Ato. 22, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
r 
149 
not be overlooked when accounting for the great size of 
the bass in these latter days. 
Ouananiche of Lake Champlaln. 
- Since my last note was written about the ouananiche of 
Ijake Champlain an examination was made of one of the 
streams in Essex county where the fingerling fish have 
been planted for two years past, and the result is most 
encouraging. Mr, Walter C. Witherbee, of Port Henry, 
who has taken an active interest in the efforts to stock 
the lake with ouananiche, tells me that, in order to find 
out positively how the fingerlings were doing that were 
planted last October in one of the streams near where he 
lives, a minnow net was dipped in a pool below a fall, and 
at one dip twenty young ouananiche were taken and re- 
turned at once to the water. There was no opportunity 
for protracted examination, as the fish had to go back 
before they suffered injury; but they appeared to be from 
4 or Sin. long to ilb. in weight. The net was dipped but 
once, and that was sufficient to show a fine lot of vigor- 
ous, growing young ouananiche, extremely lively and 
very handsome. The unusual growth must be attributed 
to an abundance of food, the State having added to the 
natural supply by planting a large number of fresh-water 
shrimp in the stream. 
Marston's-Fancy. 
The more I use the artificial fly called the Marston's- 
fancy the more it suits my fancy, because it seems to suit 
the fancy of the fish that I seek with it. I began to use 
it about eight years ago, as near as I can now recollect, 
and my faith in it has been growing as the years pass by. 
The first specimens were sent to me by Mr. Marston and I 
soon discovered their killing qualities, and in this I was 
not alone, for friends who tried the flies found them suc- 
cessful trout lures. I tried the flies recently in the Adir- 
ondacks upon trout that I am positive never saw their 
like before, and I found them as killing as I have found 
them elsewhere. 
I was acting as chaperon for my friend, Col. Ashley 
W. Cole, who was to represent Gov. Morton at the cere- 
mony at John Brown's Farm when the property was 
turned over to the Fisheries, Game and Forest Commis- 
sion, and he would persist in asking certain questions at 
inopportune moments, For instance, he wished to know 
why I had a rod case as part of my baggage and what 
use I expected to make of the rods it contained. As we 
were a party of about thirty people, the Fisheries, Game 
and Forest Commission, a special legislative committee, 
with the sergeant-at-arms and other Assembly oflScials, 
the Excise Commissioner of the State, who was to deliver 
the oration at John Brown's grave; Gen. Merritt, who 
was to preside at the ceremony, and ten guides, and 
as we were hurrying through the lakes and over the 
carries from early morning until well into the evening to 
reach the Brown Farm at a fixed time, the fish rods did 
seem to be unnecessary for the purpose of catching fish. 
At Loon Lake we had a little breathing time one day 
while the Assembly committee was taking testimony in 
regard to forest lauds, and the colonel again asked if the 
rods were for ornament or for use, and if they had ever 
been used to take trout. It was quite evident that he 
would have to try the trout if I was to preserve my 
reputation as a first-class chaperon to a private secretary. 
About three miles from the Loon Lake Hotel there is a 
small trout pond made by throwing a dam across a trout 
brook, and Mr. Chase provided a carnage to take us to the 
pond. We started at 4:40 and were back at the hotel at 
8:30 with trout enough for the whole party for breakfast. 
We took a man with us from the hotel, Charles Stickney, to 
paddle the boat, as the Colonel and I both wished to fish. 
When I saw the boat I wished that I had left my watch 
in my room at the hotel, for after a watch has been to the 
bottom of a pond in its owner's pocket it is not reliable as 
a time-keeper. 
The boat may have been built for three originally, but 
a great many cold winters and hot summers have not 
improved its carrying capacity, and it leaked badly, but 
it was that or nothing. As I was putting a fly on my 
leader the Colonel wished to know what kind of a fly it 
was, and I told him a Marston's-fancy. Then he said 
very flatly that that was what he wanted, as he did not 
propose to have me take any advantage of him in the 
matter of flies. He was provided with the desired fly for 
a stretcher, and very carefully we got into the boat. By 
virtue of my weight I was in the middle, seated very near 
the bottom on a piece of fence board, and the Colonel 
was in one end on what looked like a discarded scrubbing 
board or the tread of a dog churn. He and the guide 
were several inches higher than I was, so when the water 
came in through the leaky boat it would strike me first. 
When we had made a few casts we forgot all about the 
boat, for there were plenty of trout in the pond and they 
rose readily to our flies. We each had three flies on the 
leader, and almost without exception the trout would 
take the Marston-fancy first. Several times we caught 
two trout at a cast, and once Col. Cole hooked and landed 
three trout at once, one on each of his flies, but we 
noticed that in case of doubles it was the Marston- 
fancy that took the first trout. The guide became 
interested in the killing qualities of the fly and said 
he had never seen a fly in the Adirondacks that was 
such a prime favorite with the trout when they had the 
opportunity to take other flies, which to the human eye 
looked just as good. Once the Colonel in his ardor of 
landing trout by the brace turned the boat to the north- 
east, when it should have been turned to the southwest, 
and the water came over the gunwale in a small flood. 
At least he said it was but a little water; as it came above 
my seat and I was sitting in it, I did not fully agree with 
his measure of quantity. Except for going ashore three 
times to turn the water out of the boat it served us well, 
and I should not perhaps have written disparagingly of it 
at the outset. We returned to the water a number of 
trout too small to keep, and told the guide when he 
thought we had enough for breakfast for our paxty we 
would cease fishing, but he did not keep any count of the 
fish, and finally we guessed we had forty and that would 
be sufficient. A count developed forty-five fair trout, 
from 7 to lOin. long. We could have made the number 
100 or even more if we had continued to cast our flies, 
for the trout were rising as eagerly when we left the pond 
as when we arrived. That night when the Colonel came 
in and sat on the edge of my bed, as I was going to sleep, 
he asked no questions about what I brought the rod case 
for, nor did he mention the rods the next morning before 
I was fairly awake, and thereafter his questions related 
to other matters than fishing except when he alluded to 
fishing in a respectful manner, as becoming a young man 
when addressing his chaperon. 
Fly-Fishing at Night. 
It is quite possible that I was over cautious when I hesi- 
tated about admitting that I had fished for trout with the 
fly at night, in the face of the admonition that it was not 
ethical angling. I have just read a note written by "Hal- 
cyon," a well-known Scotch angler and writer who is 
acknowledged to be. way up in G in the ethics of angling, 
and I begin to feel that I am not a very great offender 
after all. He says: "I have often been asked in the 
L^eds Mercury how fish can distinguish the different 
colors in the dark. That I cannot say, but the fact 
remains that they can, for I have invariably found that 
the brown and red take the best. The angler ought to be 
thoroughly well acquainted with the river that he is fish- 
ing on before he ventures to wade in the dark. The best 
place is to select a long, level flat, about 18in. deep, and 
stick to it. Such a piece of water, say lOOyds. in length, 
is ample for a night^ fishing, for if the angler wades care- 
fully he can fish it over and over again without disturb- 
ing the fish. There is a kind of fascination about night 
fishing which must be experienced before it can be real- 
ized. Not a sound can be heard except the hoot of an 
owl or the croak of a nightjar. Suddenly you feel a tug 
at your line, and the next moment the splash of a trout 
breaks the silence and so on through the night, until the 
first gray streaks of dawn appear in the eastern sky, and 
the birds begin to carol their morning song, and then you 
count your spoil and wend your homeward way." 
Who knows but fly-fishing at night is the poetry of fish- 
ing? Certainly Halcyon is inclined to be poetical in de- 
scribing it, and he tells of a friend whom he invited to 
fish with him one night, and who became absolutely 
frightened at the solemn weirdness and stillness of night 
fishing, and begged to go home. 
The most famous trout stream in this State boasted of a 
fishing club whose members were expert fly- fishers — none 
better in the land, none more scrupulous about the ethics 
of fishing, and yet all their fishing, done from their club 
house after the middle of July, was done at night. That 
is another admission, and I expect gradually I will make 
a full confession and admit that I am fond of night fish- 
ing, and that it requires a peculiar skill to be successful at 
it. 
One word about the color of flies. When Owen told me 
the trout in Chapel Pond would take nothing but a white 
miller at night I was skeptical, for I have heard the same 
statement on previous occasions when it was not so. It 
seems to be generally understood that a trout must have a 
white fly presented, at night if one is to be successful in 
night fishing. ' While a light-colored fly is perhaps desir- 
able, I have known trout to take a black fly at night — a 
fly as black as any made. 
As a rule flies that are good during the day will serve 
the purpose at night on the same water the same season. 
Lobsters. 
The Fisheries, Game and Forest Commission of the State 
has finished its lobster work for this year, and as a result 
4,414,000 have been hatched and planted in the waters of 
Richmond, Qaeens, Suffolk and Westchester counties. 
A. N. Cheney. 
FLY-FISHING 
On the North Shore of Lake Superior. 
[Continued from page 89.] 
The next morning we were delighted to find a south- 
west wind prevailing and the lake in an excellent condi- 
tion for the angle, the ripples being just right for 
casting. 
I was satisfied that Ned's success with his red-headed 
"dusting brush" was more the result of the bushment of 
his new creation than aught else. It had been quite 
warm for the past month and the trout during that time 
had grown somewhat indolent, and it required, I thought, 
a good-sized morsel to bring them to the surface. I there- 
fore concluded that I would add an extra red feather or 
two to my red-ibis, as well as puff out the body a little. 
While engaged at this addition before breakfast, Ned 
came along and inquired what I was doing with my fiy. 
"Repairing a broken wing," I answered, in equivoca- 
tion. 
"It seems to me that you are struck on my color." 
"Red is a favorite color in fly making." 
"Admitted, but don't try to imitate the fly you have so 
long been cynically snarling at." 
" Whenever 1 desire to copy your wonderfully created 
gob of scarlet it will be when I am disposed to make a 
retrograde step in the gentle art." 
"Still you are striving by degrees to approximate it. 
You have already increased the body of your red-ibis and 
then shingled it with some extra red feathers. Another 
addition and it will really be a 'dusting brush.' " 
Ned's sharp eyes had taken in the annexes I had made, 
and Was fully satisfied that I was trying to grow a red- 
headed devil myself. Not wishing to have it that way, I 
made bold denial of it, stating that I had used nothing 
but feathers, with a little red silk in the enlargement of 
the body. 
"It is an infringement, anyhow, and under the patent 
laws of Uncle Sam you would be found guilty." 
With this he smilingly stalked away and inquired of 
the boatmen as to the near approach of breakfast. The 
boys announced it about ready to serve, and then we pre- 
pared for the table. 
We were both anxious that morning to be afloat deliv- 
ering our flies, and it was but a short time before we were 
on the water and seeking an angler's rapture. We went 
about a mile before we attempted to cast a fly. Ned pro- 
posed, when we had reached a favorite spot overlooked 
by a large and projecting cone of rock, that I mount it 
with Jo as netter and try for a trout, while he took the 
boat and Kenosh and skirted along the shore just above 
it. It was just what I desired, and when I stepped from 
the craft with Jo and got in position on a little rocky 
parapet, he says, "We git 'em here." 
The first cast brought no response, but the second 
brought a terrible snapper of the crimson stars that rap- 
idly ran into deep water with my red-ibis. Being confi- 
dent that he was well hooked, I let the silver spool sing 
tiU it reached its pianissimo notes; then I stopped the 
music and played the tune backward. My notes were not 
at all agreeable to him, so he started in again for his own 
melody. I humored him awhile, and then I made him take 
back tracks toward his foeman of the wizard wand. At 
last, depressed, broken-hearted and exhausted, he surren- 
dered and was taken to another element, where he had 
the smiling earth and the roseate sky for his imperial 
shroud. 
Again go out the feathery ambassadors, and again on 
the second cast a trout followed the dancing flies, but no 
attempt to devour was rhade. Jo said I should have halt- 
ed the flies, but I thought otherwise, for a trout will take 
no quiet lure. Once more the counterfeits circle and kiss 
the water, and then an electric gleam of shining jewels 
greets my vision, while a terrible tumult of the waters 
fell upon my tympanum; but no trout went racing away 
with the red object he sought when I tried the sudden 
twitch of the wrist as a retainer. Disappointed, I imme- 
diately lift my flies from the racing ripples, and again 
drop them with snowflake lightness at the same place 
from whence the response came. Like an enraged tiger 
in a jungle sprang a, fontinalis upon the red-ibis, and this 
time there was music in the air "as sweet as Apollo's 
lyre," with a speeding fontinalis seeking his liberty and 
an angler in deep delight. He was a wary warrior and 
gave me a battle that was long in doubt; but, wearying 
of his frantic leaps and dashes, in sheer desperation I re- 
fused him further line from the rod. 
"And then it bends from tip to butt, 
Wbile through the pool the ripples cut, 
And close and closer yet is shut; 
Then upward flies. 
As, drawn from his pebbly hold, 
Brightly against the lorest mold, 
Vermilion, silver, black ani gold, 
The brook trout lies." 
Ned, at the termination of this strife, appears with the 
boat minus a fin, and proposes a trip to Blind River, a mile 
or two above. I at once acquiesced, and then with my 
tawny netter clamber over the smooth and weatherbeaten 
rocks and into the boat, and away for the sparkling river 
with a blind name, where spangled trout like Indian 
shafts have flashed. This was one of our old haunts, 
"where o'er white gravel and the sand the rushing waters 
foam and glide," and 
"Where oft the angler with bis fly 
Takes the tinted rovers where they lie." 
As we progress along the wooded and rocky shores the 
ragged spurs and retreating ravines stand out to the eye 
with wonderful distinctness, and the play of sunshine and 
shade upon the igneous cliffs and trap rock and varied 
foliaere is a "thing of beauty and a joy forever." 
We arrive at last at a sandy beach, which Hps each side 
of the stream we seek, a,nd then wonder if the water at 
the mouth of it will permit our entering with the boat. 
If not, our trip has been fruitless, for it can only be fished 
from a boat with any degree of comfort. Landing at the 
mouth, the boatmen jump ashore, and taking a view of 
the sinuous channel along its glistening bank ascertain 
that we can just about get into the river. Again we are 
afloat, and on using the oars for pushing the boatmen 
soon have us over the shallows. The pool is but a short 
distance from the mouth, and the west side of it discloses 
a sunny stretch, with a few bushes on the margin and one 
solitary tree which is just opposite the desired waters. 
Carefully we approach it, and when we are within casting 
distance Ned, wno is in the bow, sends his fiery messenger 
whizzing through the air, while I, with a longer line, 
being in the stern, follow suit; but when making my sec- 
ond cast with a still longer thread I fasten to the tree 
behind me, and then I am set upon by both Ned and the 
boatman for my awkwardness. 
"I cut 'em down next time," says Kenosh with any- 
thing but a pleasant smile. 
"Release my flies," I replied, in no great good humor, 
and then the boat neared the shore and the flies freed 
from the branches. 
"Shorten line next time," says the half-breed. 
"Push the boat up then and give me a fair field with 
that red devil." 
"All right." 
"Well, don't shove too far," says Ned, a little irritated. 
Once more we are at the pool, and the "dusting brush" 
secures the first trout and on the first fall of the flies. 
While Ned was playing his captive I motioned to 
Kenosh to move a little closer, and then I hung one, but 
he ran into some snags at the bottom and made my line 
fast, and there it had to remain till Ned had skillfully 
slaughtered his 3 pound beauty. After that we had 
to go over to the pool, which serenely reposed in the 
shade of overhanging trees, and worked around long 
enough to save my trout and also drive all the rest away. 
"A bungling piece of business," says Ned, and he was 
correct, I was the bungler, and, as defendant in the 
case, made no pleading, but turning to him I said with a 
paraphrase of but a single word: 
"Wynken, Blynken and Ned one night 
Sailed off in a woodea shoe — 
Sailed on a river of misty light 
Into a sea of dew. 
'Where are you going and what do you wishf 
The old man asked the three. 
'We have come to fl^h for the herring fish 
That live in the beautiful sea ; 
Nets of silver and gold have we,' 
Said Wynken, 
Biynken 
And Ned." 
"That's delicious," said Ned, forgetting all about my 
faux -pas. "Is there not more of it?" 
"Yes, three more verses." 
"Do you know them?" 
"Do I know them? Of course. I would never let such 
a gem as that escape me. A thousand times have I re- 
cited it to juveniles, a thousand times have I gone over it 
on these shores, and a thousand times more I expect to 
repeat it. It is evidently the best child poem in the 
English language, and so declared by Andrew Lang." 
"It is a child's poem, is it? Then consider me a child. 
I could ever live on such beautiful stanzas." 
The half-breeds were also eager for it, as Wynken, 
Blynken and Ned seemed to strike their ear with a pleas- 
ing rhythm. 
"Come, come," said Ned, growing impatient, "let ug 
have the remainder." 
