May 2, 1903.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
BBS 
by nothing I know of in fishing. But, instead of the fish 
then heading away from the boat and getting off as far 
as he could, in our case nine times out of ten would show 
the fish starting in directly toward the boat. Once I saw 
a tarpon jump straight over the boat, going directly be- 
tween the angler and his boatman. These boys have a 
hard, bony nose, with a bunch on it about like a piece of 
cast iron. If one of them should bunt into your boat 
when he came on, or should take a flying leap and land 
amidships of you, the results might be serious. Tarpon 
fishing in my own humble experience is not without a 
certain- element of risk. I don't like 'em to come to quite 
such close quarters as did the ones I saw at Mobile." 
The Prairie River. 
Mr. John G. Mott, of Michigan City, Ind., asks about 
the Prairie River. I should advise Mr. Mott, if he wishes 
to fish the lower Prairie, to go in at Gleason, which he 
can reach by way of the C. M. & St. P. railway to Toma- 
hawk, thence changing cars for a short ride to Gleason 
over a lumbering road. Or he can stop at Merrill and 
take the fifteen mile drive across country. He should 
stop at Gleason at Delos Cone's farm house, where he 
will haA'e good care if he is able to get taken in. Failing 
in this he can go up stream a mile or so to Dudley's Hotel, 
where one can always get accommodations. This is the 
most fished part of the stream and perhaps the fishing 
five or six miles above would be still better. If Mr. Mott 
should care to go further up the river, he should stop at 
the Bates House, Avhere numbers of our Chicago anglers 
are taken in and well cared for. These farm houses 
might possibly be full at this time of the year, but no 
doubt a letter in advance would secure arrangements. 
E. Hough. 
Hartford Building, Chicago, 111. 
Some Memories of Lake Whitney* 
It's tough to be sick — even though grippe may be 
fashionable. As I never cared a rap for style, however, 
I could very conveniently dispense with grippe! But 
there are circumstances where sickness can be tolerated 
with better grace than under some other conditions. If 
one be so fortunately located that his vision inay have 
free range over familiar territory and scenes, which recall 
pleasant memories of days gone by, then sickness is not 
as much a burden as it might be. 
From the windows of my room I can look out upon 
miles and miles of familiar and diversified sceneiy. The 
west shore of Lake Whitney forms the eastern boundary 
of our home for a distance of 500 feet. The lake extends 
for nearly a mile to the north, and over a mile to the 
south. Its average width is perhaps 250 yards — not a very 
large body of water, but interesting nevertheless. But 
there are numerous arms and ramifications which branch 
out in a westerly and southerly direction from the lake 
proper. For half a mile, between the First and Second 
bridge, the eastern shore forms the western boundary of 
the New Haven Country Club's grounds. The lake is 
3.rtificial, and is the property of the New Haven Water 
Company. It is fed principally by the Augerville Stream, 
a large brook A\^iich flows in from the north. Most of the 
land bordering its waters is controlled by the water com- 
pany. Five public bridges span the waters of the lake, 
and one suspension bridge — the private properly of the 
Country Club. 
Lake Whitney supplies hundreds of New Haven homes 
with water and ice, and affords recreation for thousands. 
In winter throngs may be seen of handsome lads and 
lassies gliding gracefully over the smooth, black ice, some 
absorbing health and others grippe — but all happy! And 
the "tilt-ups" of ambitious fishermen then dot the ice in 
places, for pickerel and perch in considerable numbers 
live in the waters of the lake; and sometimes a bass is 
taken in the proper season. Then there are roach, eels, 
bullheads, turtles, and the abominable German carp. In 
the summer there are rowing and canoeing parties. Yale 
College has a boat house near the dam, at the extreme 
southern end of the lake, and there are class regattas; 
and the "Varsity" eight can be seen training for the great 
annual struggle with Harvard, at New London, when the 
ice is gone. 
At the present time the liberty of the public is restricted 
to that portion of the lake extending from the dam to the 
second bridge. But twelve years ago there were no 
such restrictions, and one could row, fish, shoot an<l 
ramble at will over the land and water. But then, as 
now, there was an element which failed to recognize a 
"good thing," and this mob spoiled privileges which might 
have been retained indefinitely by the public. Under the 
circumstances no fair-minded person can blame the 
water company. 
Twenty years ago Biakeslie's and Day's boat houses 
stood where they do to-day — near the dam. North of 
these were the New Haven Ice Company's houses. And 
north of the ice houses, with a small garden-patch be- 
tween, stood a little, old-fashioned farm house. The 
peaked roof was long and low. The small front door 
opened to the south, and was also the side door. The 
windows of the dwelling Avere small, as were the panes. 
A grape arbor extended the full length of the house on 
the south, and stone steps, also shekered over with the 
vines, led down the east end to a basement in the rear. 
The windows of the basement overlooked a small yard 
filled with flowers, and the lake. The place was un- 
painted and weather-worn, clap-boards and shingles being 
lichen-covered, which caused the dwelling to blend har- 
moniously with the surrounding trees and vegetation; 
and there was a pervading cleanliness and coolness de- 
lightful to remember. 
Tom Crogan lived here with his father and mother. 
Never a fisherman or sportsman spent a day afield or 
afloat and Tom along but the outing must needs end with 
a good supper in the basement of this charming little 
house by the lake. "No" was never accepted as an an- 
swer! Supper over, these hospitable souls would insist 
upon cleaning game or fish, while the guest smoked and 
drank a glass of beer under the cool arbor. And with the 
departure home, fish or game always went with the de- 
parting one — all of it ! And the only recompense ever 
exacted by these good people was 3 promise tp "come 
again!'? 
My knowledge in fishing matters is very rudimentary, 
I simply know that, at any style of fishing, Tom is the 
best all-round freshwater fisherman I ever saw. Not with 
the fly, mind you, for I know absolutely nothing about 
that kind of fishing. But for pickerel skittering, snaking 
out perch and bullheads, and for enticing trout from their 
waler^v elements with natural bait, Tom is simply per- 
fection ! Twenty years ago there was not an inch of the 
lake he did not know, and he was the first person T ever 
saw use a strip from the belly of a roach for pickerel 
bait. This was always discarded for a strip rfrom the 
belly of the first pickerel caught. 
In those days it was an easy matter for two to row to 
the head of the lake in the morning, and take fifty 
pickerel or perch by noon. I can look across the lake 
now and see an indendation in the east shore a short dis- 
tance south of the second bridge, where Tom and I have 
taken oyer fifty pickerel without moving our boat from 
one position. A small stream, the outlet of a spring, en- 
ters the lake here. The fish ranged from a quarter to 
half a pound apiece. Occasionally larger ones were 
taken, but never over a pound. 
But the grounds at the head of the lake, where the 
water grass used to reach from the bottom to the surface 
in places, and formed deep,- pellucid wells with green 
mossy bottoms and grassy-curtained sides in other places, 
were the pickerel grounds par excellence in those days. 
Here the jneld in sport, and pleasure of former days 
forms a delightful retrospect to look back upon. 
There is a gentle wind from the west. It darkens the 
water with little ripples as it sweeps the surface. The 
sun shines _ brightly — perhaps too brightly for ideal 
pickerel fishing. Tom stands in the bow and I in the 
stern of the skiff, and we drift with the wind. Our rods 
are long, cheap bamboo affairs, and the lines exactly the 
length of the rods. We are making the first drift of the 
day. 
The skiff glides with a sweeping sound through a mass 
of matted grass, which covers the surface in places, then 
drifts noiselessly over one of those deep, wondrous wells. 
The bait traces an erratic course through the pellucid ele- 
ment, when out of the depths of the grassy side of the 
well a pickerel flashes — straight at Tom's bait ! I have 
just time to note the performance when a sharp tug at 
ray line calls my attention to business. We let them have 
the bait a while, then strike; and we land two pickerel 
of six or eight ounces. When the skiff reaches the east 
shore, we row back across the lake, and the drift is re- 
peated. Thus would we fish till noon. 
A shady place ashore always furnished a lunch-room 
on such trips. Then after a pull at our pipes we would 
snooze for an hour or two. We would then net a mess of 
shiners for perch bait, now to the mouth of the Auger- 
ville Stream, haul the boat out on the shore and fish from 
land. Just where the waters of lake and stream met, and 
the current was slightest, it was about six feet deep and 
clear as cr3'stal. Here the perch lived in swarms. It was 
fascinating to drop in a hook and lean cautiously over 
the grassy bank and see the perch swarm for the bait. 
No need to wait for the tell-tale. tug on the line! When 
a fish took the lure, you could see just how you had him, 
and Icnew j ust when to haul him out. 
Among the variegated vegetation of the lake, there was 
a great variety of animal life. Mud turtles, with shining 
black, yellow-speckled backs; box turtles, with their 
lighter colored shells of checker-board design. Or an 
occasional ugly-looking snapping turtle, some of great 
size, could be seen moving along the bottom. And big, 
blinking bullfrogs would gaze stupidly out of the surface 
grass, Newts and salamanders also lived in these waters, 
and under the rocks along the shore. And in those days 
there were many muskrats— their dome-shaped domiciles 
sticking above the water in all directions. 
In this particular part of the lake the surface, in the 
shallower places, used to be smothered with beautiful 
white waterlilies. And when the day's fishing was ended 
we would gather great bunches of these fragrant flowers. 
And the row down ihe lake, between the green, wooded 
banks, with Mt. Carmel in the ' north and^ the 'llamden 
Hills in the west and northwest, to form an irregular 
dark blue margin for the panorama of lake, hill and rural 
vistas, is a pleasant memory to look back upon. After 
such a da3''s outing, Tom's face and neck would be as red 
as his hair, and his blue eyes would twinkle with pleasure. 
But there are other memories connected with this 
charming little sheet of water. Some are pleasant, some 
are comic and others are tragic. And what a mingling of 
the three! From where I write I can throw a stone 
right into the spot where two bright young men went 
under^the surface never to come out alive. One, a pro- 
fessor's son, was drowned while skating. The other was 
drowned by falling out of a boat while fishing. Just a 
short distance to the south of this spot, one day two 
actresses went down, locked in each other's anns. Three 
were in the water at one time, but one was saved, through 
the heroic efforts of a companion, who made a most gal- 
lant attempt to save them all — and nearly succeeded. 
And there have been many other tragedies here. But the 
lake assumes its wondrous morning and evening tints; 
reflects sun, moon, cloud, star and tree ; tempers the sum- 
mer breeze; congeals into a vast mirror in winter to hold 
up fields of drifted snow; and smiles up at the heavens 
as placidly and serenely as it would were there no human 
tragedies connected with its existence. 
The second is a picture which seems comic to me; 
though one, I fear, of like pictures which have caused the 
upper part of the lake to be shut off from the public. A 
large, flat-bottomed skiff loaded to the water's edge with 
a cosmopolitan cargo of humanity, their fishing parapher- 
nalia, grub and a keg of beer! The men are hooting, 
singing and skylarking in a noisy though harmless man- 
ner. An acquaintance, who is fishing from the bank, 
spies them. "Hullo, thayer, Bill," he yells, "Phwat the 
divil ye got in th' kag? Come over 'n give us a sup !" 
"Hullo, Leary! Where ye come from? — ^ye divil, ye!" 
The boat is headed for the shore, and Leary is treated 
to half a dozen glasses of beer. Then he must needs go 
along. He objects, as he considers the boat over-crowded 
as it is. They insist. "Yust you look here, Mr. Leary," 
says a ruddy-faced, wide-built German, "you yust haf to 
go mit us. Dis boat him hold more as twice so mooch as 
he got, alretty! Shoomp in, Mr. Leary, shoomp in I" 
Jo » moment of weakness Leary fields to the majority, 
They seat him cornfortably, and our stout German friend 
put his shoulder to the stern and pushes with all his 
strength, until he blows like a porpoise. The boat fails 
to budge: The rowers jab their oars in the bank and re- 
inforce the German's efforts with their own. Suddenly 
the boat starts, our German leaps wildly aboard, and the 
craft sinks, with the gyrating grace of a clam shell ! 
The scramble out of the water was marked with greater 
precipitation than grace. And what a drowned looking 
mob ! They take it good naturedly, however, and one of 
them jumps back in the lake and rescues the "kag," which 
is floating away, faucet up. The rest of the paraphernalia 
is left to shift for itself. 
A heavy thunderstorm caught a number of fishing par- 
ties out on the lake one day. One crowd hauled their boat 
out on the shore, propped it bottom up, like a lean-to, and 
crawled under its protecting shelter. One of the crowd, 
loiown as "Jack," had, as usual, imbibed more than his 
internal capacity could assimilate to advantage. He grew 
pathetically sentimental. His sympathy was bestowed 
on a herd of cows which stood tail-to to the deluge a 
short distance away. "Pooree-hic-bozzy-cows," moaned 
Jack. "Suchy — dam — ^hic — mis'ble — shame t' let — hie— :r 
bozzy— cows get wet !" While it rained the hardest he 
took a towel under his arm, crawled out from under the 
boat in his shirt sleeves, wrapped one arm i-ound the 
cow's neck, and stood there in the heavy downpour, using 
maudlin baby-talk to that bovine cud-chewer, while he 
sopped the streaming moisture from the animal's face 
with the towel. 
There used to be fair snipe shooting in the fall in the 
marshy land at the head of the lake' Tom, a few others 
and myself used to take advantage of this in the proper 
season. Five of us were up that way one day and all car- 
ried guns but one— George Yardley, an Englishman, and 
one of the truest friends and noblest characters I have 
ever known. I dropped a snipe dead. The bird fell in 
the mud, and as I reached far over to pick it up, a fool 
in the crowd sent a charge of shot within a foot of my 
hand and blew the bird out of sight into the mud. Was I 
mad? That same chap was the greatest bloAvhard about 
his. hunting abilities I ever saw. That afternoon I stood 
near him, when his gun went off, right alongside of mv 
head, and he fell over in a dead faint. The hammer came 
down on his thumb. We threw hatfuls of water in his 
face and he finally revived. A fellow came along with a 
duck, and this chap forgot the command, "Thou shalt not 
covet;" he wanted that duck! The man who had the 
duck would rather have a quarter. The quarter was bor- 
rowed from one of the party and the lender has whistled 
for his money ever since. Which is all amusing enough 
in retrospect ! 
A party of us were rowing down the lake one summer 
evening. Will Kingsbury, of "Grau Chaco" fame, was 
along. It was getting quite dark. A .22 caliber rifle lay 
in the bottom of the boat. We were rowing along the 
east shore. Will suddenly picked up the rifle, slipped in 
a cartridge, and pointed to the opposite bank. "See that 
flower," said he. We could barely distinguish a single 
laurel blossom. Will aimed quickly and fired. The blos- 
som disappeared with the snap of the rifle, and when we 
investigated we found the petals scattered on the ground. 
The center was gone as though done, with a die. It was 
a plumb-center shot, and taking into consideration all 
the circumstances, the best shot I ever saw made. The 
distance was fully 150 yards; the object almost indis- 
tinguishable, and the shooting done from a moving boat. 
It may have been chance, but marvelous, nevertheless. 
George Nichols lived for a number of years right on the 
east bank of the lake, just north of the first bridge, where 
a little, fairy-like cove makes in from the lake— the best 
pickerel spot at the lower end. George owned and bred a 
number of English setters, some of which became bench 
show winners. He used to mourn over the fact that he 
had refused $500 for a bitch which choked to death a 
week later. He was also a breeder of choice poultry, and 
liked to drive a well bred horse. At one time George had 
charge of the barrel making department of the old Whit- 
ney Arms Company. He was a good deal of a sports- 
man in his way. He also had the reputation of having 
recovered more drowned bodies out of the lake, up to 
the time of his death, than any other person. He was a 
good fisherman, but inclined to trout fishing rather than 
fishing in the lake. He Was also more than an ordinary 
shot in the brush. 
Another famous character, who still lives, and who has 
had the reputation for years of gaining a livelihood solely 
by hunting and fishing, and trapping, and bullfrogging- 
m the vicinity of the lake, is old Bill Johnson. Tall, 
brown-eyed, hook-nosed, long-haired and bewhiskered! 
Bill is a character, indeed. He has been the most notable 
human._ fixture of the lake since I have known anything 
about it. It used to be almost impossible to row the 
length of the lake without seeing Bill fishing somewhere 
along the shore or from an anchored skiff. And the 
"b-Iang" of his old muzzleloader, echoing in the woods 
or from the marshes, tells the death-knell manv times of 
skunk, woodchuck, squirrel or muskrat. Bill Johnson is 
the living "Port" Tyler of this vicinity to-day. 
William H. Avis. 
H Gill WOOD, Conn., Feb. 25. 
Angflingf and Gangs of Hooks. 
New York, April 24.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
Please state just how many hooks are the legal limit in 
New York and New Jersey. It is asserted by one angler 
that no more than one treble hook or three separate hooks 
can legally be used on one rod for bass in New York 
and New Jersey, and that trolling baits with more than 
one treble hook attached are unlawful. Another angler 
asserts that there is no limit to the number of hooks that 
can be used on a rod, but that gangs, etc.,. are prohibited. 
Will you kindly publish full information on this sub- 
ject at an early date, as the bass season is drawing near 
and M'e don't wish to violate the law. Black Bass. 
The New York law reads: "Except as permitted by 
this act [as to nets] fish shall not be taken by any device 
except angling in any of the rivers, lakes" and inland 
waters of this State." The definition of angling is given 
in the law as follows : " 'Angling' means taking fish by 
hook and line in hand or rod in hand ; or if from a boat 
not exceeding two lines ^ith or without rof! to om p?r» 
