July 24, 1890.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



9 



gave a yell of doubtful sobriety to notify the camp of my 

 coming, backed the boat off the apron and was soon 

 ashore, where I was met by one of the boys with a 

 lighted lantern and escorted in triumph to the camp a 

 hundred yards below, when the bass was weighed and I 

 was complimented with the sage remark — heard before 

 and since — "A fool for luck." 



In "eogitatin' it all over" afterward, 1 had a notion 

 that that bass was aware of my happy frame of mind and 

 thought to take advantage of it, but he had miscalcu- 

 lated my capacity for Monticello "festivities" at that 

 time and the mistake resulted in his taking his place 

 with 70 or 80 others of his tribe, and a sprinkling of cat- 

 fish and pike-percb, in a little pond a couple of rods long, 

 made by throwing a dam across a, cold spring branch 

 near the tent, were they were kept alive till we broke 

 camp for homo. 



I record this little "episode" not to call attention to the 

 use of beverages in camp, but to show what a full-blown 

 fool they will make of one when he most needs a clear 

 head, and after a good many years of nothing but water 

 and coffee in camp or out in the shape of fluids T can 

 vouch for it as the best way, and say to the youngsters 

 of the craft, "Tamper not with the enemy," in any guise, 

 at any time. 



In October of the next year we fished the deep water 

 above the dam and had great sport, notably on one day 

 that Col. Dennis christened "Coon's day." We had pulled 

 the boat up on the bank a quarter of a mile above the 

 dam, near a little spring that gushed out of the ground 

 at the foot of the hill, a rod back from the river, and 

 standing in the stern I took eleven bass as fast as they 

 could be handled and taken from the hook and strung by 

 the Colonel, that weighed exactly 44lbs,, an average of 

 4lbs. each — and they were of very even size — which he 

 figured out as "4 11-44," the colored brother's favorite 

 gig when "rasselin' with policy." When the fun began 

 the Colonel was busy on the bank trying to disentangle a 

 snarl in his line, but laid it down to take the first one 

 from the hook and string him. and before he was well 

 into the mysteries of the snarl again another was ready 

 for him at the edge of the water, a performance that was 

 repeated to the neglect of the snarl till the last bass of the 

 school of eleven was safely on the stringer. Ten or fif- 

 teen minutes more of persistent casting failing to pro- 

 voke another bite, the rod was laid down, the Colonel's 

 line patiently "unsnarled" and we took our way back to 

 camp happy as two "coons" that had hit the combina- 

 tion, for Ave had "been out to see a man" with frequent 

 regularity between acts as long as the performance 

 lasted. 



We fished the glorious, rapid, rocky old Tippecanoe for 

 several seasons after that at different points, and although 

 we have not wet a line in its limpid waters for years we 

 will never forget the happy, care-free hours passed in 

 many a pleasant camp along its wooded banks, when 

 hazy Indian summer days made life seem but a dream. 



VII.— Kingfisher Days. 



In July, 1880, two of the original "Kingfishers," Old 

 Knots" and the writer, with a friend from Hamilton, O., 

 made our first camp in northern Michigan on Lewis's 

 Island in Central Lake, the lower one of the Intermediate 

 Chain, and had such great sport that we had a violent at- 

 tack of "Michigan fever" ever since, which bids fair to 

 abide with us till Gabriel "winds his horn to fall in for the 

 final roll call. I am ashamed to say how many bass we 

 took in the two weeks we were in camp — to sa.y nothing 

 of the pickerel — for it was rnore like slaughter than sport, 

 and had it not been for our fish-hungry neighbors, we 

 might have been rightfully charged with criminal waste. 

 They, however, relieved our consciences by relieving us 

 of most of our fish, and we felt that while doing some 

 wrong we were at the same time evening things up in a 

 measure by doing a little good. The bass taken while in 

 this camp were about equally divided between the large 

 and small-mouthed varieties, perhaps a few more of the 

 big-mouths than the others, but the small-mouths averaged 

 the largest, many of them weighing 5, 51, and up to 6ilbs. , 

 weighed with an accurate pocket scale, and here we first 

 noted more particularly the decided superiority of the 

 small-mouth over the big-mouth as a game and tireless 

 fighter. We noted, too, that both varieties were not 

 always found in the same waters, although in some local- 

 ities both were plentiful. 



( I may write as a curious feature of the fishing in this 

 chain of lakes — there are ten of them connected by little 

 unobstructed streams — that out of several hundred bass 

 taken in the lakes above the head of Central, we have 

 never found a single one of the small-mouthed variety. 

 If any of the tribe have been taken in the lakes above, 

 brother "Kelpie" of Central Lake — the cleanest-handed 

 sportsman and angler of my acquaintance in the North 

 woods — can probably tell about it.) 



In a little bay off the mouth of "Sweeney's Creek" we 

 have taken in the five seasons" camping on this lake at 

 least fifty bass that would certainly average 4ilbs. each, 

 and not one of them was of the large-mouthed tribe. In 

 this bay on our first trip I took the 6*-pounder, and a few 

 days after, with the wind kicking up a sea two feet high 

 and the little boat pitching around like an eggshell, I 

 took one that was 3in. longer and lin. deeper at the 

 "shoulder," but did not get his weight by reason of 

 "Knots and Jim" having left on a trip for Petoskey and 

 taking with them the only pocket scale in the camp. 



Just across the lake from Sweeney's Creek at "Buzaroo 

 Point," in '88 my old comrade Uncle Danny Sloan took a 

 small-mouthed bass while I handled the 'boat for him, 

 that weighed exactly 71bs. on two different scales, and 

 which the Forest and Stream took the unauthorized 

 liberty of cutting down to 61bs. when the account of the 

 capture was published in "Camps of the Kingfishers" in 

 the paper the following year. 



VIII —The "Bull Bass of Michigan." 



In the last forty years I have had a good many per- 

 sonal difficulties with big bass, but the largest one I ever 

 saw or hooked came out on top and left me in a "state of 

 mind" that I don't believe I am quite over yet, and when- 

 ever I think of the occurrence, I am strongly tempted to 

 fracture one of the Commandments — I forget the number 

 of it, but it mentions something about swearing. 



A few days after Uncle Dan took the 7-pounder, Old 

 Ben Renshaw and I were idling along the rush-lined 

 shore in a boat about three miles above the camp, making 

 a pretense of fishing a little, with the afternoon sun beat- 

 m$ down on M so fierce and hot that both together 



hadn't as much energy in us as a green frog in August; 

 we were actually so indolent and lazy that we had put a 

 cork float on our lines 5 or 6ft. above the hook to save the 

 exertion of reeling up for an occasional cast, and when 

 I see a bass fisher using a float, unless tbe nature of the 

 current and bottom especially require it, I have a notion 

 that he is too lazy to breathe, A thoroughly lazy man, 

 one who waits for the fish to come to him, never makes 

 a successful angler. 



1 was at the oars, making a stroke now and theu to 

 keep from going to sleep, when I was roused by Old Ben 

 with "Great Jehossafat, Hickory, look yonder!" pointing 

 in toward the rushes only an oar length away, "there's a 

 bass bigger 'n a skinned boss; reel up an' drap yer frog 

 over there an' see ef he'll take it." Looking over my 

 shoulder, all the laziness and indolent feeling left me like 

 a flash, and I was instantly as wide awake as though I 

 had been soused in the lake." There, not ten feet from the 

 boat and just inside the line of sparsely growing bul- 

 rushes that marked the "pitch off" into deoxi water, were 

 three bass close together, two of them, looking to be a foot 

 and a half long in the clear water, but the "skinned boss" 

 was a monster beside which the other two looked small 

 and insignificant. Tbe bigfellow was slightly in advance 

 of the others; and none of them paid the slightest atten- 

 tion to the boat, but lay fanning the sandy bottom with 

 their fins, as lazy and sleepy apparently as Ben and I bad 

 been a few seconds before. Stopping the boat with a 

 noiseless back stroke, I quickly reeled up the frog and 

 float trailing 40 or 50ft. astern next to the rushes and 

 dropped the kicking frog quietly over in front of the big 

 one, but it didn't seem to "remind him of anything" just 

 thou, and with an easy stroke of bis tail he went around 

 the stern of the boat and out into deep water, while the 

 other two turned and fanned back among the rushes. 

 Peeling up again, the frog was cast 20ft. outside in the 

 direction the big one had taken; and as the sinker pulled 

 the float to a perpendicular it slipped out of sight under 

 water, and Ben took the oars to give me a fair show when 

 the fight began. Just 'as I was about to make the strike 

 the frog came to the surface without the hook, and swam 

 off with frantic kicks and disappeared in the bulrushes. 

 This was a turn of affairs that we couldn't understand, 

 but we finally charged it to the hook. I was using a No. 

 6 bar bless hook that day, and the infernal fraud had 

 somehow let the frog slip past the keeper with the result 

 as stated, but we couldn't quite make out how he had 

 escaped from the big bass. 



The line was reeled in quicker perhaps than ever 

 before, the bucket nervously opened and another frog 

 hooked on and cast back about where the other one had 

 come up (we couldn't spare the time to tie on another 

 hook), and in less time than it takes to write it the cork 

 was out of sight again and the line running furiously off 

 the reel quartering across the lake. Ten or twelve yards 

 were run off without a sign of the fish stopping, when 

 Ben said, "Hit 'im one in the jaw an' paralyze him." I 

 "hit 'im" as suggested, and such a fight as took place 

 there under the broiling sun— short, sharp and furious— 

 was never witnessed, I reckon, "on the face o' this livin' 

 airth." With the bit in his teeth— to speak "hossy"— the 

 old fellow took at least 15yds. more line from the reel 

 before the blessed old rod— I have it yet — could stop him, 

 and when the pull at last swung him around, he came 

 dashing back by the boat like a locomotive running wild, 

 only a few feet away and heading inshore for the rash 

 belt. Suddenly the strain on the rod eased up, and an 

 instant later, about 30ft. from the boat and only a few 

 yards from the rushes, the largest small-mouthed bass I 

 have ever seen was on a level with my head in the air 

 taking an instantaneous view of the surroundings, while 

 our hearts stopped beating lest he should shake out that 

 "cussed piece o' pianer wire," as Ben called it. The fish 

 was, I honestly believe, more than 80m, long, and so pro- 

 portionately large that we were afraid to believe it a 

 bass. "The jumpin' Jehossafat, Hickory! (The jumpin' 

 Jehossafat was one of Ben's strongest expressions of 

 astonishment before he reached the profane boundary) 

 "that's the great gran'daddy of all the bass in Michigan," 

 but before he had relieved himself of this sentence in his 

 deliberate way, the bass was in the water again, and as 

 the demon of ill-luck would have it, he was going for the 

 rushes with a pull that threatened to end the usefulness 

 of the trusty old rod that had stood the test of ■so many 

 hard won battles before. 



Yank— tug— pull : the line slipped a little under the 

 thumb; a harder pressure was put on and the rod tip 

 went a little further toward the rush line. If the bass 

 got among the rushes the fight was over; the result rested 

 solely on the strength of rod and line, for he must 

 be held away from the danger line at all hazards. Just 

 as the feel of the rod gave a sign that the old mossback 

 was weakening and I was on the point of giving a shout 

 of exaltation at the prospect of a speedy victory, the rod 

 flew up and the cork went over our heads with a swish 

 into the lake outside, and I wilted down on the seat so full 

 of bitter disappointment that I couldn't utter a word, 

 while Ben held the oars poised in the ah', speechless and 

 with a blank expression of " how-did-it-all-happen ? " on 

 his bronzed old face that I'll never forget. After staring 

 at each other a while in a meaningless sort of way, the 

 line was reeled slowly in and the cause of the calamity 

 was made apparent. There, hanging at the end of the 

 line, was that "cussed piece o' pianer wire," treacherous, 

 barbless, and worthless, straightened out into about the 

 shape of a sore finger, with the point turned sharply back 

 like a bent pin and nearly half an inch away from the 

 point of the keeper— that didn't keep. Ben examined it 

 in silence for nearly a minute before passing it to me, and 

 when I had studied the case over in all its bearings on the 

 catastrophe, I made a few remarks that would compare 

 favorably with any of Ben's best efforts, and Ben was "a 

 main hand at cussin' " when occasion required. 



This duty performed, another hook — with a barb— was 

 tied on and we fished for two hours up and down the rush 

 line but saw no more of the veteran, and as the sun 

 slipped down behind the treetops on the hill back of us, 

 we took our way to camp, sore and out o' sorts over the 

 day's experience. We said nothing to the boys in camp 

 but went back next day, and slipped quietly up to our 

 "land mark"— two bulrushes tied in a loose knot — saw 

 the big fellow, which we knew by his great size, within a 

 rod or two of the place where Ben had first seen him the 

 previous day, accompanied this time by only one of his 

 mates, but at sight of the boat he darted off into deep 

 water and we saw no more of him that day; the prick of 

 the barbies hook the day before was doubtless still fresh 



in his mind and it made him wary and suspicious. We 

 anchored the boat just inside the rushes and cast at in- 

 tervals up and down and out in the lake, for an hour but 

 it availed nothing, and we went up the lake and back to 

 camp in the evening, content in a measure with smaller 

 fry. 



We went back the next day, and the next, and saw him 

 both days near the same place, but he was shy and wary, 

 and "hied off" into deep water at the approach of the 

 boat, and all the lures we tried on him — frog, minnow, 

 artificial flies and troller — only seemed to drive him into 

 safer hiding, and after two more visits to the place, with- 

 out getting a sight of him near his usual haunt, we gave 

 up the pursuit and acknowledged ourselves fairly beaten 

 by this veteran warrior of Central Lake, but it was a oom- 

 fort to know that we had "fit" with him, even though we 

 had got the worst of it. 



I have never tied on another barbless hook for an hour's 

 fishing, and have been lamenting ever since that I tried 

 that one. I have kept it in the tackle box from that day 

 as a reminder of that fight and defeat — it is not 10ft. 

 away as I write this — and when I happen to lapse into a 

 reminiscent mood and think of that day's experience 

 with a barbless hook, I unlock the old box, take a look at 

 that "cussed piece o' ill-shaped pianer wire" and straight- 

 way give the aforementioned Commandment a few 

 violent wrenches, just by w^ay of a "consoler" for the 

 loss of the "bull bass of Michigan," 



IX.— His Name. 



Since I began angling for the black bass he has had so 

 many names, each one having a claim on "old priority," 

 that it has been hard work to keep track of them all, but 

 the last one (and perhaps the worst of the lot) will prob- 

 ably stick until some smart French naturalist, that hasn't 

 .sense enough to tell half a fish from a whole one, runs 

 across a decayed specimen that has lost two or three fins, 

 when he will no doubt have a new name for him, with 

 a little more "priority" tacked on. 



Microplerus (small fin) and Dolomien (a frog eatbr 

 Frenchman) stands about as much for a "small-finned 

 Frenchman," as it would seem to for the American black 

 bass, but we are forced to do with it as the bass does with 

 the frog — swallow it— because "old priority" has got his 

 grip on it. To the devil with priority! Give us an 

 American name for this distinctively American fish, by 

 an American scientist, one who can tell a maimed or >\o- 

 formed fish from a perfect one when he sees it. 



I once caught a bass above the dam at Monticello, Ind., 

 (Col. Dennis saw the fish), that had nothing to show for 

 his right eye but a healed up socket, nothing left of the 

 spinous dorsal but two or three short stubs of spines, and 

 a part of the lower lobe of the caudal sliced off, the re- 

 sult, no doubt, of an encounter with the ice when it broke 

 up in the spring, or mayhap of being "sucked" into an 

 interview with one of the turbine wheels at Norway. I 

 wonder what name Mister "Velocipede," of Lacepede, 

 would have bestowed on that badly used up and dilapi- 

 dated specimen had the misfortune of taking it befallen 

 him. Had his best chum been burdened with the name of 

 William Jones, he would doubtless have dubbed it the 

 "One-eyed, chawed-up Bill Jones-?:e«," with "one-eyed, 

 chawed-up" Latinized to take off the ragged edge, and at 

 once proclaimed that he had discovered a new species 

 with priority sticking out all over it, and it would have 

 been about as suggestive of a black bass as the present 

 name he sails under, if not quite so euphonious. 



But by whatever name he maybe called, he is the 

 gamest and most valiant warrior of all the tribes of our 

 Northern waters, and I don't know a more fitting way 

 of reeling up these rambling recollections than by drink- 

 ing a bumper of his native element to the "Ameri- 

 can small-mouthed bass," without any French flummery 

 tacked on to him as a misnomer; may he long be 

 with us; may he prosper and propagate to delight tbe 

 hearts of the rising generation of young anglers by his 

 noble qualities as a game fish when the now grizzled vet- 

 erans of the gentle craft shall have passed away. 



Kingfisher.. 



Cincinnati, 0„ May 25. 



Lake George Notes. — Washington, July 15.— A dis- 

 tinguished party of fishermen has just returned to Wash- 

 ington from Lake George, N. Y. They were a little too 

 early for the black bass and pickerel and too late for the 

 best of the lake trout fishing. The party consisted of Mr. 

 A. J, Halford, brother of the President's private secre- 

 tary and manager of the Congressional Department of 

 the' Associated Press; Mr. E. Morrison, Mr. R. H. Darby, 

 publisher of the Republic; Mr. F. S. Presbrey, manager 

 of Public Opinion, andWm. R. Wilder, Esq., of New 

 New York. They were accompanied by Frank Harris, 

 "the best fisherman on Lake George, who recently had 

 58 bites and landed 36 lake trout, weighing in all 731bs." 

 Mr. Presbrey states that the lake trout has increased in 

 numbers most wonderfully of late, owing to artificial 

 planting. The size of the fish would indicate their recent 

 introduction, and the increase has been so rapid and 

 remarkable as to show clearly the wonderful success of 

 modern fishcultural methods. The lake trout is not the 

 only trout to be found in the vicinity of Lake George. 

 A party of two caught 110 brook trout (<S V . fontinalis) in 

 Shelving Rock Creek in one day's fishing within three 

 miles of the Kattskill House. One of the crowning 

 glories of Lake George is its pickerel. Thanks to the 

 help of Mr. Presbrey, from whom we have the head of 

 an enormous specimen which he killed on a 12oz. rod 

 last year, we are able to state that the pickerel of Lake 

 George is the pike of other waters (Esox lucius). We 

 were misled into the belief that this species is the wall- 

 eyed pike, and are glad of the opportunity to correct the 

 mistake. Mr. Presbrey's fish weighed I61bs. 2oz., and 

 was the biggest one taken last year. Major IT. A. Hall, 

 of Washington , was one of a party that took over 30 pike 

 (or pickerel) last year that averaged over lOlbs. each. 

 The best method of catching pickerel is by still- fishing 

 in water from 35 to 40ft. deep, with live bait, for which 

 purpose the white chub is a universal favorite. The black 

 bass season does not open until Aug. 1. The best part of 

 the lake for this fish is the south end, and here the sport 

 is fast and furious. 



No Extba Chakg E for fast time. No transfers. No midnight 

 changes. No missed connections. No appliances but modern 

 ones. No luxuries but the best. No mistake nossibie if yon take 

 the Chicage & Atlantic to Chautauqua, New York, New England 

 and all points East. No trouble to ask your agent for the 0, <£ A, 

 dift'evential rates, which saye money to travelers.— Adv, 



