564 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



f July 21, 1887. 



but figuratively speaking, it might be taken as such. 

 "When young I, was very fond of foxhounds, and conse- 

 quently had many chases. In those days I was not ham- 

 pered with aches and pains as I am now. No, indeed. I 

 was a lively chap, and as limber as an eel. One morning 

 in December, I took the dogs and started away to the 

 flats for a chase. In the big swale, or what are now 

 known as the Horse Meadows, I turned them loose. I 

 don't think the pack drove the woods ten rods before they 

 jumped the fox and away they went; I tell you the music 

 was grand. It was so inspiring that, when an hour later 

 the pack broke cover at Green's clearing, I laid off my 

 surplus rags and joined the procession. There wasn't any 

 dead march accompaniments, either. It was more like 

 marching to the tune of ' We'll all drink stone-blind when 

 Johnny comes marching home,' etc. It was vigorous. I 

 roared a few times to encourage the dogs, but soon found 

 there was a limit to my wind supply and no reserve to 

 draw from. Nature was wise in the attainment granted 

 me, I suppose. I was not proud that I could run like a 

 hound, but if I could have bayed like one, I might have 

 succumbed to pride. Men have their weaknesses. 



' 'They out-footed me the first mile, but after that I began 

 to catch my second wind, and being irritated by the many 

 saplings and briers I met, I spurted, as those aquatic fel- 

 lows call it, and showed what a man could do when spur- 

 red on by ambition. I l an in good form, but didn't get 

 in any better humor. In fact, the longer I ran the hotter 

 I got. 1 began to realize that among the unwilling spirits 

 the animal was gradually coming to the front. The air 

 was full of strange whispers as we whirled by. Once I 

 even imagined I heard John's wife offering to bet on the 

 old dog in ticking pants. This galled me, but my tongue 

 was silent, though my heart resented the insult. If my 

 wind and the horn holds outs, guard well thy walls, oh 

 Jericho, thought I, as soon afterward I discovered there 

 were but three of us in the race any more; the fox, my- 

 self and 'another hound.' If the fire of my blazing eyes 

 did not paralyze, if my burning breath did'nt scorch that 

 trailing brush it was not my fault. Ten minutes later I 

 reached forth my hand and the prize was mine. The 

 resolution of man out-stripped feet winged with fear and 

 trained by instinct to seek safety in flight. My feei 

 marched to the music of my wind, and I caught him on 

 the dead level. Such experience rarely comes but once 

 in a lifetime, that was forty years ago, Tom." 



There was not very much said when the Doctor finished 

 his story, only that a man who knew a great deal about 

 salmon thought 'there must have been some kind of an 

 epidemic raging among the fox family when that race 

 came off. It had ita effect, however, for the Squire faced 

 the music and went at it. 



"Doc, that reminds me of one of my ventures in farm- 

 ing. It was, I think, probably the first year I was mar- 

 ried. The fact is, that I had a reputation for neglecting 

 business in those days. I grew out of it at last, but it 

 was a pretty hard rub between the gua and the plow for 

 several years. That spring I put out a crop of corn in 

 the Buckhorn bottoms, but the weather got so wet that 

 I let the field go and paid no more attention to it. Of 

 course, the place soon overran with weeds and was the 

 most desolate spot in the country. I felt mean every time 

 I passed that field. It was in a measure gratifying, it is 

 true, for me to know that it furnished themes for many 

 of those domestic symphonies that my wife could render 

 with such semi-heroic effect. I then experienced my first 

 'May festival' season. There was something so ecstatic, 

 so exquisite in those entertainments, that even my un- 

 educated ear began to 'catch on,' and by the time the 

 summer was half gone I had mastered the score and could 

 tell by watching the shadoAv of the baton just where the 

 orchestra was playing. I felt that it was far better to be 

 an appreciative audience on the occasion of these concerts 

 than a demonstrator of connubial felicity several volumes 

 in advance of my studies. I was a hero, because I was 

 the historical character in all the legends; villain, because 

 the virtues of Job sheltered me from a tongue as remorse- 

 less as the hand of Sancho Panza when he did penance in 

 five hundred lashes. But the season came on, and if I 

 felt a little older, if I felt a trifle meaner every time I 

 passed that field, no one was the wiser. 



"Success needs no herald, and I was too brave to tell the 

 world of a failure. But the knowledge of one wore on 

 me. My wife was the bell buoy that constantly dinned 

 it into my ears. One day I went out and looked on 

 the swaying acreage of weeds and thought, oh, misery 

 how bountiful thy vintage! As I stood pouring out my 

 lamentations one of my dogs ran a ground hog into the 

 field. I followed and was simply appalled, for there 

 growing from cornstalks, not hah as high as the weeds, 

 were ears of corn as long as my arm. My wife said it 

 was not a discovery that grew out of virture, therefore I 

 deserved no praise. That afternoon I dug out seven 

 ground hogs from under one stump and the next week 

 gathered my crop. It went sixty bushels to the acre. 

 Men that owned land in this section forty-five or fifty 

 years ago, had a b.nanza." 



"Go on, Mr. Lavaring, go on. No one must feel under 

 any constraint here this evening. That reminds me of 

 some farm work I once did myself. Not that there is 

 any similarity in the incidents, but it simply calls to mind 

 experience I had almost forgotten. One season old Sam 

 Manning and myself made arrangements for a trip up to 

 the 'big woods.' I had a patch of land up there I wanted 

 to look after. Between business, hunting and fishing we 

 expected to spend about two months. A few days before 

 the time set to go Sam sent word to me that I would have 

 to give him a lift on the harvest, or he could not be ready 

 on time. Sam was a good hunter, but a powerful lazy 

 farmer, and I knew had already wasted a week on ten 

 acres of wheat. If I started away without him the 

 wheat would never be cut, I reasoned, for he will 

 not be an hour behind you. So the next morning 

 I went over to Manning's, and, as a matter of course, 

 found them all in bed. I loaf ed around a while, and then 

 strolled down to the field. The wheat stood well, and, to 

 pass the time, I concluded to cut one round before break- 

 fast. "Well, I made the grand circle and the voice of the 

 horn was still silent. There were about three acres in the 

 patch, and, while it angered me to think of the slothful- 

 ness of Borne people, I started in again. A dozen rounds 

 and the mellow notes of the horn still slumbered. I was 

 mad all over then. Jacob, I sai l to myself , you must 

 wrestle with this field; and I smote her hip and thigh. 

 The sun was just peeping through the treetops when I 

 cut the last swath. Even this did not lessen my wrath. 

 In the next field was about an acre and a half of red 



brush and laurel. It grew thick, like the hah on a dog's 

 back, and was a menace to my tireless arms. The sight 

 of it added fuel to my anger, and, jumping into it, I never 

 stopped until that thicket lay in winrows as high as the 

 fence. Just as I finished the voice of the horn got loose. 

 But I scorned the hospitality that came after the laborer 

 had won the golden medal and become a hero. Honest 

 sympathy is often distrusted because of its late coming. 

 That was the summer before I crossed the plains, and I 

 went to California in '49. 



"I am now sixty years of age, and twenty years of that 

 time have been spent on the bench as Common Pleas 

 Judge. Many of the occurrences of youth, when related 

 in after years, are sometimes accepted as exaggerations, 

 but if the truth is told, there have been episodes in the 

 lives of all that seem more like estrays from the realm of 

 romance than living children of the present or relics of 

 the past. ' One should therefore be very careful not to 

 pass judgment until all the evidence is in. I know my- 

 self that I experienced some things in my youth that 

 have influenced my after life, notable among these was 

 one that taught me never to discuss a subject in public 

 until I had given it thorough study, never to ridicule any 

 man's story until I was assured a chain of circumstances 

 might not come in to substantiate everything that had 

 been said. On a night a party of us went out coon hunt- 

 ing, but the weather proving unpropitious, we adjourned 

 to meet at Hainsey's Crossing, where we sampled old 

 Sol's app'ejack so often that the place grew too small for 

 us. Like boys of the present day. we started out to "paint 

 things red," and finally landed in the old log church that 

 still stands down on Pine Creek. Everything went 

 well until Bill Camp got to relating his experience and 

 telling how he was called to exhort; that straw broke the 

 camel's back. I rose from my seat, cleared my throat and 

 was about to speak, when I heard the stentorian voice 

 of my father cry out: 'Sit down, Sam, sit down, you are 

 drunk.' Of course I was drunk, too drunk to be choked 

 off in that manner and so I oroceeded: 'Mr. Camp 

 is mistaken about his call to'exhort. I was out on 

 Potter's Ridge the night he speaks of and can testify that 

 it was nothing but a whippoorwill that called. I am not 

 prompted by any selfish motive in making this statement, 

 but think it a moral duty to free one from duties they 

 consider burdensome, especially if the supposed obliga- 

 tions are assumed through a mistake.' 



"I thought I had the old man, but that was another 

 mistake, for popping up out of his seat, he exclaimed 

 with much fervor, 'God bless you, Sammy, God bless 

 you! This opens the way for an explanation I never could 

 make before. But now here is a witness that heard the 

 bird call. Twice I heard my name distinctly, and when 

 I answered the bird came to me and I took a sealed pack- 

 age from its knapsack and in it was mv call.' " 



Parson O'Gath. 



m mid §iver fishing* 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



EXPERIENCE WITH TACKLE. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Perhaps it would be in order just now to say that the 

 article which appeared over my signature in your issue 

 of July 7 was written some four years ago and has only 

 now made its way into the printer's hands, Since writ- 

 ing it my opinion in regard to reels has changed a num- 

 ber of times. 



Since about the year 1865, at which time my parents 

 moved here from Massachusetts, I have devoted more or 

 less of my time to fishing for trout. I early learned the 

 use of the fly-rod, and from the time I first begun to 

 handle the reel until the present time I have never found 

 a reel that was just as it ought to be. I have bought a 

 number of reels and used a number of different kinds, and 

 still have never found one that was all right. Perhaps it 

 is my fault, but if there is anything that will cause an 

 angler trouble and expense it is a poor reel. 



I thought when I wrote the article referred to that I 

 had found the thing I had long been looking for, and that 

 henceforth I should have no trouble with slack line, 

 broken tips, and accidents of that nature. "When the 

 next September came, and I had made preparation for a 

 trip to the Connecticut Lakes, Parmacheene Lake and 

 the Rangeleys, I did not think it necessary to provide 

 myself with another reel, more especially as a good part 

 of my way was to be through the woods, where all lug- 

 gage must be carried on my back, and I well knew that 

 every pound would grow to be a hundred before I had 

 carried the pack ten miles. After spending a day or two 

 at First Connecticut Lake, and another with Uncle Tom 

 Chester at Second Lake, I went through woods to Par- 

 macheene. I wish I could describe the days I spent on 

 the headwaters of our noble river, or had the power to 

 make you see the beauties of nature as I saw them in 

 those perfect September days. ' There had been a frost in 

 the lake region and the maples and birches had begun to 

 take on those beautiful colors which nature is so lavish of 

 in our Northern latitudes and which break up the one 

 solid mass of green, and by contrast make the spruce and 

 hemlock look almost black, and which nearly drive an 

 artist crazy in trying to reproduce on canvas some of 

 those various colors, from the silver green of the poplar 

 through every combination of yellow, red and green of 

 the maples and dark green of black timber. There was 

 the pale blue sky, which seems so far away, and floating 

 along near the horizon were masses of soft white clouds, 

 whose outlines, as well as those of the mountains which 

 rose pile after pile and peak upon peak in the background, 

 were softened by a purple-blue haze which made the 

 scene one of perfect beauty; and, as we sat in the boat and 

 saw the whole mirrored in the waters of South Bay, we 

 could not help thinking that, pretty as the picture was, it 

 must have been more beautiful before man, with his im- 

 provements, had built dams and cut timber. We made a 

 sketch of the lake and background in our sketch book, 

 and stored away in memory the scence as it was. I know 

 you will excuse me for diverging from the line on which 

 I started, for, as an angler, you have perhaps, when fish- 

 ing on some lovely sheet of water, had your mind called 

 away from the contemplation of the chance of catching 

 another fish to the beauty of the scene around you, and 



have been, for the time, entirely wrapped up in the con- 

 templation of its loveliness. 



The morning after our arrival at John Danforth's I put 

 my tackle together and started out to try my luck at 

 catching a five-pi ainder, but just then five-pound trout 

 were a little scarce, so I had to content myself with some 

 of about a pound weight. The reel worked all right for 

 a time, but about noon I succeeded in hooking a fish 

 much larger than any before, and then I noticed a little 

 hitch in the internal arrangements of the mechanism. 

 At first it would go all right, then it would seem inclined 

 to dispute the rights of the line with the fish, but it would 

 soon repent of being so hasty and make amends bv giving 

 him nearly all the line it had. But evidently that was 

 not just right, for then it would sulk and refuse most 

 decidedly either to take back the portion of the line that 

 the fish had got through with or to give up any more. 

 The state of my mind at that time could be easily 

 imagined, but would be hard to describe. At las* the 

 reel got over its obstinacy and went along as well as ever, 

 and I had begun to have hopes of being able to secure 

 the fish, when as it made a desperate plunge and run for 

 liberty, I felt something snap inside the reel, and then 

 there was such a whirring noise that one would think an 

 old-fashioned clock was getting ready to strike, and the 

 reel was dead. To say that I was vexed would be to state 

 it very mildly indeed. There was 50yds. of line out and 

 a good fish on the end of it, and no prospects of being 

 able to get it in in any kind of shape. My anxiety in 

 regard to the fish was soon released by his going away 

 somewhere and taking a good leader and three flies with 

 him. I succeeded, after a time, in getting the line on 

 the reel and started for camp, where I immediately began 

 to take the reel apart and ascertain the extent of the 

 damage. I found that the spring had become unhitched 

 at one end, and after working on it all the afternoon suc- 

 ceeded in getting it back together again. 



After that it went along quite well for two or three 

 days, but I did not take any comfort with it, for I did not 

 know how soon it would "baulk up" again. At last, one 

 afternoon as we were beginning to fish, snap went the 

 spring. It was broken and as a reel was of no use, but as 

 an infernal invention for keeping a man from enjoying 

 himself it was a decided success. I immediately returned 

 to camp, and was expressing my opinion of the reel in 

 quite decided terms, when an old gentleman who was 

 present implied his readiness to deprive himself of a nice 

 reel he had for a sufficient remuneration, an offer which 

 I at once accepted. 



The reel proved to be, when produced, a nice-looking 

 multiplying reel, small but compact, and seemed as if it 

 would do good work. The gentleman said he was going 

 out and would have no further use for it, a statement 

 which I could readily believe after I had used it a while. 

 I thought I should not be able to do better, so I gave him 

 a sum which he said was a little less than he paid for it, 

 and fixed it on my rod. It seemed to work nicely and 

 would take up the line quite fast, and I thought I had a 

 "daisy;" but "the proof of the pudding is the eating 

 thereof," and I found that the gifted inventor, who had 

 got up that masterpiece of ingenuity, had so arranged it 

 that the fislf had all the advantage, and while it would 

 handle a half-pound fish all right, it was almost impossi- 

 ble to reel in a trout of one and one-half pounds. It was 

 very easy to see why the old gentleman had no further 

 use for the reel. That evening John Danf oth succeeded in 

 finding an old reel which he had thrown by, and with a 

 little fixing with a wire and a nail or two, we succeeded 

 in getting something that would stand, and after that my 

 days were unclouded and the time passed so pleasantly 

 that when my departure came it was with great reluctance 

 that we took the Cupsuptic carry and bid good-by to 

 Parmacheene. 



The careful reader will perhaps have surmised before 

 this that my opinion in regard to the "automatic reel" had 

 changed, but for the benefit of those who have not already 

 come to that conclusion, I will now state that, while the 

 automatic is a good reel as long as it works well, it is so 

 liable to get out of order and is so expensive to keep in 

 repair (and if broken when in the woods it can not be 

 mended) that I think I am justified in saying that it is a 

 good reel not to have. 



The automatic reel is not the only reel that the dealers 

 try to sell which is more than useless; but it is not worth 

 while to make a list of them, for every angler knows one 

 or two and perhaps more. I think all will agree with me 

 that a poor reel is the most vexatious thing a man can 

 have, and if one is made that is perfect in every respect, 

 the angler who is going to the waters where large trout 

 are caught should have one, let its cost be what it may. 



Mr. Henry P. "Wells, in his "American Salmon Angler," 

 describes in the chapter on reels an incident in which a 

 poor reel played a very conspicuous part, and I think 

 that every one can relate one instance at least where his 

 reel has caused him more or less unhappiness. 



This spring before going to Middle Dam I procured of 

 a celebrated New York dealer a nice reel which he said 

 was just the thing for a long line. I put it on my trolling 

 rod and had not used it two days before it began to show 

 signs of wearing out, and when I caught the trout weigh- 

 ing 6* pounds, of the taking of which I wrote you some 

 time ago, I had the reel on, but before I got the fish in 

 the boat the reel was all worn out, and for the last five 

 minutes I had had to hold my finger on the side to keep 

 it from overrunning. Upon examination we found that 

 the ratchet and pawl were both worn awa~ so that there 

 was no click. That evening the reel was thrown into the 

 lake, to be fished out a short time after by a young man 

 who did not know that by so doing he was placing him- 

 self in a position to break one or more of the Command- 

 ments in a manner which would be fearful to behold. 



I have just got a new reel from another well-known 

 dealer, and expect soon to find out what the timber is 

 with that. C. D. C. 



Northumberland, N. H., July 9. 



Pitchforking Salmon. — Hartford, Conn., July 12.— I 

 understand four salmon have been captured in the Farni- 

 ington River, near this city. One of these noble fish was 

 jigged by a frog hook, another speared with a pitchfork, 

 while another was shot, the means by which the fourth 

 one was slaughtered is not known to the writer, but prob- 

 ably clubbed to death. This State should be congratulated 

 on its sportsmen (?) who kill woodcock out of season, and 

 niurder salmon with clubs, pitchforks, and rifieB. — A. C. 

 Collins. 



