
was to convey us to the lake. 
By the time we reached Vernon it was too late to under¬ 
take the ascent of Mount Wawayanda, over which we 
should have to make our way before the lake could be 
reached, and Mr. Thomas S. DeKay, the proprietor of a 
very fine hotel at this place, took us under his wing for 
the night. This gentleman lias quite a number of city 
boarders at his house enjoying his royal table and the 
splendid views the surrounding country presents. 
Rising to an early breakfast we were soon ready to make 
the ascent of the mountain, a portion of which bears the 
euphonius title of “Break Neck,” owing to a steep decliv¬ 
ity of about a mile necessary to be climbed in reaching the 
top. A tedious hour’s work brought us to the summit, 
and it was not long before the lake showed in the distance. 
We learned here for the first time from Mr. Hunt, who re¬ 
sides near the lake, that the fish we had come so far to test 
were the veritable Grystes nigricans , the genuine leaping 
lake bass, and that they would rise to a fly as well as to a 
grass-hopper. Although furnished with a stock of flies we 
repaired to the hay mow lor “hopper grasses,” the last 
place 1 should have lo'oked for them. We soon captured 
all we wanted in the fresh cut hay and embarked one and 
all in the only boat on the lake, with Mr. Theo. Morford 
at the oars, Northrop and myself trolling from the stern, 
the Squire acting as pilot on the bow on the look out for 
hidden stumps, as this portion of the lake was full of them. 
As the boat moved slowly along, the first rise of the day 
was to my fly, but 1 missed the bass. Northrop’s turn 
came second, a fine fish, which he securely hooked and 
played in style and boated safely. Reaching the main 
portion of the lake, we landed Morford on a rocky island, 
as he wished to try casting from shore, while your corres¬ 
pondent took the oars, and with Northrop and Smith in 
the stern of the boat, rowed down the margin of the lake. 
. Rise after rise, leap after leap, struggle after struggle, now 
became the order of the day, and the sport was glorious 
indeed. I could not resist the temptation, as I rowed 
along, to cast my line occasionally over the water, and 
although it w~as awkward work, managed to take two fine 
bass. 
When we returned to Morford we found he had very 
poor success during our absence, so taking him into the 
boat we moved over the same course we had just traversed, 
satisfied it harbored many more fish. And so it proved. 
One of the crowniug captfhres of the day was now made by 
Mr. Morford as we passed by a rocky point: a regular “he 
fellow,” as the Squire called him, took his fly and began a 
terrific fight. My friend’s light fly rod bent and quivered, 
and for a time I thought he would lose his entire tackle, 
so great was the resistance and struggle. Gracious ! but 
how this bass did leap from the water ! Fully three feet 
did he jump into the air, vainly trying to rid himself of the 
hook which Morford kept firmly in its place. It was a 
full quarter of an hour before the trophy was boated, and 
a noble one he proved to be. We were all using light fly 
rods, so some idea can be had of the w ork done when a 
two-pounder was hooked. 
By one o’clock the bass appeared to quit feeding and 
fewer fish were caught; but satisfied with what we had 
already done, we returned to shore and partook of a fine re¬ 
past at Mr. Hunt’s, determining to try again in the after¬ 
noon, when we hoped the bass would be on the feed again. 
We were disappointed, however, for few were taken. 
Toward evening, as we were rowing toward home, Mr. 
Northrop remarked that he intended catching the largest 
bass of the day before he left the lake, and a few minutes 
after, a terrific rush and tightening of his line showed he 
had hooked a monster. Mr. Northrop is a man noted for 
never becoming excited or moved in an any situation, and 
his coolness is remarkable, but on this occasion he exploded 
and gave evidence of his delight in a verj^ marked manner, 
as the bass showed his great size in his leaps from the 
water. “Take me to deep water, where I can kill him,” 
he shouted; for where we then were was dangerous ground 
among the sharp rocks near the shore, and the fish was 
taking out line at a great rate. The fight was a long and 
stubborn one, but the bass was safely boated at last, and 
proved to be the heaviest yet caught, and a noble trophy 
for the winding up of the day’s sport. 
I wish I could advise my friends of the rod to visit Lake 
Wawayanda, and enjoy the bass fishing its waters afford, 
but I cannot, for, on the 18th of July we were a favored 
few, a very favored few, if I can use the expression. Mr. 
Hunt had great trouble, when he did allow promiscuous 
fishing, in keeping parties from entirely depopulating 
his lake of bass, and so he must draw a line somewhere. 
Next summer an arrangement can be made probably, when 
a sight for a day’s fishing can be purchased. 
We returned to DeKay’s for Saturday night’s rest, start¬ 
ing homeward Sunday morning, stopping on the way at the 
residence of Mr. Thomas Lawrence for dinner, where we 
were entertained in a very hospitable manner, and arriving 
at Newton at 8 P. M., higlity gratified with our visit to 
Lake Wawayanda. Homo. 
For Forest and Stream. 
SPORT IN MISSISSIPPI. 
T HE prospect for a plentiful supply of Bob White this 
season is very good; but where they come from it 
would be impossible to say. The last day of the present 
season, in company with two friends and five good dog3, I 
hunted honestly and faithfully from eight A. M. until six 
P M., and we only succeeded in bringing twenty-five birds 
to bag, and we did extra good shooting, and we were twelve 
miles from town, in a section where birds had always been 
exceedingly numerous, but they had all disappeared. Since 
they have commenced pairing off they seem to be quite 
plenty. One of the first sounds that comes through my 
open window in the early morning, mingled with the song 
of the mocking bird, the thrush, and the oriole, is the 
cheery note of Bob White. And in my rides and drives out 
of town I see Bob and his brown mate in field and wood¬ 
land, and hear his cry from every stubble. Some of the 
young broods can fly, I hear, though I have not seen a sin¬ 
gle brood this summer. The June rains did not drown 
them this year, as it has been remarkably dry since early 
in May. The infantile turkey is now about the size of a 
spring chicken, and I hear of several broods having been 
seen in the vicinity. 
The Philohela minor does not breed here, and stops but a 
short time early in spring in our marshes. Not having the 
woodcock, we are reduced at this season to the squirrel as 
the only legitimate game at which we can burn powder. 
According to our friend, the field editor of the Turf , Field 
and Farm, the squirrel should be shot only with a grooved 
weapon of precision. But what if his hand is not as steady 
nor liis eyesight as good as in the long ago? when with his 
muzzle-loading rifle he took scirrius “on the fly” as it were, 
when he was gyrating on the extremity of a long and lim¬ 
ber beech bough, seizing a nut, and disappearing instantly 
within the cover of the thick foliage. If you hunt him on 
the borders of the cornfields you cannot do much execu¬ 
tion with the rifle, for as you walk along never so care¬ 
fully, stopping occasionally to look and listen, the first 
intimation you have of the proximity of a squirrel is a vio¬ 
lent agitation of a cornstalk, from which he springs, and 
here he comes with a flying leap—legs and tail spread— 
as if he had been hurled from a catapult, and lands in the 
brush and is off in a twinkling. In the fall, when the 
leaves are off the trees, rifle shooting at'squirrels is good 
sport for those who like it, but if we have to hunt them, 
give us a shot gun, and a breech loader at that. Did you 
ever hunt squirrels with a breech-loader? From long t'a- 
maliarity with all kinds of muzzle-loading arms, the rodent 
under consideration had learned exactly how much time 
was required to load and cap a gun. The breech-loader 
being a modem invention, he is not yet familiar with its 
workings. With the old style gun, after you had fired at 
him with both barrels in the top of some old forest giant, 
he would come down to the very lowest limb, whisk his 
tail, and chatter at you in the most impudent style, until 
just about the time you were ready to cap your gun, when 
with a tremendous chattering he would be off and up the 
tree again out of sight. But he can’t come that dodge on 
you when you have a breech-loader. 1 tried him on with 
it. He would come down when he thought my gun was 
empty, or he would take a notion to get on to another tree. 
When 1 reached for a shell 1 imagine he thought—if they 
do think—that I was handling my powder flask; the snap 
■of the gun when closing lie mistook for the click of the 
flask spring, and was in no hurry. How terribly scared he 
must have been, for an instant only, when he saw the 
fleadly muzzles brought to bear on him. But when the 
jarring report died away he was lying at the foot of the tree, 
clean killed. Sixteen to seven was the score of a breech¬ 
loader against a muzzle-loader in a few hours’ squirrel 
shooting^ It is almost murder in the first degree, but the 
farmers say that they destroy the corn, and then, when you 
make them into a Brunswick stew, you are inclined to 
think that squirrel murder is a pardonable offence. If 
there is any sport in squirrel shooting there are a good many 
drawbacks to its full realization. 
There are ferocious wood ticks and microscopical chig- 
ers, not to mention the snakes; and speaking of snakes 
reminds me of the fact that some persons, not havingvhe 
fear of the game law before their eyes—for there is none— 
went out a few days since to a place called “Freedom,” in 
the pine hills, to have a camp deer hunt. The first day in 
the woods they killed four large rattlesnakes, fearful of 
fangs, deadly of venom, and terrible of rattle, and as the 
supply of “snake bite antidote” was limited, and the near¬ 
est still house was forever still, and furthermore, as they 
had not lost a single Crotalus horridos , and were not hunt¬ 
ing them, they returned from whence they came, and left 
the Grotaluses and the deer in peaceable possession of their 
domains. Long may their snakeships wave—their tails— 
until brown autumn comes at least, and may they keep off 
all who would dare venture within those wilds until the 
season comes to hunt the deer. “Guyon.” 
Corinth, Mississippi, July 22d, 1874. 
For Forest and Stream. 
TWO HOURS ON RANGELEY RIVER. 
BY THOMAS SEDGWICK STEELE. 
I T would be impossible to say that the weather selected 
for my ramble along the banks of Rangeley River, 
Maine, was all that coukl have been desired. Those beau¬ 
tiful mornings, often described by writers, do not always 
fall to the lot of every angler, and when camping in the 
woods it often seems as if it “never rained but it poured,” 
and that a greater portion of the time. Great heavy ciouds 
of vapor hung down the mountain sides, almost concealing 
them from view, while heavy showers of rain accompanied 
by thunder and lightning, would strike our camp, carry¬ 
ing all that was moveable along with it. 
Bo the morning and first part ox the afternoon had been 
occupied in cleaning my gun and putting numerous other 
traps in order, but at four o’clock the storm having abated, 
I called my guide, and buckling on my invincible “Mack¬ 
intosh wading pants,” we strolled up the stream. We found 
“Indian Eddy” was as well patronized as usual, and at that 
time many a speckled beauty was leaving its ripples to be 
soon transferred to the caufs dancing attendance at the 
stern of the boats. So on we pushed, occasionally taking a 
fish, until we reached a certain position on the stream. Oh ! 
shall I whisper where? I well know the object of the 
Forest and Stream is to give location of good fishing re¬ 
sorts, but a description of each stone and tree is seldom re¬ 
sorted to. Suffice it to say, that it was beside a certain 
overhanging bank, near a certain number of handsome fir 
trees, and that an old dead stump around which you can 
just clasp your arms, reflects itself in the stream, and fur 
theimore, that said stream at this time, in June, is about 
four feet deep; and if by this description you can discover 
my secret, you are welcome. 
Getting to the lee of a “smudge,” built by the guide to 
get rid of the angler’s pests, the black flies, whose supply 
always more than equals the demand, I fastened to my line 
the most tempting treasures from my fly book, and made a 
cast far out over the shining waters. Thinking the flies 
did not alight on the water to my satisfaction, I was about 
making a back cast when a gleam of silver far down under 
the dark waters, a rush, a splash on the surface, and the 
next moment my stretcher fly was fast in a pound trout. 
Placing my finger on the line above the reel, I realized he 
was firmly hooked, and I prepared myself for the battle 
which was sure to follow. A pound trout is not much to 
handle with plenty of room, but take overhanging boughs, 
a slippery bank and a wild rushing river, and the odds are 
frequently in favor of the fish. 
The Rangeley River flows from the Rangeley Lake, 
which is ten miles long, through the woods a distance of 
two miles, and empties itself into the Mooselucmaguntic 
Lake, another large body of water some twelve miles long 
by four wide, and with such velocity that in the spring, at 
which time this incident occurred, it was with difficulty 
you could maintain your foothold when only a short depth 
in the water. Many an angler has mistaken its hidden 
force, and while wading that stream capsized in its turbu¬ 
lent waters and risen to the surface “a sadder but wiser 
man.” So with the fish tugging away at my line, (as a 
trout only knows how,) it required great skill'and careful 
management not to loose him, or be upset myself. A few 
wild Lushes up and down the stream, occasionally showing 
his gleaming sides near the surface of the water, bending 
my eight-ounce rod as if it were a twig, and with mouth 
wide open, he soon lay exhausted on the bank. Then 
another Cast, and another fish of about the same propor¬ 
tions, followed by others still of 1R 14 and 2 pounds each, 
my flies hardly touching the foaming surface before they 
were eagerly taken by the voracious fish. Sometimes two 
and three would spring for the enticing flies at the same 
time, and my past ideas of the delicate sense of a trout was 
badly shocked by their selfish exhibitions of character. For 
two hours, the shortest I ever experienced, these trout kept 
me busy, and sometimes when giving them the final blow, 
bending my split bamboo three feet below the butt, while 
my faithful guide stood at my side, net in hand, transfer¬ 
ring the fish to the cauf as fast as possible. You who 
take no zest in out-door sports, or rambles by forest and 
stream, and think with the old adage “that angling is 
merely a stick and a string with a fish at one end and a fool 
at the other,” what wouldn’t I have given to have placed 
you suddenly in my position, and if the blood in your veins 
didn’t course more freely after such excitement, then you 
must be as dead to all enjoyment as the Egyptian mum¬ 
mies in the museum at Niagara Falls. But as “all things 
have an end” so did these joyous moments, which were 
finally brought to a close in a more hasty manner than I 
anticipated. 
For the last ten minutes the trout had ceased to rise, and 
we had concluded that we had either exhausted the pool, 
or by repeated casts had frightened them away, (for we 
had not moved three feet from our first position during 
