March 10, 1899.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



229 



reach the spot and photograph the place where the deer 

 were slain. With a saddle horse, an extra horse with a 

 harness, and two guides, they set forth. They climbed 

 through deep snowdrifts, over high rocky points and 

 through fallen timber, till at length, more dead than 

 alive, the precious Kodak and the rest of them arrived at 

 the banging deer. Photographs were in order. Deer in 

 trees, deer lying on the ground, sportsmen shooting at 

 deer leaning against trees like Mark Twain's horse, as if 

 trying to think, hunter packing deer on his back, horses 

 dragging and packing deer, in short, deer in every position 

 a dead deer can be made to assume were duly recorded. 

 Guides, guests, horses, deer and everybody danced before 

 the beautiful Kodak to be taken. 



The two braves, assisted by the horses, dragged the 

 deer to camp, and Kodak, heavy with responsibility, was 

 an object of especial care. Then in camp, just before the 

 return, everybody and everything were pnotographed — 

 one man seated' on a table surrounded by deer, another 

 astride of a big buck, tightly grasping its horns (while to 

 spectators it was doubtful whether the deer was really 

 carrying the man or the man trying to hold up the deer). 

 Homeward bound, more photos and more responsibility 

 on the untried camera. One week of expectation and the 

 following message was received : 



"Kodak out of order after first eight pictures were 

 taken, and not a hunter or deer or even a horse in sight." 



Montana. 



Angling Talks. By George Dawson. Price 50 cents. Fly- 

 Rods and Fly-Tackle. By H. P. Wells. Price $2.50. Fly- 

 Fishing and Fly-Making for Trout. By J. H. Keene. 

 Price $1.50. American Angler's Book. By Thad. Norris. 

 Price $5.50. 



The full tes ts of the game fish laws of all the States, 

 Territories and British Provinces are given in the Book of 

 the Game Laws. 



KINGFISHER MEMORIES. 



Editor Forest and Strea,m: 



The time for the annual "round up" of the Kingfishers 

 at Cincinnati, preparatory to the start for Northern 

 waters and woods, came again in July last. The weeks 

 before the day fixed were full or plots and plans for 

 forays among the bass and trout, full of hours given to 

 overhauling tackle, picking out the lines, the hooks and 

 the rods that would do the work of capture in most suc- 

 cessful style. The "calamity" boxes were investigated 

 to their uttermost corners, and each particular piece of 

 tackle honored with a critical inspection that would have 

 reflected credit upon "West Point. 



As the fingers busied themselves among the oiled lines 

 and snooded hooks memory traveled away to the camps 

 and camp fires of the years agone. The logs are burned 

 out. the stake pins removed except perhaps a corner guy 

 that may monumentally r^ark the spot to wandering 

 eye, the ashes scattered to the winds, the tall flag pole of 

 birch or pine that floated the starry emblem of sover- 

 eignty and free "Kingfishers" as well, become fuel for 

 "moss back" fires, the forms of loved companions van- 

 ished among the shadows, yet there's a charm and a 

 tender attachment for these hallowed places that linger 

 when other places are forgotten. Even the day we 

 hoisted the stars and stripes on Canadian soil, 60ft. in the 

 ail-, and caught muscalonge and bass and trout under its 

 protecting folds, the forerunner, perhaps, of the time 

 when all Americans can do likewise and fear not the 

 rigors of custom's officials nor the angry growl of the 

 British lion, even this is a treasure trove of memory. 



Ah! those camp-fires — how they crowd the brain full of 

 tender thoughts! Veteran angler, did you ever forget 

 them? Did they ever steal in on you as you sat looking 

 in the winter blaze, while the wind whistled without and 

 the rain or sleet beat upon the window pane? As you sat, 

 and smoked and dreamed you were an angler again, and 

 fought over the glorious battles with the inhabitants of 

 the waters, feeling anew the electric thrill through every 

 quickening pulse as the contest progressed— seeing again 

 the battle royal given by gleaming trout, or valiant bass, 

 or kingly muscalonge — exulting in the successful end to 

 the combat— or, perhaps, tracing in more tender mood the 

 faces of those who erst gave pleasure to the camp-fires — 

 would you sell these memories for a price?" 



The "Kingfishers'' have dotted the great North Woods 

 with many camp spots in the years that have fled. 

 From Sturgeon River on the west to St. Mary's on the 

 east — from the silent woods of the Northern Peninsula of 

 Michigan adown the line to the Kankakee — the gleam of 

 their white tents has been seen , and the light of their 

 camp-fires has kindled ruddy reflection in the forest back- 

 ground, or sent shafts of light shimmering across the 

 waters. Anon the shores of Black Lake, of Che Inter- 

 mediate Chain, of Echo and Douglass, of BrOwn and 

 Platte, of Thunder and Carp, have welcomed their tents 

 and given delight and sport to the earnest and happy 

 anglers of the "Kingfisher" band. 



They were happy. They loved the shadowy forest and 

 the rippled lake, the tangled banks of the trout brook 

 and the waving processions of reeds that marshaled their 

 graceful lines along the lakeshore, the perfumed yellow 

 and white blossoms of the water lilies that lifted their 

 modest heads above the green and red pads floating on 

 the surface. Tbey loved the balsamic air and the bright, 

 free sunshine, the broad vistas of meadow and mountain 

 and forest line, or the closer, rapt circle about the camp- 

 fire after dark, where the sparkling logs gave light to the 

 sombre jokes to help 'em on their way. 



To them the green grass was a carpet of down, the bed 

 of fragrant boughs a couch of roses, and the platters of 

 brown and smoking trout or bass a royal feast. They 

 were not tenderfeet. 



They loved to watch the crests of whitecaps;chase each 

 other adown the wind, or at night in their tents listen to 

 the swash of the waves on the lakeshore. There was a 

 pleasure even in the pebble-mixed sand that complained 

 as the boats at sunset were drawn up from the grasp of 

 the tumbling billows. They loved — why deny it — to tell 

 "fish lies" when grouped around the camp-fire after the 

 stars came out and the mosquitoes were iniquitous, 

 There were some who could te'l these better than others, 

 but all could earn fair wages e 



Then there are those who have crossed the river and 

 are resting in the shade on the other side. In the busy 

 round of every-day life, when toil and bustle and the 

 hum and roar of machinery and progress fill the ears, 

 we may temporarily forget those who have dropped from 

 the ranks. But no sooner does the call to the woods and 

 streams reach the ear or telegraph itself to the mind 

 from some friendly letter by mail, than we find memories 

 of these comrades of the past crowding like assailing 

 legions upon the thoughts. Then it is we grow reflective 

 and silent. As Du Chaillu, when he threaded the lonely 

 paths of the great African forests, we become impressed 

 with thoughts that reach out and strive to compass the 

 mysteries of life. Thoughts that seek to solve the broken 

 links in the chain of brotherhood— of the vacant spaces 

 that repeat themselves about the camp-fires. 



Grand old Ben Renshaw — full of quaint anecdote and 

 rugged humor — whose solid qualities and substantial 

 virtues have been so fitly described by "Kingfisher" in 

 Forest and Stream. 



Brave "Uncle Danny" Sloan, his body blasted with 

 paralytic strokes that withered half his limbs and re- 

 tarded the duties of the vital organs, but with a soul fired 

 with angler's zeal and himself gifted with nerves of 

 steel. Shall we forgot the angry storm on Douglass 

 Lake when he sat unmurmuring in the stern of the boat, 

 an upset imminent and darkness showing its edge— the 

 spray from the tossing waves striking him full in the 

 breast, cold and suggestive. Though unable to swim a 

 stroke, he seemed as unconcerned as if standing on 

 solid land. His cool courage commanded our intense 

 admiration. 



Generous Lou Snider, knowing no pleasure better than 

 contributing to the pleasure of others, and lastly Billy 

 Whetzel, whose unerring glance and quite mental pose, 

 whose love of the woods and wild game marked the 

 born huntsman. These have crossed the river. How we 

 miss them as we enter the woods and strike the lines of 

 our camps. 



But, I wander! The forms of the past; — old scenes and 

 old comrades — have drawn me away. These are the 

 eternal shadows that flit around the burned-out embers 

 of old camp-fires and come back to us, vivid with re- 

 membrances of pleasures that are ended and joys that 

 are gone. S. R. S. 



APRIL TROUT FISHING. 



Editor Forest arid Stream: 



Let the law makers not cut us short of the best month 

 for trout fishing, namely the month of April, in the lower 

 part of New York, from Columbia county to New York 

 city, a distance of over a hundred miles, and in Massa- 

 chusetts and Connecticut. If the open season must be 

 shorter, do not take the month of April which every lover 

 of trout fishing has been accustomed to look forward to 

 as a child does to Christmas. In that month eight times 

 out of ten they will get the largest trout and a finer mess 

 of any time after. I know what I am talking about from 

 experience. A friend and myself have been in the habit 

 of going on the' first of April for a long time in the States 

 mentioned, and with better luck than any other time 

 during the rest of the season. I might go back ten or 

 twelve years and give you our experience, but what we 

 want to hear about is the present, so I will tell of a trip 

 on the first day of April, 1890. 



"We drove twenty miles the last night of March from 

 Nor walk to North Castle in Westchester county, N. Y., 

 and it snowed all the way there, but was not cold; when 

 we reached there the wagon body was full of snow. 



We said we would have the whole stream to ourselves, 

 for we thought no one would dream of going trouting 

 with the snow 6in. deep; but we were doomed to dis- 

 appointment, for there was a party from New York city 

 who had come up to Bedford station the last night of 

 March, and as we were going across a lot they were 

 coming in the road near by, so we went to a part of the 

 river a mile below them and commenced to fish. And it 

 was fishing. I never saw fish bite so fast in my life. By 

 noon the snow was almost gone, and when we got up to 

 where the New York party had commenced to fish we 

 had all the fish we wanted. It was 2 o'clock, but before 

 we went I wanted to see if the New York party had good 

 luck, so I fished up a little way and found that the trout 

 were not so plentiful. I made up my mind that they had 

 their baskets full. "When we got in Stamford we heard 

 of some big catches that day, and when we got to Nor- 

 walk we heard of some more fine baskets. One man had 

 thirty-eight nice ones, the most of them weighing a half 

 pound. 



On Good Friday, the first week of April that year, I 

 went up in Connecticut, and when I started to fish I was 

 told there was no use to try, for there were seven on the 

 river ahead of me; and I thought so myself. But it came 

 on to rain about 10 o'clock, so I fished on; and after it 

 had rained a while the trout began to bite, and I got as 

 fine a mess as any one would want to see; one weighed 

 17oz, I got a good soaking too, but did not catch cold, 

 for the excitement kept me warm. All whom I heard of 

 going that day had good luck. I always carry both kinds 

 of bait, using the worm, grub or bug in the bushes, and 

 the artificial fly in the open places as the chance may 

 occur, and I think that one is as good as the other and 

 just as honorable. 



I went out in the towu of Bedford, N, Y, , the same 

 year on the 30th of May, and was having very bad luck 

 on the Mianus River, when we came to a house and 

 stopped for a drink of water. The old gentleman said 

 that we were too late and would not have any luck, for 

 the men from the city and White Plains always fished in 

 the spring of the year; and he said that in April he had 

 caught trout right by his house that would weigh a pound 

 and a half, and I believe him, for I know him to be a 

 gentleman of truth. I asked why they would not bite 

 now, and he told me just as I always believed myself, 

 that the river got low as the warm weather came on 

 and the trout would hide under the banks and in deep 

 pools, and only bite when it is getting dark, as all anglers 

 know and often tell in the Forest abd Stream. Then I 

 asked him why they were more shy in summer months 

 than in April, and this is his reply, and I think it is as 

 good a one as old "Nessmuk" could give: Usually the 

 month of March takes the frost out of the ground, some- 

 times the first of the month and others later according to 

 the warmth of the weather or thickness of the frost; and 

 just as soon as the frost leaves the ground and there is a 

 rain, the worms come up out of the earth and are washed 

 into the rivet by the hard rain, and the trout are out 



from their hiding places just as soon as the worm is, and 

 they begin to eat and grow fat, and they watch for a 

 storm to come up just as much as we used to watch for 

 the dinner horn when we were boys on the old farm, for 

 we expected to get a good dinner; and so do the trout 

 when the storm comes. The month of April brings 

 its April showers. Every angler remembers some 

 time when he has been out fishing and there was 

 a heavy shower, when he would go to the nearest 

 place for shelter, and was sorry that it had rained, 

 for it would spoil their day's sport, as they thought; 

 but was surprised to find the trout more lively than when 

 he bad left off. So you see that a trout knows when the 

 storm comes just as well as you do, and when the warm 

 weather comes on, the worms go down in the earth and 

 it takes a very heavy storm to bring them up; so the trout 

 don't get as much food in three months of warm weather 

 as they do in March or April. As the warm weather 

 comes on and the streams get low they see people fishing 

 on the banks and become more shy and hide under the 

 banks and in deep pools until evening comes and brings 

 the millers and bugs and other insects that chance to 

 fall in the water. 



I never saw a poor fish caught in April, even on the 

 first day; and my family say that the fish are better than 

 in July, and I believe it, for they get more to feed on in 

 the spring. For pleasure and good of your health one 

 day in the month of April is far ahead of any in warm 

 weather, when you will nearly roast wearing rubber 

 boots and the wood flies and mosquitoes bite the life out 

 of you, and you will come home with three trout per- 

 haps and say there are no more in the river worth catch- 

 ing. But you go on the next spring and come home with 

 as fine a mess as you ever caught. In April I like to be 

 in the woods and hills and see all nature springing to life; 

 the trees are just budding, and the grass on the south side 

 of the hill is nice and green ; and as you look up in the 

 tree you see the gray squirrel and the crow building a 

 nest : and so you go home with a full basket of trout and 

 a light heart and thank God for the beautiful month of 

 April. 



I went out again on the first of April, 91, on Mianus 

 River, but did not have my usual good luck, for there 

 was a path on the side of the river that told the story ; 

 they had been caught the last of March against the law. 

 If people will go fishing in March, how are they to be 

 stopped from going in April if the law is changed to the 

 May? It will be impossible; and I can't say that I would 

 blaine them either, for the people like to go out in the 

 spring of the year for a walk in the woods and hiUs; and 

 if they should happen to see a nice large trout in a pool 

 and the law was on him the temptation would be too 

 great to resist; and if they did not have a hook and line 

 in their pocket they would go home and get one and re- 

 turn and cut a pole and take the trout, with all others 

 they could get where people would not see them; while 

 if the law-abiding citizen should wait all the month of 

 April before he wet his line, when he went on the first 

 of May he would have no trouble in getting along on the 

 banks of the river, for there would be a good beaten path 

 for him to walk. 



In many streams there are suckers, which run up and 

 out of the pond in the spring of the year, and they are 

 caught with a worm the same as a trout; and I know 

 many who fish for them and for trout in the same pool. 

 I was told of a man last year who broke his rod on a 

 large sucker, which bit like a trout, and he thought he 

 had one until he got the 31bs. sucker on the bank. So 

 any one who had a mind to go to the brook would say 

 that be was going after suckers, but would catch trout, 

 put them in his pocket and go home and thank the 

 unwise law makers tha,t passed the law in his favor. 



If we want a month taken off of the open season, why 

 I will tell my idea of the month to take. But first let 

 me give some experiences. In 1891, the last day of June, 

 in Connecticut', I went out to get a few trout for supper. 

 I caught six and noticed that three of them had larger 

 bellies than the others, and that is what a good many 

 people mistake for fat. Tbey were full of eggs. I never 

 caught a mess of trout in my life in July without find- 

 ing plenty of them full of eggs. B. 



Nobwalk, Conn. 



TARPON "ON THE FLY." 



ALL fish stories are more or less open to criticism. 

 This one must be the exception to the rule. It is a 

 fish story, but it is cold fact from start to finish. It is 

 not written to boom any place or anybody, but is simply 

 an attempt to give a plain statement of things as they 

 happened and perhaps place credit where credit belongs. 



On Tuesday of last week, while the Ladies' Boat and 

 Canoe Club were holding a special session in the Lavis 

 boat house, their deliberations were suddenly interrupted 

 by frantic cries of "Help! Help! Somebody! Everybody! 

 Help!" Of course all business was at once suspended, and 

 everyone rushed to see what could be the matter. 



While the ladies were trying to locate the disturbance 

 the cries increased and the excitement in proportion. 

 Some of the ladies were on the point of fainting, but among 

 the throng were some of more nerve than others, who 

 rushed around to the other side of the boat house, where 

 the whole drama came into view. One of the hotel 

 guests, Mr, Wm. Gladding, was dancing up and down on 

 the wharf, yelling at the top of his voice, and tugging 

 away at a large fishing line which he had found made 

 fast to the wharf by one end while at the other was a big 

 fish, cutting and sheering, now working up toward the 

 wharf in short tacks until the line slacked, then making 

 frantic leaps clear of the water in his efforts to escape, 

 which he very clearly would have done if there had not 

 just at this time appeared an ally. The man on the 

 wharf was nearly exhaused; the ladies were too demoral- 

 ized to render any assistance, while the fish appeared to 

 gather strength with every rush. The excitement among 

 the ladies increases, and little squeals of terror are inter- 

 spersed with, "Will he set him? — help him, do — oh my 

 gracious me," and the like. But as everything seemed 

 lost the tiny canoe Elizabeth is seen making for the seat 

 of war. The breeze is fresh and the little craft close- 

 hauled, her skipper. Mr. Hagner, with his hundred and 

 fifty pounds to windward, is trying to hold her down, 

 while with a bone in her teeth she flies across the bay to 

 the succor of the hard pressed Gladding. As the canoe 

 neared the wharf the tarpon (for so it proved to be) made 

 his last terrible rush directly under the canoe and clear 

 from the water. Mr.Hagner's eagle eye sees the chance: one 

 sweep of his good right arm and the silver king is fairlv 



