Oct. 16, 1897. 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
sn 
While in camt) the party -were in charge of Mr. George J. 
Root, C.E., of Ottawa, one of the engineers who had built 
the road, and desire to express the great obligations they are 
under to him, and to say that any party who can secure 
his guidance in the future need feel no anxiety as to the 
results. 
Mr. Root also provided them with a capital cook, a Scotch- 
man, but known all over that country as "Darky Flaunt, " 
one of the old railroad employees also. They found the 
Park Rangers hospitable and agreeable, and speak in the 
highest terms of the treatment received at their hands. 
After three delightful days, in which they did not fish half 
the time, as the lish were so plenty that they had all they 
wanted, the party left the lake on Tuesday, Sept. 21, about 
12 M., and by 7 were safely lodged at the Grand Union 
Hotel, Ottawa. That evening and the next morning they 
spent taking in the Canadian Central Fair, leaving Ottawa 
at 3 P. M. and reaching home at 5 Thursday morning. 
Mr. Chambers, and your other Canadian correspondents, 
would be rejoiced at the delight they all express with their 
excursion, and with the aspect of the country generally, 
which was a terra incognita to some of them, and as well of 
the hospitable treatment they received from every one with 
whom they came in contact. 
They were particularly struck with the exhibition of 
horned cattle at the fair, who, they say, "looked as if thev 
in the house and were going to have for your own supper." 
"Veil, ve cot some mush and milik, und some pork mit 
beans, oof dot was all ride for you ." 
"That's all right; and the same for breakfast and a noon 
lunch. We love pork and beans." Afterward Jim said to 
me: "These Pennsylvania Dutchmen will kill a chicken 
and put it in the pot half an hour afterward. I wouldn't 
touch it with a 10ft, pole unless the animal heat was entirely 
gone before it is cooked, and I'm sure you wouldn't." 
"I'd have to be hard up to eat it; but his layout is good 
enough — better than I expected in this wilderness. He's a 
good old fellow, if I'm not mistaken." 
The family gathered at the table. With Mrs. Wilkins and 
two girls, who might have been twins, of eighteen or twenty 
years, the family could muster eleven at table, and one who 
took its rations in lacteal form. Dad Wilkins, the children 
called him dad, said grace in a brief manner, and the busi- 
ness began. V he table was not conducted on the lines of 
the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," but no doubt Holmes 
would have enjoyed it. 
' 'Say, dad, 1 "want some more mush in this milk." "Veil, 
bass oop your blate." "I do' want no mush; gimme some 
beans. Put on more." "Shonny, you geep schtiU w'en de 
shentleman's vas here Oder I schlaf you on de kopf." "Mom, 
gimme some more sugar in this tea," and so it went. Poor 
Jake Wilkins and his wife tried to instil company manners 
MY BEST CATCH. 
Amateur Photo by A. St. J. Newberry. 
had been groomed and their hoins polished till they shone, 
for the occasion 1" The sheep, also, were greatly admired, 
and one of the party says he never saw so fine a display of 
fruit and vegetables. Taking it all in all, they had a most 
successful and delightful trip, and think the columns of 
Forest and Stream the most suitable medium in which to 
express their gratitude to their Canadian hosts. Von W. 
Charlestown, N. H., Get. 4. 
MEN I HAVE FISHEU WITH. 
LVIII.— Hon. James Geddes. 
When I sketched JSTeasmuk, alias George W. Sears, a 
short time ago, he introduced himself into a camp where 
Mr. James Geddes, of Syracuse, N. Y., and I were secure 
from a most violent storm, and we took him in out of the 
wet and brought him to life. That was not my first fishing 
trip with Mr. Geddes, and I had known him for many years 
at the N. Y. State Sportsmen's tournaments and at the State 
fairs, but we never became really intimate until we found 
ourselves as superintendents in the Agricultural Depart- 
ment of the Centenniar Exposition at Philadelphia in 1876; 
he of the mowers and reapers, horses and live stock, and I 
of the aquaria. We were both hampered by a man in 
authority, and could do little except through him, and such 
friends of his as we mistrusted paid him a commission. 
The red-tape was formidable. I resigned, but Mr. Geddes 
fought it out. The great acres of grain were ripe for the 
trial of reapers, and no horses could be had. He got them, 
however, by some of the plainest kind of talk, which was 
music to my ear. 
Late in April Mr. Geddes asked me if I knew of any trout 
streams that were within easy reach from Philadelphia. I 
did not. But Mr. Norris said, "You may get a few trout 
in Monroe county. Take the morning train and go to 
Btroudsburg, just beyond the Delaware Water Gap, and 
get Johnson to drive you out to Jake Wilkins', it's only 
fifteen miles, and you'll get there at night. I'll give you 
letters to both; you'll stop with Wilkins all night, and he'll 
show you the stream in the morning." We went, on a two 
days' trip which included only one-half day's fishing. 
Said I, "Mr. Norris says we must wade the stream or not 
fish it at all, for it is fringed with bushes. Do you use 
waders?" 
"No," he said; "I have no waders, and I don't like them. 
They're clumsy things, and in a swift mountain stream such 
as we are going to a man with wading trousers on is apt to 
slip and find himself in the water. Rubber wading stock- 
ings and heavy shoes are a nuisance, also, for a man stews in 
them. I'm not fond of wading, but if I've got to do it I'll 
get some woolen stockings and a pair of old shoes, and go in 
that way; but I will not promise to go in over knee-deep. I 
tell you, Fred, it isn't right to wade deep in a cold stream on 
a warm day, with the sun shining on your head." 
Up to then we had "mistered" each other, but from the 
time we planned our trout campaign we dropped that formal 
custom. I answered, "You have said just what I would 
have said if jou had asked the question. I hate rubber 
clothing of all kinds. I'd sooner gel my clothing wet from 
the outside than to stew in perspiration which cannot escape. 
Let's go down town this afternoon and get stockings and 
such things as we need, and start in the morning." 
Jake Wilkins couldn't read, but one of his daughters read 
our introductory note, and he said: "So o, you vas frents by 
Mr. Norris. Den you shall be velcome. I co gill some 
shickens, already." 
"Don't kill any chickens for us, Mr. Wilkins," said 
Oeddes; "we never eat them. Just give us what you have 
into the younger Wilkinses, but it wouldn't work. They 
knew just what they wanted, and they went for it. Two 
strange outsiders were not going to deprive them of mush, 
beans nor sugar— not if they could help it; and they did get 
all that they went for. 
The children had some American schoolmates, and had 
not followed their parents dialect in speaking English, and 
the twins entertained us with several songs which surprised 
us. One was: "When this Cruel War is Over," and could 
only have been brought to the mountains by some Union 
soldier, for it was hardly more than a dozen years old. 
They had old songs from across the water and entertained us 
until time for bed. 
Men who never think of bed before midnight may turn in 
at 9 P. M., because there is nothing else to do, but sleep at 
that hour is to them another thing. Jim and I turned in 
with two boys, the boys in the middle. They snored a lit- 
tle, but they rolled and kicked without waking up. I think 
I would as soon sleep with a threshing machine as willi the 
boy next me. The kitchen and dining room were combined ; 
then the boys, the girls, Dad and Mom, each had a room. 
From the latter great waves of sound rolled up. Possibly 
Dad was sleeping on his back with his mouth wide open and 
his nasal valves fluttering, but if the shingles on the roof did 
not vibrate in unison with the snores of either "Dad" or 
"Mom," and cause the roof to leak during the next wet spell, 
then I'm no prophet. 
An early breakfast and a half-mile walk brought us to the 
mountain brook, and a winding brawling brook it was. The 
great boulders and the washed banks were evidence that at 
times it was a mountain torrent. We agreed that it was 
wide enough to fish side by side, and tje rocks were so 
plenty, and there were piles of gravel at intervals that there 
was no necessity to wade nor to cast a fly, for one dropped 
on the water could be let down as far as we wished. Our 
rods were split bamboo, with appropriate click reels, and 
each of us had a creel on the left shoulder and a short- 
handled landing net. The only thing we differed on was 
the selection of flies for the first trial, be choosing the light 
Reuben- Wood and a silver-dun, saying: "On a day like 
this when there are heavy clouds 1 think the chances are best 
with light-colored flies." 
"That is good for a combination of light flies, and I will 
follow it so far as to put on a coachman, but for a second fly 
will use a darker one, say a ginger-hackle." 
We tried the smaller pools, and took a few trout under 6in., 
which we carefully unhooked and let go. 
"I noticed that you wet your hands before you unhooked 
that little trout," said Mr. Geddes. "What did you do that 
for?" 
"That is one of the first things that a fishculturist learns 
to do. A wet hand will not remove the slime from a fish, 
but a dry one will, and if the slime is removed fungus grows 
and the fish dies." 
"That's something new to me," he said. "How does fun- 
gus kill the fish?" 
"By making a sore where it can get a foothold, and the 
roots of the fungus destroy the skin. If you want a fish to 
live after you've handled it, always wet your hands before 
you touch it. You may lift a trout carefully from the 
water, dry it in a towel, and it will swim away. In a few 
days it will have a bloom, looking like that of a plum, upon 
it, and then the cottonny growth appears, and in a week or 
ten days the trout is dead. I've seen a dead trout with the 
finger and thumb marks all eaten into by great sores, and — 
That's a good one, it will do to basket," 
"Yes, and you've got the mate to it. What fly did it 
tnkei" 
"The coachman. And yours?" 
"The Reub-Wood, the tail fly." 
"The coachman was my hand fly, and I have a notion that 
any tail fly is presented to a trout "in better shape than the 
other flies, and if T find a fly that the trout like on a certain 
day, I take off all others. I never want to take two fish at a 
time and have them jerk different ways, and perhaps break 
the leader. I'll take" off the hackle now and put the coach- 
man below, and fish with only one." 
Our fish were of about 4oz. each, and well matched in 
shape and color. The pool was larger than the others, but 
we got no more from it. Then there was a series of rapids 
with no pools for a long way, and then we came to a place 
where for nearly a mile we must wade. The brook wound 
about and there were occasional fallen trees, heaps of drift- 
wood and other places where a trout could hide, feed and 
not have to exercise too violently to keep its place. This 
was evidently the favorite pool" that Mr. Norris had de- 
scribed, for it was only in occasional spots that a man on the 
bank could drop a fly in the water, and from those it would 
be difficult to land a fish. The water was cold, but not 
deep. We could distinguish the shallow portions by the 
ripples, and about 3ft. was the' deepest we got into, a few 
inches above the knee. In this pool we took some fine trout 
and lost a few flies among the drift stuff. The sun was near 
meridian when Geddes yelled, sat down on a rock and yelled 
more. I found that he had a cramp in one leg, and it was 
all in knots, for he was a large, well built man, muscular as 
an athlete, and handsome in face and figure. I rubbed away 
on the calf of his leg as hard as I could, while he kept say- 
ing: "Harder, haidtr." When the muscular spasms ceased 
he said: "Don't you think we've had sport enough? How 
many trout have we got?" 
A show-down resulted in thirty-one trout, none of which 
would weigh less than Jib. When we reached Philadelphia 
the lot weighed IHlbs., or an average of 6oz , a very good 
morning's work. 
We would fish no more, but find a good spot for luncheon 
and go back to Jake Wilkins'. There was no road on either 
side of the stream, not even a trail, but we worked our way 
. up through the woods, and reached the house about S P.M.", 
drove to the railroad, and fortunately caught a train which 
landed us in Philadelphia before midnight. 
Going down on the tiain Geddes said: "Now, we've got 
the trr-ut, what will we do with them?" 
"Take enough out to the American restaurant, in the 
Exposition grounds, for two breakfasts for us and a possible 
guest or two, and send the rest around to Uncle Thad 
Nonis." 
"Well," said he, "1 had laid out the breakfasts in my 
mind, but was troubled about the rest. I figured that we 
cc uld use about 51bs. at two breakfasts if we had some help, 
which will not be hard to get; but the remainder bothered 
me. Nonis is just the man to appreciate them. I met him 
in your oflice one day, and he's a fine old man." 
"That's from your limited point of view. I tell you, Jim 
Geddrs, that Uncle Thad is a grand old man, and if he could 
have been with us you and he would have been lifelong 
friends. Let's sort out the trout here on the cars, and you 
take our portion to the grounds to-morrow and I will send 
the remainder to Mr. Norris in the morning with our cards; 
but be sure you don't rob Uncle Thad." 
There was no need to set a breakfast time, for we took our 
breakfasts in that cafe regulaily at 10 A. M., six days in the 
week. At our first trout bre'akfast an incident occurred 
which we never forgot to refer to in after years. The 
waiter had just brought the oysters and informed us that the 
trout would be ready in a few minutes, when the following 
scene occurred. The bar of the cafe was plainly visible 
from where we sat, and at that hour the place was quiet. 
The barkeeper was polishing his glasses and preparing for 
the expected trade when in came a lank old hayseed, who 
had evidently been bitten by the worm of the still many 
times the night before. He reminded me of those verses of 
Eugene Field's, in one of which he celebrates the clink of the 
ice in the pitcher which the hall-boy brings up in the morn- 
ing, only this yokel could never have seen any poetry in it, 
because he wasn't Eugene Field. 
The particular verse of the poem, which seems applicable 
to the rural dipsomaniac before us, is : 
"Notably fond of music, I dote on a sweeter tone 
Than ever the harp has uttered, or ever the lute has known. 
When I wake at live in the morning with a feeling in my head 
Suggestive of mild excesses, before I retired to bed; 
When a small but fierce volcano vexes me sore inside, 
And my throat and mouth are furred with a fur that seemeth a 
buffalo hide. 
How gracious those dews of solace that over my senses fall 
At the clink of the ice in the pitcher, the boy brings up the halll" 
No doubt this old fellow felt all this, but it was not "the 
clink of the ice" he was seeking. He was after a "hair of 
the dog that bit him," and we heard him ask: "How much 
do you tax fur whiskey?" 
"Fifteen cents," senlentiously, while the polishing of 
glasses went on. 
There was a moment of sOence, and then: "That's what 
they tax all about here. I can get lots of it up in Pike 
county. Pa., fur 5 cents." 
The man behind the bar gave the subject but little thought 
before he said : "Then why don't you go there and get it?" 
The rustic recognized that as a business proposition, and, 
planking his money down, merely said : "Gimme some." 
The bar glasses in those days were large, for I am told 
that there is a fashion in these things as in others; and th-^ 
rural toper took the bottle, which went "glug, glug," until 
the fluid actually rounded up on top of the dry glass. Then 
he grasped it, but was restrained by the bar-man, who 
shouted, "Hold on!" and turning to a pile of empty cigar 
boxes, tore off the picture of a woman and said, "There's a 
chromo goes with that drinRl" At one of our fly-casting 
tournaments I induced Geddes to tell that story to the Rev. 
Mr. Ziegenfuss, who had a keen sense of humor; and often 
when they were in the boat as judges, Mr. Ziegenfuss would 
say: "There's a chromo goes with that castl ' 
Mr. Geddes was widely known, not only throughout the 
State of New York, but wherever scientific agriculture is 
practiced. He was born at the Geddes homestead near 
Camillus, N. Y , in 1831,.and received a liberal education. 
He learned civil engineering under his father, who did that 
work for the Syracuse & Oswego Railroad. When twenty- 
two years of age he married Miss Frances Terry, of Geddes, 
and assumed ihe direction of the widely-known Geddes 
farm, which wa.s famous as a model of high farming. At the 
time of his death, at hia home in Syracuse, N. Y., in 1887, 
he was president of the New York State Agricultural So- 
ciety. 
Mr. Geddes spent eight winters in Florida and one inOali- 
