42 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[AtfGi 11, 1887. 



FROM THE FOOT OF MOUNT BROSS. 



DOUBTLESS the weather is hot with you, and the 

 denizens amid brick and mortar and brown stone 

 fronts are to be sympathized with. I feel a sympathy 

 and wish that matters could be so adjusted that humanity 

 might follow out the unperverted remnant of nature re- 

 maining with it, and take to the woods. We call our 

 ways of living civilized. Ask yourself if it be natural 

 Men wantonly tangle themselves up and will not cut the 

 tangle, because they think it might be spoiled, and civil- 

 ization and society go to rack in consequence. This world 

 of ours is more than six thousand years old. We conjec- 

 ture on the ways of prehistoric people, just , as I presume, 

 people a few million years hence will dream of our bar- 

 barism, if there is anything to base a dream upon. Are 

 we advanced? Pray from what ? If to be artificial is to 

 be advanced, then we may be. I am not captious — sorry 

 only, but not for myself. * 



Perched at the foot of Mount Bross it is cool My 

 chateau is branded "West Point standard 8oz. duck," 

 and faces toward the sunrise, with the flap turned up that 

 I may have an unobstructed view of the snowy range — 

 that is, of a few miles of it. The river sweeps down be- 

 tween the Lava Cliffs, and tlirough the rift, and away 

 beyond, the grand peaks are set in a background of blue 

 — such a delicate blue it cannot be found further this side 

 of heaven than here. Between me and the cliffs is a bit 

 of meadow, and what might be meadow land allowed to 

 run wild with willows; these afford shade for the cows 

 and they are grateful The green of the bushes and the 

 tints of the meadow grass, slashed here and there with 

 gold color, contrast with the brown of the Lava Cliffs. 

 There is a tender purple haze resting on the lower moun- 

 tains beyond the gap, deeper at the base, while the lofty 

 peaks of the range stand out through a thinner veil of 

 gray. A few white clouds are drifting about, and this 

 evening, when the valley lies in shadow, these fleecy 

 vagabonds of the air will have gathered together on the 

 summit of the range to be kissed into rainbow hues by 

 the sun, as he says " good night " to the granite lover of 

 his, who reaches her magnificent front fourteen thousand 

 feet to his embrace. If perchance there be a domestic 

 row kicked up of an afternoon by the misty tramps and 

 Terror holds h gh carnival, it is only for a little while ; 

 the sun will caress them into gems to deck the brow of 

 his glorious lady love, and will change her gray veil of 

 the morning into one of gold and rose color. I have 

 watched these lovers a great many summer days and 

 evenings until they have learned to know me and admit 

 me to their innermost sanctuary ; they tell me all their 

 beautiful secrets — they have no quarrels. 



Forest and Stream is not amiss in such a place; it 

 gathers its inspirations front such an atmosphere, it would 

 be barren else. I may turn to it and without desecration 

 follow the bright paths with others who love out of doors. 

 I strike the "Pioneer" and have a weakness for him. As 

 I follow in his trail he leads me to a familiar place and 

 scenes that will not come back to me except as I reach 

 out for them through a happy memory. The Little Falls 

 hold a tender place in my regard, and I can see them 

 again as I did many years ago; can see them, and feel 

 only as a boy can feel on his first day out and the joy of 

 his first triumph — the white perch. The hills there are 

 still mountains to me; the great rocks with the color of 

 weather-beaten boards are there; the old chain bridge 

 below, which I verily believe was never blessed with a 

 chain, unless to moor it to the bank; it looked like a de- 

 cayed ark or a wooden tunnel perched upon stilts at each 

 end, and was the only dismal object in sight. Have I 

 coquetted with the Three Sisters in midstream a little 

 way below? Aye, many a day; but I was too young to 

 cause uneasiness, except at home. The middle one, if I 

 remember, was most affected by me, being flat at top and 

 a splendid place whence to dive. And here too, a little 

 later on, I saw for the last time a pale face of one we 

 loved, with a curly black head pillowed in the rocks. I 

 can remember how dark the water looked in contrast to 

 the delicate white skin, and how the tiny waves kissed 

 the black locks as if in sorrow for what they had done. 



But let me move on. I stop, of course, on my way to 

 interview the "cheewink," but have no fancy for the prose 

 below. "What a pity r ' we cannot be contented in find- 

 ing only beauty in the beautiftd! I have heard neither 

 catbird nor whippoorwill for a quarter of a century or 

 more. What use was there in telling me the songster 

 was not "versed in natural history"— the song was sweet. 

 Byron, I think it was, who said that some people pride 

 themselves on being wrong by rules, or words to that 

 effect. Let me say, after the manner of the elder Weller: 

 "I didn't think you'd 'a done it, my dear, I didn't think 

 you'd 'a done it." But perhaps I would better get out of 

 Warsaw, or I may find myself in trouble. 



I make my way into Wyoming, back to the Cherokee 

 Strip, over into Germany, on to the Macedony and finally 

 to where I started, to alight upon "Ethics and Experi- 

 ence." Bless his old bones! There he is at this very min- 

 ute dancing round in the pasture at my feet catching ( 

 grasshoppers. When he "goes a-fishing, he goes for fish." ' 

 Seth Green says the same thing — I fear I shall have to 

 'f ess. He threatens that if I do not he will tell you I 

 brought from Denver a fruit can half filled with angle- 

 worms. But then he planted them, and I never caught 

 a trout with an angle worm any more than he; and I 

 don't know that our mountain trout will take them. It 

 was only with a view to experiment that I brought them 

 anyway, But he says for that purpose a half dozen 

 would have bee a as good as a quart. I quite agree wi th 

 him in the matter of lures, and yet I have very seldom 

 had occasion to use other than the artificial fly. If the 

 trout want grasshoppers or worms and I want the trout, 

 I should not hesitate to cater to their taste; they are in- 

 terested in the matter and are entitled to have their taste 

 considered. I would do it if I were to be blessed from 

 Dan to Beersheba by all the fly-cranks in Christendom. 

 But I use a fly for convenience, for cleanliness and expe- 

 dition. I think these considerations must, in a great 

 measure, enter into the whim of the fly-fisher, and I do 

 not wish to set them down as pharasaical as Brother B. 

 intimates. Nor should the skillful sportsman be stigma- 

 tized as a pot-hunter. A pot-hunter is only a pot-hunter 

 whether he be skillful or the reverse. The sportsman ' 

 stops when he has satisfied his needs, the pot-hunter I 

 never stops, this is the only difference; if the pot-hunters ' 



owned the world, the survivor would angle for the other 

 planets. 



When it comes to shootingj I prefer taking the bird on 

 the wing, or not all; it's a matter of taste, or sentiments 

 if you will. If we have the right to kill God's creatures 

 (and I presume we have, or we would not be endowed 

 with the desire, nor would the creatures have the same 

 propensity among themselves), being above them, as we 

 claim, we should adhere to our loftiness and do it decently 

 and follow the example of the animals belo*p us, by tak- 

 ing what is necessary, no more. It takes but little to 

 satisfy one's stomach; and I cannot understand why a 

 man's sentiment cannot be kept within bounds as we fi— 

 he is not much of a man if he fails to keep it there. If 

 one kills an unarmed, unresisting brother we call it 

 murder, and cowardly, at that. Birds are not going to 

 bite any one, and if we would keep our self-respect let 

 them have the advantage of their only means of protec- 

 tion — the percentage is in our favor as to who shall win; 

 is it not mean to rob them of their slight advantage? 1 

 never yet dropped a bird in its flight that I did not ten- 

 derly smooth its feathers with a feeling of regret that I 

 had shut out its life — and still, I would make a double if 

 I could and add to my momentary repentance. But I do 

 not t hink that anything short of starvation should author- 

 ize the shooting of birds except upon the wing. If this be 

 sentiment, say it is one I am proud of — on this subject 

 I'm ready to be set down with the cranks. 



But Brother B. is coming up the hill with his grasshop- 

 pers, notwithstanding he brought in a fairly full creel 

 from up the river this morning, all of which were caught 

 upon a coachman. On my side of the Grand the governor 

 proved more acceptable. The trout were all of good size, 

 none less than a quarter of a pound, and from that to one 

 of a pound and a quarter. 



During my maneuvers on the edge of a boulder bar, 

 sending the flies out into the swift current and allowing 

 them to swing into the eddy, a mad rush in the shallower 

 water at my right commanded my attention. Nothing 

 short of a three-pound trout after a minnow could have 

 made the commotion; I longed for a minnow, but went 

 for him with the governor. The tip of Ms dorsal twenty 

 feet away was plainly visible. Whether the fly disgusted 

 him or not I am not prepared to say, but between us, it 

 managed to hook into his back just infront of his caudal; 

 he felt like a log as I dragged in my prize to find a sucker 

 —a black one. I was glad I had deprived him of the use 

 of his propellor, as I have no fancy for catching suckers 

 in the back with nothing to guide them except a 7oz. 

 bamboo. In my efforts to get the sucker to land I stirred 

 up a school of them engaged in some business in the shal- 

 low water. They seemed to have congregated by the 

 dozen and at times made the water f airly boil. I could 

 not get above them and learn what they were doing; it is 

 too late in the season for spawning, and I concluded they 

 had struck a free lunch counter. To-morrow we go to 

 William's Fork, and with us will be borne the grasshop- 

 per with all the reverence due him in his exalted mission. 



Perfect days with us are not like angel's visits — they 

 are common. This morning the sky was clear, and on 

 the summit of the Divide below the Springs we were 

 greeted with just breeze enough to insure a ripple on the 

 usually still reaches. Of course we indulged in admir- 

 ation and comments on the delighiful view opened to us; 

 we always do, and^eem never to tire of it, because we 

 can always find something new. We found the Fork 

 somewhat full but clear, and unsaddled and tied our 

 horses on the west side about half a mile from the mouth. 

 Brother B. went up stream nearly to the falls, and left 

 me in possession of the ground below. I could find no 

 evidences of recent visitors and congratulated myself. 

 The first likely place, however, proved a failure, as did 

 the second and the third, with the coachman and the 

 governor. Then I tried an unlikely place on the further 

 side, in shallow water under the willows, and was re- 

 warded with a pound trout on the coachman. A little 

 further down, in a similar place, I took another. The 

 co chman was evidently in favor for the day, so I made 

 them swap places, putting the coachman on the end of 

 the leader, and in a little while had my third trout. The 

 fourth one brought to grief made me think I would soon 

 have a dozen and a full creel of beautiful fish, for these 

 would not vary an ounce in weight, and were in splendid 

 condition. I had not missed a rise and felt exalted. 



Leaving the stream for a promising pool a few rods be- 

 low, I came out of the sparse timber to a bank a couple 

 of feet above the water, which was about four feet deep. 

 To my right a willow bush of some size had been crushed 

 down into the stream, and still clinging by the roots, its 

 pliant limbs were playing with the current. If a big 

 trout did not lie somewhere in the shadow, then the pools 

 were empty and I must look to the riffles and shallower 

 water. He was not there. A dozen feet or so below me 

 a young cotton wood sprang out from the bank so close to 

 the edge I could not get between it and the water with- 

 out holding on and swinging round; below the tree a few 

 feet a broken sod had lodged, and with the line shortened 

 I allowed the flies to drift down by that bit of sod. As I 

 brought them back the chap I was looking for darted out 

 from the shadow. I saw him coming with distended 

 mouth and gill covers, and close his jaws upon the fate- 

 ful coachman, as he did I raised the tip and he was my 

 trout— two pounds, if he weighed an ounce. The roots 

 of the young cottonwood bothered me, so did the snags 

 about the sod; the willow being up stream, I had no diffi- 

 culty in keeping him away from that. I must get past 

 the cottonwood, and started to swing round, holding on 

 with my left hand, while 1 kept the rod well up and out 

 with my right. The water was cold, and it occurred to 

 me that if my hand should slip I'd get wet, so I did the 

 sensible thing and passed the rod round the tree into my 

 left hand. Just below was a break in the bank, and no 

 better place could be desired at which to bring my trophy 

 ashore. As I confidently gripped the rod with my left, 

 his troutship gave a desperate rush toward the shadow of 

 the bank below, I was obliged to give him line; he got an 

 inch too much; the wicked governor on the dropper 

 struck a snag and held fast. With a degree of melan- 

 choly not often reached by me I saw my coveted prize 

 slowly break for the current, having barely strength 

 enough to hold his own, but safe from me. When I told 

 Brother B. about it, he said he thought he heard me talk- 

 ing to myself; but he was nearly half a mile away — I 

 think he must have been mistaken. 



With this loss my luck with the big trout abandoned 

 me. I had to catch a dozen or more before I made up the 

 weight of the first four. But they were a pretty catch, 



though my creel was not quite full when I was overtaken 

 by Brother B. , who> perhaps, might have carried one more 

 trout with a little squeezing. 



It was noon; we had fished an hour and a half, and had 

 161bs. between us. It was enough, but I could not put my 

 regrets behind me. I had to tell my misfortune to a stray 

 ranchman whom I encountered at the ford. When I had 

 done measuring the trout to him and looked up, he was 

 smiling. He said it was the same old story; he had heard 

 it lots of times. I never go armed, and the ranchman 

 looked formidable. I appeal, then, for sympathy to the 

 brother who has met with the same misfortune. 



BOTTRGEOISE. 



Hot Sulphur Springs, Col., July, 1887. 



IN "PORTE CRAYON'S" FOOTSTEPS. 



SOME six weeks ago in writing a personal letter to 

 Forest and Stream I mentioned that I might take 

 a trip to West Virginia, there meet my friend, Mr. Cleve- 

 land, of Texas, and together we would fish some Alle- 

 ghany Mountain streams in a section contiguous to the 

 "Land of Canaan," made memorable by "Porte Crayon;" 

 and I added that ever since reading Mr. Strather's 

 sketches of the "land flowing with fish and game," it had 

 possessed for me a halo more radiant than those painted 

 about the heads of saints by the old masters. The editor 

 was kind enough to hope that upon a nearer approach my 

 halo would not dissolve itself into thin air without the 

 semblance of color or light. " Porte Crayon " in the 50's 

 set out for the mountains of Randolph county by carriage 

 and saddle, while I, more prosaic, early in July, came by 

 steamboat and railroad tram to Greenbrier county. ' ' Porte 

 Crayon" plunged into a wilderness and found rugged 

 mountains, bears, panthers, deer and trout. I took a 

 room at White Sulphur Springs and found youth, beauty 

 grace and culture. I found a host of fair dancers and 

 gallant men; I found the warmest hospitality, and inci- 

 dentally I found some black bass. When I first saw the 

 great hotel and its park with rows of cottages filled with 

 rank and fashion I concluded it was the queerest place I 

 had ever gone to for fish. I had a confidential talk with 

 Major Eakle, the superintendent, and he told me that the 

 fishing about here was excellent, but he was not positive 

 about its yielding returns in fish. Since that time I have 

 been able to impart some information to the Major about 

 the fishing and also the fish, and I will tell you all about 

 it later, but now I can only tell of one day's fishing as a 

 sample bit of that halo of which I wrote you. 



Much of the pleasure of our fishing during the past three 

 weeks is due to Senator John E. Kenna, a most thorough 

 and sound sportsman, familiar with the woods and 

 waters of his State, who in any other than this republican 

 land (possibly this particular section, and it may be Demo- 

 cratic) would be a prince royal ; and when last Sunday 

 evening he proposed that we start early the next morning 

 and fish Greenbrier River lower down than we had yet 

 been, Mr. Cleveland, Mr. Watson, also of Texas, and 

 myself had but one answer, and that was that we would 

 be ready at the appointed time, 3 A. M. When the train 

 on the C. & O. R. R. came in, for a wonder on time, we 

 boarded it to go to Alderson, 22 miles. At Ronceverte we 

 were joined by Capt. Chas. White who made the trip with 

 us. At Alderson we got breakfast and, later, boats and 

 men to go to Lowell, 12 miles down the river. Senator 

 Kenna took a camera and photographic outfit to take 

 some views of the river scenery which were to include 

 the Texans, (At pre ent I am a cross between New York 

 and Texas including a stream of West Virginia). There 

 was a fog on the river as "Fleet" pushed out from the 

 shore at Alderson to show the way down stream. For 

 ten years Fleet Porterfield has been the Senator's hunts- 

 man, kennelman, canip tender and companion in the 

 woods or on the water, and before the day was done I 

 suggested that his name be changed to " Old Faithful," 

 We were told that the stream was well fished for two 

 miles at least and we had better push along to better fish- 

 ing below, but within one hundred yards of the landing I 

 got the first bass. The stream was extremely low 

 and very clean and it did not look very promising, 

 but at least one man in the party, Mr. Cleveland, 

 followed Mr. Marston's advise, "Always keep your hook 

 in the water," and he was the next to catch a bass as we 

 were running a rapid. The river at this time is a suc- 

 cession of rapids, pools and shallows, and we had gone 

 but a short distance before we were obliged to take to the 

 water and wade while the men hauled the boats through 

 a shallow place. The sun soon dispelled the fog and the 

 day proved perfect except it was slightly warmer than 

 was absolutely necessary for pur comfort. We had no 

 live bait of any sort, and depended upon the artificial fly, 

 artificial (phantom) minnow, and the fluted spoon bait. 

 All the gentlemen but myself began fishing with the 

 phantom minnow, and adhered to it until the close of the 

 day. While awaiting breakfast one of our men, Fisher 

 by name, told us of a party that caught quite a large 

 number of bass (seventeen I think) from one pool in the 

 river only a day or two before. "Fisher, that is a large 

 number of bass to take from a small pool, how large were 

 they?" "Oh, they were yearlings!" If Fisher lives to be 

 the oldest man in America he will never forget the laugh 

 his answer provoked, and that day the bass that were 

 caught were characterized as "yearlings," "two-year- 

 olds," "three-year-olds," etc., and an extra large one for 

 this river was said to have a ring in its nose. 



I began to fish by casting a fly, but found it was taking 

 too many "yearlings" and no "short horns," so changed 

 to an artificial minnow; and cast I never so lightly it 

 seemed like throwing stones in the river instead of fish- 

 ing. I therefore again changed, this time to a small 

 fluted spoon, which did good work and was less of a tax 

 on my rod. Our passage down stream was like unrolling 

 a great panorama of the finest moimtain scenery, and 

 when we came to a particularly choice bit the Senator 

 would unlimber his camera, the boats would workup into 

 the foreground, and the fishermen would halt waist deep 

 in the water, or, if in the boats, put on their most smiling 

 expression, and thus be transferred by the camera to serve 

 in after years as souvenirs of a most delightful occasion. 



The bass appeared to have no particular abiding place, 

 for they were found in deep and in shallow water; in still 

 water and in the rapids. The Greenbrier is a stocked 

 stream, stocked probably not more than four to six years 

 ago — my informants do not agree as to the exact time — 

 and the bass are not large; 2^1bs. proved with us to be the 

 maximum, although on another trip our boatman told us 

 he had caught a small-mouth black bass, as all the bass in 



