Sept. 15, 18&4.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
227 
"That reminds me." 
MY CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE. 
"Fish ain't as plenty now as they was when I come to 
these parts," said my aged but chance acquaintance as he 
removed his brierwood and sent forth a small cloud of 
villainous tobacco smoke which would have demoralized 
a polecat or put out the worst cigarette ever rolled. "The 
lake was chuck full of 'em then. I've known 'em to 
frighten the cattle when they went to drink. Many and 
many a time I've had 'em scare the sense out of my horses 
when I was hauling out logs. No wonder the lake has 
gone down; there's been fish enough catched out of it to 
lower it more 'n three feet." 
There was silence for a few minutes, disturbed only by 
the humming of skeeters and an audible suck, suck, suck 
at the brierwood, which would have been a credit to the 
rear end of an old-fashioned hand fire engine, then he re- 
sumed: 
"One of them, though, done me a good turn onct. Ye 
see I'd been across the lake and was a-hurrying home, as 
it was getting late in the day. I run my boat into a 
snag and punched a hole through her bow below the 
waterline as big as yer arm. I didn't think to try and 
plug it up, but rowed as hard as ever I could for my life 
tor the shore, but I put on too much elbow grease an' 
broke one of my oars. Then I thought the jig was up 
and looked around to see how far I had to swim. I took 
a hasty look at the shore and a squint at the hole in my 
boat, and noticed the water was not coming in. Then I 
took a good square look at the hole, and by ginger if a 
big fish hadn't gone and stuck his head through that are 
hole hard and fast and made it tight as a drum. 
"I took a little rest to sort o' catch my wind, then with 
my sound oar paddled as hard as I could, as I was sort 
afraid the pesky thing would back out and leave me in 
the suds. Well, air, I got ashore and stepped on to dry 
land, never wet a foot." 
"Have you got that fish or any portion of it?" I asked. 
"No. my friend. At first I kinder thought I'd keep 
him, but on second thought seeing as how he'd done, me 
such a good turn I hadn't the heart to harm him, so I 
pulled him out carefully and put him back in the lake. 
He gave one or two short jerky sort o' flips with his tail, 
then moved off into deep water and out of sight, sort of 
proudly, like as though ne knowed he'd done me a favor 
and was proud of it." A. W. 
Talking about kicking guns, here is one that I can 
vouch for. John G., a brawny and amiable locomotive 
engineer of the Mexican National road, had an old Pieper 
gun. The locks were worn so that the left hammer would 
fall if you looked at it hard, and the right one would not 
stand a wink. There were some white-fronted geese win- 
tering at a lake down the road a way, and John often 
saw them feeding in the fields by the track. So one day 
he went after them with a gun loaded for geese, buckshot 
and powder to match. (He is a generous fellow and 
hates to be stingy about his powder.) He had crawled up 
a ditch to a distance of about 100yds. from the game, and 
was sliding up the bank speculating on whether he would 
shoot or not. He had both barrels cocked and the old gun 
decided she would. She kicked clear back through his 
hand, the hammers and action lever nearly tearing off a 
thumb, jumped clear across the ditch and turned a sum- 
mersault. "You got him," yelled his companion. "Got 
nothin'," said John, looking lovingly at his piece of a 
hand. It didn't seem to comfort him much that he had 
killed one goose and crippled another one or two. The 
boys generously suggested to him that he had better send 
that old gun out by itself next time. „ Aztec, j 
MORE ABOUT THE SALMON. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
We all know that the Forest and Stream, is a great 
educator. And yet, while its columns teem with the 
opinions and researches of the most learned, there always 
seems to be room for those of us of more plebeian stock 
to air themselves and our opinions. 
We cannot refrain from the observation that many im- 
portant truths have found their way to the public through 
the columns of the great sporting paper from the pens of 
common, every-day sportsmen. This is encouraging, and 
I take the liberty of making a few more suggestions 
regarding that prolific subject: the life history of the 
salmon. 
That eminent student of the subject, Livingston Stone, 
by very careful estimates determined that the salmon 
travel at the rate of about two miles a day in the Sacra- 
mento, and about three miles a day in the Columbia. At 
that time my friend, Judge Greene, pointed out that if 
such was the case more than 200 days would be required 
for-the salmon to reach their beds in the headwaters of 
the Columbia. In fact it would require nearly or 
quite three hundred days, for some of the spawn- 
ing beds are about a thousand miles from the 
mouth of the river. I do not know upon what facts 
or data Prof. Stone made his calculations, but I believe 
that there may possibly be some mistake about it. The 
McGowans, of the Cascades, have been engaged at that 
place and at Astoria for many years, in handling and 
canning salmon, and they are regarded as among the 
most observing students of the habits of the salmon from 
a strictly business standpoint. The Cascades are about 
138 miles from the mouth of the Columbia, and the 
McGowans always make it a point to keep themselves 
thoroughly posted on the "runs" of the salmon so as to be 
prepared to receive them when they reacn the Cascades. 
James McGowan informs me that they always calculate 
that the "run" will reach them in from ten to twelve 
days from the mouth of the river. That would make the 
rate of travel from about eleven to fourteen miles a day. 
The McGowans are careful and successful men in this 
cannery business and know whereof they speak. 
I have read with great interest the paper on "The 
Chinook Salmon," read by Prof. Stone at the annual 
meeting of the Am. Fisheries Soc, at Philadelphia, 18y4. 
It is masterly. In fact, the very best thing I have ever 
read on the subject. The friendly controversy that for 
years has been going on in the columns of Forest and 
Stream on this subject, may now be considered as about 
settled. He sums the whole subject up in these few 
words: "The truth is that the evidence compels us to 
admit both of these apparently conflcting facts, namely, 
that salmon can and do five for months in fresh water 
without food, and that they can and do feed during some 
of the time that they are in fresh water." 
Doubtless that is the correct conclusion from the facts 
as stated by Prof. Stone, and as observed by all of us who 
have given the subject any consideration. 
J. Roberts Mead. 
Portland, Oregon, Aug. 29. 
The run of salmon has been the best for years and the 
cannery men are correspondingly all happy. It is cer- 
tainly interesting to observe and pleasant to contemplate 
the fact that the royal chinook is not yet extinct, not- 
withstanding the hoary prognostications of our p* ssimists. 
I wish that every man interested in the subject of salmon, 
and particularly in that part of it relating to the feeding 
habits of the salmon while in fresh water, could read 
Livingston Stone's delightful paper presented at the 
recent meeting of the American Fisheries Society. To my 
mind it is the ablest presentation of the subject ever pub- 
lished and I am glad to see that Mr. Stone has at last given 
us fellows that believe that salmon do feed to a degree 
while in fresh water a little encouragement for the faith 
that is within us. You know that the U. S. Commission 
have always and invariably heretofore declared unreserv- 
edly that the salmon do not feed at all while in fresh 
water. I see that Mr. Stone has modified that declaration 
to the extent that while they can and do live for months 
in fresh water without food they can and do feed during 
some of the time that they are in fresh water. I guess 
that is about the size of it. S. H. Greene. 
CAMP WOODBINE. 
Bridgeport, Conn., Aug. 23 — Monday morning, in 
company with Mr. Clarence A. Hayes, the greatest fisher- 
man in Bridgeport, I took passage on the little steamer 
Nonowantuc en route for Port Jefferson, Long Island. 
The distance is about twenty miles and the sail a delight- 
ful one. 
No need for me to dwell upon the beauties of the harbor 
of Port Jefferson, for every yachtsman is familiar with 
tha.t landlocked bit of water where the Vigilant and many 
of the other big racers make their winter quarters; but as 
the Nonowantuc steamed into the narrow gateway, 
through which the tide rushes like a rapids, the view of 
the calm waters reflecting the blue hills that descend 
abruptly to the edges of the bay, with the quaint town of 
Port Jefferson nestling in the trees beyond, is a most de- 
lightful one and well worth a much longer journey to 
behold. The reports of good bluefishing on the Long 
Island shore had reached us in Bridgeport, so our trip 
was made for the purpose of adding to our stock of fish 
stories, forgetting all business cares and getting well 
burned by Old Sol. 
At Mrs. Madison's comfortable little hotel we found 
rooms; then, after arranging for our short stay there, we 
sallied forth to find one "John's brother," whom we de- 
pended upon to procure our bait, boat, etc. "John's 
brother," being at length discovered after a tedious search 
along the shore, agreed for a consideration to secure every- 
thing necessary, and have all in readiness at 5 o'clock the 
following morning. "Sure now?" asked Clarence. "O, 
sure," replied the truthful youth. So, satisfied that we 
were O. K. as far as that was concerned, we returned to 
the hotel for supper. 
After the meal, at Clarence's suggestion, we engaged a 
rowboat to visit Camp Woodbine, down near the mouth 
of the harbor, Clarence generously allowed me to take 
charge of the rowing department, while he attended to the 
more arduous and scientific labor of steering. I offered no 
objection — in fact, after a while, seeing the fatigued and 
overworked expression on his face despite his martyrlike 
efforts to conceal it, I even suggested the advisability of 
unshipping the rudder, allowing me to manage to steer 
with the oars, while he took a, nap. I also offered to keep 
the flies and mosquitoes off him, and promised to lull his 
slumbers with some old, sweet melody. 
"Everything but the melody part," said he. "I don't 
want folks on the shore to think we are blowing a fog 
horn as a signa' of distress." (Which was unkind.) Halt 
way to the camp we met the naphtha launch Jabberwock, 
with all the campers on board, bound for town. In an- 
swer to our hail, they said they would return shortly, and 
asked us to wait for them at the camp. On our arrival 
we were received by a gentleman of color from Virginia, 
who attends to the culinary department, and we were soon 
spread out in picturesque attitudes on a couple of steamer 
cnairs, watching the approach of a thunder storm over 
the hills to the eastward. 
Camp Woodbine, a picture of which I send you, was 
organized in lb93 for the purpose, as the articles of asso- 
ciation state, of the health and enjoyment of its mem- 
bers by an annual outing in camp, and to that end to own 
and lease grounds, boats, tents and other property neces- 
sary to the carrying out of its purposes. The membership 
is limited to twenty. 
We did not have long to wait before the launch re- 
turned, and the welcome we received made us feel at 
home directly. Of course we found some of the members 
of the Forest and Stream family, notably Mr. V. R. C. 
Giddings, who the boys say would rather read Forest 
and Stream than go fishing — which settles in my mind at 
once the answer to thejold query," What would you rather 
do or go a-fisbing?" 
The promised thunder storm drove us to the tents on its 
arrival, where the Woodbine Quartette entertained us 
with the sweetest music, to the unique accompaniment 
of the pattering rain on the canvas above us. The moon 
followed the rain, and although the invitation to spend 
the night in the camp was most cordial, our arrangements 
with "John's brother" and Mrs. Madison prevented our 
accepting, so we said good-night and started homeward 
with a favoring tide. The bay was as smooth as a mirror, 
the moon full and white — a perfect night; even Clarence, 
practical as he is, remarked it, then he fell asleep, 
awaking only when we reached the landing, minus our 
rudder, which had dropped off somewhere down the bay. 
At 4:30 we were up; at 5 we had breakfast; at 5:30 we 
were waiting for "John's brother" and the bait; at 7:30 
we were doing the same thing; ditto at 8 o'clock; at 8:15 
he materialized sans bait; indeed he seemed surprised to 
think that we had expected him to procure any. Remarks 
followed; remarks liable to be made by a couple of disap- 
pointed fishermen; then we procured a boat, and impres- 
sing "John's brother" as a portion of the motive power, 
we sent the little boat flying through the surges in the 
direction of Camp Woodbine. A strong breeze was blowing 
directly up the bay, and we were wet through before we 
reached the camp. The campers were at breakfast when 
we arrived. After the meal the launch took us over to 
the lee shore, where in one or two hauls enough spearing 
were obtained to last us as long as we wanted toBtay, and 
the Jabberwock's prow was pointed for the fishing 
grounds at the mouth of a little creek. 
With the first of the flood the little blues began to 
arrive, and the spearing, jumping to escape' their vora- 
cious foes, sounded like rain upon the surface of the 
water. And how they did bite! In two hours'. actual 
fishing the campers — about ten in number — caught sixty- 
three; good-sized fish, too! We were less fortunate, for 
our count was only fifteen, which was all the fault of 
"John's brother," 1 can't attribute it to any other cause. 
Our trip was necessarily a short one, owing to the fact 
that Clarence had business that called him to New York. 
As the Nonowantuc, on our homeward journey, bore us 
swiftly by the white tents on the point, the totem of the 
camp was unfurled, a red Jabberwock on a white field, 
and the little cannon loaded with the last tumbler of 
powder, coughed a weak salute from the foot of the flag- 
staff as the steamer left the bay and entered the troubled 
waters of Long Island Sound. Try the "harbor blues," 
brothers of the rod! It will cost you 75 cents round trip 
to Bridgeport, via the steamer Rosedale from New York, 
and the same amount from here to Port Jefferson via the 
Nonowantuc. Later in the month the fish run to about a 
half a pound and you have lots of sport with a light bass 
rod. 
They break camp at "Woodbine" this coming Saturday, 
or I am sure you would find a cordial welcome there, and 
even bait. 
The following is a list of the officers and members of 
the Camp "Woodbine Association: Officers — S.B.Jones, 
President; N. H. Jones, Secretary; V. R. C. Giddings, 
Treasurer. Members— Hon. W. H. Marigold (ex-mayor 
of Bridgeport, and the boys say next governor of Connec- 
ticut), Messrs. A. M. Wooster,'E. A. Creevey, Silas Bur- 
ton, C. W. Fitch, John C. Shelton, M. L. Reynolds, A. E. 
Burke, M. H. Rogers, W. S. Mills, H. E. Bdlings, C. M. 
Gerdenier, Carroll B. Adams, W. C. Bryant, Patrick 
Coughlin. The General. 
The First Bluefishing Experience. 
Providence, R. I., Sept. 5. — A few weeks ago I was 
taking it easy on the piazza of the Hygeia, at Block 
Island, feeling well content with things in general, when 
along came H., a typical Southerner and one of the finest 
all around fellows one could have the good fortune to 
meet. He spied me in the corner, and hailed me with 
"Hello, old fellow, just the one I want to see. Want to 
go bluefishing to-morrow? The doctor and I are going 
and we want to make up the party of four?" 
The next morning found us at the wharf where the 
Birdie lay waiting for us. It was rough outside the 
breakwater, and Capt, Dodge rather smiled as he looked 
at C. and me, for he no doubt anticipated the agony that 
was coming. H. was a brown, robust looking chap, and 
we feared no harm from him. The doctor was a veteran. 
H, had never been in a cat before when it was rough 
looking. The doctor was never sick. I never had been, 
although a good many opportunities had presented them- 
selves when tautog fishing down our bay here. 
We rigged up in the oilskins, rounded the breakwater 
and with three reefs in the sail headed toward the South 
Light. The wind at this point was not brisk and Capt. 
Dodge thought we could do better with full sail out, so 
brought the cat up into the wind where we obtained the 
full benefit of the heavy swell and chop sea. In a few 
minutes we were off again, and cleared away the eelskin 
squids and lines for the blues. H. got the "blues" first. 
He very slowly drew in 4 hi8 line and said he guessed he 
wouldn't fish any more until some one caught something. 
Poor H, he was pale, and as he leaned pathetically over 
the cockpit side we felt sorry for him, but he braced up in 
a few minutes and said he felt better. 
All this time C. was very intently watching the place 
where he thought his squid was. He didn't want to look 
at H. He thought the temptation would be too great, 
probably. And it was. He lay down in the bottom of 
the cockpit and groaned. The doctor and the captain 
smiled. I tried to, but was afraid to spoil the set of my 
mouth The doctor got out his cigars and passed them 
around. Only he and the captain and I smoked. The 
captain had no matches, and I crawled over C. and gave 
him one. That move settled it. I am certain if I had 
been a little selfish and kept that match and my seat I 
would never have had it said that I had been seasick. It 
did not last long, though, and the doctor and I kept on 
fishing. We trolled back and forth, but with not a strike, 
while poor C. begged to be put ashore. H. got his line in 
again, but soon resigned it to the doctor, and gave him- 
self up in sympathy with C. We took a vote, and it was 
soon decided to put back again. 
C. began to brace right up at this, and after we reached 
smooth water past the breakwater toward the bathing 
beach, proposed that we make it a sailing party. It is 
wonderful the amount of pluck some people have. We 
couldn't exactly laugh at C.'s suggestion, but took it, and 
wound up the trip after beating up and down the beach a 
few times. 
The worst of it all was we caught no fish. Capt. D. did 
his best and we did our best, and if any of the Forest 
and Stream readers think they could do better under the 
circumstances, the Birdie is always ready to make the 
trial. Somebody was the Jonah, and I have tried to think 
who it could be. 
A few days after, my wife wanted to go blue fishing, but 
I told her that the fish were not running and probably 
would not for several weeks to come. I was right, in a 
measure, for the boats that went out for the next week or 
two came back with nothing, but Capt. D. says if we 
come down next [year he will guarantee we won't come 
home empty handed. Todk. 
You would think, now, wouldn't you, that Life would give credit 
for the stories it copies from Forest and Stream. But just there is 
where you would make a great mistake. 
