164 FOREST AND STREAM. iaug. as, mm. 
SKITTERING FOR BASS. 
Sw arts wood, % J., Aug. 16.— The dry weather has 
had a depressing effect on fishing the past month. The 
bass are more than usually capricious in feeding. Four 
out of five will strike apparently to drive away the" 
monotony from their own existence and incidentally add 
some spice to the 's. (I don't like rodster, and would 
not for the world hurt the feelings of the increasing army 
who will acknowledge no other name.) 
It is a woeful loss of time to tempt the bass in this lake 
with flies. The most successful methods of taking them 
are still-fishing and skittering. At present helgramites 
and minnows are the best menu in deep-water fishing. 
The natives here in skittering use a bamboo pole from 
1 2 to 20ft. long with a line a little longer tied to the end. 
Frogs are generally used for bait, sometimes minnows. 
As the boat is slowly rowed the bait is cast along the edge 
of weeds or rocks. When the fish are feeding well, many 
bass are captured in this way. But many fine ones are 
lost on account of the difficulty of taking in slack line or 
by breaking loose. The limited range of casting is also 
sometimes an objection. But for ease in handling I prefer 
this primitive tackle to a jointed rod and reel. I have 
made a skittering rod that has the advantage of both 
styles. I set a slender bamboo stick into a rather heavy 
butb, making a total length of 15 ft. The balance is so 
adjusted that a couple of hours' constant casting is not 
wearisome. This is equipped with reel-seat and guideB. 
Ordinarily I use about itfOft. of line. With this I can cover 
tlie water within a radiuj of over 30ft. Bat when a fish 
is hooked or a longer cast is advisable the reel is brought 
into play. 
In still-fishing I use a lOoz. steel rod which seems spe- 
cially made for the wiry small-mouths of this lake. These 
fish frequent the numerous springs at the bottom of the 
lake and feed best between 5 and 8 o'clock in the morning. 
The best fighters seem to be those between 2 and 31bs. , 
although I have had many a hard tussle with little fellows 
of much less weight. The "wide-mouths" are caught 
mainly by skittering, and are occasionally hard fighters, 
but usually their struggle is short though fierce. 
I have no story to tell of big strings caught in a short 
time. In eight days I have caught but 12 bass, averaging 
nearly 2lbs. But when a man can have a reasonable 
assurance of a trial of skill with half a dozen fiery bass 
with a fair chance of landing half of them (I often lose 
my fish), he is willing to go to bed at 9 o'clock and rise at 
4 o'clock; and even if he goes home with an empty creel, 
the lungs full of fresh morning air, the appetite for break- 
fast, the enjoyment derived from the awakening of the 
fields, woods and streams are a reward to be appreciated 
by one whose life work keeps him a prisoner in the city 
ten months in the year. A. V. T. 
THE JINGLE OF THE SALMON SPOON. 
Seattle, Wash. — Editor Forest and Stream: In your 
issue of Aug. 4 "An Ex-Secretary," etc., has "a query for 
'El Comancho,' " which I take pleasure in answering to 
the best of my ability. The querist wants to know "what 
kind of a spoon" it was that conducted the jingling opera- 
tion in conjunction with the salmon. 
The particular spoon I had in mind at that time was 
made from a piece of ship copper. I made it myself, be- 
cause I could not find at any of the dealers one large 
enough to suit me; so I got a piece of ship copper, a pair 
of tinner's shears, a little electric light wire and a few 
tools, and went to work on my own ideas. The result 
was the spoon in question, which was responsible for the 
death of sundry individuals of the tribe Salmo before it 
was taken by the particular fish that did the jingle act. 
Of course the readers of Forest and Stream understand 
that salmon visit this coast by the thousands in the fall, 
and that they are caught in great numbers by trolling. 
They are of large size, and as game, I suppose, as any sal- 
mon in the world. At any rate they take a spoon with a 
savage rush that often parts the fine unless it is of good 
material and well handled, too. The fishing is done in 
salt water, ordinarily with a plain brass spoon about g^in. 
long and lin. wide, the hook being a 6 0 or 7-0 plain Kirby 
without a fly or other bait. The Indians use a cockle for 
bait in connection with the spoon, and as they have bet- 
ter success than the whites I made it a point partly to 
copy their way. I found after a while that the fish take 
a larger spoon better than they do the ones offered for 
sale by the dealers, and this led me to manufacture my 
spoon after my own model, which by trial I found to be 
about the right article. It was made to turn around a 
copper wire which connected the line and the hook, and 
to insure perfect work two or three washers were put on 
the wire stem. By the way, the spoon is not patented 
and any of the "family" are welcome to the model. I 
will send a pen and ink drawing, exact size, if Forest 
and Stream wants it for publication. 
The whole contrivance has a good deal of noise about it 
if shaken a bit. It may be that these salmon are different 
from Eastern fish in their way of fighting, so that "Ex- 
Sec." would have to come to the Sound to hear the spoon 
jingle, but here it is a common thing for a fish to leap 
clear of the water and shake himself savagely, the result 
being a decided jingle of the spoon against the gill covers 
of the fish. 
The fish I had in mind at the time I mentioned the 
head shake was a big "jack salmon," which I should judge 
would weigh nearly 201bs. He took the spoon about 15 or 
20ft. under the water; when I had 120ft. of trolling line 
out, and came straight to the top. I felt a quick, hard 
pull on the line and a second after the fish leaped clear of 
the water to a distance of 2 or 3ft., shaking himself as 
only a fighting fish can. Three times he did this, then the 
line came slack and I brought it in minus about 40ft. of 
line, my pet spoon and a mighty big salmon! After the 
line parted he jumped out of the water twice more, and 
each time rattled the spoon like a Siawash tom-tom. The 
silver salmon does the same trick, and the jingle can be 
distinctly heard on an average of at least one in three fish 
hooked. 
Things may be different with river fishing for salmon, 
and perhaps 4 'Ex Sec. " has killed his fish in fresh water with 
a fly, in which case he would hardly hear the jingle. But 
that it is a fact there is no doubt at all, and it is only the 
natural result of trolling with a metal spoon for a fish 
that leaps clear of the water and shakes himself while in 
the air. Hoping this will enlighten the inquirer I -must 
stop and rig my tackle for these big silver and green liv • 
eried denizens of the vasty deep which are chasing her- 
ring off Cape Flattery somewhere at the present time. 
They are due in the Sound in a few weeks, now and 
then — perhaps a few more remarks on their ways from 
daily observation. El Comancho. 
AT THE MIRAM1CHI CAMPS. 
Mr. Joseph E. Caven has a pleasantly written story in 
the New York Commercial Advertiser of an excursion to 
the Miramichi salmon- fishing camps. Here is his account 
of his first work with the great king of fishes: 
Camp Adams, the property of Michael Adams, a mem- 
ber of Parliament, a thorough sportsman and most splen- 
did gentleman, was our first stopping place. This is a 
regular fishing camp, delightfully situated on the banks 
of the Miramichi. Here wo took boats of the dugout 
variety, drawn by a horse and man accompanied by two 
canoe men with poles to keep it off the rocks and banks. 
A guide rode the horse and we went splashing and sail- 
ing away twelve miles up this magnificent river to Camp 
Crawford. 
Gamp Crawford ^is one of the most thoroughly-equipped 
and well-appointed establishments on the Miramichi. It 
is the property of William Crawford, the well-known 
New York merchant prince of the firm of Simpson, Craw- 
ford & Simpson. Mr. Crawford is a most enthusiastic 
sportsman, who spends a few weeks each year in the 
pursuit of his favorite pastime. He was one of our 
party, as was William E. Webb, another dry goods dic- 
tator, from the firm of Dunham, Bulkley & Co. B. Y. 
Pippy, an extensive cloth manufacturer, "Bob" and the 
writer made up "the bunch." 
We were soon installed in our quarters in the comfort- 
able camp, and it was hard to realize that we were in the 
heart of a great forest in the British possessions, far away 
from the influences of churches, newspapers and tele- 
grams, on the banks of a grand old stream, in which the 
trout and salmon were so plentiful that, to use a favorite 
expression of the guides, "they were liable to come ashore 
and bite you." 
I must confess that I had never caught a salmon, but 
had entered into a conspiracy with George, the guide, to 
be early on the pool, and under his care and tuition try 
to land one of these broad-back fighters of the deep. 
ON THE MMAMICHI. 
Hastily swallowing a cup of coffee, we started for the 
river, and in a few moments were floating on the clear, 
placid bosom of one of the best salmon pools on the river. 
After being duly instructed in the salmon rig I was placed 
in possession of a fine two-handed bamboo salmon rod, 
with a reel, on which was wound numberless yards of 
good silk line. Being used to fly-fishing for trout I soon 
had a gang of flies in operation, and I tried some of the 
most likely places. As I had been making long casts 
toward the upper end of the pool for some time without 
result, and was beginning to get a little bit discouraged, 
George offered a suggestion. "Try over there," said he. 
I did, with the most astonishing results, as on my third 
cast I had a rise and a strike at the Jock-Scot fly that sur- 
prised me. Away went yard after yard of my line, when 
I incautiously threw up the tip, put on too much strain, 
and whatever it was — I still think it was a whale — went 
away with part of my rig, leaving me with a fairly well 
developed attack of something very much akin to "buck 
fever." 
We soon repaired damages and tried the lower end of 
the pool where, after about an hour's patient and careful 
casting, I got a rise that almost made my hair stand up. 
I struck quickly and had the satisfaction of seeing that 
glistening, dripping, quivering fish, of fine size and beauti- 
ful contour, leave his native element and leap into the air 
in a manner that came near proving fatal to all hopes of 
securing him. But more by good luck than good man- 
agemeat he was well hooked, and away he went for the 
upper ;end of the pool, taking out my line in a manner 
that caused me to expect to feel a snap and look down 
and see an empty reel barrel; when suddenly he turned 
and swung round to the left, affording an opportunity for 
getting in a little of the line. Inch by inch, slowly but 
surely, in comes the line, always very cautiously — as I had 
profited by my former experience — and was extremely 
careful. 
I would gain a little and lose a lot, and lose a little and 
gain a lot, until the strain of the tackle, coupled with the 
exertion of swimming, began to tell on the silver-sided 
warrior until he commenced describing the circles that 
announced that the fight was ' nearly over. Round and 
round we swam, the strain of the tough wood and cruel 
steel causing the circles to grow smaller and smaller, until 
I began to wonder why George did not gaff him, when a 
slight movement in the canoe sent him off again, appar- 
ently as fresh as ever. After going all over the battle 
again, he was finally brought near enough to the boat to 
give George his opportunity. Then came a quick, unerr- 
ing stroke, and the noble fish was landed. I had him. 
The fight had lasted a little over forty minutes, and I am 
free to admit that it was the most exciting, exhausting 
forty minutes of my life. It "took a hour's rest and a 
hearty breakfast to put me ip shape for the rest of the 
day's sport, and I viewed my catch with a degree of satis- 
faction as he hung suspended from a spike in bold relief 
against the birch logs of the kitchen. 
I don't remember ever seeing a more striking picture 
than I saw that same evening, when a loud shout called 
our attention to Mr. Crawford standing on a rock on the 
other side of the pool, holding up an immense salmon 
that he had killed half an hour before. There he stood, 
with his guide behind him, each man clad in thick boots 
and old trousers, woolen shirts and slouch hats, the mer- 
chant looking like anything wild and savage more than 
one of the guiding spirits of that great beehive of a store 
on Sixth avenue. 
Everything on the Miramichi dates from the big fire, 
which, I believe, occurred something like a hundred year 
ago, and the frequent allusions to it remind one of the 
story of "Hank Monk," that everybody hears so often on 
the Western stage routes. B. Y. Pippy fell in the water 
and got wet and burned up all the guide's birch bark try- 
ing to catch salmon by artificial light. He built a huge 
fire on a rock and wore himself and one of the guides out 
trying to make the salmon at the bottom of the pool be- 
lieve it was daylight, but with no other result than to 
create an immense amount of profanity and cause the 
cook to be an hour late for breakfast. 
BOSTON NOTES. 
A gentleman whom I fished with when a boy tells me 
a good story illustrative of the fancied prowess of the 
barefooted boy with his ozier rod as compared with the 
modern split bamboo. The story, he says, he saw in some 
paper; but it is told of a chain of ponds where we used to 
fish, Lock's Pond and Gore Pond, in Hamlin's Gore and 
Greenwood, Me. We both remember when these ponds 
were stocked with pickerel, and particularly remember 
when the few years of protection following the stocking 
were over. What fishing there was! What strings we 
caught. But those pickerel were particularly "ugly," we 
called them. It took the strongest of rigging to capture 
them. A tremendous pole was selected, and the line was 
of the strongest doubled and twisted hemp that we could 
get. Between the line and the hook we had either a wire 
or several links of a wire chain ; for the Gore Pond pick- 
erel were particularly vicious and would bite the line off, 
We should both have laughed a good deal at an 8-ounce 
rod, and the modern silk line would not have answered 
at all. 
Well, the gentleman says that a sportsman and his son 
paid these ponds a visit a year or two ago, resolved to fish 
them for pickerel. They were equipped with modern 
tackle; fine rods, that of the son weighing only4oz. They 
engaged a boatman and his boy, or rather the boatman 
brought the boy along, doubtless to show the city sports 
what could be done. He explained to his guests the 
vicious nature of Gore Pond pickerel, and quietly smiled 
at the rods and reels taken into the boat by them. The 
barefooted country boy had an enormous juniper pole, 12 
or 15ft. long, as stiff and as dry as a broomstick. His line 
had once been a strong one, no doubt, but perhaps age had 
weakened it a little. The country boy had the first strike, 
evidently a powerful fish. It should be stated that be- 
tween the hook and the line there was the old time chain, 
to prevent the fish from "chawing" the line. The country 
boy waited the traditional time — till the pickerel had 
"swallowed the bait and begun to run." Then he gave a 
tremenoous jerk over his head and backward. The fish 
did not start, but the line did, and the barefooted boy 
went over backward and out of the boat. This did not 
matter, however, for he could swim, and was soon in the 
boat. The water was warm, and the boy did not mind 
his bath, but went to fishing again, declaring that the fish 
was the ' 'old big one that had broken so many hooks, 
lines and poles for him." 
Next the city boy had a strike, evidently a good fish. 
His father quietly told him to mind his instructions, and 
not get excited. The boy played the fish beautifully. The 
rod held him in great shape, the boy giving and taking 
line as required. After a fight of nearly half an hour the 
big fish was brought to the net quietly, and netted by the 
boy's father, the countrymen being so awkward with that 
instrument that it was not deemed safe to trust either of 
them to take in the big pickerel. It was truly a big 
pickerel, weighing nearly 51bs. The country boy opened 
his eyes in astonishment wrfen he saw how the capture 
was managed, and his wonder grew to delight and en- 
thusiasm when he saw the size of the fish. When the fish 
was in the boat and being killed by a well-directed blow 
over the head, the country boy fairly shouted with aston- 
ishment when he saw hisown big hoot and piece of chain 
dangling from the fish's mouth. The whole capture was 
a revelation to him, and so delighted was he, and so de- 
voted to the boy with the beautiful rod that the city boy, 
under direction of his father, made him a present of a 
handsome modern rod on their departure for the city 
again. No more alder poles and chains for that boy. 
Mr. F. K. Dexter, well known in Boston, is at Kenne- 
bago again this season, with Mrs. Dexter. I say again, 
for it was thought last year that he would never visit that 
well-known fronting and hunting resort again, though he 
had previously been there for many seasons. He was 
taken with a fever there last year that lasted for months 
In fact he was brought out to Rangeley on a cot, where 
Dr. Vogle, of Boston, pulled him through. The old loves 
are strong, and the Dexters could hardly stay away from 
Kennebago. They are sure that the fever last year was 
contracted elsewhere. Mr. Walter L. Hill will scarcely 
make his fall fishing and hunting trips this year. At 
least he will be rather late for them, since he sailed 
for Europe last Saturday on a business trip to extend for 
a couple of months at least. Dr. Vogle has been at 
Kennebago again this year for a couple of weeks. Not to 
attend Mr. Dexter this time, but out of pure love for that 
region, acquired while attending his patient last year. 
Special. 
An Awful Warning to Trout Ticklers. 
W. C. May, of White Oak, while fishing in White Oak 
Creek last week ran his hand under a log, when it acci- 
dentally found its way into the mouth of a huge pike. 
Thinking he had. found something good to eat, the fish at 
once proceeded to swallow Mr. May's arm up to the elbow. 
May made desperate efforts to free himself from his finny 
foe, but in vain, until he pulled his antagonist on the 
bank and called on a friend to assist in extricating his 
arm from the vise-like grip of this gamest of game fish, 
whose long, sharp teeth were buried deep into his biceps. 
The fish was a beautiful specimen, weighing 231bs. — 
Hazel Green Herald. 
