318 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April 14, 1894. 



light and deep slanting shadows of the fading afternoon; 

 no angler eager for nature at her best could ask for more: 

 "And here, where the eddies so pearly white 



Sink away into gloom or wheel into light, 



Where the trunk of decaying pine tree doth throw 



Its leaning bridge o'er the current flow, 



The patient angler, with rod and line, 



May cast his flies and his tackle so fine; 



And soon his basket a treasure will hold 



Of azure fishes o'erspangled with gold." 



Rested and content, I take up the tramp for Ned and the 

 Graft, crossing and recrossing the river a dozen times or 

 more on the trip before I stumble on my comrade fast 

 asleep in the boat, with the balmy air moving his gray 

 locks and the sun browning his rugged and expressive 

 face. He said he had grown weary of fishing as well as 

 disgusted with the size of his victims, and concluded to 

 enter the Land of Nod. Peter, who had remained, went 

 into the woods while Ned was napping and gathered a 

 large supply of balsam boughs for our tents. This is a 

 luxury that princes may envy, for its inhalation is as 

 healthful as the most coveted balm, and possesses the 

 magnificent virtues of lulling to the most restful slumber. 

 We would sooner have missed our meals than not to have 

 had our tent redolent with it. Balsam was the first and 

 the last thing thought of in camp, and we had it in gen- 

 erous quantities, fairly reveling in it; and so fragrant were 

 we with it that we began to feel as if we were closely 

 allied to the odoriferous tree. 



It was but half a mile to camp, which we reached in 

 the glow of a luminous sunset that filled the western sky 

 with a golden curtain of alternating bands of the most 

 lovely hues— purple, violet, gold and amber. 



"Falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, 

 And the low sun had lengthen'd every shade." 



We found on reaching our quarters the Hlliputians of 

 the insect world, with their tiny spears sharpened and 

 their little knives whetted, ready for the gore of human. 

 Like all their pestiferous tribe, they stood not on ceremony 

 in their greetings, but fell upon us in such clouds and 

 with such ferocity that we were bleeding at many a pore 

 before we could find the misplaced repellent. Once in 

 our possession, we routed them with the subtle mixture 

 as if it carried death in its very fumes. 



These malignant hummers boing disposed of for the 

 present, I at once disrobed myself of my damp clothes, 

 and after a vigorous rubbing with a crash towel was soon 

 enrobed in dry garments that were then a positive luxury. 

 Now, if I could only escape from the penalty for my 

 rashneps in wading, all would be well, but as one of my 

 knees was already aching I was satisfied I was in for a 

 case of rheumatics or something akin thereto. The 

 adolescent angler who has everything to his advantage, 

 may wade without so much danger of ailment, but when 

 it comes to an old man attempting it who has nearly 

 three score and ten to his account, it savors somewhat of 

 idiocy. 



That evening after supper a couple of Indians from 

 Michipicoten, who were in camp with their families on 

 the opposite side of the l'iver, made us a visit, and hear- 

 ing of our failure to find the big pool, offered to pilot us 

 to the place for $1.50. Our boys were averse to our 

 engaging them, stating at the same time that they were 

 positive of finding it on a second attempt. They were 

 fearful of falling in our estimation if we engaged a guide, 

 but as we did not wish to have a repetition of the morn- 

 ing '3 wanderings, concluded to take one of them and 

 make an early start at dawn for the distant pool. The 

 bargain being concluded they took their canoe and 

 crossed the stream to their quarters, decidedly pleased 

 with the prospect of so easily earning a little money with 

 a lunch and supper in addition thereto. 



I was so worn out that evening with my piscatorial 

 pursuit of the afternoon, that I sought an early couch 

 and was soon lulled to slumber by the sweet song of the 

 sea and the gentle rustle of the forest. 



Alex. Starbuck. 

 [to be continued.] 



THE TORCH-FISH. 



One of the most noteworthy and striking facts of 

 animal life is its adaptation to the conditions of its en- 

 vironment. Study any animals or groups of animals, and 

 it will be seen that its leading physical characteristics are 

 in exact adaptation to its habits and conditions. A very 

 interesting illustration is afforded by the torch-fish (Lino- 

 phryne lucifer), a cut of which, taken from Sehorer's 

 Familienblatt, Berlin, is given herewith. The torch-fish 



is a deep-sea fish carrying on his nose an organ which he 

 can illuminate with a phosphorescent light or extinguish 

 at pleasure. L. lucifer does not use his lantern to guide 

 him on his pathless course in the dark depths of ocean, or 

 to enable him to look around him; but, when meal-time 

 comes, he lights up to attract small fishes, which, mis- 

 taking the lantern for a phosphorescent insect,dart straight 

 for it, only to find their way into the capacious jaws of 

 L. lucifer. The mode in which the lantern is lighted and 

 extinguished is not yet clearly understood. The illustra- 

 tion appeared originally in Haacke's "Schopfung der 

 Thierwelt." — Literary Digest, New York. 



The Forest AND Stream is put to press each week on Tues 

 day. Correspondence intended for publication should reach 

 us at the latest by Monday, and as much earlier as practicable 



ANGLING NOTES. 



Fraser River Salmon Pen. 



The most comprehensive picture that I have seen of the 

 artificial spawning of salmon — and at best there are 

 precious few of these of any sort— is one that was sent to 

 me from Vancouver, B. C. , of the Fraser Kiver salmon 

 pen belonging to the Dominion Fish Commission, and 

 reproduced in this issue of Forest and Stream. 



The Fraser River hatchery is on Harrison River, a 

 tributary of the lower Fraser, and the salmon pen shown 

 in the picture is on Morrison Creek. At the time the 

 photograph was taken the hatchery was in charge of the 

 late Mr. Thomas Mowat, a son of the veteran salmon 

 fisherman, John Mowat, of New Brunswick. In the 

 picture Mr. Thomas Mowat is the second figure from the 

 left, holding a female salmon over a pan, on a box. In 

 the foreground is the pen, filled with salmon, where they 

 are retained until ripe, and from which they are dipped 

 to be artificially spawned. After the fish are handled by 

 the spawners they are put into the raceway at the ex- 

 treme right and rear, from which they find their way 

 back to the river. The operation of spawning is clearly 

 shown. With one hand gloved in a worsted glove the 

 fish is firmly held by the tail over a pan, and the other 

 hand is pressed along the belly of the fish, forcing the 

 ova into the pan. The man standing between the two 

 spawn-takers holds a male salmon by the tail ready to be 

 passed to the spawn takers that the milt may be taken in 

 the same manner that the eggs are taken, and in the same 

 pan, and thus the eggs are impregnated. The male 

 salmon is indicated by the hooked jaws. A reading glass 

 will aid one to see how solidly they are packed in the pen. 

 As a whole the photograph is remarkably clear, and 

 Forest and Stream has made a reproduction fully as 

 clear and well worth preserving by those interested in the 

 process of artificial breeding. 



Feeding Bait Fish. 



A correspondent in Meriden, Conn., writes: "What is 

 the best food for bait fish (shiners)? They are kept in a 

 tank that has water running through it all the time." As 

 boy and man I have dealt extensively in bait fish, and as 

 a rule fed the fish nothing at all, because the "bait box" 

 was generally placed in a small stream, so the water ran 

 through it and the fish got enough out of the water to 

 keep them in condition until they were used, this being 

 soon after they were put into the bait box. Such feeding 

 as I have done has been with corn bread crumbs in winter 

 and earth worms in summer. On one occasion I fed a lot 

 of bait with chopped raw liver that had been pressed 

 through a wire sieve and then mixed with water until it 

 was of the consistency of syrup. This treatment fouled 

 the water more than bread crumbs or earth worms, and 

 the bait box required frequent clean ng, which it must 

 have, no matter what the artificial food may be that is 

 introduced into the box. 



Overcrowding a bait box with shiners and the conse- 

 quent developement of fungus is more fatal than starva- 

 tion from lack of food. That water contains minute 

 organisms to sustain life in a given number of bait fish 

 confined in a given space is illustrated by an experience 

 of my own. In April I bought a lot of suckers as bait 

 for lake trout trolling. I was obliged to buy more than 

 I wanted in order to get any. Those that I did not use at 

 the time were put into a spring in the cellar of the man 

 from whom I bought them. I forgot all about them 

 until late in the fall when I wanted bait fish, and then 

 for the first time I saw the spring. It was about as 

 large as a bushel basket and the fish were all alive, but 

 very thin, and it was cruel to have left such a number of 

 fish in such small quarters without feeding. 



To furnish an ideal bait box or tank for keeping such 

 fish, my idea would be to construct it large enough to in- 

 troduce some of the water mosses from Caledonia Creek, 

 N. Y. There are four mosses found in this famous trout 

 spring in which natural food breeds abundantly. They 

 are the moisture-loving, river-bank, fern-branched and 

 ruscus-like mosses. See the advertisement of Mr. James 

 Annin, Jr., in Forest and Stream and write to him, and 

 I have no doubt he will furnish the water mosses and a 

 water cress too, if desired, and with the mosses will come 

 a supply of natural food that will reproduce itself to feed 

 shiners or trout. 



Westwood's Angling- Books. 



How many anglers in New York city know that the 

 rare library of angling books collected by Thomas West- 

 wood, author of "The Chronicle of the Compleat Angler," 

 "Bibliotheca Piscatoria," etc., etc., is to be found in the 

 Lenox Library? I did not know it until long after Mr. 

 Westwood's death, although on more than one occasion 

 he mentioned in his letters that his books had come to 

 New York. Once he said to me: "If I go on I shall be 

 setting up an angling library again, I, that renounced 

 the luxury years ago and scattered my thousand volumes 

 over the world. New York got the best of them. I think 

 New York gets the best of most rare and curious things 

 nowadays. I have never ceased to regret having parted 

 with my collection." 



Yet I never happened to ask him where in New York 

 the collection went to. He had every edition of Walton 

 up to the time he parted with his books. 



Surface Fishing for Lake Trout. 

 As indicated in a note in this column last week, Lake 

 George, N. Y., is now entirely free from ice. From the 

 Narrows, at Bolton, to the Canoe Islands the lake was 

 clear as early as March 19. On March 31a steam yacht 

 came from Ticonderoga to the Sagamore Hotel at Bolton, 

 but not until the afternoon of April 1 did the last of the 

 ice between Caldwell and Diamond Island disappear. 

 Even with April 1 as the date it beats the record. Pre- 

 vious to this year the earliest that the ice has entirely left 

 the lake within the memory of any one now living was in 

 1873, when it went out on April 4. Already local fisher- 

 men and local newspapers are predicting that there will 

 be no surface fishing this year, as the trout will have 

 come to the top and returned before the season legally 

 opens, on May 1. Should this prove true, it will be a 

 great disappointment to many anglers, for of late years 

 fishermen from all parts of the country have visited Lake 

 George on or about May 1 to troll on the surface for lake 

 trout, and the success has been such as to extend the fame 

 of the lake as a fishing resort. The first week in April 

 trout were seen in large schools at the surface of the 

 water near the Sagamore Hotel dock, and on the east side 



of Green Island. This is where the fish gathered for 

 some reason last year as they never were known to do 

 before, and where tons of them were caught, as I related 

 last season. 



I have had several letters of inquiry about the prospects 

 for fishing after May 1, and presume I shall have more. 

 I can only guess at it, and may not be a good guesser, 

 but it may prove of comfort to some of my correspond- 

 ents if I give some facts from my journal instead of 

 guesses as to what may be. In 1878, the year the ice 

 went out on April 4, 1 reached the lake on May 2, going 

 direct to Bolton. On the 3d I trolled at the bottom, as I 

 believed that the trout had been at the surface and re- 

 turned to the bottom. Alec Taylor was my boatman on 

 that day (and he is considered the best professional fisher- 

 man at the lake), while his father, who was my regular 

 boatman, went for bait. The next day six boats started 

 for Hague, and most all the trout were caught at the 

 surface. It was the same on the 5th, 6th and 7th. The 

 night we reached the hotel at Hague, our six boats dis- 

 played such a catch of trout as may not have been seen 

 there since. Coming out of Hague I caught three trout 

 one after another, at the surface, that weighed 51bs. each. 

 Our total catch was not as large as might be made now 

 that the trout are more plentiful and run larger, but it 

 was the banner year of that period before the lake was 

 restocked with trout by the State. A. N. Cheney. 



FROM WORM TO FEATHERS. 



Asbtjry Park, N. J.— Editor Forest and Stream: After 

 three weeks of continual disappointments, we three busy 

 men, Counsellor John E. Lanning, Dr. H, S. Kinmouth 

 and myself, set out Friday, 23d ult., for a trial at the 

 trout, which were reported to be very plentiful in the 

 streams tributary to the South Shrewsbury. We were 

 accompanied by Caasar Riley, the Doctor's man of all 

 work (who, by the way, in spite of the fact that his name 

 is suggestive of Celtic origin, is as black as the proverbial 

 ace of spades; and Lanning savs he can prove that Caesar 

 is the only negro ever born in Ireland). 



After a disagreeable ride of 12 miles in the face of a 

 drizzling rain we arrived at what the Doctor was pleased 

 to term the right spot. Calling out the aged colored man 

 who lives near by the stream, we managed to secure com- 

 fortable quarters for our team; and having adjusted our 

 suits were ready for business. "Now, you fellows," ex- 

 claimed the Doctor, "just watch me pick out a fine fish, 

 right down here in this little, pool. I took three from 

 there one day" last spring in less than as many minutes; 

 and it wasn't a very good day for trout fishing, either." 



With bated breath we stood still and watched his 

 stealthy approach to the bank and admired his faultless 

 cast, but, alas, no reward attended his efforts. After a 

 kindly remark from the Counsellor that anybody could do 

 as well as that, we proceeded down stream about 100yds. 

 below our starting point, and while I was passing around 

 a cluster of alders I was startled by a wild whoop-ee from 

 the Counsellor, and ran out in time to see his right leg re- 

 tire from active service down a convenient muskrat hole, 

 and his left assuming gyrations a la Midway Plaisance. 

 In his hurry to have the thing over he had carelessly 

 tossed his hat into the top of a bunch of alders, leaving 

 his head (which is entirely devoid of its crowning glory) 

 bobbing around like an animated billiard ball, the black, 

 adhesive mud returning his unexpected call in the form 

 of a patch about the size of a full-blown pancake square in 

 the face. Borrowing a rail from an adjacent fence, we 

 pried him out and laid him tenderly on the grass. While 

 I was removing the mud from his face, making my 

 leather cap perform the double service of washbasin and 

 towel, I heard the Doctor, who was carefully examining 

 the wreck, murmur something about "Compound frac- 

 tures of the Third Commandment." However, we were 

 soon moving on down stream, the Doctor almost immedi- 

 ately taking two fine fish from a small pool, while I 

 caught three from near the foot of a small run emptying 

 into the stream. 



Being desirous of saving all fish taken for stocking pur- 

 poses we pressed into service two barrels found in the 

 meadow, which were water-tight. In all we got twenty- 

 seven fine fish and transported them in safety to a brook 

 which we had prepared in advance for their reception; 

 and we will see to it that they are well protected. 



A heavy rain now setting in, we were compelled to re- 

 turn to the house where we had left our rig and lunch. 

 The Doctor soon began negotiating with the old darky for 

 some articles suitable to move our fish in, and was thus 

 employed, when he was surprised to feel a heavy tug on 

 his rod, which he was holding behind him. A glance 

 was sufficient to reveal all. An inquisitive old hen spying 

 the worm dangling at the end of his rod, had swallowed 

 it, hook and all, at a gulp. It is hard to determine which 

 of the two were most surprised when the situation became 

 apparent, the Doctor or the hen. Starting off with a 

 rush to join her fellows in the barnyard, she was soon 

 brought to a full stop by a dextrous motion of the Doc- 

 tor's rod, known only to expert anglers. And now the 

 fun began in earnest. The more she realized her position 

 the more determined she became to get away. Around 

 and around the wood pile went the old hen, her gait 

 broken now and then by a wild flop of the wings, in- 

 stantly followed by a gleeful somersault as the line would 

 tighten, the Doctor maintaining his position as a good 

 second in the race and continually receiving encourage- 

 ment from the rest of the party. "It do beat terrifyin' 

 snakes, an' she was my best layin' hen," exclaimed the 

 old darky mournfully. ' 'See here," at last broke in the Doc- 

 tor, ' 'this thing has got to stop some time. Catch her, some 

 of you roaring idiots, will you!" And as we surrounded 

 and secured her we all agreed that decapitation was ne- 

 cessary, as the hook could not be secured. So toward the 

 chopping block we started, one carrying the hen, another 

 the axe, the Doctor holding on to his rod and the darky 

 bringing up the rear. 



Yesterday when I asked the Counsellor confidentially 

 if he didn't drive the hen up to the hook purposely he got 

 mad. Leonard Hulit. 



Warren County Association. 



Warren, Pa.— Thanks to the praiseworthy efforts of 

 the Warren County Fish and Game Protective Association 

 illegal fishing has been greatly lessened. Several arrests 

 have been made and heavy fines imposed on persons 

 caught spearing fish through the ice. Many spearing 

 tents were also seized. Some time ago German carp were 



