96 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 4, 1893. 



LAKE BUELL; 



How blitliely miglit the hugle horn 

 Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn! 

 How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 

 Chime, when the groves are etill and mnte: 

 And, when the midnight moon ghould lave 

 Her forehead in the silver wave. 

 How solemn on the ear would come 

 The holy matin's distant hum. 

 ******* 

 And bugle, lute and bell, and all 

 Should Bsoh bewildered sti anger call 

 To friendly feast and lighted ball. 



—ScoWn "Lady nf the Lalte." 

 Nestled among the wooded heights of Berkshire, Mass., 

 like a beautiful diamond in a areen casket lies the lovely 

 sheet of water called Lake Buell, three miles long and 

 one-half mile in width. 



Our good old uncle had welcomed us in his heartiest 

 manner to Fern Cottage, on the western shore of the lake, 

 and though great sport had been promised, and though 

 we had skittered with minnows, fished with worms, 

 grasshoppers and crickets, thrown flies of every hue and 

 varied combination, trolled with rubber frogs and fishes, 

 yet, so far, but a few small black bass and perch had 

 rewarded us for our eiforts. Something must be done on 

 this the 22d day of July, as we must return to our busi- 

 ness the day following, and when the day dawned so 

 gloriously, with a light breeze raising a catspaw on 

 the surface of the waters, a trolling programme was 

 at once laid out and agreed upon. Our enterprising 

 and lively little Cousin Carrie had unearthed from some 

 nook a perforated live-bait ,'pail left by some fisherman, 

 and from its depths extracted a troll line and spoon ap- 

 parently in good order, and the rubber frog and fish were 

 laid aside at once and declared "no good" forthwith. 



What a morning it was— at first a mere glimmer of 

 the sun was faintly discernible through a thick mist 

 that covered the eastern shore and blended with the 

 waters of the lake shutting out the wooded heights be- 

 yond. As the mist dissolved, the rays glared with fierce 

 intensity and the waters glowed as a liery furnace of 

 molten metal. Troll lines and spoons were looked to and 

 tested, boats slipped their moorings, anchors were hoisted, 

 and amid the rattling of chains, oars and oarlocks, "good 

 lucks" and farewells of our aunt, cousin and lady friends, 

 we were off for a mile away, where black bass of large 

 dimensions waited to be caught by lucky fishermen: 

 Cbapin rowed my boat, what a fisherman he was and 

 how he wanted to hold the troll line himgelf, I knew only 

 too well, but he is one of those magnanimous men who 

 wants the other fellow to have a good time too, and so, 

 though seventy-one years old, he insisted on doing the 

 rowing while I handled the line and spoon. Out by the 

 borders of the eel grass and pickerel vveed we went, and 

 he knew the course to take full well and he kept it too, 

 with deep green waters on the one hand, clean and free 

 from obstructions; and the lily pads and eel erass (under 

 which lay bass and pickerel) on the other. Up and down 

 we trolled, once, twice, three times, not a rise. Was I 

 at fault? could a more experienced fisherman handle the 

 troll in a more alluring and fascinating mannei ? I thought 

 there might be something in it and taking my seat in the 

 bow we allowed the boy to row awhile, and Chapin took 

 his place in the stern with the troll. I had risen too 

 early, the sun was pouring its beams with unstinted 

 severity upon my head and I lay on the bow seat with my 

 feet crossed lazily on the boat side, the motion was de- 

 lightful and closing my eyes I listened with calm content 

 to the ripple of the waters about the keel as it pushed its 

 way through. I fancy that I lost myself for a moment: 

 the waters sang me a lullaby and soothed me with their 

 siren voices. I heard Chapin say in a far away tone 

 "I've got him," but in the moment it took me to collect 

 my scattered senses the best of the sight was over. I 

 saw the troll line deftly brought in hand over hand, a 

 wake of foam out for 50ft., and the stalwart form of the 

 troller erect and vibrating with fiery excitement, but the 

 magnificent jumps of the hooked fish I had lost; on it 

 came, and with a deft toss was landed in safety, and a 

 21b. bass splashed the water in the boat with the vim and 

 velocity of a lawn sprinkler. With all our wooing no 

 more would rise that forenoon, and as the wind died 

 away about 10 o'clock, still- fishing was resorted to and a 

 few good sized perch rewarded our efforts. 



At noon our fair-haired cousin blew the dinner horn, 

 its brazen notes roused the echoes of the sleeping hills 

 and back it came, once, twice and thrice; we paused to 

 listen and again the notes came from the fair musician's 

 horn, and soft and softer came the echo back and forth 

 across the lake. A row home to a good dinner and then 

 we were ready for another troll. A strong breeze had now 

 sprung vtjj and light caps sat upon the waves which 

 promised us sport, and seemed daring us to test their 

 strength in another row, so not to be dared out we went 

 again, Chapin at the oars, the undersigned at the troll. 

 Up once and down part way — ah, a strike! — and a tingle 

 through my hand and arm, every drop of blood flows 

 madly through every vein. Way out in the waste of 

 waters — at least 400ft. — a dark form shoots wildly in the 

 air. "Keep him taut," you've got him," shouts my com- 

 panion, and I wonder if it is possible that that fish way 

 out there is mine, and pull madly on the line, the bass 

 disputing and contesting every inch of the way. On he 

 comes, fighting as I pull in, and now he darts this side 

 and the other, and my best endeavor is not to let him get 

 the advantage he is striving for. Suddenly I feel a slack- 

 ening of the line, a sickening feeling comes over me; a 

 complete let down. Have I lost him? No, he has made 

 a rush for the boat, and when within 50ft. out he goes 

 again 4ft. into the air, his sides gleaming like dusky, 

 burnished bronze in the bright sunlight. Where am 1? 

 For a time I certainly lose sight of myself and all sub- 

 lunary things except that fish. I call loudly for Chapin 

 to help me at the finale. We have no landing net and I 

 feel unequal to the emergency, but the end is near at 

 hand. On comes the fish in a wake of foam, and we brace 

 ourselves for the grand effort, and now he is close to the 

 boat and I see his coppery, tawny sides gleaming in the 

 green waters. I know he will do something entirely un- 

 expfoted at the last moment; will he rush tmder the boat 

 or jump? It's a jump, I feel the slackening; before my 

 blurred vision springs a graceful form in a shower of 

 watery diamonds, and just in the nick of time Chapin 

 grabs the line and with a dexterous twist and flirt lands 

 the fish safely in the boat. 



"Over two pounds," says my friend. "Yes, and he 

 pulled like a four-pounder. I am well paid now for all 

 the waiting. Now my blood is up." "More and better 

 ones where he comes from," says C, and we try it again. 

 A few times more we run up and down without success, 

 except for two good perch, and then we change to the 

 west side of the lake. A sudden rush and strike and I 

 have another fast. Hand over baud I haul him in ; no 

 breaks along the line, not a ripple on the surface except 

 such as the line makes as it curves through the waters. 

 "Seaweed," says C, "Eel grass," say I, and pull in with 

 a mighty strain, as one would tug a refractory cow to the 

 butcher. "Mighty heavy eel grass" I think, but not a 

 quiver on the line, only a steady strain, but when within 

 ten feet of the boat I see a glimmer too large for that of 

 the spoon, and down to the bottom of the lake sullenly 

 plunges a large pickerel, and now all is excitement; we 

 didn't expect this, and up he comes to the surface. Now 

 the fight begins in earnest; the water is foaming as 

 though on a boil; I can hardly discern the fish though a 

 glimmer as of a rapidly-revolving wheel of green dazps 

 and bewilders me; I give him a flirt as he helps himself 

 to a rise. Up he cornea almost in the boat. I hold him 

 in air a moment; a four-pounder at least. Down he 

 comes. I do not give him line enough, his full weight 

 bears on the slim hook, it breaks and the parting wa- 

 ters close over my prey. I gaze wildly in the direction 

 he has gone. 



But we must catch fish while we can, and up we go 

 again, and the spoon is soon playing merrily in the lake 

 waters, Ah! another strike and l have him hooked. Out 

 of the water he goes high in air, "another bass and a 

 bigger than the first." What a monster! He pulls until 

 the line gets fairly hot in my hands and I am getting 

 tired of pulling him in. You caa trace him by the jumps 

 and rushes he makes, and he keeps the water churning. 

 Chapin is ready to help me, and 1 pull steadily and keep 

 a tight line on the bass. Suddenly on he comes with a 

 rush and the line is slackening rapidly. "Look out or he 

 will rush the other way, or sulk suddenly and tear out," 

 "Yes, I know it, but what can I do better than I am 

 doing?" And now he comes straight toward the boat 

 and rushes madly along until within fifteen feet, and 

 then he turns and rushes fiercely for the center of the 

 lake. Over my head goes the line, and I play it out un- 

 til he stops and I feel it slacken; then I pull him in again. 

 What rushes and thrills and throbs and pulsations! Up 

 he comes. I lift him. We see him plainly, bis broad 

 back fin flared and pointed. Chapin cries, "He'll weigh 

 4 to Slbs. sure." Again a broken hook, and the fish drops 

 so closely to the boat as to graze its side. Lost, lost! 

 Softly upon the breeze floats the melancholy plaint of two 

 despairing and saddened mortals. 



With chastened countenance and hope born of misfor- 

 tune we prepare for battle again and mend our troll with 

 new hooks, but "the day is far spent and night's coming 

 on," and though we try our luck again nothing rewards 

 our^toil;and talking and sighing over the fish we have 

 lost we row dejectedly to the cottage just as the sun is 

 sinking over the blue hill in clouds of amber and red 

 gold. 'Up through the narrows the waters reflect with 

 vividness the high lights of a glorious departing day. 



A church bell slowly tolls at Hartsville, its notes mel- 

 lowed by distance chime in with the scene and fall on 

 our ears as a benediction, soothing and quieting our ruf- 

 fled spirits. Insensibly I close my eyes and the images of 

 the "Angelus" shape themselves to my inward vision. I 

 am worshipping at the shrine of which this sweet toned 

 bell is a reminder, and I trust I am better for the in- 

 spection. 



A hot fish supper with tea, and a sing on the broad 

 piazza in the gathering twilight close the day's sport. 



A rumble of thunder with vivid flashes of lightning 

 announce a coming storm and we sing until the rain 

 pelts sharply on the piazza roof. Up from the cottage a 

 quarter of a mile below comes a round of applause as a 

 compliment to our singing, and with a good-night song 

 to the appreciative cottagers we retire to sleep the sleep 

 of the just and happy, and Lake Buell out in the storm 

 receives the raindrops on its breast and reflects the vivid 

 lightning from its darkened sullen surface, and the hills 

 around echo and re-echo the booming thunder. 



ALBERT Lewis. 



NEW ENGLAND ANGLERS. 



The summer catches of trout that have followed the 

 remarkably high water of the month of June and early in 

 July are a surprise to all the fishermen who have been so 

 fortunate as to have had the opportunity to try for them. 

 Mr. Charles E. Sanborn, of the noted tea and coffee firm 

 of Chase, Sanborn & Co., has been passing a few weeks 

 at the celebrated stock farm and country residence of Mr. 

 James Sanborn, of the same firm, near Poland Springs, 

 Me. Mr. Henry Savage, the Boston agent of the New 

 York coffee firm of Hard & Rand, has been with the San- 

 borns for a short vacation. Mr. Charles F. Nason, well 

 known as a riflemaker at Lswiston, Me., for a number of 

 years, but now foreman for Chas. Sanborn & Co., also took 

 his vacation at the same time. It has long been under- 

 stood in the vicinity of Lewiston that if anybody could 

 get flsh and game it was Charlie Nason. j The above-men- 

 tioned gentlemen made several trouting trips to the 

 streams with fair success, but it remained for Mr. Chas. 

 Sanborn and Mr. Chas. Nason to cap the climax and sur- 

 prise the country boys. They made an excursion to a 

 stream that flows into Cobbosseecontee Lake. Here 

 they expected some big trout. They had heard 

 that some of the Lewiston market fishermen had 

 been getting some remarkably fine trout somewhere. 

 Indeed some of then- catches had been displayed 

 in the shop windows of that city. The stream 

 was very high. The banks were also ornamented with a 

 beaten path, made by the numbers of fishermen who had 

 been there before them. They came to one of the best 

 pools, as Mr, Nason well knew. They did not try the 

 trout till after sundown. Then they carefully threw in 

 well-baited hooks. They had previously tried flies with- 

 out success. Almost the instant the bait struck the 

 water there was a great swirl and a S^lb. trout was 

 brought to the net. Still the fun continued, till they had 

 taken 15 trout. Mr. Nason himself was much surprised. 

 Eight of the string weighed SOlbs. Two of the truly 

 splendid specimens of perfect Salmo fontinalis have 

 been the town's talk ever since, though the sportsmen 

 have not yet explained to the Poland Springs visitors I 

 where the string was obtained. One of these two weighed I 



41bs. 8oz., and the other 41b8. lOoz. There were a number 

 of trout that were over 31bs., and no small ones in the 

 string. The big ones were brought to Boston. Mr. 

 Nason says that he has thought over the catch a good 

 deal, He has come to the conclusion that the high water 

 had started the trout upstream and th t they had congre- 

 gated in the pool. He also thinks that the low water of 

 the fall, winter and spring previous had prevented their 

 migration till the June rains had started them. 



The Forest and Stream was entirely correct about 

 the whereabouts of Gov. Russell, of Massachusetts, in its 

 account last week. The fact is the .Grovernor tried to 

 elude the rei>orters and the usual bore's of his office and 

 escape to a haven of actual rest for a few days. He 

 could scarcely have selected a better place than the 

 camps of Joseph Jefferson, the actor, on the Miramichi, 

 in New Brunswick. When he left home it was under- 

 stood by his private secretary that his location should 

 be kept a profound secret till his return. He followed 

 Mr. Jefferson, his son Willie Jefferson and Dr. Swan, of 

 Cambridge. He was too wily to depart with them ; that 

 would have been giving away the whole story. They 

 have had a glorious time: even Mrs. Russell admitted 

 this when called upon by the ubiquitous newspaper re- 

 porter, but as to his present address she really did not 

 positively know. The party made an excursion to a 

 celebrated trout lake in the woods, a tributary, through 

 its outlet, to the Miramichi. They went several miles 

 through the woods, by compass, instead of going the 

 regulay way suggested by the guides, and were lost in 

 the woods, in fact, being nearly the whole of one day in 

 getting straightened out and getting to the fishing ground 

 at the inlet of the lake. There were four in the party to 

 make the excursion; Gov, Russell, Dr. Swan, W^illie Jef- 

 ferson and Mr. Walker. They had six or eight gtiides to 

 do the lugging, construct rafts to fish from and make 

 the camps. The first fishing was done toward nightfall, 

 and they had wonderful sport, till a thunder shower 

 drove them under their partly-constructed lean-to. Tho 

 shower was soon over, when again the sport was excel- 

 lent, lasting till after dark. The Governor hooked and 

 landed doubles, and Dr. Swan landed a 2-pounder. The 

 trout would rise close to the rafts and all about the fish- 

 ermen. The guides were kept busy unhooking the trout 

 and handling the landing nets. The Governor's raft, 

 with Willie Jefferson, had a score of 42, while the other 

 raft made a score of 62. All the small trout were thrown 

 back as soon as unhooked. One of the party thinks that 

 they must have put back at least 150 trout. 



The party remained in camp that night, under the 

 lean-to and before the camp-fires. The next morning they 

 were up very early and expected to renew the sport of 

 the evening previous. Btit alas, for the fickle nature of 

 the trout! Not a single trout would rise, however hard 

 they might try. By 10 o'clock they gave up in disgust, 

 and having all the trout they could posgibly take care of 

 they concluded to break camp and go back to the salmon 

 river. The way back was taken by a detour through the 

 woods by the old route, and then by catioee down the 

 river to camp. No trail by compass was attempted. They 

 had had enough of such traveling. But the Governor, as 

 he usually does, took the lead, even in threading the 

 almost irnpassable swamps of the compass trail of the 

 day before. The Governor is to be back in Boston again 

 this week, and at his position in the State House. From 

 the salmon camp the party have made other excursions, 

 some of them lasting two or three days. They have seen 

 the tracks of caribou and deer, and numerous signs of 

 bears. Who wouldn't be a governor and make such out- 

 ings! W^ho wouldn't be a Joseph Jefferson, get rich 

 through playing RipVan Winkle, and then own a salmon 

 right on the Miramichi? SPj!.cial. 



CHICAGO AND THE WEST.. 



[From o Staff Vorr&apondmiA 



Chicago, III., July 23 — This is the sort of weather that 

 wears whiskers and talks in a deep bass tone of voice. 

 The fish are out in the woods hunting shade. The frogs 

 wear sponges on their heads and carry fans. It is an easy 

 guess that the tepid waters afford but little sport, that the 

 trout are hunting the little creeks, and the bass the deep 

 sleeping holes. Worst of all, there now comes on the 

 drying up of the many overflow ponds left by the unusu- 

 ally high waters of the spring, and the funeral baked 

 meats of the little fishes in the mud. 



It has been, for this section of the country, an excep- 

 tionally good year for the breeding of fish, barring the 

 above inevitable attendant upon high water. The rivers 

 literally swarm with fry of all sorts. Along the Fox 

 River I noticed this especially. Another thing was 

 noticeable as a result of the high water, and that was the 

 distance fish will go out into shallow water, away from 

 the main body, while in search of food. While hunting 

 for frogs along the Fox River meadows I twice stepped 

 on bass which were away out in the grass, where no one 

 would have thought of finding them, and where the 

 water was not ankle deep on my boots. Yet they gave a 

 great flop and always headed right for deep water, though 

 they could not swim direct to it, but had to follow the 

 wetter places of the meadow. It was never clear to my 

 mind whether these bass were after frogs or were out 

 picking strawberries. The ground was not right for 

 spawningibeds. 



Lake Winnebago, where the highly enjoyable and 

 pleasant meeting was held of the Western Canoe Associa- 

 tion, is nearly 10ft. above its usual level. The bay west 

 of the canoe camp is ordinarily nearly cut off by a sand 

 bar, but no trace of this bar was visible last week. The 

 lake is also of an unusually brown stain this year, by 

 reason of the heavy outpour of the northern Fox and its 

 lumbering tributaries, 



Neenah, on the north end of Winnebago, is a lovely 

 place, and in the house kept by Roberts and his son I 

 found one of the few summer resort places of which I 

 could conscientiotisly approve from the standpoint of an 

 angler and loafer aliJie. The grounds here slope right 

 down to the mouth, or rather, the source of the Neenah 

 River. The stream is so bold and wide that you can 

 hardly think of it as running out of, not into, the lake, 

 which rolls just beyond the two promontories a rifle shot 

 from the docks. A boat left without anchor, however, 

 would soon discover the error, for the current sets down 

 very strong, 



the "mooneye" of neenah. 

 It is in the Neenah River, and indeed generally right 

 - ear this head of the river, or along a space less than 



