FOREST AlSli) STREAM, 
[6bT. lb, 189^. 
the rest left in the woods, perhaps by some fellow who 
never paid his $1 to "buy into a claim o' hogs." 
Once, while alone going down to the marshes with my 
rifle to gee a duck or two for dinner, for it was the only 
gun I owned, 1 went a little way up the side of the bluff 
to get a view of the overflowed lands, and make a recon- 
ndissance of the flocks of ducks and of such cover as 
might conceal an approach to them. I sat on a log to 
View the scene and recover some lost breath. It was 
early in the afternoon, and the log was so comfortable 
that I sat some time, f^our half-grown foxes were play- 
ing in the leaves like kittens, and a move would have 
spioiled the show. Suddenly there was a shot close by and 
the foxes vanished; a pig squealed, an old hog grunted 
and a boy screamed. I jumped at the shot and started 
Slowly to see who was shooting, but ran when I heard the 
boy. There he was on his back, and a big sow chew- 
ing his arm. Quicker than I can tell it I shot and fortu- 
nately hit the hog in the eye and she dropped dead. Then 
I became excited at what might have happened if I had 
missed the hog or killed t. e boy. He had fainted, and, 
having no water, I fanned him until he came to. His 
arm was badly torn, but no bones were broken and the 
doctor soon had him repaired. A hog will charge a man 
any time if he makes a pig squeal, and then they are 
dangerous animals, On telling this pig scrape to Charley 
he showed me some great scars on his legs where he was 
bitten under similar circumstances, only that he seized a 
hanging limb and drew himself into a tree, and fortu- 
nately some strangers heard his yell and came to his rescue, 
or he would have bled to death, 
Charley Guyon inherited the taste of his countrymen 
for the violin, and he and another noted fiddler named 
Montpleasure had played with a traveling minstrel troupe 
which went up through Wisconsin and Iowa, and some of 
his experiences were laughable. Said he: "We struck 
a little town in northern Iowa just in time for a late 
supper and to get to the hall. The box of burnt cork 
couldn't be found and there wasn't corks enough in the 
single hotel to make 'paste' for the troupe of ten. Yes, 
we had ten, all good men too if we did take in small towns, 
but what was to be done? The hall was filling and we 
had small boys out looking for corks and coming back 
saying, 'Mothersayssheain'tgotnocorks,' or 'Pap says hell 
get you a cork ef you'll give him six tickets.' The hall 
was full and the people began to get uneasy, when in came 
the landlord to the dressing room with four boxes of shoe- 
blacking and asked if that wouldn't do. Charley French 
thought it would, and we wet it up and used it and rushed 
on the stage. The overture went off well and the open- 
ing chorus was half through when the boys began to feel 
uncomfortable. The stuff had stiffened and we felt as if 
we were varnished, and soon it began to peel off. Such 
looking niggers you never did see. We got laughing and 
the audience roared; our tenor tried to sing 'Swanee River,' 
but it was uphiU work; he looked like a darky with the 
small pox; we shook our sides and the people screamed 
until he got mad and left the stage. It was well for us 
that it hit the audience as being funny, but we got through 
somehow, and as they wanted to dance we played for them 
UAtil morning, after we washed up. They had never had 
such dance music, and they wanted us to promise to come 
agauij which we did and had a grand reception." 
Once when we were discussing the chances of sinking 
a sbaf t in a new place he burst out laughing. I waited to 
hear what the cause of this hilarity was and as soon as he 
could pull himself together he tried to say, between 
shrieks: "Bones asked why this troupe of minstrels 
was like a gang of burglars which had been discovered. 
Ha, ha! ho, hoi— O, I can't tell it. But the answer was 
because we — ^he, he!. 0, my!: — because — because we're 
spotted!" And then he couldn't stop, A roll on the 
ground and a kicking of heels was the only sedative, and 
it always got in its quieting work if no one started a 
laugh; if they did it took longer, 
I think Charley never tired of this yarn, for he would 
laugh all the time until he cried; it was the great event 
in his uneventful life. 
He was as happy as that happy race, the French-Cana- 
dian, usually is-^happy if it rained or if the day was bright; 
happy in luck of any kind, if he had strings for his fiddle 
and rheumatism ah4 the toothache kept away. Mr, 
Seaton does not know the date of his death, but thinks it 
happened about twenty years ago. It matters little; those 
who knew him know that he died happy, and if he in- 
dulged in any retrospect of life at all, that night when 
shoe-blacking was substituted for burnt cork took a promi- 
nent place, and I can imagine his last words to be: "It 
was the best thing we could get." Feed Mather. 
For Fly-Fishing' only at the Upper Dam. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In the last issue of the Phillips (Maine) Plionograph I find 
in "Fly Rod's Note Book" the following item: "Great will 
be the rejoicing among the fly-fishermen to hear that the 
grand old pools at Upper Dam are not for the plug fish- 
erman after this. The Fish Commissioners held a hear- 
ing Sept. 9, when it was asked that 'From the gate-house 
to open water in Mollychunkamunk Lake should be for 
artificial fly only,' and there is no doubt but what this will 
become a law." Now let every fly-fifcherman pure and 
simple, from the Provinces to California, drop on his or 
her marrow bones and pray (each after his or her fash- 
ion) that this petition may be granted. It will be one of 
the grandest things the Commissioners ever did (and they 
have done many) and will everlastingly redound to their 
credit. Just fancy the smiles that will wreath the faces 
of those 8-pounders when they realize what the Hon. 
Board is doing for them. Congratulations, please. 
. J, W. B. 
Larjg^e BlacJc Bass.. 
Messrs. William Mills & Soin's show in their window 
at No. 7 Warren street a mounted small-mouth black 
bass, caught at Lake Mahopac, in Putnam county. New 
York, by Reuben Miller. The fish was weighed by pro- 
prietor Dean, of the hotel at the lake, and was found to 
score Slbs. It measures 24in. in length, 7*in. depth, 
spread of tail, 7in. (Sin. when taken). The bait was a 
yellow perch. If you would see a handsome black bass 
specimen, go and look at this big fish. 
James A. Patterson, Jr., of this city, has the credit of 
another large bass taken in the same waters; it weighed 
6ilbs,, and is to be seen in the window of the United 
fcJiates Net and Twine Co., at 316 Broadway. 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 
More About Mlnnetonka. 
Chicago, 111., Sept. 14.— The more one sees of the great 
State of Minnesota, the more one becomes impressed with 
its beauty and extent of resources. No part of the West 
is to-day more full of interest to the lover of rod and gun, 
and I repeat that it is sure to be the case within a few 
years that Minnesota will absorb a great deal of travel 
which now goes beyond it or stops this side of it. 
Minnesota is a land of prairies and of forests, the one 
intermingling with the other. Up in the north the big 
pine woods run in a long wilderness into the far cold 
country, and here there are moose and deer and bear and 
elk even to-day, and muscaUonge fishing such as there is 
nowhere else in all probability. Yet quite as far to the 
north the prairie runs also, and the "sand ridge" country 
of the extreme northwest corner of Minnesota and the 
northeast comer of Dakota is one of the best grouse 
grounds left. It would take a world of exploration and 
a dozen volumes of writing to describe the many grand 
anglmg waters of the east and northeastern part of Min- 
nesota, or indeed those of the western side where the 
lakes lie in prau'ie or hardwood timber country. Many 
of these prairie lakes have the rankest growth of wild rice, 
and are not better for fish than for fowl. No section ever 
offered finer duck shooting than Minnesota in its prime. 
Long years ago, as I imagine a great many readers will 
remember, the glories of the Kandiyohi Pass and the Cor- 
onas country were graphically described in "the monthly 
magazines by that old-time expert, Mr. C. A. Zimmer- 
man. Readers of Forest and Stream will remember Mr. 
Zimmerman very well by his pictures of duck shooting, 
"A Side Shot," "A Lost Opportunity," "Stopping an In- 
comer," "Shooting over Decoys," "A Tight Shell," etc., 
are more than household words. Mr. Zimmerman — who 
has led a varied career as soldier, war correspondent, war 
artist and business man — knew his Minnesota well, and 
chose as the best part of it the lower end of the "Big 
Woods" — that great section of hardwood timber which 
sweeps down the center of the State to the southern edge, 
acting as a many -fingered clasp to the genis of Mlnneton- 
ka. Here, on an island in the lake, cut off from the 
world at will by a drawbridge of his own invention, Mr. 
Zimmerman has built him a lovely cottage on a com - 
manding site and is spending his riper days as much in 
the heart of nature as he could ask. He is superintend- 
ent of the entire water transportation on Lake Mlnneton- 
ka, which numbers a goodly fleet of steamers, and has 
besides the pleasant task of handling a large photograph 
gallery and studio; for with matters of art Mr. Zimmer- 
man has always been entangled, and besides his use of 
the brush has never had his hands off from lenses and 
slides since he was a boy, almost a generation before the 
amateur photographer of to-day. He made his own cam- 
eras and arranged his own lenses, being first a scientist 
and then an artist and then an experimenter. Naturally 
an artist, a sportsman, a traveler, an observer and a writer 
all in one offers interest to the passer-by, and in these ways 
Mr. Zimmerman belongs to the public and cannot com- 
plain if he is rated as one of the attractions of Mlnneton- 
ka. Mr. Zimmerman's warmth of heart, his rich fund of 
experience, his deep kindliness of nature, belong only to 
his family and friends. 
It happens that Mr. Carrington Phelps, the host who 
was struggling to keep up with my Minnetonka appetite 
at the time, was the old-time friend and shooting com- 
panion of Mr. Zimmerman. Mr. Phelps can be recognized 
in portrait as the figure in one of the shooting scenes, 
just as Mr. Zimmerman has painted a portrait of himself 
in another. The two setter dogs, which figure in another 
picture, were actual and much beloved dogs, and both 
Mr. Phelps and Mr. Zimmerman have shot many ducks 
over them. Mr. Zimmerman was very fond too of Mr. 
Phelps's famous old Chesapeake Bay dog Darby, and 
speaks of him even yet as possessed of human intelli- 
gence. Of the same strain is Mr. Phelps's retriever Poule 
d'Eau (happy name), who besieges every visitor with a 
chip carried continually about and a beseeching look in 
the big brown eyes that asks very plainly that one throw 
the chip in the water for a sample of Poule d'Eau's retriev- 
ing. But let not the stranger be wheedled by Poule d'Eau, 
for she will keep him busy throwing sticks for her all 
day, and never tires of swimming for chips, diving for 
stones and disporting in the water so long as she can coax 
any one to play with her. Poule d'Eau is the only dog I 
ever really saw that would dive for an inanimate object 
for the fun of the thing. We often noted her to stay for 
several seconds under the water. She is a grand duck 
dog, though both Mr. Phelps and Mr. Zimmerman con- 
tend she does not equal old Darby. It is one of the pleas- 
ant things one likes to remember that these two shooting 
friends, Mr. Phelps and Mr. Zimmerman, both have their 
homes now on Minnetonka, and continue to live as neigh- 
bors at least, though they have both been very remiss of 
late years about taking their fall hunt for ducks. This 
fact I pointed out to them for sake of Poule d'Eau, who 
came always when we three sat on the lake bluff together 
and held up her chips reproachfully, looking up with soft 
eye pleadingly and plainly begging to be taken out duck 
shooting this very fall. At sight of which we all dreajned 
dreams about loading the old camp outfit into the wagon 
and taking a trip this very fall to some of the old lakes 
and having an old-time shoot, with Poule d'Eau as im- 
personator of Darby and the setters. So strongly did I 
urge upon them this duty to the dog that I left them both 
feeling very uncomfortable and promising all kinds of 
wild things if I would come out in October. 
One day, in order that we might see something of Min- 
netonka and perhaps get a line on some of the fish be- 
sides, Mr. Phelps and his son Carrington pulled ns out for 
a cruise among the islands. That was a very pleasant 
boat ride, and, I imagine, an exceptional one. Mr. Phelps 
is an old Yale man, and was captain of the Yale boat m 
1870. He can show pennants and cups (trophies in the 
single and double sculls) dating back to his college days, 
andean, moreover, pull an oar which is its own certifi- 
cate. His son Carrington has certainly had good train- 
ing on the inland sea of Minnetonka, and some day 
maybe he too will pull an oar in the Yale boat — I am sure 
it will be a good one. Far be it from a scrub oarsman to 
row in such company as the above, and I did not. I only 
watched the ease and beauty of perfect rowing as the 
two, father and son, hit her up with the Yarra-Yarra 
stroke for a mile or so just for the fun of the thing, A 
crew like that make a very fine trolling motor, and natu- 
rally it was not long before I had a strike on the trolling 
spoon which we had out. Alas, the line broke and 1 lost 
my fish after a brief moment of fun with him, whereat I 
said: "Oh, dear!" That is what I said. "How unfor- 
tunate," said I, "oh, dear!" 
The loss of this fish was indeed unfortunate, for we 
needed a fish for lunch. At length, seeing that the cast- 
ing rod was not going to do much for us, Mr. Phelps fell 
back upon his Minnetonka trolling rig, a vast bamboo 
with no reel, but with a stout linen line as long as the 
pole, and attached thereto a No. 8 spoon, the latter baited 
with a big frog. We anchored our boat just at the 
mouth of one of the deep channels between two arms of 
the lake, which make a feature of Minnetonka navigation. 
This channel was 200yd8. or so in length, 10 or 15ft. deep, 
and debouched into a great circular hole, which was over 
30ft. deep in the middle. This spot Mr. Phelps had often 
found good for a pike or so, and we concluded that we 
must stay there until we caught something to eat, for we 
were making believe of living chiefly by hunting and 
fishing. I kept on casting, viewing with amusement the 
vast sweeps of Mr. Phelps's lure, which was about the 
size of a dishpan as it swirled and eddied and ripped 
through the water. It seemed very likely he would scare 
some fish to death or desperation with it, but it never oc- 
curred to me that he would catch anything. But just as 
I was making a nice little cast with my brass rig I heard 
an exclamation from Mr. Phelps, who was standing up 
and working his dishpan from the bow of the anchored 
boat. "I saw him," he said; and then as he cast again: 
"I've got him." And sure enough he had a great, lash- 
ing whale of a pike, which after long coaxing and 
maneuvering we uiscovered to weigh 7flb8. 
"Well, we've got enough to cook," said Mr, Phelps, 
"but before we pull up just you try over in there toward 
the mouth of the channel." 
I tried, but got no strike; and then Mr. Phelps tried 
with his dishpan and got a strike, and missed hooking the 
fish. "Cast right in, quick," he said, and obeying I got a 
heavy strike, and soon was at work with my first Minne- 
tonka pike. Much to my delight, he did not prove one of 
the snake sort of pickerel, but he was a fighter and a 
stayer. H6 went out of water like a muscaUonge once, 
and rushed and sounded and sulked for quite a long 
time, and was so heavy that my wrist tired in holding 
him up. At last we got him after a fight much longer 
than the big bamboo had offered, and we found that my 
fish weighed 6jlb8. I think I never have seen pickerel 
(pike these should be called) fight so long and hard as 
these did. It would be in very bad taste not to call fishing 
for such fish .good sport, whatever may be the habits of 
the same fish in other waters or at other times. 
How to Broil a Pike. 
We now went ashore to prepare our fish for cooking, 
and here again I had my notions about pike changed ma- 
terially. I had never believed they were really good to 
eat, but this was simply ignorance on my part. They 
are good, and mighty good, if you know how to prepare 
and cook them. In this I had a lesson. Mr. Phelps first 
skinned the smaller of the pike, leaving a vast white car- 
cass of yellow-white, firm flesh, showing all the interlac- 
ing muscles which had been making trouble for the little 
bass rod an hour before. Then he very deftly cut apart 
the flesh along the back line — the fins had already been 
removed — and the first thing we knew there lay two long 
strips of the flesh, almost entirely boneless, the backbone 
and nearly all the ribs being left attached to the skeleton, 
which was attached to the head. These two long strips 
of pike tenderloin he carefully washed, and taking about 
one and a half of them— for our fish was almost too large 
to be eaten outright — he led the way up to a certain grassy 
knoll that he knew very well, and proceeded to show me 
still more about the possibilities of the pickerel. 
"Get me some wood," he said to us, "and I will show 
you a broiled fish pretty soon. Don't pick up just any old 
wet wood or rotten sticks you see lying about, but get me 
some clean, dry sticks, broken off from a tree that is dead 
and seasoned, but not lying down on the ground. You 
will find a dead ironwood tree just yonder, and that is 
the hardest, heaviest and best wood to burn that grows 
in these woods. I want coy fuel from that tree, because 
the art of broiling depends first of all upon the fire." 
We brought an armful of this stubborn, tough, close- 
grained hardwood, and Mr. Phelps built a fire of it, and 
then calmly sat down and waited. In a quarter or half 
an hour he had a bed of glowing coals several inches deep. 
The fire had made no smoke and the coals made no 
smoke, but they were red hot. Over this bed of coals Mr. 
Phelps adjusted his broiler, with his tenderloin of pike 
clamped firmly therein. First he seared the surface at 
the heat, and after the cooking had well begun he put on 
abundance of pepper and salt, and as the surface began to 
brown he began co baste it with butter, not poor butter, 
but good fresh sweet butter. Gradually the color of the 
tenderloin began to turn brown, dark brown, deep brown, 
deeper brown. Carrington and I protested that the fish 
was done, and that he was trying to kill us by such de- 
lay; but inexorably he broiled on, never adding a stick to 
the bed of redhot coals, which held heat enough for all 
that was demanded of them. Meantime, with one hand, 
Mr. Phelps had made at the edge of the fire a pot of cof- 
fee, which was sending up a most gracious aroma. I 
recognized in him at once that rare and precious being — 
a good woods cook. Stern as fate was he about his ten- 
derloin, heeding no importunities. The brown surface 
began to crack apart and flake open, though never a bit 
of burning occurred. At length Mj, Phelps sighed and 
took away his broiler from the fire. We all sighed, and 
fell upon the tenderloin, exulting. Boneless, flaky, deli- 
cious was this tenderloin of pike. Still with one hand 
Mr. Phelps went on with his cookery, and soon had 
toasted in the broiler a number of slices of bread, each 
done to a nicety, and none burned or disfigured. Here- 
with we ate our tenderloin of pike, our big basket fur- 
nishing forth sundry and divers other articles for outdoor 
lunch made and provided. Let no man scoff more at 
pike, either upon the rod or upon the table, for by so doing 
he but proclaims his ignorance, even as I did before this 
memorable day. 
How to Make a Pike Bait. 
While upon the subject of pike, let me tell of something 
else I learned that day on Minnetonka. "I will show you 
the best pike bait on earth," said Mr. Phelps, when we 
had finished cleaning our big pike. So saying, he took 
up the discarded head of the fish and began a careful dis- 
section of the white, pearly, tough skin which covered the 
