May 19, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



427 



OUR SUMMER OUTING. 



AotSian, Mich.— We had talked and plauned all winter 

 where we would spend the summer, whether to take a 

 trip away or spend a month or two at one of the many 

 lakes near home, and finally we had decided to go several 

 miles further and take a cottage for the month of August 

 at one of the lakes in Jackson county. 



There were four of us, my husband and myself, our boy 

 Wilfred and his friend and playmate Charlie. With us 

 were our two faithful dogs, Little Budge and old Dick. 

 We had written to ask about the fishing and game, The 

 reply came, "Bushels of fish being caught every day, and 

 plenty of woodcock." That had caused us to make our 

 decision, for we all wanted to fish, while the men wauted 

 to hunt the woodcock after Aug. 15. 



We found our cottage ready for us; it consisted of din- 

 ing room, kitchen and three bedrooms, with a broad stoop 

 running across the front and facing the lake. When I 

 first saw it I called it beautiful, but now I can think of no 

 name more appropriate than Snake Hollow. 



Now, while I have no fear for rats and mice, and being 

 my husband's fishing companion, have witnessed a great 

 many sights that would naturally make one timid. And 

 having been on the lake with him in the worst of rain and 

 wind storms, when we expected every moment our boat 

 would capsize, while others were upset and one drowned, 

 yet snakes are my one great horror, whether they be 

 poisonous or harmless. What was my surprise, on going 

 around the cottage, to see one or two stretched out in the 

 sun. I knew then that my fate was settled, and that I 

 should confine myself mostly to household duties. 



Next morning we were up with the sun, and all started 

 out for a fish. And how we did fish! The lake was long 

 and deep. But if there were any fish there they evidently 

 were not for us, for day after day we fished from sunrise 

 till sunset, with the same success; and as the visions of 

 fish gradually faded, the snakes began to appear. Never 

 in my life had I seen so many. They lay at the back of 

 the cottage, and in front, and under the stoop, and in the 

 paths, and there was no place that we started to go to and 

 did not see one or two crawling out of the way. 



But we had all agreed when we went not to be put out 

 at anything, for we were all usually good-natured, and it 

 helped to make it interesting. 



Our supplies of meat were beginning to get low, for we 

 had caught no fish, when we were all startled by two men 

 landing with two large pickerel, each weighing from 6 to 

 81bs. I need not say that the sight of those fish caused 

 the greatest excitement. Every one ran for their trolling 

 lines and hooks, and in a short time there were from ten 

 to fifteen boats all trolling for pickerel. 



Just as our party were ready to start in our boat the 

 boys came running in with the information that there 

 was a big blacksnake in the boat. With this news, it did 

 not take me long to make up my mind to remain in the 

 cottage and prepare some kind of dessert for dinner. I 

 now think that this was a scheme planned to make me 

 stay at home, as there were four others to go in the boat. 

 One went to row, one to troll, while the other two went 

 to see the large pickerel and bass pulled in. But if it was 

 a scheme it worked well. Nor was I sorry, when just as 

 I had my dinner ready, they tramped back up the hill 

 from the dock, kicking at one or two luckless snakes that 

 happened to be crawling about, and carrying between 

 them a small perch that weighed in the neighborhood of 

 3oz. 



That night, and almost every night while we were there, 

 the proprietors and the "old sports" about the place would 

 gather on our stoop and talk about the large catches made 

 just before we arrived there of 4 and 5-pound bass. These 

 stories would increase our ardor and raise new hopes; and 

 we would try it again. We fished with worms, frogs, flys, 

 minnows and every kind of bait we could suggest to one 

 another; but all with the same success. The lake had 

 just been fished, and not replanted, until there were none 

 left. 



The next morning there was another startling occur- 

 rence. Screams were heard from the dock. This brought 

 the people out from all the cottages to see what it meant. 

 A little boy had been out fishing the night before until 

 dusk, and his hook and line having fallen over and be- 

 come entangled in the weeds and rushes, had been left 

 until morning; when on his going down in the morning 

 he had pulled it up, he found a large bullhead on the 

 hook. "Every one was greatly excited at the sight of a 

 fish. And that night as darkness came on, our cottage 

 being nearest the dock, we could distinctly see dusky fig- 

 ures moving down to the boats and carelessly dropping in 

 poles and lines. But there were no more bullheads caught, 

 and all agreed that that was the only one, and that its 

 being caught was purely accidental. 



It was nearing Aug. 15, and for this date my husband 

 and Mr. G. were waiting patiently to go woodcock hunt- 

 ing. Signs being up in all the woods and grounds around 

 forbidding trespassing, they were in a state of perplexity 

 as to what they would do for grounds. We had been 

 buying our milk and eggs and potatoes of a milkman 

 near by who had splendid grounds for hunting. They de- 

 cided to make the acquaintance of the milkman's son and 

 invite him to go out hunting with them. The next morn- 

 ing when he brought the milk they went out and made 

 his acquaintance, ordering more potatoes and asking him 

 if he did not want to go hunting with them the next day, 

 as they had a dog that worked splendidly on woodcock. 

 The fellow was delighted, and it was all settled .that they 

 should go the next day. 



All that day my husband and his friend spent in rub- 

 bing up their guns and loading extra shells for fear of 

 running out and getting ready for the great day. That 

 evening the milkman's son came over to see if they were 

 all ready and to bring the potatoes, which he said had 

 risen a dollar a bushel. It did not matter if they had 

 risen to five; the men would have paid it gladly, so 

 anxious were they to start for game on the milkman's 

 land. 



The next morning they set out. The milkman's son had 

 resurrected an old army musket from somewhere, that 

 had not been cleaned for years. He would also insist in 

 walking on ahead with the muzzle pointed directly in 

 their faces, so anxious was he to s^e a bird. The first 

 thing they had to do was to caution him and to show him 

 how to cai-ry his gun. This he took all good-naturedly, 

 hollering in his delight at having a chance to use it. "I 

 see one," he shouted, and taking not very good aim he 

 blazed away at the only good cock ever seen in that part 

 of the country. As he fired the gun kicked and he would 



have fallen backward had not Mr. Tucker, who grabbed 

 him by he collar, pulled him on his feet again. Miles 

 and miles they tramped that day without seeing a thing 

 but snakes. Of these there were plenty — black snakes, 

 striped snakes and blue racers. Some of these they shot, 

 some they stamped on. One blue racer, after his head was 

 shot off, 'measured 6ft. Tired and hungry they started 

 back, walking some seven or eight miles to reach the cot- 

 tage, their appetites sharpened by the imaginary odor of 

 .broiled woodcock. 



That night we were to take our last fish. So we all 

 Went out in the old scow used to carry the baggage over 

 to the hotel. Now there was an old man called Uncle 

 Sampson, whom the boys were having a good deal of 

 sport with in a harmless way. He kept a little store just 

 across from our cottage where he sold ginger ale, root 

 beer, peanuts and also worms for bait, When we first 

 went there it was understood that we were not to dig any- 

 where on the grounds for worms; and Uncle Sampson 

 said he sent off and got his worms. So there was nothing 

 else to do but to buy a dime's worth of worms when we 

 wanted them, But the boys had watched him take a 

 shovel and pan and start early every morning for a fresh 

 supply; they had threatened Uncle Sampson that if he 

 did not tell them where the good fishing bods were they 

 would dig their own bait. So that night after we had 

 anchored in deep water, and each one of us in the old 

 scow had thrown out a rod and line, Uncle Sampson came 

 across to open his store after supper, "Say, Uncle 

 Sampson," the boys hoUered, "Tell us where the good 

 fishing is," "All right, I will. Go on. Keep going. 

 That's right. A little farther. There. Now anchor. 

 Throw out your anchor, I teD you. Quick. You're drift- 

 ing. There, you got past the spot." These and sundry 

 other exclamations came from Uncle Sampson, who was 

 drifting himself while we sat perfectly still, almost burst- 

 ing with the laughter we were trying to suppress. 



"Why didn't you anchor where I told you to?" he said 

 that night, when we went in after our usual success. "If 

 you had you would have got something." "Yes, got left," 

 the boys mumbled, saying out loud, "Uncle Sampson, 

 can you remember the time when there were any fish 

 caught here?" 



That night the boys went down to the boats after dark 

 and fastened a large stone to Uncle Sampson's boat, and 

 then waited for him to get in. They kept hold of the 

 rope for a while after he was in pulling him back when he 

 had got nicely started and causing him, I am afraid, to 

 think some pretty bad words. Finally they let go and he 

 started, saying, "My, what hard pulling it is to-night." 

 But after he got across we heard a splash and loud laugh- 

 ing, and the next day Uncle Sampson would not treat the 

 boys to musty peanuts. 



Qur month was nearly up, and there had been no fish, 

 no woodcock, but with plenty of snakes to make camp 

 lite interesting. And had we had a good time? We all 

 agreed that we never had had a better one. We had all 

 had the good rest we went for, and although there had 

 been no fishing nor game, we had seen the comical side 

 of everything, and we all felt well paid for our trouble, 

 voting then to all go again the next summer if we could; 

 and I think that Mr. Tucker, now away off in his Cali- 

 fornia home, Where quail and all game are plenty, would 

 be glad to join us for the sport we all had. Mrs. H. 



ON THE NORTH SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 



(Continued from Page 1,02.) 



We remained in camp until after dinner, which inter- 

 val gave Ned an opportunity to overhaul his tackle with 

 a view to repairs, if needed, and probably the building of 

 a new fly for the especial trout we so dearly longed for. 

 As he went over fly after fly, he finally selected two 

 which he thought very attractive, and these he attached 

 to his leader without delay. I had an idea that he in- 

 tended to go again for the trout in front, as soon as din- 

 ner was over, for nothing had been said about alternate 

 angling at the noon hour. I concluded, however, to take 

 the initial for that work, and if the question should then 

 arise about precedence, to let the toss of a nickle decide 

 it. We each seemed so eager for that particular trout, 

 that the courtesies of the craft were in great danger of 

 infraction. The most self-sacrificing principles generally 

 governed us in all other relations, but for this special trout 

 such earflest rivalry had developed , that there was eminent 

 danger of resorting to tactics not in the angling code. I 

 was not sure but what Ned might covertly drop the trout 

 a bait, and he might have the same suspicion of me. At 

 any rate, I determined to make the first advance on the 

 rock. 



At dinner I noticed that Ned fairly bolted his food, 

 while I was a good second in the race. This satisfied me 

 that there was to be a contest for the rock, so long before 

 my appetite was appeased I abruptly left the table with 

 the remark: 



"I believe I'll try for that trout." 



"That's my lay exactly," said Ned, and suiting action 

 to word, he was alongside of me with his rod, and both 

 trotted under the wire neck and neck, and both our flies 

 fell within a few inches of each other. At tbis juncture 

 we burst into hearty laughter, so truly comical the situa- 

 tion. 



"Ah, Ned, you cunning old fox; I divined your crafty 

 intentions." 



"Well, I guess I was on to your sly raid." 



"It's an even bout," I concluded, and then my fly 

 dropped for the second time and no sooner had it rippled 

 the surface than a gleam like a starlight shaft shot through 

 the water, instantaneously followed by a terrible splash 

 around my lure. I struck and missed, and as I lifted my 

 fly — having on but a single one — Ned sent his into the 

 exact spot where the monster had appeared, but without 

 responsive result. Once more my lure drops, and this 

 time another savage disturbance of the water takes place, 

 followed with the quick and gentle twitch, and then I had 

 an impaled monster cleaving the water like a rocket, 

 direct for the islands opposite. 



"You've got him this time," cried Ned, and being no 

 longer a rival stopped his casting and gave me a fair field, 

 and sincerely hoped that I would kill the gallant trout 

 that he would have given a crown to have caught. He 

 was his whole-souled self again, an angler true, now that 

 the little farce had every appearance of being concluded 

 in my favor. 



After I had arrested the first dash of my lovely victim 

 he came with a sudden movement to the surface and then 

 vaulted high in the air, showing his lordly proportions to 



fine advantage. Again when, he reached his element the 

 hum of the line and the buzz of the wheel wpre heard, for 

 he still panted for liberty and felt that he had the vigor to 

 obtain it in the race he was now making. But a moment, 

 however, sufficed to convince him that he was not yet 

 master in his domain, for there came a steady strain on 

 the line that made him pause and reflect and then it was 

 that he felt he was in the toils of some mysterious being 

 in another world who was leading him he knew not' 

 where. It maddened him into a perfect frenzy and then 

 he started into a furious lunge and finally brought up at 

 the surface, and for the second time leaped up into the 

 bright sunshine, which had now dissolved the fog, and 

 shook the pearly drops in a generous shower from his 

 lovely contour. 



"He's a fighter," says Ned. 



Ah! he now attempts one of his old tricks by "doubling," 

 but the slack is taken in as fast as it is made, and then the 

 battle rages near the ragged rocks with desperate fierce- 

 ness and with the odds in favor of the patient angler. The 

 little bamboo, true as steel, bends to every movement of 

 the impaled trout, and at no time did he have an oppor- 

 tunity to strike the leader with his muscular tail, a trick 

 they cleverly accomplish when opportunity offers. His 

 dashes and plunge s, which he so frantically repeated in a 

 very despairing manner, avail him not, and he is now 

 doubtless thinking of the lovely life he once led in crystal 

 streams of azure deeps where the soft air drifts through 

 solemn pines, and yearning again for those lovely lurking 

 places gathers a superhuman vigor and rushes outward to 

 the dim distant, intent only on ridding himself of the 

 fatal lure that clings so tenaciously to his reddened jaws. 

 Gallant warrior, you are again cleverly foiled; for no 

 sooner does he pause after his wild break for freedom 

 than he feels that he is once more being drawn to his wily 

 adversary above him. Bewildered with the perilous situ- 

 ation, his strength slowly ebbs and his tactics uncertain 

 a.nd without motive, and full well he knows that destruc- 

 tion surely awaits him unless he severs the tiny thread 

 that holds him such a close prisoner. With this depres- 

 sing thought he once more draws upon his vital forces 

 and with a bound like a panther darts away with the 

 music of the reel as an accompaniment. It was his last 

 break from his cruel foe, and was as grand a failure as it 

 was a noble effort, for his speed soon slackened and then 

 he was carefully brought to the rocky intrenchments sig- 

 nificant of his sad farewell to his charming trysting place 

 where amid the sweetest flowers that in the forest grow it 



"Lies, a deep and darken'd pool, 

 Whose waters are crystal, clear and cool." 



The flush of proud success is unmistakably with his 

 relentless foe, for he assuredly knows the battle is about 

 over, and as the skillful netter is poised at the water's 

 edge, the rodster, ever on the alert, draws his trophy 

 quietly along as if he were of priceless value, and when at 

 the feet of the trusty half-breed the diref ul signal is given 

 and the fatal sweep of the woven twine is made. Over 

 the flinty rocks bounds the delighted netter with the 

 glistening prize and a triumphant smile upon his broad 

 and bronzed features. He was a 4-pounder, and as he 

 was placed on the gray rock with his rainbow dyes flash- 

 ing in the bright sunlight was incomparably the perfec- 

 tion of symmetry and one of the most delicately tinted 

 beauties that ever swam the icy waters or sprang for fly 

 artistic. 



Ned declared he was a shield of pearly silver and crink- 

 ling crimson, the radiance of which should be sung in 

 mellifluent verse. I suggested further casting, and in 

 pleasant vein said, "It is the perfect fly and the skillful 

 flutter that attract." 



He looked askance at me as if there were a subtle 

 meaning in the remark, and then without reply went 

 steadily to flogging the waters, while I stood quietly by, 

 desirous of giving him a chance for an inning. When he 

 began to waver in his faith and enthusiasm I stepped for- 

 ward and smilingly said, "Ned, there is at certain times 

 as much luck as skill in the angle. Let me demonstrate," 

 and then my single fly, the attractive jungle-cock, again 

 lightly kissed the swelling waters. A snap, a miss and a 

 disappointment were the result. Once more the dandy 

 jungle-cock reaches out for game, and this time the per- 

 sistent trout called with dire results on Mr. Jungle-cock, 

 for he was immediately taken in charge and soon joined 

 the beautiful 4-pounder who was in deep repose on a 

 flinty couch. 



Ned, at this second success of mine, scratched his head 

 out of sheer perplexity, and then duly acknowledged 

 there was something in the particular fly after all. I in- 

 sisted on his going over my book and selecting some that 

 would approach in color and make-up my jungle-cock, it 

 being the only one I had. He looked in vain, for he 

 found nothing that at all approached anything like it. 

 He finally concluded to resort to some of his old Nipigon 

 flies, which were really excellent, though I advised him 

 to examine thoroughly the gut at the shank of the hook 

 where rust is liable to weaken it. If ever I make another 

 trip to this lake a full dozen of these gorgeous flies, the 

 jungle-cock, will go into my portfolio. 



I am not allied to any favorite fly, but the vagaries of 

 trout in rising to a certain fly at one time and then at an- 

 other under the same existing circumstances, are to me 

 an unsolvable enigma. I believe it best, however, always 

 to change the flies when the trout are not rising well till 

 you finally fall upon one that has the seductive qualities. 

 Two years ago, when fishing on this shore at "Split Rock," 

 I had a satisfactory experience of this kind. Having been 

 left by my companions on a lovely islet where I had 

 always found the trout in great abundance, I climbed to 

 the apex of a towering rock that had an elevation of about 

 fifteen feet, and commenced casting, having as lures a 

 silver-doctor and roy ah coachman. To my first cast and 

 flutter a half dozen magnificent trout came lazily from 

 their retreats and about as lazily followed the flies — which 

 were drawn oyer a mirrored surf ace— till they had come 

 within about a foot of them, and then deliberately 

 wheeled around and returned from whence they came. 

 I made a second cast, resulting in only two reappearing 

 and repeating the same tactics. A third and a fourth 

 were complete failures, as not a fin came to the surface. 

 I then made a change of lures, putting on a black-hackle 

 for my stretcher and a Montreal for my dropper. On the 

 very first cast I had a fine strike at the black-hackle and 

 secured a 3 pound trout. The second cast brought an- 

 other victim to the same fly, while the subsequent casts 

 failed to meet with a single response. This is only one of 

 similar changes that I have successfully made, 



