466 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 8, 1895. 
ANGLING WITHOUT HOOKS. 
Some Fellow Fishers. 
The earnest painstaking angler, who noiselessly wades 
the stream in May, during the quiet interval when his 
feathered tempters flutter unfollowed across pool and rip- 
ple, observes much of interest in the animal life around 
him. His figure, corduroy-clad, moving so warily, with 
never a plashing footfall or clatter of dislodged stones, 
does not alarm the birds and beasts and he may draw very 
near and watch them at work or play. Soon he will find 
that others beside himself are busily fishing, others whose 
simple outfits of beady black eyes, quick sharp claws or 
bills can land as many and as large trout as ever he can, 
cast he his coachman and brown hackle never so cun- 
ningly, never so well. Their patience far exceeds his, and 
their knowledge of the habits and haunts of the fish, 
though he may refer to it as mere instinct, he must in all 
truth confess to be wonderful and unfailing. 
The birds will be more noticeable than the other fishers 
because of less shyness on their part. Most familiar of all 
stream-side acquaintances may be reckoned the belted 
kingfisher, he of the flickering flight and hoa,rse rattling 
cry. His white collar gleams against his coat of slaty 
blue as he wrings past heading down stream. Shortly 
afterward as you turn some sudden bend you perceive 
him perched on a dry overhanging bough that droops near 
the stream. Motionless as the dead wood itself he eyes 
the shoal water beneath and suddenly darts swifter than 
thought to the surface. With a splash he strikes and 
amid the spray he rises bearing a slender silver victim. 
One less baby trout, you reflect, but you cannot fail to ad- 
mire the skill and dash of this successful rival as he cir- 
cles away with his prize in rancorous triumph. 
A few rods below, where the river slides over rocky 
shelves, beneath arching water beeches and alders, you 
stumble upon a solitary green heron. Still as any statue, 
he stands on one slender foot and the calm surface of the 
little shallow cove reflects the lustrous dark green of his 
crest and wings. Though you cannot see them, he has 
descried a shoal of yearling trout aimlessly floating in 
away from the troubled waters of .the main creek. "With 
serpent-like movement the neck curves outward and the 
bill descends unerringly into the pool. Before he can 
swallow the dainty tid-bit in peace, a big trout has 
plunged from the foam-embroidered basin under the hem- 
lock stump, and the alluring but revengeful green drake 
has gripped him with its steel-barbed sting. The fright- 
ened fish thrashes the surface, and the silent bird, 
stretching its long legs wasp-like behind it, rises and flits 
from view. In the old deserted mill pond whither he 
now flies he will have to content himself with the more 
plebeian dace and shiners, but there no human marauder 
will intrude. 
Where the brook broadened out under overshadowing 
pines and hemlocks the angler comes upon a beautiful 
sight — a pair of wood ducks feeding. These smallest of 
our ducks are also the most gorgeous in color. Green, 
purple, orange, white and black flash on the eye as the 
alarmed birds skim away into the cover. They, too, are 
expert fishers, as are the commoner and homely black 
or dusky duck, and in a season both will destroy hundreds 
of young fry. Haunting the more secluded and bush- 
grown water courses, they suffer comparatively little 
danger of attack. Human anglers occasionally alarm 
and hawks now and then pursue, but among the rank 
swamp growth Sir Falcon is at a disadvantage. 
Now the way leads through the deep woods. Giant oaks 
and chestnuts shadow the rifts and deep holes. Big trout 
hide in the black recesses behind roots and fallen trees. 
Only here and there an unwary one rises to his death. 
Mostly they are too old and wise. After nightfall they 
will Btir out and begin to feed. High overhead sails an 
osprey on wings wide-spreading and strong. Though he 
is full an hundred feet above the creek, he. sees every 
movement in its depths. Lower and lower he settles, and 
then, after hanging poised in midair a second, he makes a 
plunge. D)ip|ing, he slowly rises, holding in his cruel 
talons a good half-pound trout. Enraged, the human 
rival draws a revolver and fires again and again at the 
fast disappearing fish hawk. As he returns his unavail- 
ing weapon to its resting place be relents, for some baby 
ospreys probably are watching for that mother and her 
burden of trout with hungry little eyes. 
In the unsheltered meadow stretches the angler finds 
on the moist sandbars the innumerable prints of birds' 
feet. Here the spotted sandpipers (commonly called "tip- 
ups") have run along the water edge. ''Peet-weet! peet- 
weet!" There is a shrill-voiced pair of them settling on 
yonder shingle. How daintily they trip over the pebbles, 
poking those slender bills far into the sand in search of 
food. Yet if in a tiny puddle left by the receding creek 
they find a few belated landlocked minnows or trout, they 
will speedily catch and devour the hapless fish. They 
like, too, the young of the fresh-water clam, but on the 
whole cannot be called professional anglers. Nevertheless 
they are fellow workers, in that they haunt and feed along 
the fisherman's dearest streams. 
A keen eye soon reveals to the man of rod and reel, 
however, the presence of other than bird anglers. Here, 
on the brown, dry crest of a rock in mid-stream he finds 
the moist footprints of a water rat. The cunning rascal 
slipped out of sight when he heard the approach of the 
stranger. Ha! In the dark shadow of yon thick, droop- 
ing ferns on the bank is a broad, flat rock. On it sits a 
slender, dark creature, smaller than a house cat, and far 
more subtle. It is an old, old mink. He is so ancient 
that his fur is tinged with gray and his whiskers are long 
and white. For fifteen summers he has dwelt in the hol- 
low bank behind that ledge, and in the wisdom of his old 
age he strays not far from his doorway. Each season the 
man in corduroys has seen the knowing old mink, and 
that shifty hermit has been none the wiser. To-day 
while he stands, rod in hand, screened by a leafy willow, 
he sees the hoary mink slyly bend over the brook and with 
thievish celerity extract therefrom a plump, rosy- bellied 
fish, one that would weigh a full Jib. Noiselessly laugh- 
ing at the old chap, he has seen him feast on his captive 
and after the meal wash his wrinkled face and paws with 
greatest care. Then the willow shakes, the rod moves, 
and the gay flies light near the ledge, empty now, but 
still tracked by damp feet, From his stronghold the 
mink is peering out, and while he rejoices in his secure 
hiding-place, who shall say a flash of envy does not burn 
in him when a lib. trout snatches the orange feather, 
foams and frets to break away from the web-like silken 
strand, and at last is lifted by the man into the now heavy 
creel? 
A family of muskrats that live under the bank hard by 
are all out fishing when the human angler draws nigh. 
One is perched on a partially submerged log opening a 
fresh- water clam, of which these creatures are passion- 
ately fond. His two brothers are watching for a trout. 
Simultaneously they spy a victim and one captures it. 
Then a rough and tumble fight ensues, during which the 
fish escapes. Some sound or motion gives a signal of 
alarm, and all three with small, shrill cries slide into the 
creek, and one ploughing his way up stream almost runs 
against the boot leg of the corduroy-clad man. An old 
raccoon who was also fishing takes to his nimble heels 
and vanishes in the cleft of a decaying chestnut. The 
last settlement of otters appears deserted. The big brown 
fellows who have fished from the hemlock log for so 
many years do not show themselves any more. "Some 
miserable trapper's work," reflects he of the whip-like 
rod and slender whispering line, and a feeling of regret 
comes over him. All the others he has silently greeted as 
old friends, and he misses these, the only absent ones. 
Older than all the other fishers, older than the mink or 
the wrinkled lynx that will creep down to fish by star- 
light, or the man in brown who is moving so stealthily, is 
the loggerhead. Probably a hundred summers have 
painted the green banks of that winding river and a 
hundred winters imprisoned its restless waters since that 
old mud turtle first crept into the sunlight. He is a 
wonderful fisher, too. Many a toothsome trout — no tiny 
ones either — has he seized and held in his grim jaws. 
How slow, how clumsy he seems as he paddles out of the 
man's way, but he is no idler, and one who outlives a 
century has no need to hasten. 
The sun is low now. As its red light flares upon the 
trunks of the birches the man is making his last cast. A 
plunge in the rosy shallows and the faithful rod bends 
double. A foaming dash and the line comes dancing idly 
to the rod-tip. A leader has proved treacherous (as 
human leaders often have) and the grandest fish of the 
day is lost. Slowly the tackle is being put away when 
the man sees his last rival make a successful effort. 
From the washed-out tangled roots of a big black birch a 
water moccasin had crawled down to the edge. Gripping 
the roots behind with lightning coil he had entered the 
stream with flattened, eager head. A sudden dart, a 
writhing of the powerful gray-scaled folds and the head 
is drawn back. In its mouth quivers a beautiful fish. All 
the colors of the sunset gleam from the helpless victim's 
sides as he gives one desperate shake. Quicker than light 
a crimson streak strikes the stream; the trout has escaped, 
and with a light hearted laugh he of the corduroys flings 
a pebble at the disappointed serpent and strikes the home- 
ward trail. H. Prescott Beach. 
BLACK BASS NEAR BOSTON. 
Forest and Stream's celebrated picture "Chained to 
Business" is well-known in BoBton, and many unfortu- 
nate anglers of this city, when compelled to listen to the 
rosy yarns of friends just returned from the woods and 
lakes, murmur sighs of discontent as they think of their 
inability to get away from work to spend a few happy 
weeks with rod and reel. Finally, becoming convinced 
that it is impossible to get a long vacation, those who are 
most devoted to the sport begin to cast about them to 
find away to cheat the "business grind" out of a few 
hours or a day now and then in fishing near at home. 
Black bass is the noble game most in mind, and very 
fortunately there are some places near to Boston where 
this fine fish can yet be found. June 1 ushers in the open 
season on bass, and from that time on parties are leaving 
the city daily to fish surrounding waters while the open 
BLACK SPOTTED TROUT OF THE STILLWATER. 
season lasts. As if realizing the unfortunate condition of 
many of her best citizens, the city of Boston (through the 
Water Board) has made it possible for a limited number to 
enjoy good fishing almost within her borders. Permits 
for fishing in Chestnut Hill reservoir are given to appli- 
cants by the Water Board, One permit is good for two 
persons, and only one is allowed each day, The fishing 
must be done between the hours of 4 and 7 A. M. and the 
city furnishes the boat. The fishing last year was very 
good and promises to be the same this year. Many 
applications are received for the necessary papers far in 
advance, and those who are lucky enough to get them 
are fortunate indeed. Not to be outdone by Boston, the 
City of Cambridge, just across the Charles River, follows 
the same general plan and issues permits to fish in Fresh 
Pond, the Cambridge water supply. These permits 
allow fishing from 4 to 8 A. M. and are only issued once 
in two months to same parties. Boats are furnished by 
the city, and bass, pickerel and large perch are the game 
to be had. Ten miles out at Wakefield Center there is a 
pond from which bass weighing as high as 41bs. were 
taken last year. It is a very good place to go and is easily 
reached in a few moments from the city by steam and 
electric lines. There is another pond at Wakefield Junc- 
tion, but I believe very few, if any, bass are found there. 
The Winchester Pond has lately been taken in by the 
Metropolitan Park system and I am told that all fishing in 
this water has been stopped. Fairhaven Bay, a sheet of 
water making in from the Sudbury River, is a banner 
place for bass and is easy to reach from the city. A 
friend who fished there last season captured one which 
tipped the scales at 61bs. 5oz. A good way to reach this 
water is to take the train for Concord and then a boat 
three miles up the river to the bay. There is good 
pickerel fishing all along the Sudbury, but rather difficult 
to fish owing to the lilypads, which are very plentiful. 
The ponds lying near Plymouth, on the Cape, are an 
ancient resort for Boston bass fishermen, and Nat. 
Hoxies's place at Chiltonville, near Plymouth, is fre- 
quented during the season by many lovers of the sport. 
Another place to which many bass fishermen go is the 
chain of lakes located near Lakeville, about thirty-four 
miles out on the Plymouth division of the Old Colony 
R. R. The first of these lakes, Assawampsett (eight or 
nine miles long), is the largest body of fresh water in 
Massachusetts. Long Pond, Elders's Pond and Little and 
Big Quitticus are the namt-s of the other ponds of the 
system. The City of Taunton gets its water from Elders's, 
and it is said the fishing there is excellent. At Assawamp- 
sett there is a very good hotel, and good boats can be had 
at the same place, Massapoag Lake, at Sharon, twenty 
miles out, and Cochituate Lake, about fifteen miles out, 
are two more points which furnish very fair fishing. 
Thirty-eight miles from the city, in the town of Uxbridge, 
there is a pond called Nipmuck, in which are found both 
the large and small-mouth varieties of bass. This pond 
was formerly controlled by the Nipmuck Club, who con- 
trolled it for quite twenty years. Their lease expired 
three years ago and it is now open to all comers. Other 
waters accessible to Boston fishermen are Wenham and 
Chebacco lakes, near Salem; Singletary Pond, Sutton, 
Mass. : Waushaken Lake, at Sterling; Chancy Pond, West- 
boro; Whitinsville Pond, Whitinsville, and Podunk Pond, 
East Brookfield. Hackle. 
Connecticut Trout of Size. 
Preston, Conn. , May 30. — Yesterday a Goliath of a trout 
was brought to the city by a Voluntown man. One of bis 
farm hands captured the fish in a brook adjoining his 
property. The beauty tipped the scales at exactly 3flbs., 
the largest caught in this vicinity for several years. The 
man sold it for $1. Another Voluntown man brought in 
one weighing lib. 9oz, 
Robert Staub made a visit to the trout pools last week 
and returned with 26 trout, weighing from ^lb. to 141bs. . 
apiece. Robert knows where the trout hide and how to 
capture them. E. M. Brown. 
The Leap of the Hooked Fish. 
Here is what Oppian (who lived in the second century}! 
has to say about it: 
"The crafty bass, whene'er they conscious feel 
Deep in their jaws iDfix'd the barbed steel, 
Writhing with restive fury, backwards bound, 
The hook dismissing through the widen M wound." 
Two Stillwater Trout. 
Mr. John D. Lozekamp sends us a photograph of two 
trout taken in the Stillwater River, Mont. The upper one 
is a male caught by O. E. Finklenberg, and the lower a 
female caught by Mr, Lozekamp. They are remarkably 
uniform in size. The platter upon which they were pho- 
tographed is 23iin. in length. The fish were taken with 
the black gnat. 
Hot Weather akd Fishing go together. — Ask George H. Heafford, 
G. P. A. of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway, for the little 
book "About Fishing." It says where to go. — Adv. 
%m\t mul Jfitif firokejion. 
SOME MAINE FACTS. 
Editor Forest and Stream; 
I see in your issue of May 11 that Mr, H. O. Stanley 
criticises your editorial indorsing an article by me in your 
paper of March 23, entitled "Those Ninety Deer." As I 
am the cause of this criticism, and as he denies the cor- 
rectness of several of my statements, I think it but fair to 
you and myself that I should prove the truth of what 1 
then said. 
As Mr. Stanley in his article says that it was not an 
answer to me, but "addressed strictly to yourself," I pro- 
pose in this to ignore Mr. Stanley entirely and write to 
you personally. As he has said that if I have "any griev- 
ances or suggestions to make I shall be treated with proper 
respect if I will apply to the Commissioners of Fish and 
Game," so I will extend the same courtesy to him when 
he applies personally to me. 
I find no fault with Mr. Stanley's first complaint, that 
you have overrated my knowledge of game protection. I 
thank you sincerely for your good opinion of me in this 
respect, but am rather inclined to agree with Mr. Stanley, 
and am not aware of ever claiming to be a walking ency- 
clopaedia on game matters. 
His second grievance is that I wrote I saw trout on the 
bill of fare at the Augusta House, He admits that the 
word "trout" was on the bill of fare, but insists that they 
were not trout, and proves it by telling a story of how he 
helped impose on the guests at a hotel by feeding them on 
suckers under the name of perch. The only point I can 
see in this story is that he helped deceive people. This I 
do not question. He does not deny that for years trout 
have in close time been on the bill of fare at the Augusta , 
House, and that he, a Commissioner appointed and sworn 
to see that the game laws were not violated, has allowed 1 
this to pass unrebuked. It makes very little odds what . 
kind of fish were offered under the name of trout; the 
fact remains that the public have for years been led too 
believe that trout were freely eaten by Senators and Rep>- 
resentatives right under the eyes of the Commissioners;; 
and the many hotel keepers from other places, having; 
such an object lesson given them, might be expected to do 
the same. 
Now, as to what these fish were. I did not taste of them 
myself, but in appearance they were lake trout, or, as we 
usually call them, togue; and several of my friends, who 
are good judges of fish and who ate them on different 
days, pronounced them togue. 
If Mr. Stanley has examined these fish and knows what 
they are, why does he not give the public the benefit of 
his knowledge by stating plainly what they are, so that 
the whole State may enjoy them in close time when 
other fish are forbidden? 
Mr. Stanley also quotes me as writing that I saw large 
quantities of trout openly displayed at Augusta for sale, 
