FOREST AND STREAM. 
Fixtures, 
July 18, 19, 20.— Meeting of the American Pigheries Society at 
Woods Holl, Mass. 
One Pleasant Day. 
"Would you like to go fishing?" This was the ques- 
tion with which my friend K. greeted me on a bright 
sunny day. 
"Would I? Well, I most certainly would," was my 
answer. 
"Well, let's go. Where will it be?" 
"I have heard Sugar Creek Falls well spoken of. Let's 
go there." 
All right. Sugar Creek it is, then. You invite the 
company and I'll furnish the livery." 
Thinking the proposition as fair as I could well ask, I 
cheerfully agreed. Did you ever fish at Sugar Creek 
Falls? Well, I'll tell you about the place. But that will 
come in as we go along. 
By way of company I concluded to invite ray two boys, 
Frank and Paul. The boys are as big as I, but they are 
my boys still. 
The day was set— a day in the late summer — and no 
summer ever turned out a fairer one. 
Having packed our baskets and prepared our tackle 
the evening before, we were ready for an earl3r start. Our 
livery was a fine, easy-going carriage, drawn by a spank- 
ing team of well-fed and weil-groomed horses. We had 
a delightful drive of thirteen miles through the mildly 
cool morning air — cool enough to require light over- 
coats — the first half of the distance over a sandy road as 
level as a floor, after which we struck the hills, and then 
it was up and down through a beautiful picturesque 
country. The farmers had not yet turned out; the fowls 
were just beginning to stir themselves; the morning 
mists were lingering in the valleys, lending an additional 
charm to the landscape. There was not a speck of cloud 
in the sky, and when the sun rose his opportunity for a 
most glorious appearing was unobstructed, and a more 
perfect summer morning never dawned. 
As we came to the last half mile of our journey we de- 
scended the gentle slope of a long hill, and there lay be- 
fore us a large level triangular-shaped body of land in- 
closed on two sides by the two branches of Sugar Creek. 
Immediately in front of us was an old-fashioned covered 
bridge, which spanned the first of these branches. Cross- 
ing this bridge and driving perhaps a quarter of a mile 
over a beautiful road, as level as ice on a river and as 
straight as a ruler, we came to bridge No. 2 crossing the 
other branch. These two streams meet and form Sugar 
Creek proper, say a half a mile below this bridge. Both 
of these branches are beautiful to look upon, musical in 
their movements and good for fishing. They axe not dull, 
sluggish streams, wandering lazily between muddy banks, 
but quick-flowing, moving along with a song of gladness, 
rattling over stones, bumping against great rocks, curl- 
ing up into eddies and deep green pools; then spreading 
out into glittering shallows. Here the approach to the 
water is a sandy branch; there a grassy bank; again, if you 
would approach the water at all you must clamber down 
■a precipice of rock almost perpendicular, for now and 
then the stream leans up against these to rest a while. 
A few rods below the second of these bridges the water 
spreads out and glides down over a bottom of smooth 
rock and plunges over a break in this solid bottom, and 
that forms Sugar Greek Falls. The fall is not great — may 
be 5 feet — but it comes down with a roar and a plunge, 
and forms a great deep pool below. That is a good pool 
in which to cast a line. I wonder why they called it 
Sugar Creek. And this is a question which always excites 
my interest as I pass around through the country, for I 
have quite a curiosity touching the origin of the names 
of the natural features of the region. When it comes 
to Indian names, such as Tuscarawas, Coshocton, Cuya- 
hoga, Walhonding and the like, I give it up at once, only 
supposing these are the names these streams received 
from the people who fished in them before I came. Some 
streams suggest at once the origin of their names. There 
is a dull, sluggish stream in this same region called Still- 
water. It you visit it you will readily see the propriety 
of the name. Stony Creek, in which I fished when a boy, 
was simply a stony creek. There is another of these still- 
water creeks that crawl sluggishly through the dead 
levels in tlie name of which I was greatly interested. It 
is called One Leg. On inquiry I was told that an Indian 
who had been so unfortunate as to lose one of his legs 
rhade his home on this creek, and his brethren of the 
copper skin called the creek One Leg in honor of their 
unfortunate tribesman. But why my favorite stream 
should be called Sugar Creek I never learned; but I sup- 
pose the early settlers along its banks found plenty of 
sugar maples growing there, from which they drew their 
supplies for domestic use. 
The scenery about the falls is very beautiful and at- 
tractive. At least it is so to one who for months together 
is confined to the close quarters of his town business 
and humdrum responsibilities. But I suppose to the 
eyes of the people who live here there is no special beauty 
in the hills, the levels, the trees or the sweet gliding 
streams by which they are surrounded; nor, to their 
ears, is there any music in the gentle roar of the water as 
it tumbles over the rocks. Back from the stream, a few 
rods and near the second bridge there stands a large stone 
house. It was built in a bygone time to meet a bygone 
The road we have traversed in getting here was orig- 
inally a stage road in the sood old tim.es before railroads 
with their horrid noises and their horrid dirt were thought 
of. The stone house was a hotel in those stage days. It 
is now occupied by a farm.er and h's family, colonies of 
wasps, with other small vermin which find plenty of room 
without interferina- with each other. .A.cross the road are 
great barns, stables, wagon sheds, corn cribs and the 
like To these barns we drove our team, and into the 
stalls we put our horses, and' into the shed we pushed our 
carriage. Then we arranged with t.he farmer and his 
Avife for what accommodations we might need, such as 
stable room, hay for the horses, the use of a dinmg table 
on the back porch, with table linen, butter, milk and such 
like. Then to the water. We made our first cast in the 
pool below the falls; then, following the branch down 
to the junction of the two, we followed up the other 
branch till noon. The sport was good, and by noon 
we had a very fair catch. But that — the catch — was the 
srnallest consideration; we had the outdoor air, the sun- 
shine, the world clear up to the blue above us and the 
landscape all about us, with the song of bird, chirp of 
grasshopper^ and the clean, pure smell of the country in 
our nostrils. 
At the hour agreed upon for meeting at the stone house 
for noon lunch Frank was missing. I concluded I would 
hunt him up, so walking across the triangle to bridge No. 
I I lifted up my voice: "Frank! Hello! Frank!" Soon 
a reply came from away around the bend in the stream: 
"I'm coming!" And coming he was, sure enough. He 
had worn a light overcoat in the cool of the morning, 
and not thinking, I suppose, of the increase of heat as the 
day advanced, he still had it on. A muilfler was about 
his neck. He had a minnow bucket -and fishing rod in 
one hand, a string of fish in the other. His face was as 
red as a poppy and the perspiration was streaming down 
his cheeks. He fairly groaned with what he carried un- 
der the oppressive heat; but he was happy, and so were 
we all 
The dinner was good, as dinners under such circum- 
.stances generally are; but it was a rare treat to me, for 
I was not eating many meals with my boys then, nor 
have I since, nor am I likely to in years to come. After 
dinner and a little rest we resumed our pleasant labor 
and rounded up the day with another feast. And what 
of the catch ? Well, it was not very great. We found 
we had taken in all about forty fish, thirty of which were 
bass. We were satisfied, for we had had a pleasant day. 
Frank pronounced it the happiest day he ever spent. 
Paul was the champion, having taken the biggest bass 
of the lot. 
While K. was preparing the team for the home jour- 
ney I settled with our host of the stone house. 
"Mr. H., what shall I pay you for your accommoda- 
tions?" 
"O, well," with a slow, nasal drawl, "I hardly know. 
I guess its worth about IS cents." 
"Fifteen cents!" And I handed him a half dollar. 
"T believe I have nu change." 
"Change! I don't want any change. Keep it; your 
accommodations are worth it." And the poor man nearly 
staggered under the burden of this sudden accumulation 
of wealth. Then that farm, that house, those barns and 
all that in them was, with that creek, landscape and all 
the place afforded were at my disposal. "Come again; 
3'ou'll be welcome any time." A. R. Chapman. 
Steubenvillb, O. 
ANGLING NOTES. 
Gut. 
Weeks ago I had something to say about the annual 
reports on the gut crop, and said it would be curious to 
look over the reports for the past twelve or fifteen years, 
if they could be gathered together, and cpmpare one year 
with another, for it seemed as though there had been 
alarming reports given out each year concerning certain 
grades of gut, -and yet to the consumer the price of such 
gut remained about the same. I do not now recall mj^ 
exact language, and at midnight I do not care to hunt 
for the particular copy of Forest and Stre.\m in which 
I used it; but I had in mind the reports about the heav- 
iest salmon gut, for it is that which has apparently caused 
the greatest alarm about its scarcity and high price. A 
correspondent has very kindly furnished me with eight 
reports, and I propose to quote this particular grade of 
gut. "Extra extra extra thick Marana" ; quantity in 
Great Britain and the price per loo: 
1888- 89 6,000 30s 
1889- 90 3,250 40s 
1890- 91 2,000 40s 
1891- 92 .V. 2,200 40s 
There is a gap from 1891-92 to 1895-96, and the title 
is changed from Marana (still used for lighter salmon 
gut) to Hebra for the ex. ex. ex. thick: 
1895-96 2,000 40s 
1897- 98 3,000 40s 
1898- S9 .■ Quantity not given. 30s 
1899- 1900 .• Quantity not given. 30s 
Exhibition gut, a grade still thicker than the ex. ex. ex. 
thick, is: 
Stock. Price. Year. 
5,000 50? 1888-89 
2,500 50s 1889-50 
1,500 50s 1890-91 
1,500 50s 1891-93 
SOO 50s 1895-96 
2.000 50s 1897-5S 
Not given.- 40s , 1898-99 
Not given. 40s 1899-00 
Just a few quotations from the reports regarding this 
grade of gut, 1888-89: The stock of stoutest gut for sal- 
mon fishing will therefore be very limited." 
1889- 90: "The two kinds of gut most in demand by 
first-class anglers, viz., the heaviest salmon and the finest 
trout, are 75 per cent, below last year." 
1890- 91: "In reporting upon the gut crop I have to 
state that the production is the smallest which has been 
recorded since this report was first issued, nine years 
ago. and is barely one-half that of last year. * * * 
Of heaviest salmon and finest undrawn trout remain of 
the last crop, and as the former especially is exceedingly 
scarce, the price will be somewhat higher than last year." 
1S91-02: "Of the heaviest salmon gut there is an even 
smaller quantity than last year, and as tlie consumption of 
1891 was higher, stocks are, as a consequence, remarka- 
bly low." 
1895-96: "Of thickest salmon gut only about half the 
usual"quantity. * * * I anticipate an early rise as the 
season advances and the stocks run low. * * * As 
America is now taking more gut each year, I have reason 
to believe that before the end of the year there will be 
some scarcity." 
1897- 9S: "I have to announce a fair average produc- 
tion of nearly all varieties. The exceptions are (as usual) 
in the two e:-:tremes of finest trout and very stoutest sal- 
mon gut, of which the quantity is year by year diminish- 
ing, while the demand is more than ftilly maintained." 
1898- 99: "The heaviest salmon gut is scarce, and of 
course correspondingly expensive, the supply (as is fre- 
quently the case) not equaling the demand." 
1S99-1900: "I have to report a materially diminished 
production. * * * As I have had to repeat now for 
several years, the supply of fine trout gut and the heav- 
iest salmon gut will not meet half the demand." 
When I first began to read these reports I was a trifle 
alarmed, for I feared that the supply of heavy sa.mon 
gut would taper down to nothing and the price would go 
up to the sky; but after a few years I got rather used to 
the scare heads and would have been disappointed if the 
reports had warned us to look out for anything but short 
crops of gut and advances in prices; and as the tackle 
dealers continued to sell heavy gut leaders and did not 
give the purchaser a stroke of paralysis when the price 
was mentioned, I had hopes that the present generation 
of anglers would survive the famine, disaster and pesti- 
lence of the gut crop, as set forth in the annual reports. 
A. N. Cheney. 
The Mendacious Angler. 
Amo.vg out-of-door sports none has apparently grown 
in popularity more steadily within the last few decades 
than that of anghng. 
It has recently been estimated that in the course of the 
lest twelve months not less than 6,574,000 anglers, com- 
prehending all classes and professions of our people, have 
on one or more occasions cast their lures, natural or arti- 
ficial, in the waters of or adjacent to these United States. 
This number, large it is true, but probably not beyond 
the fact, includes a far wider social diversity of folk 
than could be gathered on any other basis than a fond- 
ness for piscatorial pleasures. 
Indeed, it represents an epitome of American civiliza- 
tion. In this huge procession walks an ex-President of 
the republic, with a part of his Cabinet, a contingent from 
the Supreme Bench, from both houses of Congress, the 
circles of diplomacy and from the pulpit, the bar and col- 
lege, besides thousands from the oifice and workshop. 
Not less striking than its numbers, or social variety, is 
the honest worth of most of this host. They are, some 
few stragglers into its ranks ignored, the very elect of the 
nation. A goodly company in quality, as in quantity, on 
whom it is pleasant and wholesome for the imagination 
to dwell. 
We are not furnished with any estimate of the fish 
which this arrny of anglers has captured. Probably no 
such computation can be made, with any reasonable ap- 
proximation to the truth. Probably it would be mere 
guess work. Yet it is a matter of quite keen regret that 
we are not given some indications, even between wide 
margins, of the number of captured fish, together with a 
calculation of the quantities claimed by these sportsmen 
to have been hooked, but which managed to scape. 
While the .statistician whose figures are given has not 
felt justified in risking his very enviable reputation with 
such unreliable data, he appears to have given the matter 
quite serios consideration, as he is reported to have de- 
clared that he had progressed sufficiently far into such 
calculations as to be astounded at the immense disparity 
between the number estimated by him to have been 
taken and the number claimed to have been caught; and 
that as to the huge numbers of exceptionally large and 
. desperate fish which had been hooked but lost at the 
last moment, the task of computation was hopeless. 
This report of the statistician's embarrassment is ex- 
ceeding!}' credible, as it is the world over a well recog- 
nized fact that accounts of their exploits with which fish- 
ermen regale their friends are not borne out by the vis- 
ible results. So universally is this true that a highly 
improbable relation in regard to anything is in all lan- 
guages proverbially designated as "a fish story." 
This, \yhen we come to consider it, is an interesting 
and significant fact, the explanation of which upon any 
satisfactory theorv' has until recently been entirely want- 
ing. We are familiar enough with the shallow and often 
flippant solutions of the problem, which are heard wher- 
ever the fisherman's untruthfulness is mentioned. Thus 
we hear it said the Psalmist decalred that all men are 
liars; hence there should be no surprise at the mendacity 
of these men. David spoke in haste and doubtless re- 
vised his opinion at leisure; but however that may be, 
we know that all men are not now given to persistent, 
<ieliberate falsehood, and that very few do tell lies, unless 
to subserve some useful purpose. Then, too, it is ex- 
plained that anglers are accustomed on their excursions 
to indulge in alcoholic stimulation until their mental 
perceptions are so obfuscated as to readily transform 
fancies into facts. This accusation is a calumny. As a 
class, anglers are temperate. Many totally abstain, and 
of those who do indulge, many more are possessed of 
heads so hard as not to be affected by any quantity of 
liquor which they could conveniently carry on a day's 
outing, along with their necessary impedimenta. Still 
another of these explanations which do not explain is 
that this mendacity is but the expression of a disposition 
to harmless romancing, peculiar to a lively fancy. This 
is merely begging the question. Why are the romances 
confined to the subject of fishing? We are as far off with 
as without the suggestion. 
If the problem involved were a matter of mere idle 
curiosity, the solution of which could result in no good 
beyond the acquisition of truth for truth's sake, we might 
be content with permitting it to remain among other 
occult things. The moral character, however, of such a 
multitude of those whom we would fain respect, and 
who, in spite of this apparent taint of depravity, are so 
estimable and amiable, is so deeply concerne'"' as to make 
the subject one of very painful interest. Few are the 
family circles in our land whose happiness is not marred, 
whose pride is not wounded, or whose self-respect is not 
injured by the knowledge that one of its members or one 
dear to some of them is given to this sharneless disregard 
of the verities. It is a sorrow, a mortification, which 
comes or may at any time come home to any of us, as 
we hear one of these Ananiases of the hook and line, his 
countenance clear of any aparent consciousness of guilt, 
relate one of his impossible angling adventures. We 
listen in spite of ourselves, and can only wonder and 
lam.ent. We realize the mystery of it all, but we feel 
none the less that it is shocking. 
That this evi! has never been seriously diirus.«;^d i.- 
due to our hesitation at discussing the mora] obliquity of 
those we love. The delicacy of the topic has led us to 
avoid it in conversation This silence, however. ?o far 
from being indicative of the triviality of the matter, or 
