412 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Deo. IS, 1888. 



hz und Biver 



TARPON FISHING AT CEDAR KEYS. 



"T7IVE O'CLOCK, get up. Boss!" and we tumble out 

 Jr and into corduroys and flannels. "Hark! there 

 she blows," for Capt. Joe Crevasse, the best pilot and 

 most genial captain of the Florida coast, is punctual to a 

 minute, and the music of the chime whistle of the Medea 

 fills the air of an ideal morning. Hurry, for the tide 

 serves, and we are off for a trip into the heart of the 

 great cedar swamp of Florida, from which the wood for 

 the pencils of the world comes, and we have had an in- 

 vitation to accompany the agent. So with Winchesters, 

 rods and cameras and with visions of 'gators, deer and 

 tarpon dancing through our heads we bid adieu to Cedar 

 Keys. The bay, lit with the blush of rose from the rising 

 sun, was a sight to be long remembered, and our "A. P. 

 F." (amateur photographic fiend) Sighed that he could 

 not reproduce the effect with his "detective." As we 

 pass the reef thousands of snipe, pelicans and cormor- 

 ants fill the air, and we give them a salute at long range 

 from the rifles, more to make a noise and relieve the ex- 

 uberance of our spirits than with any hope of success. 



Swiftly we speed along, for the Medea shows eleven 

 knots per hour, and presently we are on the great St. 

 Martin's Reef, noted for its sponge fisheries, and as the 

 water is like glass, we get a view of the sponge in its 

 native state on the rocks below. After a few hours' run 

 we enter the mouth of the river, where the agent leaves 

 the yacht and where we are to enjoy the finest of fishing. 

 As we slowly steam up the narrow channel, bounded on 

 either side by bars black with birds, suddenly there is a 

 gleam of silver, and sheer 15ft. in the air springs the 

 noblest of the game fish of the Gvdf —the tarpon. Rods 

 and reels are at once brought out, and the praises of the 

 different makers are sung as we slowly steam to the 

 anchorage. The sea air has sharpened our appetites, and 

 as the dusky Delmonico says "Terrapin ready, boss," we 

 tumble into the cabin and do ample justice to his skill in 

 his art. After a row up the river and a try at the black 

 bass (of which we caught a fine string which boasted a 

 10-pounder) and many a look at 'gators, we turned in 

 early to be ready for the work on the morrow. Our 

 "photographic fiend" nearly drove us wild with the flash 

 of the yacht's port light in our eyes, changing plates, 

 discoursing on the beauties of his developer, etc., until we 

 smothered him, camera, plates and all, under our blankets, 

 after which we slept the sleep of the just. 



Now, listen, ye disciples of Izaak Walton, to the tale I. 

 am about to unfold, and answer me, ye fishermen of 

 Punla Rassa, if you can equal the record of this little 

 river of the north coast. Having had no experience with 

 tarpon, it was thought that large hooks were imperative, 

 and so, armed with a good supply and plenty of bait, we 

 rowed down the river to a small island, to try first the 

 channel-bass or redfish, for the tide was not right for the 

 big game. Almost on the instant the bait reached the 

 bottom the good split-bamboo nearly doubled, and we 

 found our time and skill fully occupied with a twenty- 

 pounder. Two hours of this sport yielded to two rods 

 forty-seven channel-bass, weight from 9f to 35tbs, each, 

 and although the tide was right we hated to give it up 

 for a try at tarpon. The baits were changed, however, 

 and we are all expectation, for the noble game are show- 

 ing themselves every minute. "Look out," sings the man 

 in the bow r , and as we look, up springs a monster twenty 

 feet in the air, and we see the line in his mouth. A quick 

 movement of his jaw, a gleam of silver, a splash, and the 

 "king" is gone, and ovu- friend reels in to find a broken 

 hook, the shank only remaining. Fifteen times during 

 the next two and a half hours was this scene enacted, 

 with what heart aches and tension of nerves you may 

 better imagine than I can describe. Hooks all gone, and 

 by the time we reach the yacht for a fresh supply the tide 

 is too late for fishing that day. A little later and our 

 friend the agent returns with the genial Hon. H. T. 

 Lykes, a true sportsman and the most successful "cedar 

 man" of the coast, and a true type of the Southern gentle- 

 man. He gives a pressing invitation to supper, which 

 we accept, much to the delight of the "A. P. F.," who is 

 armed with enough Obrig flash powder to set the river 

 afire. 



Of our stay of a week in camp among the cedar men 

 and deer, more anon, if you wish it. After ample jus- 

 tice was done to possum and taters, and to the music of 

 the quaint songs of a couple of negro raftsmen, who beat 

 time with their push-poles, we at length reach the 

 Medea and turn in. At daylight the next morning we 

 are aroused by a tremendous splash which throws water 

 not only, but a scared darky cook, headlong into the 

 cabin, and after a hearty breakfast, we vow vengeance 

 on that fish, and armed with 5-0 Kirby Limericks we 

 bid defiance to the "King." Steady, he is hooked this 

 time, and the hook is well set, as he makes leap after 

 leap, rising full twenty feet into the air, amid the shouts 

 of the gang of raftsmen who have stopped the raft to 

 see the struggle, we are treated to the grandest sport that 

 ever falls to the lot of any fisherman. After a stubborn 

 fight of an hour and forty-five minutes, and a run of 

 nearly five miles, the "king" at last lies gasping beside 

 the boat, which has been superbly handled by Sexton, 

 the colored deck hand. The gaff is handled with skill 

 by Capt Joe, and with a timber hitch of the painter 

 around his tail, we lift in our first tarpon. Mutual con- 

 gratulations are exchanged and a pipe smoked, and we 

 are oft for another, and we not onlv get him but his 

 mate as well. Three tarpon, all taken with rod and reel 

 m less than six horns, with a fifteen thread line and 5 

 hooks, weight, 128, 135 and UT^lbs., photographs of 

 which, Mr. Editor, I send you with the compliments of 

 ttie A. P. J? , , • and if any of your readers are sceptical, 

 they can see the big fish in the dining room of the 

 Staten Island Athletic Club at West Brighton, Staten 

 island, a pleasant memento of the trip. 



The run home was safely made, and after a visit through 

 the great cedar yard and inill of which our friend is 

 agent, and a sail on the crack yacht Nannie, of the Cedar 

 Keys Field and Marine Club, and manv other courtesies 

 extended by its members, we bid adieu to the quaint 

 city, it any sympathetic soul yearns for a like experience 

 they will always find the latch string on the outside of 

 the club house door, and the members, a jolly set of boys 

 and keen sportsmen, ready to do all in their power to give 

 them a good time, and the commodore readv to bait their 

 hooks for tarpon. Lancewood. 



TARPON CAUGHT AT CEDAR KEYS. 



Note by the Commodore. — There has been no yellow 

 fever in Cedar Keys this year, or in fact for fifteen pre- 

 ceding years. The place can be reached by steamship 

 and rail direct at a cost of $50 the round trip. Come and 

 see us, brother sportsmen.— Lewis Morris, Com. C. K. 

 F. and M. Club. 



[The illustration is from a photograph furnished us by 

 the Obrig Camera Company. The relative sizes of fish 

 and man are correct, but the picture of the man is not to 

 be taken as a portrait.] 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Perhaps some of your readers who propose taking an 

 early trip to Punta Rassa, nor St. James City, would like 

 to know that the Mallory line of steamers leave New 

 York every Saturday for Key West, arriving there on 

 Wednesday. The Morgan line of steamers leave Key 

 West for Punta Gorda on Wednesday, if on time. The 

 steamer Alice Howard leaves Punta Gorda every Tues- 

 day, Thursday and Saturday for Punta Rassa and St. 

 James City. W. H. WOOD. 



Dec 10, 1888. 



"Where the Trout Hide" is the enticing title of a 

 brochure by Kit Clarke, soon to be published by the 

 Brentanos. It wiU be illustrated by Matt Morgan and 

 Frank Taylor, and something of the spirit of the text 

 may be gathered from this neatly turned preface: ''When 

 Marc Antonio discovered his friend Raphael engaged 

 upon the Sistine picture he exclaimed, 'Cospetto! An- 

 other Madonna ?' Raphael gravely replied, 'Amico Mio, 

 my friend, were all artists to paint her portrait forever, 

 they could not exhaust her beauty.' The exclamation 

 applies with full cogency to the valorous brook trout, 

 than which God never created a more beautiful object." 



CROPP1E FISHING. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



The Louisiana (Mo.) Fishing Club, composed of Edward 

 Glenn, captain, J. WiU Gunn, Nebraska Kingston, John 

 Glenn, Frank Buffum, Tom Rule, Joe Reid and Henry 

 Kuhlman, extended an invitation to their St. Louis 

 friends, John W. Gunn and Fielding Mansfield, to join 

 them at their annual fishing camp on the Suy. The route 

 was via Louisiana, thence across the Mississippi River 

 and then by buggy eight miles down the river to the 

 camp, which had been pitched the day previous. The 

 route lay along the celebrated Suy levee, and the drive 

 was slow and tedious, as the rains had made the bottom 

 roads very soft. Finally the point was reached at which 

 the camp wagon had turned from the road into the woods. 

 There was nothing to indicate the turnout and the subse- 

 quent trail, execept the wheel tracks of a single wagon. 

 For a distance of two miles this trail was followed, wind- 

 ing about between the trees and logs. As the land there 

 was high and dry and covered with leaves the wheels left 

 no marks in the ground, except in the occasional gullies 

 and low places. To follow such an indistinct trail re- 

 quires a good eye and experienced woodcraft. By keep- 

 ing the eye fixed upon the ground at a point fifty or sixty 

 feet ahead it is easy to distinguish where the leaves have 

 been ruffed up by the horses and mashed down by the 

 wheels, when by looking directly below at the ground it 

 is impossible to determine where the leaves have been 

 disturbed. After reaching the camp the teamster started 

 back for Louisiana, but he "got turned around" in the 

 woods and again turned up in camp, evidently much dis- 

 gusted. 



The location of Camp Glenn was all that could be de- 

 sired, being in the woods on a high bank overlooking the 

 Suy, which at this point is fully 300yds. wide. The Suy 

 is a sheet of deep, clear and still water, about, fifty miles 

 long, at one time the bed of the Mississippi River. The 



