Jtjly 2. 1885. 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



483 



study in nature to interest us. "But we have caught our bait 

 and now we will po fishing, 



It is just after noon, the breeze has gone down, the lake is 

 calm, and the sun pours down What seems to us an unneces- 

 sary amount of heat. We will pull to our favorite bass 

 ground, and as it is nearly two miles, we drop ill a spoon, 

 book and troll— oftentimes we catch some very fine pickerel 

 on this course— but it is too still to-day; we reach the bass 

 ground without a strike. If we bad a day before us we 

 would go ashore and wait for a breeze to spring up, but as 

 the day is fast going, we decide to try the only method by 

 wkieh'we have been successful in still water. We each pre- 

 pare two lines of about forty yards, one for each rod, and 

 the others to be used as hand lines; we bait them all differ- 

 ently, Johnnie uses a minnow lor his rod and a crayfish for 

 his band line, while I put a tempting grasshopper on my rod 

 line and a frog on the baud line (we have when at anchor 

 had out as high as six kinds of bait in (bis manner). Being 

 all baited up we cast our lures with a splash on the unruf- 

 fled surface of Ihe lake, and as they sink I take up the oars, 

 while Johu plays out the lines until wc have given out from 

 eighty to one hundred feet of each line, then sculling with 

 one oar I keep up a drifting motion until the whole length of 

 the bass ground is covered, when changiug the course of the 

 boat we scull back again. 



We are drifting along slowly, my one hand working (lie 

 oar, the other holding the rod which I have lazily let rest on 

 the gunwale of the boat; we are talking of some scheme 

 whereby we can make money enough in the winter to allow 

 us to fish all summer, when, just as we have the idea about 

 perfected, zip, goes Johnnie's handliue, he drops bis rod and 

 before the slack is quite gone, brings up Mr. Bass with a 

 suddenness that gives him to understand that he has import- 

 ant business oil hand ; and now for a settlement, about LOO 

 feet of line out and a stubborn fish at each end, the line 

 comes and goes, the fish tries the air without success, he goes 

 to the bottom, but there are no weeds here, now he tires, and 

 slowly but stubbornly comes in a zig-zag course to the boat', 

 one rush to go under, he is balked, and before he can rally 

 for another I have, the landtug net under him. We weigh 

 him, four pounds and a half. Johnnie, declares it is the 

 smallest one he has ever caught on a crayfish. While bass 

 do not take crayfish as freely as most other kinds of bait 1 

 have never known of a small one being caught when they 

 were used; the same I think may be said of the helgramite.* 



I now take in my frog and substitute a crayfish. Drifting 

 on, I book and lund a two-and-a-half-pound'er on my grass- 

 hopper; out goes another 'hopper, and in less time than it 

 takes to tell il, I hook another bass of about three pouuds. 

 Now we bait all our books with 'hoppers and the fun begins. 

 The fish are evidently near the bottom, for our bait must 

 drag before they will bite. We catch quite a number in a 

 very short time, and have great sport; but suddenly a breeze 

 springs up and there, is not another bite. We fish in this 

 way a long while, hoping for just one more big one, butthey 

 are either off on this bait or have kit the bottom, so wo 

 finally anchor aud change off to minnows. To shorten our 

 lines and bait up takes a few moments, and by the time we 

 are rigged again the anchor rope is taut aud everything 

 nicely settled. We east, using the large brook redUD, with- 

 out sinker, thus giving the minnows a chance to roam at 

 their own sweet wills, and with nothing to hold them down 

 they will take advantage of the opportunity. We do not 

 have to wait long before, the bass are biting. We pull them 

 in lively, not taking time to weigh them on the old spring 

 balances, being content to allow a guess to go as fisherman's 

 weight, and here we stay completely absorbed in the sport 

 till the sun is far down behind the hills, only thinking of the 

 present, ever waiting for one more "bite*" till we are re- 

 minded that it is getting dark, and although the bass are 

 still biting, we puU up anchor, light our pipes for a smoke 

 of satisfaction, and slowly row down the lake as the moon 

 peeps o'er the hills, and glistens on the leaves of the vine- 

 yards that are already dampened with the evening dew. 



It is late when we get home, but there is one thing more 

 to be done that will put the finishing touches on a day's 

 glorious sport; we are tired, but it refreshes us to receive 

 the thanks and compliments from our friends as we distrib- 

 ute the fish among them. And bow much better we all feel 

 to know that the fish did not cost their weight in gold, but 

 were only the fruits of a day well spent. Ravelstoke. 



Lansing, Mich. 



MAINE ANGLING. 



ONE'S annual spring trip to the Maine trout waters is 

 fraught with interest, especially if he be a veteran. 

 In the first place, nature has put on a new coat and the 

 waters are deep— the angler must be there to see. But alas, 

 the march of improvement! It is hardly worthy of the 

 natne in a State where the woods and waters, just as nature 

 left them, are worth far more in dollars and cents even than 

 the improved— what shall we call it? — can ever possibly be. 

 But civilization marches on, and handsome Swiss cottages 

 are springing up where only a dozen years ago the writer 

 considered himself out of the reach of anything but wilder- 

 ness or possibly a brother sportsman. But some points are 

 gained if romantic uncivilization is lost. The fishing grounds 

 are more quickly reached, and for less money. A box of 

 lemons and a fresh roast can be had in camp where salt pork 

 and hardtack had to answer formerly. Ladies can also find 

 the retreat, and it is more of a joy to them than to their hus- 

 bands and brothers, while they gladden by their presence. 

 A good shingled roof and a cook stove now take the place of 

 the dripping tent and the smoky camp-fire. Since the fishing 

 is nearly as good— propagation and protection be praised — 

 we will not complain. 



But the glorious good time of our party of seven— three 

 ladies and four gentlemen— must be passed over for a future 

 article, while a few practical observations are taken up. In 

 the first place fly-fishing in the Androscoggin lakes and 

 ponds is again very late. Next to nothing had been done 

 with the fly in Mooselucmaguntic or Richardson lakes up to 

 June the 20th, and in a few of the adjoining ponds and 

 streams the trout had just begun to rise. ' Up to that time- 

 also fly-fishing had been very poor in Tim Pond and Seven 

 Ponds. But so much the better; the fishing will be good 

 later on. On the other hand "the trolling has never been 

 better." This is the common remark of old visitants. The 

 number of trout has been great ; the size has not been small 

 by any means, but the nine and ten-pounders have been 

 fewer than last year. Not more than three trout which 

 would go above eight and a half pounds have yet been taken 

 from the Androscoggin waters this year. The crowds of 

 sportsmen have not been less— on the contrary, rather in- 

 creased—but the giant trout have not been booked. But fish 

 weighing four, five and six pounds have been plenty. 



How about those landlocked salmon? Still they do not 

 appear. They have been a long time in Raugeley, Moose- 

 lucmaguntic and Richardson lakes, but all the fish of that 

 description taken from those lakes this spring can be num- 

 bered on the lingers of one hand without the thumb. Are 

 they a success? ft is too bad to find one word of fault with 

 the good work of the Maine Commissioners, but would not 

 the same number of brook trout put into those waters have 

 made a much better showing than the landlocked salmon 

 have done? The Sahno fontinaUs is certainly a grand success 

 in those waters natural to them; the trout of the world. 

 W r bo can say as much of the landlocks? In the Sebago 

 waters and the Sehoodics. their natural home, are they as 

 much of a success as the red spot trout of the Androscoggin? 

 In the Sebago waters two or three weeks sport of trolling and 

 the landlocks are done for the season. Who has ever caught 

 one there with the fly afterward? Where would all the late 

 fly-fishing be if all the red spots were changed to landlocks? 



The last observation noted on our trip must be the first 

 one brought to our notice. It came with a sing and a stab. 

 It meant blood every time. Cruel was it? Yes, our only 

 weapons of defense were tar and a smudge. It is the com- 

 mon remark of the trout fishermen that mosquitoes are 

 thicker than ever this season. But the black fly is nowhere, 

 lie gave us no trouble at all. Old guides and slaters at the 

 Maiue lakes say that black flies are growing hopefully less. 

 One sportsman is of the opinion that the mosquitoes have 

 eaten them all. Boston. 



DRUM FISHING AT BAYSIDE. 



LATE in the season last August, Matt Quay caught sixteen 

 drumfi8hin one day at" Atlantic City, but they don't 

 often bite with that degree of freedom. Early in June the 

 best fishermen at Bayside, Cape May county, N. J., sent a 

 telegram that the drum had begun to bite. We lost no time 

 iu overhauling our lines and sharpening our Limerick hooks, 

 having little doubt that our double plaited linen lines, which 

 had stood the test of time for three years, would hold the 

 biggest drum in the bay. We reckoned wrong, as sequel 

 demonstrated. Our guide, counselor and friend was Bill 

 Chambers, who knew every oyster bed at Fishing Creek, 

 every drum resort along the bay shore, and had agreed to pilot 

 us out, guaranteeing that we would catch some big fish before 

 we got home. 



We drove behind Chambers's spanking bays till we ar- 

 rived at his neighbor's living nearest Fishing Creek, who, 

 though rich, did not scorn to scoop in fifty cents as "hon 

 orarium" for the use of his boat for half a day. When the 

 dudes want any drumfish wo advise them to buy them at 

 Fulton Market, for it requires courage, endurance, and the 

 real inspiration of a gamy fisherman to bear the pains and 

 penalties attached to drain fishing in the bay. Catching 

 black drum in the surf is but child's play to the work we 

 did last week. Get your sand fleas at Atlantic City, coil 

 your Cuttybunk line in a small basket, wade three feet deep 

 in the surf, give your line a whirl over your bead till it goes 

 beyond the breakers, say fifty feet, and if you are in luck 

 you have three or four big drum in one hour. 



Our party consisted of ,Dr. R., a young physician of 

 Philadelphia, St. John, a retired Cape May gentleman, his 

 brother, the writer, and Bill Chambers and son. As I felt 

 perfectly sure that the young Doctor, who never saw a drum 

 ana who possessed enthusiasm "added to a skipping spirit," 

 would overturn his boat the tirst drumfish he fastened on, 

 I quietly whispered to Chambers that he and I could take 

 the Jersey Quaker's boat, while Doc, St. John and his 

 brother could take the second boat with Chambers, Jr. I 

 am now dsecribing the events which filled our measure of 

 fun for the third day. For the first two days the Doctor 

 sang: 



"Oh ! wake and call ine early, Bill, 

 For I'm to be king of the drum." 



But the Doctor knew immensely more about pills, potions 

 and gallipots than he did about drum, and went borne both 

 nights, as did the writer, both being living embodiments of 

 fisherman's luck; the Doctor with awoe-begone countenance 

 looked at Bill, and Bill looked at Doc exclaiming: "You 

 look like two of my sick turkeys." The point was well 

 taken, for we had sat in the bottom of a pine skiff half a mile 

 from shore for seven hours, with a nor'easter in our faces, 

 and "not a drum was heard nor a funeral note." We 

 wrapped our bare feet in Chambers's blanket, for we had to 

 wade out across the oyster beds and push the boat into deep 

 water, and could not get our shoes on. 



But albeit the festive Doctor R. was wet to the skin with 

 the spray of the nor'easter, and his shoes and stockings were 

 full of sand, when he reached Chambers's hospitable house 

 and devoured about seven fried eggs, a modicum of ham, 

 and twelve "chunks of butter thickly spread on correspond- 

 ing chunks of bread," he swore that a drumming he would 

 go next day, if so be it he could crawl out of bed. I confess 

 I was ready to do what the Jerseymen call "quank," £ e., 

 give out; but the sight of the "Doc" at 5:30 A. M. as fresh 

 as a daisy aud as lusty as a speckled trout, kindled up my 

 sinking spirits. After more fried eggs, more bam (cured 

 by Chambers himself; and it was good, for Doc seemed 

 ready to devour the whole hog) after plenty of ripe straw- 

 berries smothered iu Jersey cream, we found the tide did 

 not suit for drum biting till 3 P. M. We were at Cold 

 Spring, only two miles from Cape May city, so the bays 

 were hitched up again and at 9 A. M. we had another break- 

 fast, at Charley Williams's; this time fried eels done to a 

 turn, soft-shell crabs, and coffee "the color of Sammy 

 Bettle's coat," which is the Jersey recipe for good coffee. 



By this time the Doctor had purchased one fishing line and 

 six big hooks, and began to exclaim with the late Patrick 

 Henry, "Give me Liberty — and a drumfish — or give me 

 death." Here our party was increased by the St. John 

 brothers, and the last day we struck for ToAvn Bank. There 

 was not a breath of east wind anywhere, for the day the 

 drumfish bite is when the wind is southwesterly. At 4 

 o'clock we had the killick out, and we were riding at anchor 

 on Delaware Bay, on as calm a day as ever floated a ship. 

 Our bait was fresh clams tied to the hook by wrapping the 

 bait carefully with pack thread around our books. St. John 

 and his youthful brother did not know a drumfish from a 

 North Sea whale. As he sat in the stern of the fishing skiff 

 be felt something running away with his line. He held on 

 like grim death to a defunct African. As the line, began to 

 cut his fingers he called loudly to his brother, "Harry, I say, 

 catch on and help me haul in this whale." Both pulled 

 hand over hand, without giving an inch. The line was well- 

 seasoned, but when two stalwart youths are pulling at one 

 end and a ninety pound drum at the other, something is 

 bound to yield. It wasn't the drum, for the line parted just 

 above the sinker; the drum started for the deep sea with two 



books in his mouth, and the two big St. John boys wiped 

 up the bottom of the boat where they fell. Bret Hnrte's 

 hero, struck in the pit of the stomach with a piece of red 

 sandstone, looked like a gladiator compared with the crest- 

 fallen St. John brothers. They took a back seat, for there 

 were no spare lines, no spare hooks. The contingency of 

 my linen line giving way had not been considered. , 



Half past 4 P. M., Dr. R. made the welkin ring with the 

 gladsome shout "I've got him, I have, and it is a whopper." 



"Give me an end of your line," said the elder St. John. 



"Not if the court understand itself, and she think she do," 

 answered Dr. R., as he played his fish like a veteran ob- 

 server and an old-time angler. He kept a pressure of twenty- 

 five pounds on the line, and after twenty minutes' skillful 

 play slowly essayed to lead Mr. Drum toward the boat in 

 out of the wet. But the fish was not done with the fun yet. 

 It made a wild dash toward the Cape May lighthouse, aud 

 the young Esculapiusfrom Eleventh and Yine Jet go 100 feet 

 of line, still eager to view the drum face to face. Cham- 

 bers, Jr., said: "Now pull " "Easy over the stones," said 

 the now confident son of Galen. As the drum, pretty well 

 tired out, reached the side of the boat, the happy doctor 

 leaned over excitedly — both scared, fish and pill-vender — and 

 as Esculapius's hand slipped up toward the drum's gills, he 

 gave one flirt of his tail, filling' Robbin's eyes with water and 

 breaking the hook off short in his mouth. Wheu the fam- 

 ous painter limned the face of a father at the hanging of his 

 own son. he hid the parent's face. So I hide from the gaze 

 of this cross world the youthful and festive sport's feel- 

 ings, as a big drum (fully 90 pounds) started off on a run 

 toward Barnegat. The doctor began to hum, "Come ye 

 disconsolate," and "I never loved a dear gazelle, but," etc. 



But the fishing fates became more merciful, Dr. Robbins 

 bagged two big drums in the next hour, and as the sun went 

 down the sea became peaceful as a child on its mother's 

 breast. Far away toward the Delaware Breakwater the 

 white sails of commerce dotted the surface of the sea like 

 peaceful banners, and the very air had a human tenderness of 

 feeling. In the west the sun was wooed by the crimson 

 clouds, fringed with fire, the dying God of day looking like 

 some amarous Cleopatra in the embrace of an ardent An- 

 tony. The scene was beautiful enough for the pencil of 

 Millais or the brush of Hamilton. But our artists in drums 

 were still carrying on the old business. 



Old man Chambers, my "pard," hauled in a 70-pounder, 

 and "quicker'n a cat can wink its eye." I felt a semi sheeps- 

 head bite, something slowly masticating my fresh clam. I 

 waited one minute by the clock in my pocket, and when my 

 Jonah of a clam had got down into the whale's belly of the 

 drum, I gave a twist to my wrist, and Monsieur Le Drum- 

 fish was securely hooked. Away he'd run seventy-five feet 

 and lash the water with his tail like a Florida alligator. All 

 in vain. I gave him the butt (as the trout-pigs say) for a 

 full half hour; then be turned on his side. My right baud 

 was in bis gills, and in one second Mr. Drum flopped into 

 the boat, dropping with that deep and welcome sound to the 

 fisher's ear — a sound like the diapason of a big bass dram. 

 My fish pulled the scales at ninety-two pouuds. Dr. Rob- 

 bins got three of good size. He was "high book" as to 

 numbers, the writer as to weight. We arrived in Cape May, 

 in an open wagon full of drum, at 10 P. M., "tired now and 

 sleepy too." St. John says, he will "copper the ace" and 

 play the deuce with the big fish the next time, and has or- 

 dered two drum lines, the latter end of which is two feet of 

 fine copper wire, strong enoueli to bold a North Sea whale. 

 Dr. Robbins sent one of his big drum to Hon. Samuel Ran- 

 dall aud one to Hon. Mr. McMullen, and when last seen the 

 hero of the Bayside, Dr. R., was softly singing — 

 "Am I a man or am I mouse, 

 And do I run this house?" 



Chambers, Jr., says the last time the Doctor sang this 

 song he was trying to lift his ninety-pounder in the boat, 

 but said sotto voce: "The drum don't lift worth a cent." 

 A.nd if he (Chambers) hadn't got Esculapius by the coat tail, 

 the latter would now be a "moist body" floating out to the 

 sea. The writer of this, whose duty it" was to aid Chambers 

 to get the dory off the muss«l shoals and oyster beds, and 

 who with bare feet, blistered by the sun, was compell d to 

 lie abed for two days annoiuting bis ankles and feet with 

 vaseline, and yet goeth lame, but joyous, meditated long 

 and well as to whether three days' work after 420 pounds of 

 drum could be summed up in a brief citi bono, is satisfied 

 with his sport. He renewed his youth like the eagle and 

 now riseth refreshed like a giant who tasteth new wine. 

 He goeth again after drum next Wednesday. I. M. 8. 



CUiiDEN, N. J., June 2a. 



THAT PECULIAR TWITCH. 



I HAPPENED to spend one of my former vacations with 

 a friend up in Orange county, N. Y., where there was 

 excellent pickerel and fair black bass fishing. 



At the house where we were staying we had the good 

 fortune to make the acquaintance of a gentleman from New 

 York, who, although somewhat of a crank, proved a very 

 jolly companion. At the supper table, to hear him talk you 

 would think he was a wonderful man, and in fact he was. 

 His son was to have been up on the afternoon train, but as 

 he failed to put in an appearance, the old gent, whom 1 shall 

 call Mr. Pike, asked me if I would go trolling with him in 

 the morning. As I was very anxious to go fishing, 1 will- 

 ingly complied, but I bad my doubts as to whether we would 

 get back without a ducking, as he weighed about 250 pounds, 

 and the boat was small and narrow. About dark, however, 

 his son arrived, so I didn't go. All that evening he was 

 giving it to us strong about pickerel fishing, and "that pecu- 

 liar twitch" they give, but to tell the truth I believe he never 

 caught a pickerel iu his life. That evening before retiring I 

 asked Mr. Pike if he had the necessary spoon, line, etc. lie 

 gave me to understand that he had, and said all genuine 

 fishermen carry their own tackle. After they bad retired, 

 my friend, who is an expert pickerel fisher, said we would 

 go trolling after they returned, and he would bet that we 

 would catch more fish than they. 



Early next morning long before daylight there was a 

 terrific knock at our door, and on opening it who should be 

 there but Mr. Pike. He said he was sorry he had disturbed 

 us, but he couldn't find his spoon and line, and would like 

 to borrow ours. I unstrapped the bag and gave them to him, 

 and asked if there was anything else. As he assured us he 

 bad a full supply, telling us we would have pickerel for 

 breakfast, he left, but in about five minutes he returned, this 

 time to borrow some snelled hooks. Now, this made us 

 kind of mad, and we resolved to get square with him. 

 When we went down to breakfast we found Mr. Pike and 

 his son minus the pickerel, trolling spoon and fifteen yards 

 of line. Before we were fairly in the room Mr. Pike started 



