June 15, 1895.] 
FOHESt AND STREAM. 
491 
; — -- ----- - 
A PISCATORIAL EPISODE. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Ouce upon a time (you may see at once that this is a 
fairy story) a fellow of my acquaintance was possessed of 
the silly craze of loving to wet his legs in a mountain 
stream— temperature in July 33% minus probably, or per- 
haps plus, I forget which— in the vain hope of catching, 
say twice a day, a 7in. trout, measured with liberal eye or 
weighed in a scale somewhat out of plumb— though these 
little details are of no consequence whatever. 
In the yearly excursions made by this accomplished 
fisherman he usually had the companionship of three 
friends, each of whom was able, when conversing with 
strangers or in the bosom of his innocent and unsophisti- 
cated family, to transform, without great stress of con- 
science, a fingerling into a lib. trout, and to describe 
without quaver of voice the frantic struggles and gyra- 
tions of this powerful fish before yielding to the superior 
prowess of his captor. And I am ashamed to confess that 
I formed one of this quartette and was imbued with all 
the imaginative powers of my companions — in other 
words, could lie with the best of them; but I was young 
then, and God forgive me. 
I didn't intend, however, to talk about myself; but 
these reminiscences take me back many, many years, to 
one glorious June morning, when, after a five-mile tramp 
and profuse perspiration, we struck the stream. The 
flowing waters were throwing out their sparkling dia- 
monds beneath the morning sun, and the brook as it Bped 
on its downward way laughed and gurgled and talked to 
us, while the trees that bent over the bank softly moved 
m the light breeze, offering us the sweet cover of their 
umbrageous foliage. 
I stood for the first time rod in hand and line extended, 
with trembling hand and thumping: heart, awaiting my 
new venture in unknown waters. We were four then, as 
now, and the elder, if not the better fisherman, stood be- 
side the neophyte, instructing him and watching his first 
cast. 
Ah! how well it comes back to me, that glorious day in 
early summer, as I cast my bait upon the waters, and 
watched it riding the riffle to the pool below. The birds 
were singing, the lullaby of the waters was fast casting a 
glamour over me, when all of a sudden a little tug on my 
line, a second's gleaming of a shiny form, a disappearance 
beneath the wave, and a taut line. ".Strike him, you 
blamed fool," cried at once three voices (and have you 
ever noticed at critical moments how many different oc- 
taves and inflections are compassed in the voice of man?). 
"Easy now; raise the tip of your rod, you idiot, and you 
have him." I caught on at once, taught by the lore that 
I had absorbed from my companions, who had persist- 
ently talked fish to me all the way up from New York; 
and with my little lOoz, rod and a line positively not over 
iin. in thickness, with a big gob of a worm at the end 
thereof (I had not then arrived at the dignity of a fly), I 
led that fellow a pretty dance. This monster of the deep 
I dragged hither and thither, through the still waters of 
the pool below up through the riffle of the dancing waves 
above, against pebbles on shore and rock amidst, with my 
reel clicking in unison with my heart, until by a dexter- 
ous though perhaps somewhat too emphatic motion I 
sprang my rod, and the poor fish was tossed high in air, 
to descend and hang pendent from one of my sighing 
trees. I quickly though perhaps nervously disengaged 
him — but shall I ever forget to my dying day the re- 
proachful and contemptuous look on the face of that poor 
little Salvelinus fontinalis ? 
He weighed 7oz. I scaled him myself, and I know, 
though I told my friends that he weighed 114 — and they 
answered me with nothing but a sickening smile. 
As for my line, it was wound fourteen times around a 
limb of the tree, and I was compelled to cut the Gordian 
knot with my new jack-knife, bought for just these spe- 
cial occasions. But that experience made me the expert 
fisherman that, away from the stream, I imagine and 
claim myself to be. 
But this is all nonsense and just wasting time. I didn't 
intend to go into all this foolishness, but visions of my 
credulous youth, with flowing, laughing waters and flit- 
ting clouds and bending trees, have carried me off my 
feet and for a moment drowned my sober sense. 
But to come to business. This friend of mine, of whom 
I started to tell— a good fellow too, barring some piscato- 
rial eccentricities — became worried one spring because 
his friends did not come up to the scratch as promptly as 
usual and settle the question as to when and where they 
should invest five dollars a pound in brook trout, which 
might be bought in Fulton market— elegant specimens, 
too, and tamed to order— for 75 cents. 
One of the foremost of these four was a great Latin 
scholar — at least he said he was— and to his credit be it 
told that, aside from some little thoughtless exaggera- 
tions now and then in the matter of his catch, he had 
been found, well, fairly truthful. Be that as it may. he 
quoted Latin volubly, swore profusely when occasion 
demanded in choice Etruscan, and had adopted as his 
pseudonym the classic name of Flucus Venum. 
Now I don't know who the original Flucus was, and 
neither did he, but the name went; and as he was an im- 
portant member of the party, to him an appeal was made, 
clothed in the choice language calculated to act on his 
sensitive and classic soul. 
I have no patience myself with this sort of people, un- 
derstand, and if the letter that I am about to give you has 
any moral at all it is in the line of teaching 'us that the 
pursuit of piscatorial impossibilities may put an immense 
quantity of "meagles" in the "think-box" of a city fisher- 
man, who goeth forth in a carefully prepared Knicker- 
bocker suit, a 6oz. rod with Scotch tackle, and impossible 
insects at the business end of the same, to seek for ante- 
diluvian fish. As for myself, I don't see what use we have 
for any foreign language at all. Anglo-Saxon is good 
enough for me, especially when I lose a large fish at my 
yery feet. True, there have been a few occasions when 
in polite society I have needed to use some strong and 
emphatic phrases under cover, so to speak; but this seldom 
occurs, as most of our strong words are spoken on the 
stream at critical moments. 
I give the letter verbatim, however, just as it was sent. 
It will show to what depths of inanity an otherwise aus- 
tere and sensible man may be brought when led astray by 
the vain hope of finding during his summer vacation an 
18in. trout in a 6in. stream. 
„ „, „ New York, May 8, 1894. 
My Dear Flucus Venum: Id delaying our symposium fbr another 
week, I greatly fear you are doing vulnus immediacabilis. Do not 
forget, my dear boy, that tempus fugit very rapidly as the warm 
weather approaches, and we should be ut quocunque. paratus, what- 
ever our decision as to place may be. 
I had hoped that before this we should have determined on some 
point aTappui, but che sara, sard, I suppose— and it is no use hurrying 
matters. Yet to delay longer is to go de mal eyi pis, and we should 
remember ex nihilo, nihil fit, or we will find ourselves when the time 
comes non paratus. 
I long, pour vie me, to go somewhere where I can catch some sox 
doligerios, and have inscribed on my tombstone, after I have suc- 
cumbed to the shock, "hie ,/acef" (as usual), a successful fisherman. 
With this feeling, naturally, je suispret to g-o to the Adirondack*, and 
may we be as ever tout ensemble. A gute Zeit kommt. 
Convey these few plain sentiments, my dear boy, to our other friends 
s il vous voulez, and tell them viihi cura futuri, and this alone, makes 
me so exigeant. They will understand and appreciate tbe purity of 
my motives, and finally le bon temps viendra. 
A vuestru salud, W. 0. R. 
Now you've got the letter, use it as you please. Were I 
not, as stated above, opposed to the use of foreign terms, 
I should subscribe myself Vebbum Sai>(head.) 
New York, June, 1895. 
HAUNTS OF THE SEA BASS. 
Trying Conclusions with a Gamy Fish. 
Santa Catalina Island, June 1.— "Listen to that!'' 
said my companion as he gave a big silver reel a twist, 
and from it came a long silvery note — the kind of music 
that most men prefer to the opera or oratorio. 
"To produce the right chords," continued the fisherman, 
"you must have a big sea bass, a 30 or 40 -pounder, and 
then if I can't promise you some music never mind." 
I had a music maker myself which I brought out, and 
we agreed to go in search of the musician the following 
day. My friend told me such stories of the fishing he 
had had during the past month that I woke up every hour 
during the night, and at daylight I made my way out to 
the beach and watched the Italian fishermen catching our 
bait. 
It was a morning to invoke the gods. The little bay of 
Avalon was as smooth as a sea of glass. The hills rising 
on all sides were still in their winter greens, with here 
STERLING LAKE TRUTJT. 
and there patches of white, yellow and lavender which 
grew in intensity as it became lighter. Away to the east 
great beams of light pierced the sky, and the scarlet glow 
was fading to gray. 
As I stood watching the men and listening to the 
gentle music of the pebbles in the sand, my companion 
hove insight; then Billy, the oarsman, with a bundle of 
rods. A few minutes later we were bounding over the 
little bay, with the flying fishes scaring away on either 
side of us and the big gulls that had been following the 
Italian seamen hovering overhead, looking wistfully 
down into the boat, where Billy was picking out a partic- 
ularly shiny sardine as a first inducement. 
It may interest fishermen in the East to know the 
equipment. The Colonel had a rod of split bamboo with 
two tips, weighing in all about 16oz. and very much like 
the tarpon rod used in Florida. On this he had his 
famous singing reel, an old-fashioned affair with a silver 
throat. The line was an eighteen strand cuttyhunk: my 
rod was longer and lighter, with four tips; the smallest 
being the end of a split bamboo trout rod, so that it was 
very supple, yet stiff enough for a 501b. fish; in fact, I 
had tested it in a thirty-minute fight with 651b. fish. The 
line was the same as the Colonel's, and I had 350ft. on a 
reel which Billy said could talk four languages. 
The hooks were soon baited with sardines not half an 
hour out of the water, and as bright and gleaming as 
though molten silver had been poured over them as an 
illustration of the free silver gospel. These alluring bait 
we dropped asteru 50ft. or so, and with rods on either side 
settled back on the cushioned seats and waited while the 
boat glided along down the rocky shore of the romantic 
island. 
"Do you know," said the Colonel, "I take upon myself 
some credit in educating the sportsmen down here up to 
the sportsmanlike method. Five years ago you couldn't 
find a rod in Avalon, and I remember when I came over 
with my first rod Vincenti told me that a rock bass would 
play with it and carry it off to pick his teeth with, and 
when I said I was going to take a 30lb. yellowtail on it he 
thought I was raving mad. But when I did he changed 
his mind, and gradually the hand-lines have been dropped 
except for fast trolling on the launches, and almost every 
one uses a rod. Why, once — " 
But the Colonel got no further; he was interrupted by a 
tuneful note, a zee-zee-ee! then ze-e-e-e-e! and the rod 
showed a disposition to tie itself in knots and dive into 
the blue water. 
"It's a big fish, sir," whispered Billy. The Colonel evi- 
dently knew that, and was handling the rod with a deli- 
cacy of manipulation that was a study. 
The Colonel was something of a mathematician, and 
the proposition was, "Given a fish of unknown weight and 
undoubted agility, and a line little larger than a thread 
what will be the result?" The odds were on the Colonel, 
though at the start it must be confessed that it was a mat- 
ter of doubt. The fish made a clean rush of nearly 200ft. , 
literally tearing the line from the reel to a hornpipe that 
made the pulse quicken and the red of the Colonel's face 
take on a deeper tint. 
"He's a line eater," said the sportsman, as he gently ap- 
plied the brake, and then after a struggle succeeded in 
turning the fish that now was racing around the boat, 
making the water hiss where the line cut it, while the 
sheet of bubbles could be seen far down in the blue depths. 
Now it was coming in like an arrow, overrunning the line,, 
until the Colonel was almost in dispair; then the fish 
turned and made a burst directly away, the reel singing 
in high notes and then ranging into a hoarse scream as 
the maddened animal swam for its life. But deftly the 
Colonel touched the brake and gently turned the rod, so 
that the strain of 200ft. of line was felt by the fish, addirig 
to its burden. 
For fifteen minutes the gamy creature fought with all. 
the fury of perfect strength, bringing into play all the tac- 
tics, ruses and schemes that it knew — a never-ending vari- 
ety; then the skillful wielder of the bamboo began to gain 
the supremacy and play with his game; and it was evident 
that, as light as the line was, it was quite enough for the 
big fish. Slowly it came in, and twenty times he reeled 
the fish almost within reach of the boat; as many times 
Billy fingered his gaff, and just so many times the gamy 
creature rushed away blindly in a mad attempt to break 
the line. Now its rushes were not so fierce, the rod was 
bending by its mere weight, and the Colonel was turning 
it from side to side, reeling when he could, touching the 
brake gently and caressingly. Finally, like a flash of 
golden bronze, a great fish dashed into the line of vision; 
for a moment it lay, dazzling us by its beauty, then Billy 
gaffed it, and, as though it was the proudest moment of 
his life, held the struggling monster up to our admiring 
gaze, then folding it away, as he would a treasure, in a 
cloth. 
"And yet," remarked the Colonel, lighting his cigar 
and rubbing his wrists and hands, which trembled like an 
aspen after their twenty-five minutes' work, "they will 
tell you that the sea bass is not a fighter. He was game 
enough for a better fate." 
The line was baited again, and the other which I had 
hauled in to prevent complications was unreeled, and on 
we went over the water with its depth of color, by high 
cliffs where white-headed eagles mocked us, and across: 
the mouths of deep canons faced with green. Here the 
mountain was cut down as with a knife; a little further 
on a little beach had found a foothold where the waves 
made melody with the flattened ribbles. On we went, 
until the roar of the sea lions caught the ear, and seal 
rock came in view with the big rollers coming in like 
tidal messengers. Here the water suddenly changed int 
color to a delicate green; patches of kelp covered the sur- 
face, and flocks of flying fish dashed into the air— the 
Santa Catalina birds of the sea. 
Zeee— z-e-e-ee! interrupted the joy of it all, and in one 
quick second I was transported from the land of dreams 
to the stern reality of a hand-to-hand struggle. I lost 
250ft. of line before I dared try the brake, and then it was 
only the pressure of the thumb that could be adjusted 
delicately to stem the enthusiasm of this game fish. One 
false motion, a kink in the line, a little too much resist- 
ance, and the game would be up; but nothing of the kind 
occurred. The Colonel breathed hard as the reel spoke 
and at times grew asthmatic as he watched the rushes of 
the fish that fought me inch by inch, foot by foot. Find- 
ing all games at fault it made a final dash to the bottom 
and sulked there, 150ft. deep, and pounded on the line. 
Slowly it was lifted and reeled in, but when near the sur- 
face and it caught a glimpse of the boat, away it went 
with a rush that threatened disaster. But finally, after it 
had fought and tried the tricks of its tribe, it lay upon its 
side at our mercy— a magnificent fish in iridescent blue 
and pure silver, with golden yellow trimmings— the 
yellowtail. the amber fish, the white salmon, for it is all: 
these to the Santa Catalinian; but we knew him simply 
as one of two of the gamiest fish we have caught, and} 
Billy soon had him rolled with his mate, the sea bass. 
Out beyond Church Rock we rowed, now in the sea 
way, and here had several strikes and took some gamy 
fish. From here we followed the island shore north 
passing the strange painted cliffs. Here the rock bass 
were rising and lighter rods were taken out and much 
sport had with the 5 and 6-pound fish. But the sea bass 
and amber fish had much of our attention. 
The sea bass of California is known to science and those 
fishermen who fish scientifically as Cynoscion nobile, and 
a noble fish it is. It resembles the sea trout of Virginia 
or the squeteague of Massachusetts, or the famous weak- 
fish of New York, and belongs to the same genus; but the 
California member of the family is the thunderer and 
ranges up to 801bs., such a fish having been hooked in 
Avalon Bay last year, and captured by a lady after tow- 
ing her all around the bay. Piscator. 
Bass Fishing Near Syracuse. 
Mr. C. W. Smith writes in the Syracuse Standard of 
bass fishing points reached from that city : 
Oneida Lake— At Brewerton, South Bay, Shackleton's 
Bridgeport, Lakeport, Messenger's, Fish Creek, North Bav' 
Cleveland, Bernhardt Bay and Constantia. ' 
Oneida River— Brewerton, Caughdenoy, Oak Orchard 
and Three River Point. 
Seneca River— Montezuma, Howland's Island Weeds- 
port, Jordan (in the river and in Cross Lake), Jack's Reef 
Baldwinsville (above or below the dam), Red Bank, Mud 
Lock and Three River Point. ■ ' 
Oswego River— Pine nix, Hinmanville, Fulton, Minetto 
and Oswego; and these lakes: Onondaga, Otisco, Tully, 
Skaneateles, Owa3Co, Crooked and Cayuga 
Lake trout are now biting freely in Skaneateles, Owasco 
and Crooked lakes. 
Sterling Lake Trout. 
Sterling Lake is in Rockland county, N. Y.. not far 
from this city. Its waters were stocked some years ago- 
with lake trout, and fishermen who are so fortunate as to 
gam permission to fish there nowadays have capital sport 
Messrs. J. B. Staples and O. L. Marvin, of the Erie Rail- 
way, Jersey City, send us a photograph of two fish taken 
by them m Sterling Lake on May 15. One measured 36in 
and weighed 14lbs., the other 35iin. and weighed ll+lbs' 
This record of the lucky and skillful fishermen has been 
the envy of their friends ever since. 
