May- i6, 1903.] 
FOREST AND • STREAM. 
S91 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST^ 
A Day With Wisconsin' Tfout. 
I WAS never at this place, Wautoma, before, but just 
wandered in up here, because I could not stay in the 
city any longer. I came alone, too, which is always 
a dismal thing to do, and not to be thought of under 
any ordinarj^ circumstances. There are, however, off- 
sets and compensations all through life, and I can 
already testifjf that my solitary trout trip might have 
been very much worse. Indeed, some of the pleasant- 
est trips I ever knew have been made when T have 
just started off without any plan, and have gotten off 
the train wherever I felt like it. There is nearly al- 
ways some sort of fishing within reach of any town you 
strike, and nearly always some one to go fishing with 
you. I got off here in the dark at 8:40, and by 9 
o'clock I had my fishing companion selected, and had 
heard of a half dozen trout streams within as many 
miles. The two of us caught 74 trout on the fly yester- 
day, and that isn't so bad for haphazard, as I think 
the most captious must agree. 
My new friend is a tall kid of about 20, Art Bean 
by name, son of the hotel man. He killed 200 prairie 
chickens around here last season, keeps a setter, uses 
a fly by choice over a worm, and knows every stream 
hereabout from front to back. You might keep his 
name for reference some day, and maybe he will take 
you to Strouss creek, as he did me. It is only three 
miles away from Wautoma. We found it alive with 
small trout, and got about three dozen g-inchers, noth- 
ing over 10 inches. About a third of our fish were 
rainbow trout, and in this water they rise cleaner and 
fight harder than the brook trout. Our stream runs 
through farming land, and at places the cleared banks 
allow a chance for decent fly-casting, but typically this 
is a brush creek, and in the denser parts one could 
only let his fly float down into the hofes ahead, which 
is not fly-fishing. Art used worm for a while in the 
morning, but soon discarded it. By a misunderstand- 
ing as to where he was to come with the rig, we got 
separated, and so I had two- hours just when I got 
into the best water. At lunch we each had just 27 
trout. It was then late, but we drove to the next 
bridge, Art going down and I up stream. I took my 
fish on royal-coachman, Wickham's-fancy, and some 
small English flies, blue and olive duns. Art, in the 
evening, was using a big nondescript flj% with magpie 
wing and black silk body. When wet this fly looked 
much" like the "stick bait," or caddie larva, of which all 
these streams are full, on which the trout were feed- 
ing. In half an hour's fishing Art lost seven of these 
flies, all he had, and took 16 trout to my 4, which 
wasn't bad for a kid. He said thej^ would not take any 
other fly for him, and he had larger fish than I, when 
he used this fly. The trout would rise to my royal- 
coachman in the evening, but would not eat it the way 
they did this "stick fly," as we called it. 
'The White Rivet, 
The White River, which has some good rainbows 
in it, is almost at our door here, and it is only 5 miles 
to Benjamin's farmhouse on the White, where the 
anglers usually go, but the farmers are spearing suck- 
ers down there now, so I pass it by. One angler last 
week had 12 fish that weighed 17 pounds, all taken in 
that part of the White, mostly, I suspect, on bait. Only 
a few days ago an 8-year-old boy caught a i^-pound' 
brook trout on worm in the White just below here. A 
3j''2-pound trout was caught below the mill here last 
year, on minnow. So there are a few good fish in the 
White, though it is now hit hard. 
Morris Cteek, 
There is a little creek called Morris Creek, 25^ miles 
from Neshkoro, which latter is 3 miles down the Chi- 
cago & Northwestern Railway from Benjamin's, and 
TO miles below here by rail on the same road. This 
little creek is on Mr. King's farm. Mr. King is the 
foundryman at Neshkoro, and last week he and a friend 
got a dozen nice trout in there. He says they run 
large. The history of Morris Creek is singular. It 
was stocked years ago by a druggist named Britton, 
nf Berlin, Wis., and he always got good trout when 
he went out, but no one ever knew where. The trout 
got as big as i pound, pounds, and so on. Lately 
Mr. Britton died, and his secret somehow got out. 
This tip might do for a holiday some time. 
Lunch Creek. 
Four miles from here, and three miles from Benja- 
min's, is Lunch Creek, which is reported good. I have 
not tried it as yet, but it is a good tip till into May, at 
least. 
The McCann River. 
Last week, by the merest chance, I heard and spoke 
of the McCann River, and the fact that it has rain- 
bows in it. At that time I did not know within 200 
miles where the McCann River was, but somehow it 
sounded fishy. Mentioning the name by chance here, I 
find that the McCann River is about 7 to 10 miles 
west of Wautoma, Benjamin's or Neshkoro, all points 
close together in here on the Northwestern. Three 
days ago a man speared a 5-pound rainbow on the 
McCann. My companion, Art, says he knows that 
river, and speaks w'ith awe of the rainbow, which he 
says no mortal fly-rod can hold. But few of these fish 
are taken, and as I understand it, no brook trout at 
all in that stream. It is stated to me to be a deep, 
bold stream, going through swamp, but also through 
countrj-^ partly farmed. It is open enough for fly-cast- 
ing part of the way. Here, then, is something of a 
challenge to adventuring, and if all goes well Art and 
I may run over for a look at it, though they say it is 
loo early fop the rainbows there. 
Snow. 
It snowed here this morning good and hard, and it 
did not stop snowing until noon, which kept us in 
4oors instead of on the streams. Yesterday it rained 
in the morning, and was cloudy all day. The cold 
rain of last night turned into snow. All this may have 
killed the fishing, but we shall see as to that, it being 
no part of an angler to despond. We shall see as to 
this McCann River! 
(P. S. — At 3:30 the sun came out. What is the good 
in despair? I recall the \vords of a childhood song: 
"So, what is the use in repining. 
For where there's a will there's a way; 
To-morrow the sun may be shining. 
Although it is cloudy to-dayll" 
Boating on the White. 
Again I counsel ye to remember the name of Carl 
Bartl, Princeton, Wis., a few stations south of here 
on the Northwestern. Carl takes you out for trout 
on the White or the McCann. He has a boat at Nesh- 
koro, and it is a favorite trip with him to drop from 
Neshkoro down to Princeton and fly-fish for bass. 
President Roosevelt's first camp in iiie ^iationai irark. 
June or July is better for that. All these streams of 
the White, the McCann, the Wautoma Creek, Straw 
Creek, Morris Creek, etc., drain into the Northern Fox 
River, which runs into Winnebago Lake — the old water 
trail of the voyageurs to the Mississippi Valley. Lake 
Winnebago and the Green Bay waters naturally abound 
in small mouth black bass. The upper waters of these 
Waushara county streams are spring fed and cold 
and carry trout. They run through sandy country, and 
are full of insect food. Straw Creek is partly rock 
bottom, and so is part of the McCann River. This is 
the same formation as that of the Pine River, a dozen 
miles northeast of here, which I have always thought 
John Burroughs in the National Park. E. Hoier in the background. 
to carry more trout food than any water I ever saw. 
There is always a certain interest in prowling about 
new country. Perhaps we have blundered into a bit 
of sporty country up here, and something worth re- 
membering. 
The Pickerel and the Wedding, 
There is always something to see, to hear or to 
learn, wherever you go. The eternal tragedy, the 
eternal comedy, go all over the world. Yesterday 
Art showed me a farmhouse, where a few months ago 
a discontented soul killed his wife and himself, shoot- 
ing his wife while she held a three-months'-old baby 
in her arms. "We was going to lynch him then," 
said Art, artlessly, "but as I rode through the edge 
of the wood back of the house I saw him lying there 
looking at us. He was dead. He had shot himself 
three times. Nervy, wasn't he?" 
Again, as we rode on, he showed me a little house 
by the roadside. "Old woman lives there, 85 years 
old," said he. "The town keeps her. Her husband 
died a while ago, and she can't run the farm. She 
used to be an English noblewoman years ago, and she 
ran away with the coachman and came to America. 
They lived here a long while. I guess she was an 
English noblewoman all right, too, for once in a while 
she comes down to town and gets a pint of alcohol, 
and she drinks it straight, and never bats an eye." 
But as I was going to say, I saw an odd looking fly 
in Art's collection, a combination of squirrel-hackle 
and apparently quill and silk body. Art said that fly 
was a very good one, very hard to wear out and very 
useful on the local streams. "The fellow that makes 
them lives here," said he. "His name's Hubbell. He's 
the Justiqe of the Peace." I somehow liked the sound 
of Hubbell, J. P., and presently looked into the matter, 
What and whom do you think I found? An old-time 
reader and contributor of Forest and Stream, a 
friend of Chas. Hallock, a veteran trout and bass 
fisher, an amateur fly-tyer, and also an inventor of 
new and deadly forms of artificial revolving minnow 
and frog baits. The room of R. W. Hubbell, Justice 
of the Peace, is more angling shop than justice shop, 
and here I learned how these very killing local flies are 
made, having a long talk over these and kindred sub- 
jects. 
"I find that early in the spring this white silk grub 
I tie, with a bit of worm on the end. will kill trout 
before they will rise to the fly. My first fly is the 
black-gnat — but you- see I tie it different from any 
black-gnat you ever saw. The next is what I call my 
Morning-Belle, squirrel hackle and green body, and 
so. Then I make a mosquito, with gray body, and 
here's a grasshopper with yellow and brown body and 
gray squirrel hackles— I never use any feathers in any 
of my fly-tying. I'm proud of my grasshoppers. You 
don't have to chase 'em, and they don't come off. 
They're better than the real thing. 
"Fishing?" said the Justice, tipping back judiciously. 
"Well, it's more important than anything else, some- 
times, if not all the time. But there's some folks who 
don't seem to understand that. Now, not long ago I 
had a young fellow and a girl up before me. They'd 
been engaged, but had a falHng out, and I guess the 
fellow was going to leave the girl because she changed 
her mind. I knew the pickerel were biting, out here 
in the mill pond, and it was time to be out, so I heard 
the case fast as I could, fined the j^oung fellow, sent 
'em all out, and went fishing. In less'n n' hour I 
heard someone hollerin', and saw a fellow motioning, 
over on the bank. It was the town marshal. I didn't 
pay any attention to him, for I didn't want to be dis- 
turbed, but bimeby he motioned so hard I started over 
toward him, and just as I did I got a bite and hooked 
a big pickerel. At last I heard what the town mar- 
shal wanted. 'Say!' says he, 'them folks wants to git 
married!' 
■' "Well, why don't they then?' says I. 
" 'But they want you to do it,' says he. Wouldn't 
that cramp you? Here I'd just fined him, and now I 
was busy. 
" 'There ain't no hurry about that,' said I. I thought 
maybe she'd change her mind again. All this time 
that pickerel was just chargin' round, and I had all I 
could do to keep him out of the weeds. 
"'They can't wait!' hollers the town marshal. That 
made me mad. Couldn't wait! Here I'd just fined 
the man! 'You go on back an' tell 'em they got to 
wait!' says I to the town marshal. 'I'm busy, and I al- 
low it's a sight more important for me to get 
this pickerel 'n it is for them to get married.' So I 
went right on and played my fish, and at last I got him 
in the boat. He was a beauty. Then I went on in and 
married 'em, but not before, I want to tell you. Some 
folks are just naturally unreasonable." 
The Troot Season. 
_ Chicago, 111., May 9. — The trout season in Wiscon- 
sin has now been on for more than three weeks, and 
in Michigan for more than one week, but thus far it 
cannot be said that there has been any decent fishing 
weather in either State. We have been having a most 
inclement and changeful spring season. I wrote from 
Wautoma, Wis., last week, that we were having snow 
there on last Thursday. This snowstorm stretched 
pretty much all over Wisconsin and into Michigan, and 
spoiled the trout fishing plans of many a hopeful ang- 
ler. The boys, who were up on the Prairie River, came 
back telling stories of snow and ice, although some nice 
trout were basketed along the upper reaches of the 
Prairie, above Dudley's place. Mr. Edward G. Taylor 
came back early this week and reported very bad 
weather, but had some nice trout. Mr. Chas. Antoine 
had but one day's fishing out of ten, and had the bad 
fortune of seeing his daughter taken down with scarlet 
fever, the latter being still ill and unable to be moved. 
The latter party, Messrs. Antoine and Taylor, stopped 
at the Bates place and, along with other friends, regis- 
tered their unqualified condemnation of the weather 
clerk. 
The same unfortunate weather conditions prevailed 
over the southern peninsula of Michigan, and the 
Saginaw special car party met bad times above Gray- 
ling. Mr. Mershon writes that the weather was beast- 
ly. On May i there were snow flurries. The next day 
came off very decent, but somehow or other the trout 
would not rise. On examination they were found liter- 
ally gorged with bottom food. The stream was covered 
with natural flies just hatching from the water, and it 
was easier for the fish to feed fram the bottom than 
from the surface. On the next day it came off cold, 
with a rain from the north. "On this day," says Mr. 
Mershon, "I drove up stream ten miles. Most of the 
other boys stayed in the car. I only took an occasional 
fish until just about dusk, when they began to rise, 
and for a few minutes I got them fast, taking 23 nice 
ones, all over the 8-inch limit, and a very fine basket 
of fish. The stream was alive with fishermen, most of 
them, however, fishing with bait and carrying their fish 
in a flour sack, and I don't think the bait-fishermen 
got any more than I did." 
Mr. Mershon, in his three days' fishing took re- 
spectively 34, 9 and 23 trout, all over 8 inches, but the 
party, on the whole, did not stack up a very big aver- 
age. The special car of the Saginaw party will go into 
commission again to-night for a three daj^s* trip, the 
party to be made up under charge of Mr. Many, of 
Cleveland, one of the orthodox and accepted anglers 
of the Saginaw Crowd. Mr. Mershon and Mr. Morley 
will be unable to join this party, the personnel of which 
is a trifle indefinite at this writing. This party ought 
to have better success than that which went up on 
opening day, as we surely must have spring some time. 
The G)Ieman Lake Club' 
The season has opened well at the Coleman Lake 
Club, of Wisconsin^ this being; the preserve formerly 
