Deo. 27, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



4B9 



creature, but did not kill it. Trying to reload he found 

 to his consternation that all his bullets, which he carried 

 loose in a pocket, were gone. The moose was facing him 

 and showing fight, when he hastily slipped into his 

 smooth-bore a small pocket knife and fired the fatal shot. 

 Cutting the throat of the moose he then began to realize 

 his predicament. He was bathed in perspiration, with- 

 out a coat, an icy wind was blowing fiercely up the slope 

 and he was instantly chilled through, and in a few 

 moments it would be quite dark. 



There was but one thing to do, and with all possible 

 speed he did it. He shipped off the hide of the moose, 

 and turning the hah side next his body, wrapped himself 

 in its great folds and lay down in the snow to await the 

 morning. 



Amply protected in this way he slept till daylight, 

 when he awoke — and to the awful consciousness that 

 he could stir neither hand nor foot, but was held as if 

 encased in boiler plate. The hide was frozen hard as 

 iron. 



Any one can see that this must naturally have occurred, 

 but I have never heard of another case of it in actual 

 fact. Uncle Vet struggled with all the fierce energy of 

 despair, realizing what a horrible and lingering death 

 was assuredly before him if he could not free himself. 

 It was all in vain. The folds of the thick hide were like 

 iron. Again he tried to move. The veins stood out on 

 his forehead, as he could plainly feel, and a fever Avas in 

 all his frame. Finally he found that under his hip, 

 where the greatest weight of his body had come, the hide 

 seemed a little flexible. After a while he managed to 

 bend it a little here and to be ahle to slightly move one 

 arm. In the end he was enabled to secure a little lever- 

 age and then a little more, till finally he emerged from 

 the deadly embrace of the frozen hide, an exhausted and 

 thankful man. Ebejiee. 



CHARLOTTE HARBOR. 



THIRD PAPER— 1888. 



IT was with glad anticipations that, at Philadelphia, I 

 took my place in the West India Mail on the morn- 

 ing of the l'Oth of March, on my way to Charlotte Harbor. 

 I should leave behind me the "fatal month of March," 

 with its cutting winds and awful changes of temperature, 

 and in three days, clad in summer clothing, filch from 

 astonished Nature a fortnight of fishing — the best in the 

 world. But I little thought my dread of what I should 

 leave behind would be more than justified by the reality; 

 for the next day. and while I was enjoying the sunshine 

 and flowers of Jacksonville, my own home was isolated 

 from intercourse with the world by the phenomenal 

 blizzard which then overwhelmed the Middle States. I 

 knew nothing of this fearful storm until its effects- 

 except as to the health of individuals— were past; but 

 the storm affected the fishing to some extent by the 

 "northers" which followed it, chilling the waters in the 

 South, and causing the saltatory mullet to abandon his 

 gambols and the great tarpon to scatter and decline the 

 bait. 



A collision, at which I "assisted," within a hundred 

 miles of Punta Gorda, disarranged the Florida Southern 

 Railway system for twenty-four hours, so that 1 missed 

 the boat for Pine Island. The collision, which pulverized 

 two locomotives and killed our engineer, had the effect 

 to introduce me to an agreeable fellow traveler, by the 

 novel method of projecting my forehead against his, 

 giving him a black eye, but doing neither of us further 

 damage. This gentleman was my companion in many 

 fishing trips after our arrival at St. James. 



At Punto Gorda, where there is a really first-class 

 hotel, we found that the boat for Pine Island did not 

 start until the second day after our arrival, but we were 

 able, fortunately, to secure a small steamer, commanded 

 by an old acquaintance of mine, to take us onward the 

 next morning. We inquired the probable chance of 

 securing accommodations at St. James, but were told by 

 every one about the Punta Gorda Hotel that there were 

 no rooms to be had; that the place was crowded, and that 

 the visitor would be put to all manner of hardships. 

 There seemed almost a conspiracy to keep people from 

 going further. I found the leader of a party of ladies 

 and gentlemen who had come down on the same train 

 with myself, with the intention of going to St. James, 

 buttonholed by two new arrivals, retrograding from the 

 lower end of the harbor— whether from St. James or 

 Punta Eassa I do not recall— who were inveighing with 

 bitterness against the place they had left. "Dem beastly 

 hole, you know! Awful table; breakfast at 7 o'clock; 

 hear nothhv but talk about blawsted tarpon, y' know!" 

 and so on. "We didn't unpack our tackle, y' know; just 

 came away by first boat." 



I have heard complaints of the table at St. James from 

 people who ought to make allowance for the great ob- 

 stacles there are to the keeping of a hotel at a spot so 

 remote. But I never heard a complaint from a true 

 fisherman. The name is not to be applied to him who 

 strolls out after a dejeuner a la fourchette to take a fin- 

 gerling with sewing silk and a wand, but to him who 

 matches his strength, endurance and skill against a 

 powerful, frenzied and beautiful fish; be it the salmon or 

 striped bass of the North, or the tarpon of the South, and 

 to gain his object he will seek almost inaccessible wilds, 

 and submit to all kinds of discomforts. First-class hotels 

 and the best of fishing are rarely found together. The 

 San Carlos, at St. James, however, is a really good hotel, 

 and the fishing is unequalled anywhere — in the United 

 States, at least. The house was clean, the manager and 

 his aid eager to please and untiring in their efforts, and 

 no fault could be found with the sleeping accommoda- 

 tions. There was not much variety in the bill of fare 

 (which seemed to be a ground of complaint with some), 

 but every tiling was well cooked and well served by neat 

 New England girls. The orders of the guests as to their 

 meals are promptly and cheerfully attended to. 



Complaints of bad living at a resort where sport is good, 

 do not always impress one with the superior refinement 

 of the complainant. There is one class of travelers who 

 live delicately at home, yet, if the sport is good, never 

 complain of inferior accommodation abroad, and munch 

 the hard-boiled egg provided for luncheon and sleep the 

 sleep of the just on the ler quaterque duratus of the 

 tavern mattress. The other class, through inefficient 



housekeepers or from other causes, live a sordid and 

 scrambling life at their own homes, so that the first-class 

 restaurant becomes their idea of table comfort. To live 

 at a hotel is to them the apotheosis of good living. When 

 they do not get the best (restaurant) cookery and variety 

 on their travels, the hotel is condemned, and no matter 

 how excellent the sport with rod or gun may be, the dis- 

 appointment at table eclipses all pleasure in anything 

 else. To the latter class, from their appearance and 

 manners, the grumblers at Punta Gorda, and others of 

 their kind met with here and there in Florida, doubtless 

 belonged. 



For myself, the table at Pine Island was quite as good 

 as any I have ever seen where superior game fish could 

 be taken in abundance — much better than elsewhere in 

 Florida under similar conditions— and for cleanliness and 

 comfort of rooms and prompt attention to the wishes of 

 guests, there could be no cavil or criticism. 



An improvement over last year's arrangements was 

 that breakfast could be had as early as 5:30 in the morn- 

 ing, so that the fisherman could be in his boat and on his 

 way to the tarpon grounds by 7:30. I say the "tarpon 

 grounds," for there was little pursuit of any other kind 

 of fish. Last year's history had gone abroad, and there 

 were collected at both St. James and Punta Rassa fisher- 

 men from all over the United States, from Canada, and 

 even from England and France. One gentleman had 

 journeyed all the way from his San Francisco home to 

 take a tarpon, and after three weeks without a fish was 

 still in good spirits and confident that he would secure at 

 least one. The tarpon talk at the hotel was incessant. 

 The house was deserted by all but the ladies during the 

 day, but at night all the fishermen had to compare notes 

 as to the day's experience, and rela te the thrilling strikes 

 they had had, or congratulate the one or two of their 

 number who had secured a fish. Mr. Hecksher had just 

 taken his 184lbs. fish — the only tarpon to the credit of 

 the Reva's company, I was told — and that achievement 

 had to be talked over and wondered at. Over at Punta 

 Rassa, where there was a company of the genuine old 

 mossback "lone fishermen," Hecksher's achievement 

 created a sensation and, to excel the Pine Islanders, they 

 were compelled to count Col. Quay's big fish of 187 Jibs., 

 thereby violating their solemn rule to count no fish taken 

 with a handline. The Pennsylvania statesman is an ex- 

 perienced and skillful fisherman, and he has the courage 

 to avow and practice his preference for the unpopular 

 handline. 



Some of the guides tell queer stories of their patrons. 

 They relate that certain of those whose names appear as 

 captors of tarpon "with rod and reel," first played, or had 

 the guide play, the fish with the despised handline until 

 nearly ready for the gaff, and then when the fish, ex- 

 hausted, was near the boat, a hasty tie of the handline 

 was made to a line on a rod, the handline cut, and the 

 performance finished in short order with the rod. The 

 tender conscience of the fisherman was thus appeased, 

 and he was able to enter into the fishing record at the 

 hotel his fish was taken in the approved method. 



The month of March was not kind to the fisherman the 

 present year. The climatic disturbances of the North 

 had their echoes and effects even on the far Gulf coast; 

 not making the temperature of the air disagreeable to 

 man, but lowering that of the water so that fish did not 

 take the bait with' avidity. While the aggregate number 

 of tarpon taken at St. James and Punta Rassa was greater 

 than ever before, yet, owing to the largely increased 

 number of their pursuers, the individual scores were not 

 so high as last year's. The majority secured at least one 

 fish, "but for many it required great perseverance. A 

 Massachusetts gentleman fished continuously through 

 five weeks, every day, before he was rewarded with ni3 

 first tarpon, and as soon as his prize was secured and 

 lodged with John Smith to be preserved and shipped 

 North, his errand being fully accomplished, he returned 

 home by the most direct way. The other extreme was 

 represented by a railroad president from Maine, who 

 arrived at St. James at 2 o'clock, found all the boatmen 

 gone, obtained Capt. John Smith's services by special 

 favor, and a single ill-savored mullet for bait, anchored 

 his boat among the fleet of fishermen, and in less than 

 three hours was back at the wharf with the only tarpon 

 of the day. 



My own experience was not remarkable. I killed my 

 fish on the tenth day, averaging about two hours each 

 day of the ten tarpon fishing. The fish was below the 

 average in size — weighing 881bs.— and was brought to 

 gaff in 35 minutes, making only nine leaps clear of the 

 water. He was a sullen and powerful fish, but did not 

 give the excitement and pleasing terror which my cap- 

 tive of last year afforded. After his capture, I gladly 

 devoted the remainder of my stay to the swarms of minor 

 fishes with which the harbor and its passes teem. While 

 fishing for tarpon, we would sometimes be visited by a 

 school of "ocean turbot," a very odd-looking fish; a 

 savage biter and fierce puller, and by many highly 

 esteemed as food. Then the omnipresent spotted trout, 

 or Southern weakfish, make good sport either trolling or 

 still-fishing. A very beautiful and interesting fish is the 

 lady-fish, or seven-pounder, a miniature tarpon, with 

 large silvery scales and big yellow eye, like his mighty 

 counterpart. Like the tarpon, too, this fish, when hooked, 

 spends a good part of the time out of water, indulging in 

 a succession of leaps, summersaults and cartwheels, very 

 often freeing itself. It is absolutely worthless for the 

 table. The heavy black groupers, of from 8 to 151bs. 

 weight, play havoc with a weak fine, and the same may 

 be said of the red snapper, a very good ground for which 

 species is found near Sanibel wharf. 



Fishing for sheepshead — that splendid and rare fish of 

 our Northern waters — becomes very monotonous here, 

 where they can be taken at the rate of one a minute. By 

 trolling, besides trout, bluefish and Spanish mackerel are 

 taken. The pompano, which, with the last named fish, 

 divides the honors at table, is rarely taken with the hook; 

 and not many are taken with the nets. The cavalli, a 

 fierce fighter /but worthless for food, and the mangrove 

 snapper, a beautiful and gamy fish, are abundant. For 

 those who wish to try their strength and skill against 

 monsters, there are the great leopard sharks, and the 

 enormous devilfish, a gigantic ray, with no malice in its 

 disposition, but with strength enough to pull the bow of 

 a sailboat under in deep water. Sawfish of every size, from 

 a foot in length to the monster of 1 ,0001bs. , are found every- 

 where, and occasionally a shark line, set near a wharf or 

 overhanging bank, secures a jewfish, a gigantic perch of 

 from 100 to 5001bs. weight. 



The fish which interests me most of all the denizens of 

 this well-stocked aquarium is the channel bass. He is 

 beautiful; he is gamy and powerful, and he can be seen 

 and selected before casting the bait. 



A recital of a single day's experience will give to the 

 Northerner some notion of life at Charlotte Harbor. 

 March 25 I was on the sloop Ada, (belonging to Capt. John 

 Smith), anchored in the Matalacha (pronounced Matla 

 Shay) Pass, with my friend Z. , who had for guide Robert 

 Fulton, a stalwart mulatto, upon whose breast a Grand 

 Army badge was proudly exposed ; and I had Frank Smith 

 — no better guides than these two men can be found. Z. 

 had taken his tarpon the day before— a very fine fish — and 

 the skin had been carefully removed by Frank, for pres- 

 ervation, during the night. 



It was a lovely morning when the two skiffs left the 

 yacht for the day's pursuit of tarpon. The first duty was 

 to procure bait, so Fulton and Frank took the lead in one 

 boat, and Z. and I followed leisurely up the shore in the 

 other, skirting the mangroves and watching the shoals of 

 mullet which flashed across the yellow sandy bottom. 

 The carcass of Z.'s tarpon had been previously towed 

 ashore and landed on the beach, for these fishermen have 

 a superstition that the submerged fish frighten away for 

 miles his surviving brethren. In the clear sky — just now 

 tenantless — a half dozen lazy vultures werealready cir- 

 cling, attracted by some wondrous instinct. When we 

 returned in the evening the great fish was entirely con- 

 sumed by these scavengers. 



Slowly moving up the shore our boatmen made an oc- 

 casional cast with the net, with sufficient results, for 

 when we arrived at the fishing ground we had enough 

 mullets to supply bait for the day. 



Here, at "Tarpon Point," we anchored in about 9ft. of 

 water, and prepared for work. The bottom was plainly 

 visible, so that the fish offal with which we chummed 

 could be seen, but not a sign of life, not even a catfish — 

 that pest of these waters — was to be seen. After an 

 hour of fruitless waiting, I suggested that we explore, 

 and that happy impulse gave me a most interesting day. 



Moving across the channel we approached a little man- 

 grove island. From out of the twisted mangrove roots, 

 as we drew near, rushed a mass of thousands of mullet 

 which had taken shelter there. On our right, a half 

 mile off, was a great pelican rookery, with its mangroves 

 covered to their tops with pelicans, cormorants and sil- 

 ver cranes. An incessent clamor— louder than a negro 

 quarterly meeting — went up from a myriad of throats. 



Rounding this little island we came Upon a flat of yel- 

 low sand, upon which numerous fish could be easily dis- 

 tinguished through the clear water. Suddenly Frank, 

 who stood in the bow, was ablaze with excitement, and 

 hissed, "Here come a couple of tarpon!" dropping his 

 anchor over the side. I gave him my rod; he made a 

 long cast and handed it back to me. Lcould not see the 

 fish, but seeing the line run out, struck with the effect of 

 a swift run of at least 100yds. against my heaviest pres- 

 sure on the reel guard. "It is a channel bass, Frank." 

 "I'm afraid it is; he doesn't show. But here comes his 

 mate!" and Frank cast his handline f just as I reeled my 

 prize up to the boat. Frank turns, strikes the gaff 

 through my fish's head, jerks him into the boat, then 

 gives a tremendous yank on his handline which breaks 

 the hook. My captive is a channel bass 46in. long, 

 weight unknown. 



We coast along up the shore, disturbing large rays, 

 and sawfish of all sizes, at which Frank makes thrusts 

 with his oar, and now and then taking a channel bass, 

 until we reach a point which juts into the open waters 

 of Matalacha. Just before reaching it six rifle shots in 

 quick succession, on the other side of the island, announce 

 Z.'s proximity, and Frank declares that they signify deer.. 

 We afterward find that it is a salute to a veiy large saw- 

 fish. As we approach the little point — the water here is 

 barely three feet in depth— Frank is again excited. 

 "There's a tarpon! He's a big one! Don't you see him?" 

 But I don't see him, and hand the rod to Frank, who skill- 

 fully casts the bait and gives me the rod. "He has it! 

 Now, strike!" The line is slowly and steadily running 

 off the spool, until a full hundred yards, or half the line, 

 are gone. Then, knowing that the fish had not gorged 

 the bait, but fearing that he would run to deep water be- 

 fore doing so, and thus take all my line, I threw my full 

 weight backward. Instantly out of the water rose an 

 enormous tarpon, reminding me of a burnished silver 

 door, and fell with a splash which made an echo from the 

 shores. Out he came again and again, twisting and 

 writhing with frenzy. "You've got him!" shouted Frank, 

 and he let off an unearthly war whoop. After a contest 

 in which the water was tinged with blood, and the fish 

 was sensibly growing weaker, he succeeded in freeing 

 himself. Z., who witnessed the performance, said that 

 the time occupied was thirteen minutes, and the leaps 

 clear of the surface twelve. 



Along the shore we coasted, without incident, except 

 the capture of an occasional channel bass, the mistaking 

 of the dorsal fin of a large black drum for the lance of a 

 tarpon, and a shot now and then at willets and tattlers, 

 until we reached a broad flat of dazzling sand, surrounded 

 by islands. There must have been ten acres of this ex- 

 panse glittering in the sunlight under its limpid cover- 

 ing of pure water. As soon as we glided over its edge, 

 Frank, for the third time, became an amiable maniac. 

 "There he is! Be quiet! Get down!" I subsided in the 

 bottom of the boat as Frank softly dropped the grapnel 

 over the side. I could see the fish. Not 15ft. away was 

 a great tarpon lazily oaring himself about, with his dor- 

 sal lance just above the surface. He seemed to be the 

 only occupant of the flat. He turned toward the boat 

 and came close to it, investigating. Frank and I were 

 motionless. His burnished silver sides and brilliant 

 dark green back shone brightly through the clear 

 water, and his great yellow eye — within Oft. of my 

 hand— was turned up toward us, fearless, but inquisi- 

 tive. He evidently concluded that we were some kind 

 of log — with branches — and unalarmed, moved slowly 

 away. Frank made a cast of the bait, which he ignored; 

 then some "chum" was thrown, which he took; then the 

 bait again: this time he saw it, and his manner of ap- 

 propriating it was interesting. The mouth of the tarpon 

 is on the top of the snout, so that he must be under the 

 bait to swallow it. The water being not more than 2ft. 

 deep he could not up-end himself and bore down for it, 

 so in the most leisurely way, after touching the bait with 

 his nose, he made a slow circle, gave a great sweep with 

 his tail, causing the bait, by the disturbance of the water, 

 momentarily to float, and then reversing himself took*it 



