Auo. 39, 1896,] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
169 
the seine and a boat load of fisli and small fry. There 
are sure to be a number of fishing parties preparing for 
an early start, ajad a representative of each is on hand to 
secure some particular kind of bait suitable for the day' 
sport. 
Flying fish a foot long have a standard value of 5 cents 
each, and the half a dozen usually brought in are greedily 
taken by the first comers as they are later by the savage 
tuna, whose especial bait they are. 
A 2 or 31bs. mackerel makes a dainty bait, and if put 
on the hook alive when fishing with rod and reel makes 
a pretty good fight right along, until some 30 or 401bs, 
yellow-tail appears and leaves the impression that Mr, 
Mackerel has been struck by a comet. 
Even when planning a raid upon some special variety 
of fish it is well to take a hatful of small-fry bait along 
ready for any emergency which may arise, for the pos- 
sibilities of these waters are full of surprises. 
One must be a laggard indeed to watch these prepara- 
tions and resist the temptation to do likewise, and, 
although no bait was obtainable so late as 8 o'clock in the 
morning, it did not take long to induce Dr. Eoscoe C. 
Thomas and C, D. Daggett, of Pasadena, and Stanley 
Christopher, of Kansas City, to combine our luck. 
The only available craft left was the little power launch 
Catalina, which we engaged for the morning. Hardly 
had the wheel commenced to turn when trolling lines 
and large hooks with white bone-covered shanks in rude 
imitation of a minnow were put out, one on each side 
over the stern, and two more from the ends of oars stick- 
ing out like wings amidships. From these last a short 
lanyard is attached and drawn in a few inches, which 
telegraphs instantly any strike made upon the main 
line, when it can be hauled within reach and the fish 
hauled in. 
Long before reaching Seal Eock at the east end of the 
island the question of bait had been settled, for every 
school of barracuda which we passed through contributed 
freely to our store, often three out of the four lines hav- 
ing a fish 3ft. long struggling at the same time. The 
Doctor generally set the gait by a sudden show of 
activity, quickly followed by one or two of the others, 
and the race to see which brought in the fish the quick- 
est furnished an animated picture. 
Great numbers of yellow-tail were seen near the sur- 
face, but were not biting to any extent, and the only one 
taken afforded Mr. C. D. Daggett as pretty a fight as one 
cares to see. 
Tuna, destined to attract much attention in the future 
from advanced rod-and-reel fishermen who have become 
satiated with tarpon, lashed the spray about us as they 
rushed to the surface after their prey, but we saved our 
lines by not hooking one. 
A Mr. Morehouse, of Pasadena, I am told, has the honor 
of catching the first and only tuna ever caught with rod 
and reel, and he still haunts Avalon in the hopes that 
some other fisherman may land one and give him point- 
ers how he (Morehouse) did it, as the whole affair savored 
somewhat like catching a tiger by the tail, leaving the 
impressions wound up in a cloud of dust — or rather spray 
in this instance. 
After twenty-five barracuda and the yellow-tail had 
been hauled over the rail some one asked the captain how 
much time we had, and he thought we had just time 
enough to try for a jewfish. 
"The little launch was headed toward the shore about a 
mile beyond Church Rock, where we anchored at the edge 
of the kelp in 50ft. of water, where the roar of the surf 
drowned that of the sea lions on the rocks beyond. While 
one of the party prepared rod and reel for rock bass, two 
lines were prepared for its heavier cousin. 
The Doctor put down his line, its great hook protected 
by a length of copper wire firmly imbedded in a section 
cut from the middle of a barracuda — just such a chunk 
as a boardinghouse keeper might buy for a dozen hungry 
boarders. Before the second line, which was more elab- 
orate and had a shark hook and chain, and above it 
another with copper wire attachment, could be prepared, 
the Doctor began to show visible signs of agitation. As 
the line began to run out we gave evidence of the same 
symptoms. It proved to be a small one, however, of less 
than lOOlbs. , and after circling about on the bottom awhile 
was drawn to the surface two or three times and finally 
hauled aboard. 
This was a nice sample of what we might expect, so 
the double-baited line was dropped down by the writer, 
with the firm belief that if 81bs. of bait produced nearly 
lOOlbs. return, 161bs, should return 2001b8. Possibly fif- 
teen minutes were spent in like cogitations and another 
fiiteen minutes in watching the great swells, as they lifted 
us high and dropped us low, until one gets that peculiar 
feeling that prompts him to watch other members of the 
party in hope that some one of them will insist upon pull- 
ing out for home before you have to. We had, however, 
been very generous with our bait, and old Neptune in 
this case did not force further tribute, thanks to a gentle 
strain upon the line, not exactly a bite, but a steady pull, 
as if a strong current was dragging the line away. This 
moment of doubt is always a critical one, for there is al- 
most irresistible tendency to pull back to see if it is really 
a fish, with the result that your jewfish, who has simply 
taken the bait in his mouth to mumble and suck, as he 
gives his tail a swish of satisfaction, carrying out a dozen 
or 20ft. of line, instantly disgorges it and the opportunity 
of a lifetime is gone. If the movement is facilitated by 
paying out the line, suspicion is allayed and you soon have 
the hook planted where it will do the most good, and 
about that time all thoughts of seasickness will leave you. 
The line flies through your hands until it heats to the 
bone, and you glance at the rapidly disappearinc coil at 
your feet, wondering what the result would be if one of 
your feet should be accidentally encircled by a loop, and 
what had better be done when the end of the line comes, 
for your best efforts cannot check him. Before this contin- 
gency arises there is a sudden slack and you pull in 5, 15, 
20Et., and just as you turn with a woeful look toward the 
Doctor and a disgusted "lost him," the line swishes, the 
fingers burn and the Doctor denies the statement in full 
chorus with the others most emphatically. 
The big fellow does not strike right out like a yoke of 
runaway oxen, snapping the line when he reaches the 
end, but instead makes angry circles, often coming back 
to the starting point. After three such runs, each a little 
more vicious than the other, a steady pull brought him up 
some 15ft., when down he plunged again, this time head- 
ing under the boat, with the line dragging across the keel. 
The party gathered at the opposite side and watched the 
its great head and eyes just as it gave a lurch and went to 
the bottom with a rush. Then comes the work of hauling 
him up to the surface, each time a little nearer, only to 
let the line fly back as he plunges down to sulk at the 
bottom. Finally he lies on his side, we supposed utterly 
whipped, and a sheath knife is deftly slipped toward the 
gills, but at the first prick of its point no baby whale ever 
"sounded" with greater vigor, deluging us all with water. 
Everybody yelled, "Let him go!" but what was there to 
hinder? That fish had the privilege of going where he 
pleased. 
The next time we had him alongside the Doctor planted 
a gaff back of the head and held bravely on until dragged 
to the stern, where a tremendous plunge and twist broke 
the handle square off above the socket and gave us 
another shower bath. 
After another steady pull he lay alongside again. We 
held a council of war and decided that it would be a pity 
to lose such a monster at this stage of the game. The 
hook had already enlarged the hole and might come out 
at any plunge, but the second hook hung over the nose, 
its bait slipped far up the line. C. D. Daggett cautiously 
placed this against the lower jaw, firmly planting it, but 
did not escape the deluge which promptly followed. 
We now felt fairly certain of our fish and soon had him 
where his efforts failed to take him much below the sur- 
face, gradually getting him to a point where we could 
hold him there, completely whipped, so that he gave but 
a feeble splash when the knife was applied to his gills. 
We rested and admired this enormous fish while his 
blood poured out, discoloring the water for quite a space. 
Then came another tug of war and we almost gave it up 
several times, but by taking a turn around a little maat 
UR. DAQSBTT^S Blfi JEWFISH. 
in the stern we raised him an inch at a time until he lay 
across the fan-tail with his tail in the water on one side 
and his head far over the edge on the other, and thus he 
rode as we slid into the bay at Avalon at 12:15 noon, 
where the captain pried him overboard and a small boy 
had the honor of towing him ashore in the face of a 
great crowd gathered to see the "biggest one yet." A 
little later, just as the weight— 405lb8., length 7Kt.— had 
been called out, I felt a pull at my sleeve, followed with 
"Say, mister, ain't yer going to give me a fish for towing 
that big un ashore?" He was told to help himself to the 
best fish on the rack, and he disappeared up the gravelly 
beach dragging a fish nearly as long as himself. 
The jewfish were turned over to the local fisherman 
after extracting a few scales as souvenirs, and they are 
said to appear later as very excellent "boneless codfish," 
while the campers soon carried off the rest. 
The first half of the week, commencing July 20, proved 
to be a banner jewfish period, and some enormous catches 
of other fish were made as well. 
A San Francisco party held the record up to the 20 th 
with a jewfish weighing 3501bs., and the 4051b. one 
above described is the heaviest caught in three ypars. 
The Stewart party came in Monday with a 3051b. jew- 
fish and 109 barracuda, besides three yellow-tail and a 
great halibut. 
Then the Beck party made a phenomenal catch of 113 
barracuda and one yellow-tail. 
Tuesday the Matthiessen party, who came along jast as 
our party started for home with the 4051b. fish, concluded 
to try their luck at the same spot, and returned later with 
a fish which looked much like ours in size, but all the 
coaxing would not make it pull down over 3951bs. An- 
other of 3001b8. helped to balance it at the other end of 
the rack. Basides these they had many barracuda and 
yellow-tail. 
It seems a pity that so many fish must go to waste dur- 
ing the season when they are biting so freely and so many 
are enjoying the sport. It is a fact that tons are wasted 
every year. Great catches are brought in, exhibited upon 
the racks, photographed; many are used; but this is re- 
peated often each day during the season, and the result is 
that many a load of the finest fish on earth are carried 
out beyond the bay and dumped as food for sharks and 
prowlers of the deep. 
It has been suggested that a fund ba established and the 
fish packed in ice and turned over to the associated char- 
ities, a method which would be very satisfactory to the 
many who comment upon the present wasteful methods, 
FEANK S. DAGaSTT. 
MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH.' 
IX.— The Brockway Boys. 
There seemed to be no end to them. The woods werd 
literally full of them— of Brockway boys, I mean. Boys, 
and girls also, from babies to grown men and women; 
they were everywhere I went. This ceased to be surpris- 
ing after my uncle, Erastus Brockway, had driven mother 
and me from Monroe to his home atEast Ogden.in Lenawee 
county, Mich., and after crossing the county line pointed 
out each house for miles as being owned by one of his 
numerous kinsmen until it seemed to my boyish fancy 
that all Michigan must be peopled by Brockways. 
The fact is that mother's two brothers, older than she, 
had emigrated to Michigan in the early thirties, while it 
was yet a territory; each had a large family and at this 
time they had grandsons older than I, for their many sons 
had followed the parental example in the matter of re- 
plenishing the earth. It is probable that these boys all 
had names, and that I knew their different cognomens at 
the time, but that was long ago, either the year before or 
the year after the events recorded in No. VII. of this 
series. Probably it was after that time, as there remains 
no recollection of bragging about the kfiling of the deer, 
so truthfully narrated week before last. 
Mother was an invalid and the journey from Albany to 
Buffalo was made by canal, and from the latter place to 
Monroe by steamer. The packets, which carried passen- 
gers on the canal, had been about killed off by the rail- 
road and we had good quarters in a large freight boat, 
the captain giving up his cabin to us and a woman with 
two boys. It was an ideal trip. In 1875 I had frequent 
occasion to go from Lynchburg to Lexington, Va., up the 
James River and Kenawha Canal, and it is my mature 
opinion that traveling by canal is the very poetry of trav- 
eling. It is the ideal mode of getting about. This state- 
ment is often met with ridicule, "it is too slow." My 
friend, listen. You who say this know little of the pleas- 
ure of travel, for itself. You wish to annihilate space in 
a businesslike way. You want to go from New York to 
Chicago and consult the time tables for the train which 
will land you there an hour sooner than another, and you 
take a "sleeper," that abomination rendered necessary by 
merciless business, and you go that way even on your 
wedding tripl Go to I The mad American train- catch- 
ing spirit has possessed you and, like my friend Col. Ray- 
mond, of my last sketch, you "can fish if they bite fast." 
The pleasures of that week on the Erie Canal often arise 
as I whirl over the route in late years. Little Falls! 
There we boys jumped ashore and stole apples and caught 
the boat at the locks. Weedsport, here we got off on the 
"heel-path" aide and ran into the outlying edge of Monte- 
zuma Swamp and had to swim the canal, when I was the 
only good swimmer, and after carrying all the clothes 
across and safely landing the smallest boy, was forced to 
lick the older one in the water to keep him from drown- 
ing me. His story to his mother conflicted with mine; 
his blackened eyes and swollen nose seemed to prove his 
claim to have been beaten without provocation, but 
mothers will be mothers, you know, and there was a drop 
in the social mercury. 
Pardon me, the canal took me off into the swamp, 
miles away from the Brock -way. I will try to get hack to 
the Brockway boys, as I knew my cousins and sons of 
cousins away back in Michigan in the long ago. 
Jim was a big boy, nearly a man. He could not only 
smoke a cigar, but could also empty a clay pipe without 
any visible protest from his stomach. He was big and 
strong, and could beat us all at jumping, and was one of 
the younger sons of the oldest of the brothers, Eusebius, 
or Uncle Sebe, as he was called — a man who at sixty-nine 
years of age was entered for a foot race the day I first 
saw him. Martin and Oliver were smaller boys, sons of 
Erastus, who by the way was many years younger than 
his brother, physically much weaker, but intellectually 
stronger. Jim could throw me by sheer weight and 
strength. Martin or the others of his age could not, for 
wrestling and boxing had been my study as well as play. 
This put me on a good square footing with my backwoods 
cousins, who had little respect for my soft hands and city 
ways. They had small facilities for schooling, but great 
opportunities for clearing land for the plow, chopping 
trees that had been deadened by the girdle, piling great 
logs for burning that a few years later would have been 
worth more than the land originally cost. Harvesting 
the hard-earned crops had given them a rude strength 
that made it seem incomprehensible how a city boy, who 
couldn't pitch a fork full of hay into the mow, could lay 
them on their backs. From a subject for ridicule this 
city boy became to be resppcted, especially when they 
found that he could turn a back somersault from the floor 
and alight on his feet. They had seen pictures of such 
things, but to find an ordinary boy outside a circus turn a 
flip-flap was a thing that made him a hero. My city 
manners and fine fishing tackle were all forgotten, and 
the Brockway boys from far and near were invited to 
come and see their cousin, who in a few hours had over- 
come all prejudice and was voted to be a really decent 
fellow. 
Said Jim: "Let's go a-fishin'; what yer say? We'll take 
a team and wagon and go over to the River Raisin and 
have a good time; yes?" And we went, about six of us. 
There was William, about forty years old, a hunter of 
deer and turkeys, who owned a rifle that became mine 
some years later; Jim, Martin, Oliver and others whose 
names are forgotten, but all brothers, cousins or uncles to 
each other, and a jolly party they were. Harvest was 
over, and threshing, corn husking and such work had not 
begun— just the time for a fishing trip. An early start 
and a drive of about ten miles behind a good team 
brought us to the house of another relative, for, as before 
said, the woods were full of Brockways; the team was 
cared for, and a walk of half an hour brought us to the 
river. They cut poles and rigged up their lines with float 
and sinker and with worms for bait. They had said that 
the river contained pickerel, and I tied on some very 
small hooks and with a little switch caught several min- 
nows while they were taking a few catfish, sunfish and 
others. Grins went around and Martin asked: "Is that 
the kind o' fishin' you do down in York State?" . 
"Yes, sometimes." 
"It 'pears like small kind o' fishin'," said Jim, "don't 
ye ever ketch bigger fish 'n that when you go a-fishin' 
'bout Albany?" 
"Yes, sometimes." 
'Mighty small eatin', them things," said another, 
"guess you've got to get yer specs on to see 'em when 
