July 3, 1884.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



447 



the streak of grass running parallel to the shore, and while 

 hunting for it found auolher narrow grass and weed-grown 

 reef a quarter of a mile or more from shore, that led nearly 

 straight out across the lake; and along this for three or four 

 hundred feet we had some rare sport with the pickerel, when 

 it, too, came to an end in the deep water. We pulled hack 

 along the north side to where, we had first struck it and then 

 fished, along the south side again back to the deep water, and 

 during the time I don't believe five minutes passed in which 

 we were not handling a pickerel, several times both busy at 

 the same time. At the end of the reef wo had enough of it, 

 and as this was the day we expected the Assistant P. M., we 

 cou eluded to pull across the lake to the "sandbank" and 

 intercept him on the road we had passed along a few days 

 before, and save him the long drive around the head of the 

 lake. First, however, we selected a landmark on each side 

 of the lake, by w 7 hich we could readily find pickerel reef — 

 as we named* it — again, should we want to pay it another 

 visit, and Old Dan would be sure to do this, for he is "power- 

 ful fond o' pickerel fishin'." 



When a hundred feet or so from the last weeds growing 

 up from the end of the reef, our blood was started into 

 quicker flow by a sight that I am certain neither of us will 

 ever forget as long- as we remain "on the face o' this livin' 

 earth." We were watching our linos trailing astern when 

 suddenly we saw an enormous maskalonge leap three feet 

 into the air directly athwart our course and fall back into 

 the water with a great splash ten or twelve feet from where 

 he left it, and disappear with a sweep of his tail that made 

 the spray fly in a small shower. He was not more than 

 sixty feet from the stern of the boat, and we had a fair and 

 full broadside view of him while he was iu the air. I am 

 now almost afraid to write down our estimate of the size of 

 that monster maskalonge lest the brethren brand Dan and I 

 as a pair of lying old loons that have a fish story to tell, yet 

 we are both willing to make solemn oath before' any magis- 

 trate in the laud that this fish was six feet or more in length. 

 He looked as large around at the ventrals as a common 

 wooden bucket, and I am as sure as 1 can be without actual 

 measurement that his tail was a foot and a half broad from 

 lobe to lobe, while his long, powerful jaws, slightly apart 

 and armed, as they must have been, with rows of murderous 

 teeth, looked like they could easily crush a mans arm. 



Merrill had said to'us, "Beys, there's muskylunge iu this 

 lake six foot long, sure's yer born, for I've seen 'em!" and 

 we had simply marked it down to him as one of his 

 whoppers, but now, here, with our own eyes Dan and I had 

 seen one out of water ^at close distance that was even larger-, 

 and we could not dispute the evidence of our eyesight. I 

 would not have believed maskalonge attained to such great 

 size had not Dr. Sterling (1 write this with nothing to refer 

 to and will stand corrected if my memory is at fault) put 

 one on record, killed some years ago somewhere near the 

 head of Lake Huron, that weighed eighty pounds, but 1 be- 

 lieve old Dan and I would have been little more astonished 

 than we were at sight at this one, had we seen another the 

 same day that would have measured twelve feet. The fish 

 that tried to rob Knots and Jim off the mouth of Rocky 

 Creek was no longer to be poked at them as a "mus'rat," and 

 we men tally took back a good many things we had been 

 thinking about neighbor Merrill, we could even believe the 

 very biggest bear story he could frame. When we told him 

 next day what we had seen, he said, "I told ye so; mebbe 

 you'll b'lieve some o' the old man's lies yet before you go 

 home." 



When the great fish struck the water after his leap old 

 Dan glanced over his shoulder at me, and exclaimed, with 

 more excitement than I had known him to display for years, 

 "Great guns, Hickory! did you ever see such a fish as that?" 

 or words to that effect. I don't remember just now the 

 exact reply 1 made, hut it strikes me at this late date it was 

 something more forcible than elegant, for I was like Major 

 Lacey's "coon" during the war when the whiskey gave out 

 on a hard march — "all to'e up in my mine"; hut instantly 

 dropping the oars into the water, a vigorous back stroke 

 sent the little boat five yards astern, and reeling up quickly 

 1 made a long cast and dropped the frog several yards ahead 

 of where old mossy was last seen, with a faint hope that he 

 would take a notion that a speckled frog was just what his 

 teeth were aching for, instead of the pickerel he had prob- 

 ably made a dash at when he left the water. The cast 

 availed nothing, and turning the boat quietly we fished for 

 half an hour over twenty acres of water in a dozen direc- 

 tions from where we saw him, but frogs and spoon victuals 

 would not tempt his appetite, he was too "facetious," as 

 Dick would have said, and we were forced to abandon our 

 designs on him and take our way across the lake with heavy 

 hearts. 



Had we stopped to give the matter a serious thought, we 

 might have had sense enough to know that the tackle we 

 were using that day would have been just about as effective 

 in stopping that fish as a mosquito net would a stampede of 

 Texas steers; but our blood was up, and we never thought 

 once about the frailty of our lines and rods until we had 

 cooled off, and not until we had settled it iu our minds that 

 he would weigh not under eighty or ninety pounds did we 

 realize what immense strength this fish must have been pos- 

 sessed of, and how utterly futile our efforts to capture him 

 would have proved with the means at hand. We determined, 

 however, to contrive a rig on the morrow from material in 

 my "calamity box" that would bring to grief this mighty 

 warrior or any other fish that would attempt to fool with it, 

 for once hooked, the victim would have to lose his jaw, be 

 turned inside out or jerk the bow stem out of the boat, and 

 failing in any of these possibilities, be towed ashore and 

 .scientifically knocked on the head with a club, made and 

 provided for that purpose. 



We pulled across to the sand bank, a spot bare of trees 

 which the lumbermen had at some former time used as a 

 place to get logs into the lake, where I left Dan to chuckle 

 over the scheme we had devised to capture the great maska- 

 longe, and pick huckleberries along the strip of low land 

 between the beach and the foot of the hill, while 1 took my 

 way up the steep, sandy log road leading out onto the plains 

 to the main road, some twenty rods back, where Miller would 

 have to pass along. At the forks of the road 1 left my 

 "totem" in the shape of a couple of good-sized dead pickerel 

 brought with me from the boat, and hung to the fork of a 

 small bush which I cut, trimmed and drove into the sand 

 two or three feet from the roadside. 



These would be sure to scare the horses when they came 

 along and attract the driver's attention if he were not too 

 full of huckleberry juice. To niase it all clear, I tacked a 

 leaf from my note book to a blackened stump a few feet 

 further along, on which 1 penciled a notice to follow the 

 right hand road to the lake, where we would be waiting at 

 (.he beach or in sight, 



Back in the boat again, we fished and waited around with- 

 in half a mile up and down shore till 3 o'clock in the after- 

 noon, without seeing or hearing anything of Brother M., 

 when, becoming- impatient to know what the boys were 

 doing, we pulled across down to the mouth of little Black, 

 with our minds made up that should he come to the sand 

 bank that day it would take the tallest kind of smoke signals 

 to induce us to go back after him. 



On the way down, after crossing the lake, we passed the 

 little side-wheel steamer City of Cheboygan lying at anchor 

 near the shore, a short distance above the mouth of the river, 

 one of the line that formerly carried passengers by the inland 

 route — Crooned, Burt and Mullett lakes— between Conway 

 Springs, at the head of Crooked Lake, and Cheboygan, but 

 now kept here on Black Lake in the more humble service 

 of towing logs to the outlet for their start down Big Black 

 River to Cheboygan. 



To get this boat up the river and into the lake was a task 

 that no one but a Michigan lumberman perhaps would have 

 undertaken, as there are some bad rapids about three miles 

 from the foot of the lake that no steamer or rowboat can 

 surmount with any ordinary means of propulsion; but the 

 difficulty was overcome, we were told, when the water was 

 up in the spring by "warping" her over the rapids and into 

 the easier current above. 



But these Michigan lumbermen are a hearty class of men; 

 quick to think and fertile of resource in emergencies that 

 require prompt action and a cool head in solving on the spot 

 a knotty (pine) problem, and no undertaking is too great for 

 them when it comes to a matter of getting logs to a market. 

 Their education is not considered finished until they have 

 learned how to "float a four- foot log on a foot o' water," 

 and, indeed, water appears to do almost anything for them 

 required of it except to run up stream. 



We found the boys surfeited with pickerel fishing and 

 about ready to start back to camp, but Old Dan, as before 

 mentioned, being powerful fond o' pickerel fishin', we con- 

 cluded to hang around Sturgeon Bay till near sundown, and 

 while fishing mainly for long suouts would not forget to 

 "feel fur a bass" between times, as we had not taken one 

 that day. 



I may say, too, that this matter of being fond of fishing is 

 not to be all loaded on to Old Dan, for I don't remember the 

 time, in all the pleasant years we have been angling together, 

 when one was anxious to quit before the other, in sun or 

 rain, or wind or snow. We tied the boat to a small raft of 

 squared timbers, firmly pinned and bolted together, an- 

 chored fifty or sixty yards off the mouth of the river, and 

 got out on it to rest a while and fish. This raft was a puzzle 

 to us, and is yet, as we failed to ask any one its particular 

 use, but we figured it out to be some kind of contrivance 

 connected with the booming of logs, as near one end was a 

 rude capstan, and to the shore end were chained two lines of 

 boom logs running out to shore and up the river several 

 yards, one on either side. Into this boom the logs are con- 

 fined as they come down the river, and the capstan and coil 

 of inch-and-a-half rope near it were used, we had a notion, 

 to warp them into compact shape for towing to the head of 

 Big Black River. 



tf we are wrong, the lumbermen may laugh at us, and we 

 will take a back seat untU we have better learned their ways. 

 One writer in Forest and Stream has called it a "head 

 works," but Old Ben christened it "the stem-windin' raft," 

 and by this name we knew it. 



We spent a half hour on the raft without taking a fish, 

 and getting back into the boat we pulled around into the 

 little bay to the head and back, taking on the way a few 

 long-snouts that hardly paid for the time wasted on them. 

 We soon tired of this sport, and as the bass were not in a 

 biting hurnor, we said we had enough, and started for camp, 

 which we reached a little before dark, tired, hungry and 

 happy, but a trifle disappointed over our poor luck with the 

 bass. 



No smoke signal at the sand bank and no brother Muller 

 that day. 



I don't remember now the number of pickerel brought to 

 camp that day by all of us, but they certainly would have 

 filled a flour barrel. No bass were taken, however, except 

 three or four by Dick and the Deacon up at the Rocks, and 

 these were kept for our own table, while the long-snouts 

 were turned over to neighbor Merrill, who had said to us, 

 "Boys, don't throw away a single pickerel ; bring 'em to 

 camp for me an' I'll clean 'em an' salt 'em down." 



We kept no count of the number brought in and given to 

 him during our stay, but Ben said, "Ef old Men-ill lives long 

 enough to eat all o' them pickerel an' stops to sort out the 

 bones, he'll be creepin' up to old Methuseler that you read 

 about in the Scriptcrs, an' he won't hev no more hair on his 

 head'n a base ball." Kingfisher, 



[to be continued."! 



A DAY AT MINN ETON KA. 



MAT and I have just returned from our long-expected trip 

 to our most beautiful lake, and we return loaded with 

 fish and pleasant recollections. On arriving at Excelsior we 

 were met by Bill Corbett, the best of the Minnetonka boat- 

 men, and our genial host, De Gro'ot. "Well, gentlemen, 

 said Bill, "it's 5 o'clock sharp to-morrow morning, for we 

 must make a good day of it." Five o'clock found us on our 

 way to the bass grounds in Bill's comfortable boat. After 

 an hour's pull the fun commenced. We wanted a few crop- 

 pies for lunch, so we stopped on a croppie bed the first thing; 

 this resulted iu a dozen fine croppies and one bass of over 

 four pounds' weight. After a short row we reached our 

 favorite bass grounds and prepared for business. 



Considering the weather, which was not favorable, we had 

 very good luck, and were more than satisfied. At noon, we 

 had twenty-five bass. Bill cooked some croppies for lunch, 

 and we enjoyed them exceedingly. After lunch we were up 

 and at it. again, and when we started for home we had 

 thirty-five bass, a dozen pickerel and twenty croppies and 

 redeye, or rock bass; the entire catch weighing over ninety 

 pounds. We used 12-ounce rods, with "both frogs and 

 minnows for bait. The most successful way to fish here is 

 to cast with frogs. Bill rows the boat slowly just far 

 enough from the rushes so we can cast into the "pockets," 

 as he calls them. When one strikes a three or four pound 

 bass there is plenty of business for him to attend to. We 

 were fortunate in not losing many, and our string of bass 

 were all very good size. We had one pickerel that weighed 

 seven and one-half pounds, and several others of fair size. 



The Minnetonka bass are very satisfactory fish to catch. 

 They are very stubborn fighters and are above the average in 

 size. We brought home eleven that weighed thirty pounds. 

 It was a very pretty string of fish, and the fun we had catch- 

 ing them is beyond description. The pickerel and other fish 



WP lp.ft with ffnvhfit.t. 



If any of the readers of Forest and Stream should be 

 in this part of the country and wish a good day's fishing I 

 would advise them to try* Minnetonka. It is conveniently 

 reached from either Minneapolis or St. Paul, and the hotel 

 accommodations are first-class. It is necessary to get a guide 

 to insure good sport, and Corbett is the man to get. He is n, 

 sober, honest fellow, and knows the lake from A to Z His 

 boat and general outfit are the best, on the lake, and as an 

 oarsman he is without a peer in this section of the country, 

 his early training in rowing the ferry at Staten Island shows 

 itself in every stroke. He is also an artist with the frying 

 pan, and cooks fish to a torn. His address is Excelsior, 

 Minn., and visitors will always find him ready and obliging. 

 At present the fishing is at its best, and largo strings of bass 

 and pickerel are caught daily. One prominent Minneapolis 

 insurance man caught 150 pounds of pickerel in one day last 

 week. We shall try it again soon,' and if all things are 

 favorable we hope to set a high mark for the rest of the 

 boys. If luck is with us you shall know of it Judoi.. 

 Minneapolis, Minn,, June 14. 



we left with Corbett, 



TROUTING WITH A WORM. 



1^0 one who is prevented by business cares and unkind 

 . fate from enjoying the sports of forest and stream in 

 the wilds and byways where civilization has not, yet en- 

 croached, the weekly perusal in your columns of the exploits 

 and delights of those more fortunate is ever a source of 

 pleasure. While reading many a wonderful tale of luck with 

 rod and reel, where vigorous trout or gamy bass were 

 secured with scarcely an effort, it occurs to me that while 

 repining at fate for the denial of such luxury, there mav still 

 be a redeeming feature, and that, even the 'sea reify of the 

 sport may give an added zest, and while to those' of your 

 readers who are accustomed to roam at will, wherever their 

 fancy may direct them in search of sport, this article mav be 

 uninteresting; there may be those who, like the writer, must 

 fain be content with humbler sport in whatever locality 

 fortune has placed them. Among these then I may find 

 sympathizing readers. 



From boyhood's days, when my mornings and noonings 

 while at school, during the season, w r erc spent by the side of 

 some favorite stream, have I been an ardent devotee of the 

 rod and— I was about to say reel, but now I remember the 

 reel was not considered then a necessary adjunct to the sport, 

 nor have I ever with rod or reel experienced more pleasure 

 than in those boyhood days when with birch or alder "pole" 1 

 drew from beneath some, sunken log or overhanging bank an 

 unusually fine trout. With what pride did I exhibit my 

 catch to a circle of admiring school fellows who usually ac- 

 companied me to see the sport and carry the fish (usually 

 strung on a willow "string"), and with what eager zest did I 

 ply the rod under the banks and down the ripples of that 

 willow-bordered stream, and seldom was I unrewarded. 



Many a happy hour since that day have I spent with rod 

 find reel, and although not always with success numerically 

 speaking, yet a day spent adown a mountain stream or 

 through the grassy meadows, following the intricacies of the 

 willow -fined banks, I count always a successful day; for it 

 is a quiet day, where one is sure to escape the worry and 

 wear and tear of business life, and Father Time with his 

 relentless scythe is cheated into many an hour of extra wait- 

 ing. For the past few years circumstances have placed me 

 within easy access to the streams of Berkshire and Hampden 

 counties, Mass. Berkshire is called the Switzerland of 

 America in point of scenery, and you will find among its 

 glorious mountains many a secluded stream that would 

 delight the eye of any angler, Hampden county is not 

 behind, and 1 can recall many a delightful trip to its entic- 

 ing streams. 



It was in the early part of June, one glorious morning, I 

 found myself at the headwaters of a stream I had intended 

 to* visit several preceding seasons, but had been prevented 

 for various reasons. I was alone, with miles of the glorious 

 stream before me; one glance down its rocky course, its deep, 

 dark pools and silent eddies was enough to put me in an 

 ecstasy of delight, and before I cast a line in its enticing 

 waters I had drank one deep draught of unalloyed perfect 

 happiness. For those whose cultured tastes will allow them 

 to use nothing but the fly in capturing their trout, this nar- 

 rative will have no further interest, for candor compels me 

 to say my bait consisted of worms, nothing but worms for 

 bait. Although the fly is perhaps the neater way of captur- 

 ing fish, yet 1 have been "trouting" with your expert 11 y- 

 fisherman, who boasted of sixteen trout weighing sixteen 

 pounds caught in Adirondack waters one morning before 

 breakfast, and at the end of the day's sport have given him 

 my handsome "mess" of trout to fill up his empty creel, to 

 that his reputation at home might not suffer. Somehow I 

 then got the notion that perhaps there might be required 

 some small degree of skill to entice little brook trout even 

 with a worm. 



The day was auspicious; just warm enough, with moist- 

 looking clouds that now and then obscured the sun and now 

 and then a little spatter of rain. 



With cautious movement I cast my hook where experience 

 taught me trout should lurk; into many a dark pool beneath 

 some sunken log, or in the shallow ripple, but in vain. Al- 

 though the stream was a picture that was ever a source of 

 delight, still the trout were not there or would not bite. 



Still, not to be disheartened, on 1 went, ever casting with 

 painstaking into most favorable localities, but ever without 

 success. Once, while poising upon a boulder in midstream, 

 I was nearly frightened out of my senses by an old partridge, 

 the mother of a brood, which, with head depressed and 

 wings extended, darted suddenly at me from the bank with 

 a hissing noise, and leaping into the stream beat across the 

 Surface with her wings. 



Then I went on down stream where the water lay quiet iu 

 long, silent pools with alder banks, and still without success. 

 There must be trout in the stream and they must be made to 

 bite; but how? 



There was perhaps a mile of still water and then the 

 stream once more babbled away in its rocky bed. Fed by 

 one or two small tributaries it had increased considerably in 

 volume. Now stop! Is it a snag? No. a bite, the very 

 first ! Now he has it ; with a quick turn of the wrist I secure 

 him and lift him gently out— a little beauty. There was no 

 whirr of the reel, no dexterity of handling and still, as I 

 looked upon his plump symmetrical form with its spots of 

 color, it was with no small degree of satisfaction. The first 

 trout; and pulling a bunch of cowslips to line the bottom of 

 the creel, I place him tenderly on them. 



Now 1 go on with renewed zest. I feel that the luck has 

 changed and my slightly waning courage is again revived. 

 Lengthening my line, I made a cast across the stream to an 

 enticing-looking ripple under an overhanging bank Ho 



