AVQ. 22, I903.I 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
147 
3,000 shells to the town of Lmton, North Dakota, where 
they propose to go chicken shooting. With 3,000 shells 
one can kill a good many birds, hence, perhaps, there may 
be a good many birds to be killed at Linton. 
E. Hough, 
Ashland Block, Chicago, III. 
Game Preserves. 
Toronto, August 13. — Editor Forest and Stream: I 
have been much interested in the able controversy on the 
question of private game preserves that has recently taken 
j:]ace in Forest and Stream. While there is no law to 
prevent rich men from acquiring large tracts of land from 
private parties — ^nor do I think there ought to be — I am 
decidedly opposed to wealthy men being allowed to obtain 
possession of large portions of the public domain for 
game preserves, to the exclusion of the general public. 
The hunting and fishing instinct is as strongly inherent 
in the men who constitute the backbone and sinew of our 
respective countries as it is in the millionaires. This be- 
ing an admitted fact, is it right, or is it good policy, that 
the men who are building up our respective countries, and 
the men whom our countries would have to depend upon 
for protection and defense from troubles resulting from 
international complications, should be debarred from in- 
dulging their love of field sports for the sole benefit and 
interest of the Avealthy minority? No doubt game pre- 
serves have become an urgent necessity, and they should 
be established in the most siutable localities in our 
respective countries, and by our respective governments, 
in the interests of all, and not for the benefit of a few. 
God forbid that old country systems should ever pre- 
vail on this free and manhood making continent. If we 
desire to increase anarchy and dissatisfaction, allow the 
rich men to acquire all the best hunting and fishing 
grounds in our countries, fence them from the roads and 
stick up trespass notices, and by so doing we will suc- 
ceed in building up a dangerous menace to our countries 
that Avill have disastrous and lasting results. The great 
throbbing mass of humanity requires a safety valve, and if 
we fail to protect the one nature has provided, and keep 
it in good order, trouble will follow, and, as with boilers, 
the explosion will occur when least expected. 
When a boy in England, in the forties of last century, 
I have seen gangs of scowling men from the towns on the 
highways, and have heard their muttered threats when 
seeing the landowners shooting over the fields that they 
were not allowed to place a foot on without endangering 
their liberty. I have seen miles of forest lands on fire 
during the nesting season of grouse and partridge, the 
result of class legislation. The same causes will produce 
more intensified results in America, owing to its cosmo- 
politan population, and it will be well for the future of 
our respective countries if those charged with the ad- 
ministration of public affairs realize before it is too late 
the urgent necessity of setting apart a number of forest 
reserves available to the general public for all time. It is 
a safe policy for all governments to largely legislate for 
the masses. The classes will look after themselves. 
Ranger. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I feel like the victim of a cyclone, and my fellow victim. 
Spears, is a dead cock in the pit! 
We little dreamed that a genius lay in wait for us who, 
by a sweep of his mighty pen, could wipe out statistics 
and brush away history like chaff, not stooping to notice 
even argument or reason ! 
Time has carried me well into the eighties, and though 
1 have met with many foemen, this Lexden is the noblest 
Qesar of them all. 
His mild and courteous manner proves him to belong 
to the true race of heroes, who, with all their power, are 
ever gentle and generous toward the vanquished. 
§m mid ^iv^r ^isf(ittg. 
— • — 
Proprietors of fishing resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
lliem in Forest and Stream. 
Bait and Buoys. 
Perhaps it was between the years 1850 and 1870 that 
the Adirondack Mountains began to come noticeably 
under the public eye, and among the first to visit and 
explore its wild secluded regions were the old-time 
sportsman and angler. 
The noble buck^ lusty trout, and magnificent scenery 
were tempting inducements to bring wielders of the rod 
and gun in the woods despite the fact of a long hard 
journey over carries and across lakes, together with 
rough drives of many miles in buckboards. Yet there 
was a certain fascination about the trip, and although 
eight hours on the train to-day carries us to the heart of 
the woods, one feels as though the old way had a touch 
of primeval wildness that the new one lacks. 
It was at this time that the lakes suffered heavily at 
the hands of set-line fishermen. The sheet of water which 
especially concerns the following narrative was once 
almost entirely fished out, but by care and plentiful re- 
stocking has regained a good standard during the past 
ten or fifteen years. Landlocked salmon were planted 
within a recent date, but unfortunately when they reached 
maturity and were ready to spawn, every fish that could 
do so left the lake by the outlet never to return. 
Rainbow trout (Salmo irideus) have since been put in, 
and still later another layout of salmon. Undoubtedly 
the foriner as well as the latter would have made their 
escape to running water except for the timely prevention 
of a rubblework dam and Avire screen. However, in the 
future, both species will have to console theinselves with 
the deep cold waters of the lake. 
When the first whiff of balsam and other fragrant wood 
odors were wafted in the car window to our expectant 
nostrils on the way up, our thoughts turned to the blue 
lakes and amber streams awaiting us in the Adirondack 
wilderness, and after a safe arrival in camp the fishing 
tackle did not long lie idle. Although the light ba,rnboQ 
fly-rods of tlie spring were by no means ignored, the 
brand new bait-rods and juicy earth worms seemed a 
trifle more acceptable to our taste, and evidently, from a 
later trial, were well suited to a trout's appetite. 
"Suppose we go down the lake," said the Veteran one 
morning, shortly after our arrival, "and fish under the 
dani at the outlet. We might get a rainbow, as I have 
an idea some of thein ran through the stone work before 
the screen was put in." 
"All right," said I, "shall I tell Wallace to dig us a few 
worms?" "Yes," he answered, "go ahead, and I'll get 
some extra tackle to take along." 
Everything ready, we started about ten o'clock and 
rowed down the lake. 
The outlet from where it leaves the lake narrows to a 
stream of several yards in width and deep enough to pad- 
dle a boat through until the water suddenly plunges and 
foams over an old log dam. 
Moss-covered rocks rise out of the stream in many 
places around which the boat must be carefully guided, 
while on each side rise steep banks and the thick green 
woods. 
One tree with gray, gnarled, upturned roots stretches 
across the water, forming a natural arch under which the 
boat glides. 
As we passed through this cool, watery pathway two 
silent slate-colored venison hawks flew from tree to tree 
along the shore, and from the woods came the bubbling, 
ecstatic song of a winter wren. 
A few minutes later and we stood on the bit of sandy 
beach overlooking the dam, with the roar of the white 
surging cascade ringing musically in our ears. Soon a 
baited hook sank swiftly into the foaming depths, as the 
Veteran let down his line. 
"There's a trout there, sure," he said, .and at the same 
moment swung out a fat little fortinalis from the boiling 
pool. 
"Now it's your turn to catch one," he said to me, "so 
drop in." The whirling water caught the bait and it dis- 
appeared from sight. 
Almost instantly I felt a sharp nibble, and giving a jerk, 
up came another glistening trout. 
We kept on taking turns dropping in alternately until 
we had some eight or ten brook trout strung on a birch 
twig. 
"I guess we've caught them all," said the Veteran, after 
we had fished for some time without getting a bite. "Why 
don't you try over on the stone dain? Maybe you can 
catch a few baits, for when we came in I saw some swim- 
ming around there." 
It didn't take me long to comply with his suggestion; 
so I picked up the pail and was soon settled comfortably 
out on the stones. Down in the clear depths I could see 
chub, suckers, and red fins moving in and out aniong 
the rocks, and when I dropped in a worm a bunch of 
fish swarmed around it, until one of their number was 
jerked suddenly and unceremoniously out of the water 
and into the waiting pail. 
"Hey !" I heard the Veteran shout, "I've got a rain- 
bow. Come over here." Some scrambling and hurry 
ensued on my part at his words, and after several narrow 
escapes from a ducking, I managed to reach him in titne 
to see a bright shining fish lifted out of the pool and 
swung to a place of safety. 
"He's a beauty!" I said, gazing down at the glittering 
iridescent sides of the rainbow. "What will he weigh ?" 
"About a pound and a half, I should think," answered 
the Veteran. "He isn't as fat as he might be, but his 
coloring is very handsome." 
Probably this was the last fish that had run out of the 
lake, but nevertheless it gave us a comfortable feeHng to 
think the screen had been put in at an early date. 
Drawing near noon we stopped fishing and with a sup- 
ply of trolling bait added to our string of trout, rowed 
for camp. 
Another bright sunny morning with a rolling blue and 
white sky overhead, the Veteran and I went up the arm 
of the lake to our buoy. How many anglers scorn the 
thought of baiting a place and then fishing it, but when 
fish refuse a fly and you want to get a good big lake trout, 
the last named spot often gives you a chance of at least 
hooking a monster. 
After a half a mile pull we reached the floating block 
which was fastened in the bow, and tlien out came the 
buoy lines. 
"Here's a bait," said the Veteran, throwing me a piece 
of fresh cut chub. "Look out for yourself, or I'll have 
the first fish," he continued. 
"Well, here goes," I said, casting over and letting out 
line until the sinker struck bottom. 
Up and down moved our wrists to give the proper jig- 
ging motion to the bait, when suddenly the Veteran gave 
a jerk and coinmenced pulling in rapidly hand over hand. 
"I've got him on," he said, in answer to my inquiry, 
"but he may get off yet." However, the fish did not have 
much time to think about breaking away, for _ with a 
splash ! zip ! flop ! the Veteran brought him sailing into 
the boat, a bouncing two-pound speckled trout. 
"Come, come !" said the Veteran to me, "why don't you 
catch something? Guess you're a Jonah." 
"You wait a minute," I answered, "and you'll see me 
haul in one. Anyway, you've got a fish 'aura' and I 
haven't." With this I dropped in a freshly baited hook, 
and as it struck the soft, muddy bottom a sharp tug shook 
the line and I gave a "yank" in reply. 
"He's on," I said, pulling in line as fast as I could. 
Nearing the surface the fish made several downward 
rushes that proved he had weight to back his fighting 
vigor, and just as I was about to lift him in there was a 
swirl accompanied by another boring surge toward bot- 
tom; but this was his last effort, and the next minute he 
lay in the basket, glistening in resplendent colors against 
the green ferns. 
"Whew! what a bite," came from the Veteran's end 
of the boat, together with a powerful jerk that sent my 
heart into my mouth. "I've hooked him, and he's an old 
settler and no mistake," he added. "Be ready to net him 
when I tell you." 
I could see the strain on his line was heavy, and as I 
gripped the net tightly I felt not a little tremulous and 
apprehensive as to my landing ability, for I had never 
netted a fish of more than two pounds. Leaning over 
the boat's side I could faintly discern a phantom-like 
form coming upward that each moment seemed to grow 
larger and larger. Slowly but surely the Veteran drew 
him toward the surface, when, with a heavy plunging 
rush, he took out line and disappeared under the boat. 
A second time he was pulled gently up until he lay ap- 
parently exhausted on his side. 
"Now net him," said the Veteran, and with shaking 
hands I bent over and slipped it under the shining, mo- 
tionless body. For a second the big lake trout lay rigid 
across the hoop of the net instead of falling into its meshes. 
In that second I managed some way to lift him up. Just 
as I did so and had him over the boat, he gave a flop, the 
hook came out of his jaw, and turning he shot head first 
down through the rotten net meshes and into the bottom 
of the boat. 
The Veteran made a dexterous grab, and seizing him 
under the gills, ended the fish's gyrations by a blow on the 
head. It was then, I think, that we gave vent to our 
exultation by shouts of triumph. For after we reached 
camp they told us our wild yelling had been distinctly 
heard. 
"That is what might be called luck," said the Veteran, 
surveying the catch. 
"If I had not netted him with such bad management 
he would have gone sure," I added. 
"At any rate we've got him safe," he answered, "and 
now we'll go home and weigh him." 
About twenty minutes later when we had our Cristivo- 
mer namaycush hung on the scales, he pulled them down 
to a plumb eight pounds, and the pair of speckled trout 
weighed two pounds each. 
As a concluding remark I have but one thing to say, 
and that is that a little luck added to your fishing outfit 
will never be amiss. Camilla. 
The Maine Season. 
Bangor, Me., August 15. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Maine trout are still rising to the fly, and in many of the 
inland and more highly elevated waters in good numbers, 
but there is a comparative lull in the sport in the State 
in general. Those who get to the lakes at the right time, 
however, are finding the fish ready to take a red ibis with 
a good deal of snap, although one visitor to an inland lake 
told the writer this week that he much preferred perch at 
this time tO' the trout, and as certain of the Maine lakes 
are stocked with this excellent pan fish, he is having his 
desire gratified as many times a day as he cares for them. 
The season at the Bangor salmon pool has been one of 
surprises, and although there still remain a week or two 
in which it will be lawful to take these fish on a fly in 
Maine waters, the chances are against many more being 
landed at this pool. From the first oi the season the fish- 
ing has been very poor, in fact has resulted in a total of 
scarcely more than a third of last year's catch, when 120 
fish were brought to the gaff. In consequence of last 
season's sport, which was the best enjoyed here for many 
years, anglers had looked somewhat hopefully — yet fear- 
fully — toward this year, fearfully because of the very er- 
ratic character of the pool, which has ever been a place 
of surprises; the majority of anglers not experts being 
greatly surprised when they hooked a fish, or as much 
surprised when weeks of vain fishing didn't bring them a 
rise. 
The principal surprise of this season has been the catch- 
ing of salmon late in the sesason, for until this year no 
salmon have been taken, if indeed fished for, after the 
middle of July, when the down river weirs are taken up 
and the salmon have, for the first time in the season, free 
access to the river. It has been urged that as salmon can 
be taken in Canadian rivers until the latter part of the 
simimer, so the Penobscot ought to be able to do as well, 
but the average angler has not been venturesome enough 
to face criticism by trying the pool in late July and 
August. This year, however, several have kept at the 
sport right along, and to the surprise of most people July 
and August have maintained a very fair average in the 
number of salmon taking the fly, although they have been 
far more difficult to hook and slower to rise to the fly 
than earlier in the season. J. H. Peavey, whose expert- 
ness in salmon fishery at the pool is well known, has taken 
eight fish since the fifteenth of July, the date at which 
the fishing usually ends. Three of these were taken in one 
day, and the last was a bouncer, weighing twenty pounds, 
which Mr. Peavey hooked and landed all alone on the 
nth inst., striking his fish when he had been on the pool 
scarcely five minutes. This is believed to be the latest 
date that a fish was ever landed at the Bangor salmon 
pool since fly-fishing began there. That the salmon are 
willing to rise to the fly when they get even further up 
the river has been proven time and again in spite of the 
contention of several old fishermen to the contrary, and 
recently a Bangor sportsman camping at Millinockett 
Lake hooked a big fellow that would weigh, he thought, 
fully eighteen pounds, in the Millinockett stream, a short 
distance below the lake. Having only a light rod and no 
net or gaff he was obliged to try a long fight, and, as the 
fish neared a big boulder in midstream it broke, passed 
completely over the rock and shook the hook from its 
mouth. The same angler brought into camp a few days 
ago two sea salmon of small size, probably a pound _ or 
two in weight, caught in the same stream while casting 
for trout. 
The queerest looking salmon ever landed at the Bangor 
pool was among those taken by Mr. Peavey_ this month, 
but unfortunately he did not recognize the scientific value 
of his prize and took it home to cut up for the table, 
although he did save the head intact, and is having it 
mounted by a taxidermist so as to preserve its peculiari- 
ties. The upper jaw was entirely missing, the snout being 
turned in under itself, so that the lower jaw projected 
some little way beyond the upper, giving the head a most 
singular appearance. The cause of the deformity, and 
how the fish could manage to attain a weight of ten 
pounds, is considerable of a wonder to local fishermen, 
and various theories have been advanced as to the cause. 
The writer understands, however, that it did not affect th^ 
flavor of the fish, which proved excellent eating. 
Ex-President Grover Cleveland, whose coming to Maine 
has been heralded ev.ery year for many seasons, is at last 
actually in this State to try the bass fishing, the guest of 
Joe Jefferson at the lattcr's camp on Moss Island in 
Meddybemps Lake in eastern Washington county. This 
