SflPT. 25, 1897.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
^49 
Proprietors of fluMng resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Fohbst and Stream. 
The "Game Laws in Brief." 
The current edition of tne Gariie Laivs in Brief (index page dated 
Aug. 1) contains the fish and game laws for 189T, with a few excep- 
tions, as they will continue in force during the year. As about forty 
States and Provinces have amended their laws this year, the Brief 
has been practically done over new. Sent postpaid by the Forest 
and Stream Pub. Co. on receipt of price, 25 cents. All dealers sell it 
OUR CAMPING GROUND. 
TflERB is a spot where plumy pines . 
O'erhang the sylvan banks of Otter, 
Where pigeons feed among the vines 
That hang above the limpid water. 
There wood-ducks build in hollow trees, 
And herns among the matted sedges, 
While, drifting on the summer breeze, 
Float satin clouds with silver edges. 
'Tis there the bluejay hides her nest 
In thickest shade of drooping beeches. 
The fish-hawk, statue- like in rest. 
Stands guard o'er glassy pools and reaches. 
The trout beneath the grassy brink 
Looks out for shipwrecked flies and midges, 
The red deer comes in search of drink, 
From laurel brake and woodland ridges. 
And on the stream a birch canoe 
Floats like a freshly fallen feather— 
A fairy thing, that will not do 
For broader seas or stormy weather. 
The sides no thicker than the shell 
Of Ole Bull's Cremona fiddle— 
The man who rides it will do well 
To part his scalplock in the middle. 
Beneath a hemlock grim and dark, 
AVhere shrub and vine are intertwining. 
Our shanty stands, well roofed with bark. 
On which the cheerful blaze is shining. 
The smoke ascends in spiral wreath, 
With upward curve the sparks are trending, 
The coffee kettle sings beneath 
Where smoke and sparks and leaves are blending. 
Upon the whole this life is well: 
Our lines are cast in pleasant places. 
And it is better not to dwell 
On missing forms and vanished faces. 
They have their rest beyond our bourn; — 
We miss the old familiar voices. 
We will remember— will not mourn: 
The heart is poor that ne'er rejoices. 
We had our day of youth and May. 
We may have grown a trifle sober: 
But life may reach a wtniry day, 
And we are only in October. 
Then here's a round to every hound 
That ran his deer by hill or hollow, 
.And every man who watched the ground 
From Barber Rock to Furman fallow. 
— Nessrmtk, in "Forest Runes.'''' 
WEN 1 HAVE FISHED WITH. 
George W. Sears CNessmuk). 
Jupiter Pluvius! How it did rain! We had seen it 
coming while at supper, and I said to my companion, Hon. 
.Tames Geddes, of Syracuse, JS[. T., "Jim, we must deepen 
the ditch around this tent or be drowned out. That's an 
anfiry sky, and the sun is only just down, yet it is dark as 
midnight. It's no ordinary shower that is promised us." 
"That's so," replied the Hon. Jim, "and we've got to do 
it right quick, too. It's lucky that the land falls away so 
much from our tent; we will not have to dig far to have 
complee drainage." 
We went at it with case knives and tin plates, and finished 
widening and deepening the dilch on the back and sides of our 
wall tent — the front needed no ditch — when the first wind 
which precedes such a storm began to roar in the treetops, 
and in a few minutes Ihe advance guard of St. Swithin be- 
gan letting great drops resound through the forest. We 
ielt secure; wind could not harm us unless it felled a tree 
across our tent, and as it vfas to be a camp for a week or 
more 1 had avoided all old and partially dead trees whose 
roots might also be partly dead, and before the rain beat the 
wind down we were inside,the door-flap buttoned and a candle 
lighted. 1 had prepared for the light by getting one of the 
flat "fungi" ("funguses,'' I want to call 'em, and only use 
the Latin plural to show my learning), and hy dropping 
isome melted candle on this and quickly standing the cold 
-end in it, there was a candlestick. We had just got com- 
fortably down on our blankets when the storm burst in all 
I its fury. "Jim Geddes," said I, "you made an offensive re- 
mark to me before this storm got under way. We will have 
mo quarrel over it because you intended no offense, and only 
a tool takes offense where none was intended, but when 
you reconsider your words you will see wherein you were 
wrong " 
'•Well, I'm surprised! Tell me all about it. We don't 
want to fight in this little 10x13 tent when all nature is en- 
gaged in a combat outside. There! Did you notice how 
quick that clap o' thunder followed the flash? That hit near 
us; but go on and tell me what it was that I said that has 
injured your feelings? I never thought you were so thin- 
skinned." 
I looked at the surprise pictured on his honest, good- 
natured face, and said: "While 1 make no claim to being 
thin-skinned, I don't care to have my knowledge of wood- 
craft credited to accident. I selected this camp-site and put 
up the tent while you were taking trout for supper, and when 
the storm was in sight, you said: 'It's lucky that the land 
falls away so much from our tent.' Now, my dear Jim, luck 
was not in it at any stage of this game. That's the trouble. 
The word 'luck' sort o' soured on my stomach, and I 
couldn't digest it. Do you get my meaning?" 
"I've got it," said Mr. Geddes, "and I still maintain that 
your skin is too thin to make a woman's glove. Just listen 
to that [rain! Did you ever hear anything come down 
harder? Hark! What was that?" 
"Oh, I don't know! Some echo of thunder in the moun- 
tains, for here in the Adirondacks the sounds of a storm will 
appal one not accustomed to moimtain echoes." 
' 'Hush ! There it is again 1" 
We listened. Then came an unmistakable : "Da WTioop!" 
"Somebody down at the landing," said Jim, "and he must 
be quite damp." 
We left all our clothing, except our shoes, in the tent and 
went down to the lake to learn what sort of man might be 
abroad in a storm like this. The wind bad subsided, but the 
rain still came in torrents. We called, and a man said some- 
thing which was drowned by the roar of the rain in the 
woods and on the lake. The next flash of lightning revealed 
a man waist deep in water holding to the side of a canoe. 
He was about 20ft. away and I rushed in and led him to the 
landing, which was a small opening in the bushes. After 
we had pulled his canoe well ashore we led him to the tent, 
which was easily seen by its light, for a candle shows up 
well through canvas on a dark night, and then we looked 
him over. He was a httle man, about 5ft. nothing; about 
fifty years old, but one of those thin, wiry fellows without 
an ounce of fat, who look as old at forty as they do a score 
of years later. He was chilled in his wet clothing while we 
were aglow, and we got him stripped and under the blankets 
as soon as possible and gave him such restoratives as we had 
Divested of clothing he was nearly as big as a pound of soap 
after a hard day's washing, and until he became warm he 
GEORGE W. SEABS (NBSSMUK). 
Prom the portrait la "Forest Runes." 
had merely answered questions as to the things in his boat. 
He .did not want them brought up. They could get no wet- 
ter. We questioned him no further and awaited the pleasure 
of our guest to begin the conversation. 
Finally he said: "It's lucky for me that I saw the light in 
your tent. I had lost ray paddle and the wind was making 
a plaything of my canoe. When I saw the light I jumped 
overboard to swim and drag the canoe, but 1 couldn't find a 
landing and was wading about when you came." 
"Were you going up or down the lake?" asked Geddes. 
"Neither, I'd been fishing on the other side and started to 
come across, to where I left some duffle, when the storm 
caught me." 
I caught the word "duffle." which I had never heard until 
I had read Nessmuk's articles in Forest and Stream, and 
I knew that he traveled in a canoe and camped alone, a very 
economical way of enjoying life, and a delightful one if we 
add a companion, to those who can care for themselves in 
the woods. So, vrithout much chance of error, I said: "If I 
should hazard a guess, it would be that you are a Pennsyl- 
vania man, who goes alone when he goes at all, writes up 
what he sees, thinks or imagines that he sees or thinks, and 
signs himself 'Nessmuk.' " 
"That's a bulls-eye guess, how did you make it?" 
"Well, partly because you called your camp stores 'duffle' 
and partly because you travel alone in a toy canoe, and 
again because you are built to sail in chopping bowl. And 
let me introduce my friend, Mr. Geddes, of Syracuse, and 
myself. My name is Mather, at present I am the fish';ry 
editor of Forest and Stream, and have written for it from 
its first number, last year I was with the Adirondack survey 
as ichthyologist and wrote up our trip and discoveries. I 
also wrote a series of sketches headed; 'Trouting on the 
Bigosh.' " 
"Yes," said our guest, "I've known of Mr. Geddes at the 
sportsmen's conventions. What did you say your name was. 
Murphy?" 
"Correct; you have a good ear and a good memory. My 
family is descended from King Brian Boroimhe, who de- 
feated the Norsemen in 1014 near Dublin, and whose name 
has been corrupted into Brian Boru and then into Murphy, 
just as your family name, Sears, became shortened from Seer- 
sueker, the fabric of linen and silk, to its present form. 
There was no need to retain the last part of the name, be- 
cause it was known of all men." 
The rescued man raised himself on' his elbow and said : 
"You've got it straight, Fred, and now, let up, as the rain 
has done, and I will make a fire and dry my clothes." 
We opened the tent, for the rain had ceased, and only for 
the drip from the trees there was no sign of the terrible 
storm. The earth was damp, but the drainage was good, and 
a fire soon threw its heat into the tent as our guest dried his 
clothing in the smoke. I was glad to have a chance to study 
him at close range. You may read what a man writes, but 
he only shows you the side he cares to have you see, the dress 
parade side, so to speak, or you may meet him daily for years 
and your vision will get no further; but camp with him a 
week when provisions are low and weather is bad, and if 
there is only one hog's bristle on his back that bristle it will 
be erect and assert itself. Permit me to leave old Nessmuk 
to dry his clothes while 1 go into executive session and mor- 
alize on camp companions ; 1 do so want to write it that I 
hope a few readers will glance over it. 
We are so built that few men are really persona grata to 
us, They may seem so in everyday intercourse where the 
mask of civilization is worn and they diplomatically pose as 
friends until the winds of adversity blow upon us, when 
they know us no longer. That is the average man of whom 
some on 3 has said: "The more I know of man the more I 
think of dogs." 
In the morning we all had dry clothing, and started out 
after breakfast to fish in our two boats. Nessmuk had a 
little frail canoe, while ours was of the regular Adirondack 
pattern and weighed about 80lbs. But the rod that our 
friend proceeded to join up was a wonder; it had originally 
been one of those four-piece abominations which are called 
"trunk rods," with joints shortened to allow the thing to 
be carried in a trunk. Originally it had been about 10ft, 
Sin. long, now it was 7ft. 6in., without a regular taper and 
too stiff to cast a fly. "What do you call that thing?*' 
asked Geddes, as he picked up the rod and looked it over 
critieafly. 
"That's a trout rod made after my own ideas, and it just 
suits me to a T. It's a good ash and lancewood rod cut 
down as I ordered." 
I handled the rod and said: "It's elegant; the finest thing 
I ever saw. I didn't quite understand it at first, but just 
look it over carefully. Jim, and you will see that a canal 
driver can whale his mules to the queen's taste with that. 
You came up by the Black River Oanal, didn't you?" 
"I'll show you what it is for when we get where the fish 
are, and it will beat your long, limber-go-shiftless split-bam- 
boos and give 'em ten in the game. There too willowy, too 
limber, too esthetic, too costly, and to high-toned to cruise in 
the Nipper, but just wait." 
We waited, and towed the Nipper until we got to where 
its skipper thought its paddle had drifted in the storm. He 
found it on shore, and then, with-a light breeze, just enough 
to make a ripple, we drifted and began to fish. We watched 
the old man. He had a reel and a gut leader on his line, and 
soon said: "Lend me a couple of flies, I have lost mine." 
We stocked him up, and began taking trout freely. I was 
busy replacing a fly, when Geddes whispered: "Look at old 
Nessmuk, he never tried to cast a fly before." 
I looked. He was standing in his canoe, balancing him- 
self as it rocked, trying to get out his line, which would 
sometimes fall 10ft. from the boat and sometimes in his boat. 
He saw our flies go out 30 and 40ft., and saw the trout rise 
and strike, to be reeled in. He thought he could doit, but had 
to own up. He paddled alongside, and said: "I never tried 
this rod with flies bafore, and it doesn't-seemto work. There 
are no angleworms in the Adirondacks, and I think I'll have 
to ask you for some trout fins and livers for bait." 
We tossed a couple of small trout into his canoe, and he 
removed the flies, put on some bare hooks, baited them, and 
began fishing. Geddes said: "The old fellow is a bait fisher 
and nothing else. He would have drifted off by himself if 
he had bait, but we drifted with him, and he had to own up. 
He said that his rod was not a fly rod. That's most certain, 
but it's dollars to doughnuts that he couldn't get a fly out 
with either of our rods. I'll ask him to try it." 
"No, Jim," I said, "don't do it. It would only embarrass 
him, and make him feel uncomfortable. He is a first class 
woodsman, and has made the mistake of trying to cast a fly 
with a rod which cannot cast one, and he has tried it before 
two experts and failed." 
"You're right," said the great-hearted Geddes; "he's a 
good old fellow in his way, and we don't wish to make him 
uncomfortable. He's 'bit off more'n he can chaw,' as the 
saying goes, and we will turn our backs and not see it. He's 
not only usine- bait, but see the little twig he has tied on his 
line as a float. That's the last evidence of primitive 
methods." 
Nessmuk took u few trout, and before noon we went back 
to our camp and had a grand woods dinner of hard tack, 
bean soup with salt pork and fried trout. If I had never been 
within 1,000 miles of New York I would say: "The dinner 
exceeded the wildest dreams of Delmonico,'"' for the man of 
Nessmukian type' thinks that there is only one place to eat in 
New York, and somehow gets the idea that good cooking 
and service culminate under one roof. I can show him 
quiet, out-of-the-way places— but we have strayed from the 
camp on the Fulton chain of lakes. 
When dinner was to be cooked Nessmuk shone as a bright 
particular star. He took charge, hustled around and did all 
the work, while we looked on. He cleaned the fish, washed 
and boiled the beans, while Geddes and I lay off, chatted 
and slept, Jim's last remarks being: "He's a mighty good 
man in cainp." 
A year later I wrote Nessmuk about the rod that he used 
that day, and under date of May, 1884, he described it as 
follows: "It was 10ft. Sin. long when 1 bought it, and it 
was in four pieces. I had the butt shortened to a handle, 
the other joints cut down 4, 5, and the top to 4in., but I 
think that if the rod is not as symmetrical as some others, it 
will snatch a trout or a bass bald-headed if I once hook 
him." 
He was right, The only trouble in sight was to get the 
lure placed in attractive shape before the trout, and we voted 
him a pot-fisher. He left us after dinner and went back up 
the lake to his duffle. I think he preferred to be alone in the 
woods, although he wrote me under date of May 27, 1884, as 
follows : 
"When you saw my rod you made fun of it, but it just 
suits me. It is not expensive, and if I smash it— Bismillah ! 
— it is well. Can you meet me on the Tiadatton next month? 
Take your eye and throw it along the map of Pennsylvania. 
On the upper waters of the Susquehanna "you will find a per- 
fect maze of mountain streams, and there are 18,799 of them 
not large enough to find a place on the map. With all these 
springs and rills, cold as ice and little known of man, where- 
in you may camp without let or hindrance, cut timber, 
catch trout, smoke, sleep, laze and loaf, and no man shall 
say you nay. Among the affluents you may reckon the Sin- 
nemahoning and Big Pine Creek, Big Pine Creek is the "Tia- 
datton, and Tiadatton is Tuscarora for River of Pmes. See? 
Now, the Tiadatton is not the Bigosh, although, by gosh, its 
a mighty good Bigosh, and is my Bigosh, Down the "Tia- 
datton I am going in my new boat, the Bucklail, and 
'My camp-fire shall 
Glisten and shine 
To the low alto song of the evergreen pine.' 
"The Bucktail will be known of men before October. 
Only this, and nothing more. One old woodsman to an- 
other, a trifling letter, but sent off hand. Couldn't you cut 
me off somewhere tnis summer?" 
That's a true Nessmukian letter and shows how good- 
naturedly he took our chaffing. The "Bigosh" was an allu- 
sion to my sketches: "Trouting on the Bigosh." A few 
days after sending the above letter he sent me a deer's tail 
and wrote: 
