868 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[May 9, 1903. 
through the woods. An occasional bluejay screamed 
overhead high up among the bare branches, and now and 
again a white-throated sparrow whistled sweetly. Except 
for these sounds all was silent in the great forest, and 
how delicious was the quiet and solitude after the noise 
of the train. Only those who love the woods can ex- 
perience the sensation of peace and rest that steals over 
one on leaving the turmoil of the civilized world and 
entering the wilderness. 
A brisk drive of an hour or more over the hard frosty 
road and we saw the blue waters of the lake glimmering 
through the trees. Another minute and we were shaking 
hands with all our old friends once again. The lake ap- 
peared even more beautiful than ever, with its closely 
wooded mountains sloping down to the shore, and the 
bare rock on old Baldy glistening in the sunshine. Trout, 
omelet and pancakes quickly relieved that gnawing feel- 
ing, for Al had taken possession of the kitchen, and soon - 
prepared a royal breakfast, and thus redeemed himself 
greatly for the loss of the eggs. 
The following morning daAvned clear and cool, with a 
snap and sparkle in the keen mountain air. The 
Veteran decided West Pond would be the best place for 
us to try first, so about ten o'clock Wallace (one of the 
men) had our traps ready, and we, with rod in hand and 
fly-book in our pocket, started out for our first fishing 
expedition of the season. 
This sheet of water lay a mile from the camp, and was 
reached by a lovely path winding through the woods. 
Just as we left the clearing and entered on the old carry, 
a fine buck leaped out from the side of the path and 
stood not thirty yards away, with head erect, gazing de- 
fiantly at us. His horns were commencing to show and 
he evidently was in prime condition. With the bright 
■woods as a background and the smooth trunks of the 
trees as a frame, he afforded a most beautiful picture of 
wild life. 
We soon reached the pond, which stretched out be- 
fore us like a big sapphire. The lake is about a mile long 
by a quarter of a mile wide, Avith two sloping ridges 
meeting at the lower end and a large marsh bordering 
the shore. Beside its beauty it is \ ery wild and secluded, 
a place designed to delight the heart of sportsman or 
angler. The boat in readiness, we were soon skimming 
over the smooth surface, propelled by a skillful hand and 
paddle, and bound for the lower end of the pond. 
The Veteran, who had been arranging his flies and 
leader on the way down, cast first, toward the shore near 
an old moss-covered log. Two or three times the well- 
directed flies struck the water and floated life-like for 
a second or two. Then, with a rush and swirl, a lusty 
trout jumped for' the tail fly. A quick turn of the 
Veteran's wrist and he was fastened on the hook, strug- 
gling and rushing here and there in liis effort to break 
away. He fought gamely for several minutes, when the 
net was slipped gently under him and our first Salvelinus 
fontinalis of the season lay flopping in the boat. He was 
a beauty, with bright gold sides dashed with crimson 
spots and an olive-green back; he weighed about a pound 
or more. Wallace continued to paddle us slowly around 
the lower end of the pond, fifty or sixty feet from the 
shore, so that we could cast under the bank or very near 
to it. 
The fish were rising well. Some were missed, these 
mostly by myself, and many were hooked and brought to 
net. Nearing the marsh we turned and skirted across the 
pond, casting in by the grass and rushes, where the water 
was quite shallow. Here the Veteran had a splendid 
strike from evidently a large fish, but, much to our sor- 
row, after fighting hard several minutes, he carried off 
all the flies and part of the leader in one last desperate 
rush for liberty. However, another speckled beauty soon 
replaced the loss and landed safely in the basket. Once, 
letting the flies drop near a fallen tree partly submerged, 
a nice trout made a vicious lunge at the middle fly, and 
failing to strike quick enough I missed him. I cast im- 
mediately near the same place and he rose splendidly 
again, this time with success. The tip of the rod bent 
under his quick, savage plunges and strong rushes. This 
was the largest fish I had hooked up to this time, and the 
pleasure and excitement of the moment were intense, for 
he played gamely until landed. 
The delights and fascinations of such fishing are un- 
bounded, and as we whipped the water with our flies and 
gazed upon the wild, enchanting scenery surrounding us, 
one fully realized the pleasures of angling. 
The morning flew by, and it was three o'clock before 
we paddled up the lake to the landing. Our catch con- 
sisted of twenty-one fine trout, plump and fat, varying 
from ten ounces up to a pound in weight. Certainly our 
first day's fishing had turned out well, and we returned 
to camp satisfied and contented. 
The following afternoon found us off in a slim guide 
boat with rods and tackle, our destination the inlet. To 
those who love nature in wild primitive beauty, this 
stream is a veritable paradise. Moving slowly along on 
its winding path, and casting our (lies on the mirror-like 
surface of the water, we could enjoy to the full the wild, 
exquisite scenery. 
To the south stretched a grassy marsh, thickly covered 
with young pine, spruce and hemlock trees, and so close 
together did they grow that as one looked over them they 
appeared like a miniature forest, while beyond lay a ridge 
of undulating hills. 
On the north side the grass and alder l^ushes grew 
close along the water's edge, with here and there a bed of 
fresh green moss festooning the hank, and the trees were 
larger, blending into the woods very near the shore, so 
as "we floated along one now and then would catch a 
glimpse into the dark cathedr.'d-like forest. The woods 
here ro.se into a small mountain, whose summit is a mass 
of glistening rock sparsely covered with poplar and' 
birch saplings. Toward the northeast towered another 
mountain, its sides heavily clad in soft green timber 
standing tall and majestic against the bright sky. 
The banks bordering the stream were thick with bushes 
decked with a pretty little pink flower, and the buds on 
the trees just about to burst were tinged in soft yellow 
and green, while here and there nestled a brilliant rose- 
colored shadberry bush- A sweet spicy aroma fiJled the 
air from the tamarack, spruce and balsam trees, and the 
jays flitted about overhead uttering their harsh cry, inter- 
mingled with their more pleasing bell-like note. A flock 
ol blackbirds chattered noisily in a clump of &lder bushes, 
and a cock-of-the-woods rattled and hammered on a 
neighboring stump. But above all rang out the clear, 
wild ethereal song of a hermit thrush, as he sat in some 
dark recess of the shadowy woods pouring forth pure 
liquid notes. He is a true wood bird, and loves only 
silence and solitude. 
It was while gazing on the lovely scene that lay about 
us that my reverie was suddenly aroused by hearing the . 
Veteran ejaculate, "Just look at that fish's head! It's as 
big as a woodchuck's !" and hastily looking toward where 
his flies floated and danced on the water, I perceived a 
dark object emerge from the glassy surface and make 
a lazy grab at the flies. The line snapped back as the 
Veteran struck sharply, but only a rapid swirl remained 
to tell the tale of where probably a two-pound trout had 
sunk swiftly from sight. "I won't give you up just yet," 
said the Veteran, as he cast again in the vicinity of where 
the fish had disappeared. The tail fly, a brilliantly 
colored professor, struck the water very close to the 
overhanging bank, and almost immediately there was a 
splash, followed by a wide swirl. The line drew sud- 
denly taut, and the fish was hooked. Several minutes of 
sharp fighting and he commenced to weaken, but just as 
Wallace was about to slip the landing net under him, he 
gave a quick flop, and, evading the meshes, dashed off 
again up stream. When he finally succumbed we dis- 
covered that he was not the "old woodchuck head" as we 
had supposed, but a very handsome fish of a pound and a 
half in weight. 
"Cast over on the other side of the boat," said the 
Veteran, turning to me; and following his advice I 
dropped my flies on the opposite side. Almost instantly 
1 was rewarded by a rush and a tug as a trout jumped 
and greedily seized one of the flies. With a quick turn he 
headed up stream, making the reel sing merrily as he took 
out line. Once or twice he managed to carry the line 
under the boat, and then I would think he was surely 
gene. But no, his treacherously quiet mood in a second 
or two would change to sudden activity, and with re- 
newed vigor away he would go, churning and lashing 
the water. His pink, speckled sides gleamed and flashed 
as he s.ent showers of sparkling spray in every direction, 
but after five minutes' gamy fighting he gave in. Two or 
three final flops and he lay quivering and glistening in 
the net, a two-pound trout. 
This, however, was only the beginning of the sport 
which was to follow, for the fish were coming more to 
the surface as the afternoon sun warmed the water, and 
broke around us with resounding splashes. Making a 
cast at one of these I missed a fine strike, for I am very 
much of a novice, and have a great deal to learn. Later, 
however, with the Veteran's advice as to where and how 
to cast my flies, I hooked a pair of trout at the same 
time that played \yith vim and vigor and gave me not a 
little fun and excitement. 
A dozen beauties followed, the Veteran hooking and 
landing a number, while I had my full share of the sport. 
Finally, when the sun had slowly sunk from sight, and 
the dusk of evening was gathering, our basket held nine- 
teen trout and we decided that it was time to go home 
and give the fish a rest until another day. 
Just as we turned down stream a pair of black ducks 
came scurrying around the corner, sending long, dark 
fleeting shadows over the glassy surface of the water. 
With a swish and whistle of wings they shot by, sailing 
higher as they came out on the lake, and finally melting 
into the pink glow of the sunset sky. The faint far note 
of a hermit thrush fell upon our ears as we glided on, 
and a minute later we reached the lake. Pulling the 
boat over the bridge we soon had all our traps arranged 
and were rowing for home in the twilight of the spring 
evening. 
Many more pleasant trips followed, and the time for 
our departure carne only too quickly. 
One clear beautiful morning we drove away, watching 
the blue waters of the lake gradually disappearing among 
the trees behind us, and it was not without pangs of re- 
gret that we bade good-by to the charms and pleasures of 
the North Woods. Camilla- 
Spring Days in Nebraska. 
Omaha, Neb., April 30. — Nebraska, once the Great 
American Desert, is a fabled region, indeed, with more 
bird and floral life than any State in the Union, and as 
near the ideal, from the sportsman's standpoint, as any 
locality I can think of. Just a great rolling ocean of 
pasture and plain, and of wooded valley, it is a veritable 
paradise. Sparkling lakes, dashing in slow beat of wave 
or quicker pulse of ripple, against pebbly shores, and 
rural streams, singing their siren songs between grassy 
banks, are now calling to all who delight to go a-fishing, 
and, in these modern recreative days, this includes a large 
majority. Every day now parties are radiating away 
from this point and the gamy black bass is their quarry. 
Some go out to Hackberry Lake, at Stillwell's, in the 
Cherry county sandhills, others down on the Waubuncey, 
out to Ericson, up to Noble's or even into the greatest 
boss domain in the world — fair Minnesota. Even right 
here, at our very dooryard, big catches are being made 
every morning and every evening, at Cut-off and 
Manawa. 
The revivifying fervor of spring never fails to start the 
blood in his veins whose birthright has been the line and 
rod, and the yellowhammer never rattled so merrily with 
his flinty beak against cottonwood or sycamore, nor 
meadowlark sing softer, nor air smell sweeter, nor sun 
shine brighter, grass spring greener, than to the devotee 
when he goes, in the first days of bursting summer, to 
the scenes along lake and river he loves so well. To 
him is alwa3'S welcome the face of nature, whether 
wreathed in smiles of yellow gold or sombre with shadow 
and wet with tears. My heritage is a love for the woods 
and the waters, fields, plains and mountains, and now in 
these days of the new summertide, I wish to all similarly 
constituted, whether they be of high or low degree, 
withered and decrepit with the winter of age or flushed 
with the spring of life, pleasant and peaceful hours of 
honest sport by all watersides and full baskets and long 
strings of wythes. 
The fishing everywhere, in this latitude, is now border- 
ing on the very best season — from the middle of May 
till the last of June— ^nd lucky, indec^j i? ^p wl^o csfq 
snatch a few days from office or counter to loll about 
sortie favorite lake or stream in quest of the toothsome 
delicacies lurking within its depths. With what ardent 
hope is the silvery spoon cast upon the water's bosom, 
and as the eager rise is followed by a vicious strike, 
what matchless excitement fills the heart. Truly such a 
moment is worth more than a year's routine of theater, 
ball or reception. Two or three pounds of gleaming yel- 
lows, whites and greens at the end of one's favorite line 
desperately struggling for liberty and for life are price- 
less to the man whose legacy is a split bamboo and a reel 
of silk thread. 
Here in Nebraska — and there is lots and lots of good 
black bassing here — it is the present month when the 
sport is at its best, but up in Minnesota the best time is 
in June, along about the middle. In July and August 
there is but little bass fishing anywhere, either here or in 
Minnesota. 
As soon as the ice quits moaning, cracking and boom- 
ing in our lakes, and then disappears within the mys- 
terious and limitless maw of sunshine and wind, the 
Nebraska sportsman takes to the water as naturally as a 
duck. There is something in the May ozone of the An- 
telope State that urges one to hie to lake or stream, and, 
while I said there is plenty of good bass fishing at odd 
ins and outs throughout Nebraska, most all of our 
anglers, who can afford the expense, go up to Minnesota 
for trips of any extent and duration, and for years and 
years Lake Washington has been the Mecca of a very 
large proportion of the Omaha sportsmen. It is about 
eighty miles this side of St. Paul, and one of the most 
beautiful lakes and best bass grounds — ^both big and little- 
mouth — in all the State, and maugre the backward spring, 
Pat Sheehan, proprietor of the Red Squirrel's Nest, on 
the east crag, writes me the bass are rising most vora- 
ciously, especially at the trolling spoon. Pat's place is 
the favorite resort of Omahans on account of its easy 
access, its clean beds, attractive table and perfect boats 
and the unswerving attention they receive there. Pat 
also informs me that the croppie — and they run from a_ 
pound to two up there — are biting lively, but the wall- 
eyed pike are shy and backward. To reach Lake Wash- 
ington from Omaha, you take the Northwestern line to 
Kasota Junction, thence across six miles of the most en- 
trancing stretch of woods and fields that lies out of 
doors, in one of Oscar Basey's big hunting wagons and 
behind one of his spanking teams, to Sheehan's and Lake 
Washington. It is a charming trip — the greatest out of 
Omaha— for even one day's fishing. One night on 3. Pull- 
man, at Kasota Junction at four in the morning, at 
Sheehan's one hour later, then sport till eight at night, 
back at the Junction at ten, and in Omaha bright and 
early the next morning, and invariably, too, with a basket 
of bass that would make the eyes of any ichthyologist 
hang out on his cheeks like horse chestnuts. 
By the way, in talking with Judge Charles Ogden, one 
of Omaha's leading attorneys and an ardent angler, of 
course, last night, he told me that it had just been dis- 
covered by some of the lawyers up in Minneapolis that 
Minnesota's fish laws are so many dead letters. While 
they embrace all of the requirements anent an open and 
close season, how and where to fish and all the factors 
looking toward the protection and preservation of the 
fish, they fail to provide any penalty for the violation of 
any of the provisions, save the confiscation of the fish 
one may have in his possession. While Nebraska fisher- 
men have never experienced any difficulty whatever in 
bringing home what fish they desired, they are always 
more or less apprehensive owing to the various under- 
standings about their rights to ship or bring fish out of 
the State. 
The report of the superintendent of the Nebraska State 
fish hatcheries for 1901-2, just out, shows that during 
the period covered by the record that the following fish 
were distributed among the waters of the State: Black 
bass, 28,590; croppies, 15,225; perch, 18,000; channel cat, 
23,285; walleyed pike fry, 11,104,000; brook trout fry, 
93,000; rainbow trout fry, 241,000, and 1,026 fingerlmgs 
and brown trout in small numbers. The planting of carp 
has been abandoned excepting on application of private 
parties, and in this connection the superintendent says : 
"The output of carp during the present biennial period 
was 4,450. Owing to the strenuous objection of anglers 
and sportsmen, no application for carp to stock public 
waters or lakes has been considered. We have filled all 
applications for carp to stock private ponds the present 
season and have fed several thousand of them to our 
adult bass and trout. Were it not for the fact that the 
carp are the only fish that will live in many shallow 
ponds on farms and ranches, I would favor the discon- 
tinuance of their culture altogether." 
It has taken a long series of years to bring about this 
healthful belief, and I am vain enough to believe that it 
was my own unceasing warfare against this coarse and 
undesirable species that is mainly responsible for this 
happy condition at last. But it is better late than never, 
and that Nebraska has seen the last of her carp culture 
I haven't the slightest doubt. Other fishes, in addition 
to those mentioned in the preceding paragraph, that have 
been planted in the waters of the State, during the past 
year, were 4,000 blue gill sunfish— a delightful little pan 
fish and one that flourishes vigorously in the alkaline- 
tainted lakes of the sandhills; 5,000 yellow bullheads, and 
various quantities of various other kinds of unimportant 
species. . , r 
The anglers out in Cheyenne are having no end ot 
trouble in endeavoring to settle the question whether the 
Lone Tree, Crow, Coyote and other small streams of that 
section of the State are tributaries of the North or South 
Platte rivers, and I have been written to for my opinion. 
The last Wyoming Legislature passed a law prohibiting 
fishing in all streams of the State prior to June i, with 
the exception of the tributaries of the Big Horn and 
North Platte rivers. Fishing in all tributaries to these 
streams is permissible after May I. After careful re- 
search I am convinced that Lone Tree, the Crow and 
other small waterways are tributary to the South Platte, 
and at the same time that the South Platte is tributary to 
the North Platte, and therefore the Cheyenne rod wield- 
ers are safe in plying their favorite sport in all these 
streams. Some of' the State authorities out there claim 
that the South Platte is na\ tributary to the North Platte, 
but is a distinct riypp in itself* and witl[i the North Platte, 
another 4istinpt river, a junction an/j thus cr.e^tQ 
