406 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 10, 1894. 
THREE DAYS ON LONG KEY. 
St. Petersburg, Fla.— We made up a party for a three 
days' outing on Long Key. which divides the Gulf of 
Mexico from Tampa Bay. There was Dr. G. F. Wright, 
of Denver, Col., who was brought here ten days ago so 
nearly dead that we thought he had come only to die, 
was one of the party. The Doctor has gained 14lbs. 
since his arrival at St. Petersburg. With the Doctor 
came his friend (and nurse) Mr. Ed. Marsh from Chicago. 
The fourth was Mr. H. V. Leay craft, who owdb a surr- 
mer hotel on the top of the Catskill Mountains; and lastly 
myself from Fort Dodge, la. For crew we had a cracker 
of the deepest dye as captain, and a young Spaniard, who 
served both as sailor and cook. We chartered a 40ft. oyster 
schooner that had a stuffy little cabin about 7ft. square, 
and 4ft. high, with two small ports on each side for air 
and ligrlt. There were two berths in the cabin. These 
berths were 6ft. long, 2ft. high and 2ft. wide, We called 
these "state rooms." 
We had a fine run down the bay, in which we saw a 
large number of porpoises feeding from a school of mul- 
let. The meal was evidently nearly over, for they were 
sporting with their victims. A porpoise would run his 
long nose under a fish, flip it two or three, feet into the 
air, and with his strong jaws and sharp teeth catch and 
cut the mullet in twain, as if done with a sharp knife. 
Many pelicans and sea gulls hovered over this field of 
slaughter, picking up the pieces that the porpoises left; 
and then came the great scavengers of the ocean, the 
shark, which can smell fish blood from a great distance, 
and cleaned up what the birds could not carry away. 
We arrived at the entrance of Pass a Grille (which 
divides Long Key from Pine Key) at sundown,- but as the 
Pass was narrow and dangprous, the Captain anchored in 
the bay for the night. After supper the Captain loaded 
his pipe and between the whiffs began to talk. To a 
Northern man seeking recreation, the Floridian skipper is 
entertaining in the highest degree; for, ask him any ques- 
tion (however profound) about the stars above or the earth 
below, and he will never say, "I don't know," but will 
always have an answer ready, though it be — as it gener- 
ally is — a roughguess. 
A misty cloud near the northern horizon hid the big 
dipper, as well as the pole star. One of the party asked 
the Captain to point out the north star. The Captain 
pointed to a star in the northeast, and, to demonstrate 
more clearly, he took a fish rod and pointed out a seven- 
star dipper from the constellation of the Great Bear, 
bringing the two pointers of his dipper to bear upon his 
new-found pole star. Who would feel unsafe with a nav- 
igator that could carve out a seven-star dipper and estab- 
lish a new pole star, with no other instrument than a 
bamboo pole? One of the boys lit a match, looked at the 
compass and pointed his finger due north, showing the 
Captain's north star beaming southeast. The Captain 
went to the binnacle, verified the report, and seemed 
much chagrined at his stellar collapse. 
Some one spoke of a large alligator that they had 
seen at Jacksoville, when the Captain again "put in his 
oar." He had killed a 'gator that was 14ft. long, and had 
taken from his enormous stomach one bushel of horse- 
shoe crab shells, and two bushels of feathers. We could 
understand why the crab shells were there, but how did 
the feathers get into this monster's stomach? He said 
that the 'gators would make a sneak un der water and cap- 
ture wild ducks and loons, and as the flesh would be di- 
gested long before the feathers the most enterprising 
'gator would have the largest stock of feathers on hand. 
He said the alligators would dig holes in the bank and 
there live, "year in and year out;" and these holes he 
called 'gator dens. He had driven sticks across the mouth 
of the den of the 14ft. 'gator, and had then dug a hole 
down from above, when he shot the monster with a rifle. 
A few days before he had taken a canoe out into a deep 
bayou where he caught a young 'gator, which called 
loudly for its mother. He saw the water boil, as a large 
female alligator charged on the canoe. He threw the 
baby overboard and saved a capsize, and possibly his life. 
At Bunrise we crawled up on deck, finding everything 
covered with a heavy dew. We got under way and sailed 
up the pass, which is long and narrow, until we came to 
an old dock, where we anchored. Mr. Leaycraft made one 
cast with a minnow net and caught enough bait for two 
hours' fishing. 
We put a mackerel's head on a large hook and made a 
cast about 60ft. from the dock, when a grouper took the 
bait and started off across the pass. The Doctor let him 
run until 100ft. of line had run out, when he struck, and 
soon reeled him in so that we could see that we were 
sure of fish enough for breakfast. The grouper made a 
good fight and tried to get under the dock, but the Doctor 
soon landed him on deck, where the cook met him with 
frying pan and knife. He weighed 81bs., and made a 
meal for the whole party. 
After breakfast we fished from the schooner and dock, 
and within one hour we had caught twenty-five mackerel 
and five grouper. 
The Spanish mackerel (next to the pompano) stands at 
the head of all salt water fish for beauty. They are 
graceful in outline, with long tapering bodies, and covered 
with tiny transparent scales, that when first caught 
reflect rainbow colors; but every scale falls off at death, 
and the beautiful colors fade out, leaving the fish as 
smooth as a brook trout. They have the flavor of the 
regular mackerel, but are less oily than the northern fish. 
As the fish did not bite after dinner, we went up the 
beach after shells and gathered a large quantity; some 
rare and beautiful. We saw jelly fish and sea horses, 
stranded on the sand, and many coon tracks on the beach, 
where they had been looking for turtle eggs, of which 
they are very fond. 
Our captain promised us a brown conch stew for supper. 
He put a,n old greasy and rusty kettle on the fire, put in 
some salt pork and fried the fat out, then added water 
and flour and stirred the same until the rust and grease 
had become well mixed, which was the secret of making 
the brown color to the stew. Then he added fish, potatoes 
and onions, cut up in email cubes, and boiled the whole 
conglomeration for forty minutes, when the stew was 
done. He then poured the "brown stew" into the wash 
basin, from which we were to be served, and called all 
hands to dinner. We made various excuses, and the 
"brown stew" was left to the captain and cook, who ate 
the whole mess with great relish . 
That evening we built a camp-fire near an old house, 
and Mr. Leaycraft told us some stories of his early life in 
New York city. He had held down a clerical seat in the 
city hall, had been a private detective and had served 
two or three years on the Police force. While in this he 
was stationed' near the docks, and part of his duty was to 
look out for river thieves. Many schooners and canal 
boats had been robbed by an adept thief named "Slip- 
pery Jack," whom no officer could capture. A scheme - 
was devised to capture this "wharf rat" and Mr. Leaycraft 
was detailed to work it up. He went aboard a schooner 
that had just anchored out in the stream, and secreted 
himself in the cabin, sending the captain and crew ashore 
just before dark, thus leaving the craft actually un- 
guarded. About 10 o'clock at night he heard a bump 
under the stern, and soon a man whom Leaycraft recog- 
nized as "Slippery Jack" forced his body half through 
one of the cabin windows. Leaycraft grabbed the thief 
by the collar, which gave away, and the fellow — true to 
name — slipped back into his boat and sculled rapidly 
away, 
Leaycraft ran on deck, and drawing a bead on the fugi- 
tive ordered him to come back; but he kept on sculling, 
and Leaycraft fired. The man then threw up his hands, 
fell from his boat and went down. Leaycraft went to 
headquarters and reported that he had killed "Slippery 
Jack." The next day the papers had an account of the 
transaction, and congratulated the captains of schooners 
and canal boats that the King of Wharf Rats was dead. 
Not long after this a thief caught in the cabin of a canal 
boat was recognized as "Slippery Jack," who said he had 
not been struck by the shot from the schooner, but had 
played possum by diving under his boat, coming up on 
the off side and floating safely away with the tide. 
The next day we took our rods and went up the pass to 
a narrow inlet, through which the incoming tide was 
running like a mill race, and standing on a point of 
sand, made casts and reeled in the Spanish beauties until 
we had captured forty, when the tide became slack and 
the fishing was over for that day. We returned to the 
schooner, where the cook had been watching a spt 
grouper line since morning. We were just in time to 
see the line straighten out. At the proper time the cook 
struck and the astonished grouper made a fine fight for 
his liberty. He tried to run under the schooner but was 
checked; then he jumped clean out of the water and 
tried to shake the hook from his mouth; then he ran 
under the dock and wound the line twice around a pile. 
Mr. Marsh took the shore end of the line back around the 
pile and hauled him up, hand ever hand, on to the dock, 
when he began to jump and shook the hook from his 
mouth. Mr. Marsh fell upon the fish, holding him with 
both hands and knees, and called loudly for the hatchet, 
which the Doctor produced, and the 241bs. grouper was 
dispatched and secured. The meat of the grouper is 
hard, white and very free from bones, and while they are 
not to be compared with pompano, red snapper, or 
Spanish mackerel, they are far better than the northern 
carp, pickerel or red horse. 
We trim our sails for home, where we distribute our 
fish among friends. 
We caught two hundred mackerel, seven large grouper, 
and brought them home in fine condition, R. P. Bell. 
A DAY WITH THE FLATFISH. 
S. met me the other day and remarked, "The flatfish 
are running up the bay now. What do you say, shall we 
try them some day next week?" 
"Agreed," said I, "Cad and I will come down in the 
morning and take breakfast with you," 
That night I overhauled my tackle, strapped the little 
rod on my wheel, set the alarm clock for an early hour 
and was soon dreaming. It seemed about fifteen minutes 
when the racket commenced and I crawled out of bed, 
groped around for a match, lit the gas, slipped into my 
old duds and stole down stairs for a cup of coffee, and 
then slinging the fish basket over one shoulder, mounted 
the bike and started for C.'s My, but it was chilly. A 
heavy fog hung over everything. The city streets were 
deserted by all save a sleepy "copper" and a stray cat. C. 
roused up, we were soon on the way to Pawtuxet. The 
sun was gradually rising over the housetops. The fallen 
leaves were frosty and glistening in the morning light, 
and cracked as the pneumatics rolled lightly over them. 
Our fingers tingled a little as they grasped the cold handle 
bars, but the invigorating exercise, stimulated by the cool 
air and the prospect of a good day's outing, sent the warm 
blood rushing through the body. Oh, ye brother anglers 
and shooters, go on a wheel to your sporting grounds. 
Nothing like it. You don't sit cramped in a wagon with 
your blood frozen in your veins. Down the road we sped, 
joking and story telling, until we reached the little red 
cottage on the banks of the cove. There was no one 
around. It looked deserted. A loud banging on the door, 
however, brought a grunt from within, and later the 
door opened and the smiling face of S. appeared, 
"Good-morning, boys," he remarked. "Got here early 
enough, didn't you." 
"Yes," replied C. "Art here must have been up all 
night. Came around to the house just after I got to bed." 
".Well," said S., "we'll have breakfast." 
This over, we took the boat and started for the Flats, 
where we anchored, but fished without success. We then 
pulled over to the ledge, catching nothing but chogsets. 
Then down to Seal Rock, where the sport began. 
Probably all of our salt-water fishermen have caught 
flatfish, but for the benefit of those inlanders who may at 
some future time have a chance to fish for them, perhaps 
a little description of the tackle used would not be out of 
place. A light rod is the best. Mine was a lOoz. bass 
fly-rod, but one tip was broken, and cutting it off and fit- 
ting a three-ring top, I have what I call a good rod for 
this fishing. We use braided linen line for salt-water 
fishing, considering that it will stand best. Some use a 
leader as for scup and some a brass wire spreader. I 
generally fasten a sinker, and by the way a good sinker 
of about the correct weight in a moderate tide, I found 
was a rifle bullet with a small screw eye fastened to its 
end. I use my condemned .38-180 bullets. The sinker is 
fastened to the end of the line and the hooks above it, 
thus by allowing the sinker to rest on the botton one can 
more easily feel the slight bite of a small fish. As I have 
noticed that flatfish are sometimes found directly feeding 
on the botton, and at other times off the bottom, I gener- 
ally arrange so that one hook shall hang below the sinker 
and one or two above. 
A small hook, say a No. 6, 7 or 8 Carlisle to double gut 
is the proper thing for flats and scup, although when 
using a handline for tautog, I have caught both these fish 
on a good-sized Virginia, but as they have a small mouth 
and nibble, a smaller hook will catch them quicker. 
Well, C. took first meat — a good flatfish. S, followed 
with another; then C. landed two. It rather looked as if 
I was to be left, keeping up my reputation as a Jonah 
when first starting in. But a couple became tangled on 
the hooks, and then the fun began. Out they came by 
ones and twos. The fish bag over the side sobn became 
filled, and then a big basket. It began to get monoton- 
ous, and as we were getting hungry again S. suggested 
we quit and get home. 
As we passed up the channel we were hailed by a num- 
ber of boats, and when we showed the catch all hands 
pulled up and headed for the rocks. Tode. 
THE LOCH LEVEN TROUT. 
I have received the following letter from Dr. J. D. 
Quackenbos about the Loch Leven trout which requires 
no comment from me, as he writes from personal experi- 
ence and his own convictions upon the subject. Certain 
it is that there is something queer about this fish, and 
surely Dr. Quackenbos makes a very excellent argument 
against those whom I quoted in my notes in Forest and 
Stream of Oct, 6 that contend that the Loch Leven is 
simply the brown trout. Since my notes were printed 
Mr, W. de C. Ravenel, acting assistant in charge of the 
Division of Fishculture of the United States Fish Com- 
mission, has written me that in the experience of tb.3 
Commission it has been impossible to distinguish between 
the Loch Leven and the brown trout except it was known 
in which ponds the fish were reared. A. N. C. 
Mr. A. N. Cheney: 
In your communication of Oct. 6 to FOREST AND 
Stream, you state that possibly I may wish to reverse my 
opinion regarding the classification of the Loch Leven 
trout — an opinion formed deliberately while I was at the 
loch, and support- d by that of many British anglers 
whom I have the honor of knowing. I thank you for 
giving me the opportunity to make public any change in 
my convictions; but I am still of the same mind. That 
is, I believe the Loch Leven trout to be a different species 
of Salmo from the yellow fario that inhabits every burn 
and fattens in every mill-pond in Scotland. I regard it 
as the descendant of an anadromous fish that was sea- 
going within the present century, Sea fishes originally 
had access to the loch; flounders were caught there almost 
within the memory of living men; and there can be no 
doubt that this fish, which inhabits (he Forth to-day, 
ascended annually from the Firth, before the age of dams 
and bleacheries, to spawn in the inlets of Loch Leven and 
feed upon its luscious Crustacea. Tradition credits its 
presence in other Scottish lochs to the fathers of the 
church, who, being restricted to a fish diet during many 
days of the year, were active in planting choice food- 
fishes, among them this delicious sea-run trout and the 
toothsome grayling from the continent. 
The Loch Leven ova that I imported in 1887 were 
hatched and placed in my brooks at Soo-Nipi Park. The 
fry certainly did not develop into Salmo fario, for a brown 
trout has never been seen in any of the Jakes or brooks of 
the Sunapee system. But so like are the young and adult 
Lech Levens to our landlocked salmon, that many anglers 
believe a Loch Leven trout is often fast when the exciting 
cry of "Salmon! salmon!" from the fishing fleet greets the 
first frenzied leap of a supposed ouananiche pierced by the 
lucky steel. One Scottish authority unhesitatingly de- 
clares the Loch Leven trout to be a landlocked salmon 
dwarfed to its present proportions in its shallow miniature 
ocean. But I helieve it to be a landlocked sea trout. 
With its purplish silver back and silvery sides starred with 
X and XX spots, it so closely resembles the well-known 
migratory Salmo trutta, that foreign experts commonly 
fail to distinguish between the two fish. The fin-ray for- 
mula is identical in each. Moreover, sea trout that have 
been confined in fresh water are absolutely indistinguish- 
able from the true Fario levenensis. 
The theory that the differences observable in the two 
trouts of Loch Leven are due to differences of food or 
residence is hardly tenable. Everyone is aware that trout 
by the divine law of adaptation, instinctively put on the 
tint that harmonizes with their environment. I have 
known our American brook trout entirely change its 
coloration in twenty minutes. But no one ever heard of 
a trout's losing all his fighting qualities or running from 
a lake into a brook ; or on returning from brook to lake, 
of exchanging h>8 round, red haloed spots for black 
crosses, doubling the number of his csecal appendages, 
modifying his fin-ray formula, altering the shape of his 
maxillary and generally refining his form, and doffing 
the red tips of his adipose fin — a marking never lost by 
the brown trout. As soon believe the saibling of Sunapee 
will become a brook trout if taken up the Pike stream 
and fed on grasshoppers, or that a Chinaman will lose 
his almond eye and musky pig-tail by swapping his 
native diet of rice and rats for Yankee crustacean salads. 
Both species of trout live side by side in Loch Leven, 
subjected to precisely the same influences. Why do not 
all lose their silver and stars (if all are brown trout), and 
why are not all structurally the same? Dr. Parnell, Yar- 
rell, Sir John Richardson and Dr. Gunther have answered 
these questions by pronouncing Fario levenensis an inde- 
pendent species. 
But finally, dear brother of the angle, and most effectu- 
ally, there is as much difference between the killing of 
one of these sublime fish and the suffocating of an ordi- 
nary brown trout as there is between the conquest of our 
ouananiche and the potting of a sucker. In full view of 
the castled isle of Mary Stuart, one casts his delicate flies 
deftly knotted on the most invisible of gut. As he floats 
toward the suggestive ruin, the scenes in Queen Mary's 
eventful life flit before him — from her youth whose rare 
beauty is immortalized in the Orkney portrait, to the be- 
ginning of the end, when, charged with complicity in the 
murder of Darnley, she was committed to Loch Leven 
Castle in 1567 ; to her escape the following spring with 
the aid of "Little Douglas," who yielded to the power of 
her resistless charms; to the revolting murder that closed 
her career in 1587, and the agony so inimitably expressed 
in the livid pallor and contracted features of the Abbots- 
ford painting of the Queen's head after decollation — but 
look! that gleam through a wave's crest! that flash of 
