APBiti 3, 1891.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Proprietors of fluking resorts vnll find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest akd Stream. 
FISHING WITH A HAND LINE. 
To-day, March 14. is a typical March day for this lati- 
tude, example of all that is disagreeable in what we have 
learned to expect as March weather iu New England. 
1 had been gazing out at the line sleet and snow as it 
came snapping against the window pane, and shivering a 
little as the raw air crept in around the casement, thinking 
as I did so of another March day only a year ago, and 
remembering longingly the red, pink and white roses 
clambering all around the porch railing that day as I stood 
in the sunshine cutting them, until my basket could hold no 
more. 
To forget the weather and memories of other days I took 
up a late number ot the Fokest and Stkeam. First I read 
Mr. A. JST. Cheney's letter regarding Long Lake and his 
reminiscences of t)r. Todd. Mr. Cheney never writes better 
than when he is reminded of his boyish pleasures, and I like 
hest of all to hear or read of those "days of his youth," and 
to remember that a dear old friend of his once "said to him, 
"Well, you will always be a boy !" and his reply to me, "I 
hope so." 
Turningto another page, I found Mr. blather's recollections 
of his old companion Charles Bell, and again was 1 led back 
to the land of rustling palms and unceasing sunshine by his 
words, which recalled my first and last experience fi hing 
with a hand line. 
It may feaze some lordly man to know of this episode, as 
confirming his opinion that "women are not true sportsmen. 
Or ever really in earnest in their attempts, therefore not 
much use on fishing trips anyway," 
1 am familiar with this kind of remarks and have always 
intended proving their injustice, but that "the exception 
may prove the rule" I will admit that once perhaps I failed, 
and possibly deserved some of the contempt lavished upon 
me. 
Mr. Mather quotes John At wood's sneers at "fishing with 
a pole" when he said; "There ain't no fun in it, for you h'ist 
'em out too quick with a pole. Throw that away and take 
off your fioat; rig yer sinkers below the hooks, and when 
you get a fish haul 'em in, hand over hand, and feel 'em 
wriggle all the wajr in; that's sport!" 
Mr, Mather continues: "Writing of this brings a desire to 
fish that way once more. Bait the hooks with good-sized 
worms, spit on the bait for luck, whirl the sinker three times 
hy the right side and let it go Just on the upward start to 
plunk in the water at the proper distance, running out the 
neatly coiled line at your feet, and then, taking in all the 
slack, wait for a bite. Nibble and strike, nibble and strike; 
'I've got him 1' and then haul in fast, with the fish sending 
electric thrills up the line, and all the while you are nerved 
up by wonder as to the kind of fish and its probable size. 
An eel of 81 bs. makes you think you've got the biggest perch 
that ever swam, and your heart beats fast until you see what 
it is, and then, with all your care, the beast puts knots in the 
line in a minute that will take you a long time to untangle, 
and you knock satisfaction out of him with your heel. * * * 
Verily, looking back upon my life as an angler, 'there seems 
to have been no sport like this ' " 
I can hardly agree with Mr. Mather in recalling my ex- 
perience with a hand line, and wishing that I might fish that 
way once more, for next time I shall surely take "a pole," 
but I can say with him: "Verily, looking back, there seems 
to have been no sport liise tbis." 
That fateful morning when at breakfast Mj. Jones, Mr. 
Giles and my brother Robert had announced their intention 
of going to fish on the beach over on one of the islands 
across Sarasota Bay, they ended by saying: "Why don't you 
come too? There will be plenty of room in the sailboat. 
Tou could bring Maggie with you, and you and she could 
ga'her shells. It would d© you good and give her something 
to rtlate to her Vermont friends." 
Accepting the invitation, I promised "to be ready on 
time," and they went on with their plans for the day. Dur- 
ing the conversation I had seen the longing look in the eyes 
of Eugene, our attendant "gentleman of color," and realized 
that in the devotion with which he urged upon me another 
chop and hot coffee, and his immediate haste in clearing the 
table, meant a mute appeal to be taken too. 
As the men went for their fishing tackle I arranged with 
Maggie and Eugene about the luncheon, ending by saying to 
the latter, "Eugene, we will need you to go with us, I 
think." His look of joy was delightful to see, as he 
answered, "Madame, I was just thinking it would be much 
better if I could go and serve the luncheon for you, and you 
know I have learned to row a little since I have been here 
and— (I knew this last to be not the lease) madame, I 
have never been out in a sailboat, and I feel it will be the 
pleasure of my life. " 
Eugene's stately manner and grmdilcquent speeches were 
always a delight to me, though somewhac a mystery, after- 
ward explained, however, by some Atlanta friends, who 
ovtrheard him quoting to me, "Miss Lulu Hardin, madame, 
always left everything for me, and for the eleven years I 
was Judge Hardin's butler I gave perfect satisfaction." 
This was an old story, brought forth always by any criti- 
cism, so 1 paid but little attention, but my friends said, 
"Now we understand; Judge Hardin ivS a gentleman of the 
old school courtliness, and Eugene unconsciously copies his 
manner and voice even in everything he says. His extrtme 
politeness and formality, which in some way remiuded us 
q{ some one, have puzzled us; but they are all copitd after 
Judge Hardin, we can now see " 
Trus'ing Eugene and Maggie to provide for the inner 
man, 1 hastened to array myself in a wide-brimmed hat and 
short gown, and to bunt up a camp-chair, for experience 
had taught me the folly of going a-fishing with these partic- 
ular men without resources and comforts of my own, hav- 
ing found their devotion to last only until the tish began to 
bite. 
Soon we were all together on the broad piazza watching 
the hoisting cf the sails of the pretty Minnie, that had ro( ked 
80 lazily and enticingly for nearly a week near the dock in 
front of the house. The pelicans nodded wisely to us, div- 
ing for their prey in a way to tantalize us, while over their 
beads hovered the saucy gull, hoping to snatch their catob. 
Old Tom, Mr. G.'s dog, chased the buzzards, while Toddy, 
our own Northern pointer, besought with eager brown eyes 
and thumping tail to be of the party. 
March winds, sleet, snow-laden mountains, work, worry 
and weariness are forgotten as once more I am on the Min- 
nie, watching the distance increase betwepn us and the roses 
and our approach to the shell-strewn beach, upon which the 
water glistens and foams so prettily, washing up new treas- 
ures with each rush and flash. We could Ste the dark shad- 
ows of the redfish as we neared the shore, and grew impatient 
with wind and tide. Finally landing, all too soon for me, as 
the exhilaration of the sailing is beyond the excitement of 
the fishing, everyone hastened to get ready their rods and 
lines, when it was discovered that no one had thought to 
bring a rod for me. The channel bass and bluefish were to 
be seen coming in, and that the others might lose no sport I 
said: "Never mind, go on with your own fishing. Maggie 
and I will hunt for shells." As we walked briskly on the 
lomr, hard beach, how I wished for a bicycle. There one 
could ride for miles, and fall too if you liked, with no fear of 
dust or comments. 
The success of the fishermen led us back to watch them, 
and finally aroused my envy and a desire to try my luck; so 
I accepted meekly an offer of a hand line, and there is where 
I made my mistake. Had it not been for that wretched 
hand line I would yet be able to hold my head up as a fisher- 
woman of at least moderate skill, 
Baiting the hook with a piece of mullet, laying the line 
carefully in coils on the white sand, and whirling it until it 
had gathered the momentum to take it away out into the 
deep water, I waited to rival the poor men fishing with 
"poles." Now and then a jackfish or a cavaille would give 
a tug on the line, but they were rejected for a more desirable 
return. The monotony of this became tiresome, so I re- 
solved upon greater ease. Asking Maggie to hold the line a 
moment, I sought my camp-chaii', novel, umbrella and a short 
stick. 
Taking one turn of the line around the stick, I stuck it into 
the sand before me; another turn of the line around my right 
arm secured it beyond a possibility of slipping; then holding 
the piece of board upon which the line had been wound in 
my lap, and umbrella in one hand and book in the other, I 
sat down upon the camp-chair feeling I could enjoy my 
book and waiting for the fish at the same time. 
Hardly had I begun to congratulate myself upon knowing 
80 much better than the others did how to be comfortable 
than there came a nibble. Dropping my book and umbrella, 
I grasped the board with my right hand and reached forward 
with my left to draw in the line; this was answered by a 
twitch, my pull being responded to by a series of jerks, 
yanks and jumps — until, even though holding on with all 
my strength and standing where the water washed up over 
my feet, 1 felt the line slipping through my grasp until the 
superior strength at the other end of the line caused it to cut 
through the thin sleeve of my cotton gown like a knife. 
With an effort 1 managed to untwist the line and release my 
arm, when at the same instant my fish gave a huge jerk, I 
felt the line go like a flash through my hands, another twitch 
and I stood gazing at my empty hands trying to decide how 
it had all happened. 
Now comes the sad and bitter part of my story. Instead 
of a proper concern for a possibly mutilated arm, I have to 
record the most unfeeling remarks which broke in upon my 
reverie, upon the uncertainty of life and all things in general. 
My brother, who should have spoken with love and sympa- 
thy, instead said: "What on earth did you do that for? 
Where's your line? What did you let go of it for?" etc., etc. 
1 meekly said : "It hurt; I only wanted to free my arm— 
and— and— I don't know where the line is — " 
"No matter if it did; you should have hung on," was the 
unfeeling answer. 
His friend Mr. G., whom I had heretofore admired as 
most generous, courteous and appreciative of men, now 
proved his insincerity by squarely and openly joining my 
brother in his tirade. His wail was all for his precious hand 
line: "The very best one I had, and I thought you knew 
enough to take care of it." Ending by a last most unkind- 
est cut of all: "That is about what I would expect of a 
woman who tried to write a book about fishing, though 1 
did think you knew something." 
My protest about their indifference if I had been dragged 
to a watery grave fell upon callous hearts. They thought 
only of that miserable hand line and my foUy in losing a big 
fish ; and there under the fair Florida sky, within sight of 
the pretty home and where we had peaceiully dwelt among 
the roses, we "scrapped;" and even Mr. Jones, who had 
always been on my side in any previous differences, sat mute 
on the dry sand, and with a look of sad reproach which was 
not broken by any appeal of mine for defense. 
While I stood there one "lone, lorn woman," against those 
"three wise men," away out on the water 1 saw the tiny- 
brown board upon which the line had been wound, and to 
which one end of it was yet attached. There it was, floating 
and bobbing up and down with the waves. ° 
f Eugene had just gone out in a rowboat. "Oh, Eugene! 
Eugene!" I called, "get it, quick! see there! and there!" As 
1 pointed he looked puzzled, but finally ui;derstood and start- 
ed after it. A long chase it was. Now here, now there, 
could be seen the little board, while my tormentors chanted 
in my ears: "Oh, he'll never get it; that line and fish are 
gone; a great fisherman you are!" in tones of contempt 
which echo in my ears even yet. 
Meantime faithful Eugene rowed clumsily hither and yon, 
learning rapidly in his attempts to catch the coveted board.' 
Encouraged by my persistent appeals and directions from the 
shore he finally grasped it ; tben came our turn to w onder ! Too 
ar out for us to see ought but bis movemeots, we could only 
watjn him pull and pull on the line, as he followed the fish 
apparently this way and that, until finally it seemed to be 
under the boat. After a long contest, we saw him stand 
upright, raise an oar, and beat w ith mighty b'ows at some- 
thing in the water. After an evident struggle this method 
of attack ceased, and we could see him dragging something 
heavy into the boat, and then we knew tuat the precious 
hand line was safe and could be returned to its wrathful 
owner. So I speedily began to triumph over my brother, 
saying, "After all my fish will prove the largest one caught 
to-day." 
"Your fish!" they both scoffed, "your fish! We would 
call that Eugene's fish! ' And they persist to this day that 
the shark 1 hooked on the borrowed hand line was Eugene's 
fish, and that I deserve no credit whatever, though I yet 
claim rare good sense in releasing my arm, and not following 
out into the "briny deep" that wily shark, and that I did 
hook the biggest fish of the day I yet maintain. 
But I warn any who "go a-fishing" there are times when 
you may hear plain truths of yourself, and my one daj's 
fishing with a hand Une has caused me to become a skeptic 
regarding any man's compliments; for this one hand line 
taught me the shallowness of the supposed admiration of 
one man and the obstinacy of a brother who joined in con- 
demning my skill and judgment. 
Over the luncheon we all "made up," and they promised 
never to forget my "pole" again, and in spite of this com- 
bination against me I look back upon a happy day, and 
would I could bring to you who read a vision of the curving 
shore, soft, clear air, wonderfully tinted water reflecting the 
glory of the sky, lines of Spanish bayonets guarding with 
their white covers the dark green of the mangrove bushes, 
and the restfulness of it all which made a "joy of mere 
living" notwithstanding the "hand line." 
Manchester, Vermont. MART Orvts MABBURY. 
MoiiAL— Never wind the hand line around your arm, lest 
you be dragged away to sea. I knew of a woman who 
wound one around her waist when fishing on the shore, 
hooked a jewfish and it— but "that's another story," as 
Kipling says. M. E. O. M, 
THE MYSTIFYING WAYS OF TROUT. 
Seattle, Wash., March 20.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
W, A. Hardy, of the Hardy Hall Arms Co., is a keen sports- 
man who tells lots of good stories. One of them is as fol- 
lows : ' 'All fishermen know that the trout is 'wily,' especially 
the old whale who has felt the prick nf the hook; but 1 had 
an experience on Nason Creek, an affluent of the Wenatchie 
Eiver, near the Great Northern Railroad's Cascade 'switch- 
back,' which seems to indicate that a big trout may be a big 
fool. I had been lazilv whipping the stream one warm 
August afternoon when I came to a deep pool about 30yds. 
round, down the middle of which an undulating ripple 
marked the channel in the otherwise smooth and oily surf ace. 
Vine, maple and alder branches overhung the sides except 
where a little sandbar put out about 3ft. from the shore at 
the head of the pool. Standing on this bar, I cast over the 
pool without a rise. It looked too tempting to pass by hastily, 
so I put a bit of squirrel meat on my fly, attached a detni- 
john cork to the line, cast over to the rippling channel and 
let the cm-rent carry the floating line down to the end of the 
pool. As I reeled in the line came quartering back up and 
across the pool toward me. At about 15yds. from where 1 
stood I heard a splash, as of a muskrat, but as I was not 
watching I reeled in and cast again. Again there was a 
splash at the same place, and watching, I saw a broad tail 
swat the cork, which danced from the blow. Again I cast, 
and again the big fellow's tail whacked the cork. Taking 
off the cork, I cast the fly— a No. 6 professor— at the spot 
where the fish had risen before. This time he broke high 
out of water and came down on the hook. I struck hard 
from a free reel, and braced for a hard fight. To my sur- 
prise he took no line, and I reeled in quickly, feeling the 
chagrin of loss as I felt no weight; but when the fly reached 
the sandbar on which I stood there was the fish, who came 
right ashore without a motion. I lifted him up, put him on 
the bank, took the hook out of his mouth — he was hooked 
fairly in the gristle of the upper lip— felt him all over to see 
if he was sick, opening his gills to see if they were pale, took 
out my knife to open him, and not till then did he move. 
Move he did, giving me a lively two minutes to hold him 
down. After I had killed and bled him I opened him and 
found a .5in. field mouse half digested in his stomach. 
Apparently the fish was sound as a dollar. I know he was 
fine eating and fat. He weighed 31bs. 2oz., and what I want 
to know is why he came ashore without resistance unless he 
was a fool?" 
Speaking of foolish fish, I saw a bird teniporarily insane 
once, I believe. I had been wandering over the beaches on 
the Wenatchie divide after an unsuccessful pheasant hunt. 
Seeing a big red-headed woodpecker on a yellow pine, I let 
go my .23 Marl in at him, and knocked him down. Going 
to pick him up, I saw the bird climb the tree from the ground, 
and when he was about 10ft. up he began to peck as fast as 
he could, and to screech like the deuce at the same time. 
He paid no attention to me, but kept on pecking and screech- 
ing in spite of mj efforts to reach him. I finally succeeded 
in getting him, but ne still pecked and screeched. I couldn't 
imagine what was the matter until after wringing his neck 
1 examined him, and found that the bullet had simply 
SCI aped the skull, producing I suppose concussion of the 
brain at first and a temporary insanity, so to speak. 
Living in the State of Washington, where streams are 
plentiful and nearly every stream is full of trout, my busi- 
ness and my pleasure the past seven years have led me to 
spend much time "where the trout lurk," and I have puzzled 
much over the vexed questions of the fly as a lure. Stand- 
ing quietly for hours at a time in all sorts of waters and 
weathers. I am convinced that the sight of the trout, at least 
that of Salmo mykifis or cut-throat trout, is not keen. It is 
my observation that trout, big and li tie, will when hungry 
rise at almost any small object that falls in the water, like 
leaves, feathers, twigs, sand, berries. In a big clear pool I 
have seen scores dart from every corner to rise at a falling 
leaf, and the one nearest and chancng to get it would appar- 
ently suck it in, then puff it out when he found out what it 
was. Often I have thrown in little pebbles the size of wheat 
and seen fish rise at th^m. It has come to be my theory that, 
just as a bird or other object coming between the human 
eye and the sun is seen in on line or in penumbra, so will a 
fish below the surface of the water ste any falling obj ct and 
he able to distinguish it only when in striking Qistam e. 
The fact that fish in an untiihed stream will strike a bartj 
hook, as I have often known of their doing, seems to be an 
indication that the hungry tish does not see nor stop to ste 
what falls within striking distance. 
On the other hand, I can form uo idea why a trout will 
prefer one lure to another. On one stream that I have fi-ihm 
more than any one else, and on which I do not know that 
any one except a few of my friends and myself have ever 
fished with a fly, I find that a professor as dropper and gov- 
ernor as tail fly on a No 6 hook are so sure as to be almost 
deadly, I have tried every fly fiom black gnat to white 
miller and red ibis with less and less success. I have tried 
grasshoppers, worms, periwinkles, meat and salmon eggs, 
which last are considered so deadly as to be unsportsman- 
like, and yet at all seasons the professor and the governor 
will do better than any of them. There is not a natural fly 
on the stream at any season which in si;ze, color or shape has 
the slight -st resemblance to either governor or prnfessor. 
Why should they be so deadly? X. V. Z. 
Cayuga Lake Nettings. 
A coEKESPONDENT writing under date March 25 says: "I 
have reliable information that the door is wide open on 
Cayuga Lake and the Seneca Eiver; both wa-ers are full of 
nets; that wagon loads are taken daily of bass, pike and 
pickerel; that the local markets are glutted." 
