May 21, 1904.] 
FOREST .AND _STRE 
419 
Whenlthel Fishes. «Bite Best. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In a recent issue, your correspondent, in discussing the 
question, "When Do Fish Bite Best," asks for the ex- 
periences of brother sportsmen. 
Probably no question known to angling lore_ has been 
argued and reargued more vehemently than this; and it 
is safe to say that any writer who endeavors to answer 
it by arbitrarily laying down any universal rule, even for 
a particular species, would be treated with little ceremony 
by the contributors to Forest and Stream. 
No two anglers ever lived who agreed on everything 
connected with the craft, and fortunate it is; for if they 
did, what pleasure would remain in angling? What would 
happen to the element of chance — the "luck," the caprices 
of the fish, the personal equation and individual expe- 
riences of the fisherman— if the sport were to.be confined 
in its Scope by certain inflexible rules which must be 
obeyed with mathematical precision? Tackle dealers may 
still continue to invent such barbarous mechanical devices 
as spring gaffs and triple gangs ; they may do their best 
to reduce the old conservative sport to mere "practical 
angling," but no such evil inventions can ever affect the 
theory of angling or the individual whims of the fisher- 
man. There, at least, we are still secure from the growth 
of industry. 
In our knowledge of fishing we are, after all, little more 
than creatures of circumstances, and often a small thing 
will rudely shock our faith in some ancient precedent or 
tradition. Another similar occurrence and we become 
doubtful, perhaps mildly skeptical ; while at a third occur- 
rence we openly repudiate the rule \yith all its teachings. 
Then we have made a piscatorial discovery, and a little 
theory of our own is formulated. Who among us has 
not his own pet notion, known only to himself; one which 
will be stoutly maintained by argument as against all 
others? Be it as to the style of the fly or its size, or 
the quickness of the snub, or the precise manner of trans- 
fixing a worm, or the length of the cast, or the clearness 
of the sky above, or the water beneath, or be it the times 
and seasons when fishes bite best, who among us, I ask, 
does not delight in his own especial crankism? The 
theories of our friends may fill their creels with trout, 
they may even become so universally accepted as to es- 
tablish precedents, but only so far as they prove success- 
ful with us does our faith in them continue. We are 
always searching for a hidden secret — seeking out a better 
way— and truly, angling might well be termed the mother 
of investigation. 
A few seasons ago an inexperienced friend of mine 
went bass fishing with a veteran of fifty years' experience 
in the game fields, and the latter (as small frogs were the 
bait) cautioned against snubbing too quickly at the strike. 
The tyro, in the excitement of a nibble, forgot instruc- 
tions, and jerked valiantly at the very first tug, thereby 
hooking and landing a lusty 3-pounder, while the veteran 
lost one probably many pounds larger. A second nibble 
produced a similar result, and at evening the score stood 
eight to four in favor of the tyro. That was eight years 
ago. Since then he has fished many rivers and might 
well be termed a veteran, but with big-mouth bass he 
never fails to strike quickly, trusting to a little theory of 
his own. 
Another friend, who spent two weeks last summer m 
Newfoundland, swears by the infallibility of the dusty- 
miller for salmon. Why? you ask.' Well, we must not 
judge too hastily, for "perhaps he has a right to his 
opinion. It killed three lo-pounders and several grilse 
the very first day out. Naturally he repeated the ex- 
periment again on the second day, and again on the third 
and fourth, always with the same result— good luck. 
And now, if questioned as to the standard fly, he replies, 
with a knowing look, "Dusty-miller." I have fished that 
same little river in Newfoundland, but fate decreed that 
I started with another fly. The fish rose well, and con- 
tinued to rise; so now I swear by the silver-doctor (or 
Jock-Scott). But who is right? Did it depend on the 
, caprices of the fish, or were the water conditions the 
same at different parts of the stream; or was the sky 
brighter at the falls; or was it merely because we each 
stuck to the fly that gave us luck at the start? Probably 
any standard salmon fly would have done the trick just 
as successfully — who knows? But one thing I do know, 
is that next July many a salmon will see a silver-doctor 
skipping innocently over the surface, while my friend's 
book, I am sure, will be found weighty with dusty-millers. 
^ One fisherman makes his record catch near sundown, 
and for some time thereafter possesses a sneaking fancy 
^ior sunset fishing; another kills his heaviest salmon at 
3 P. M., and, despite the scoffs of his companions, may 
be seen 'each day for a week industriously whipping the 
same pool at precisely the same hour; while yet a third 
seeks his tent in a rain just as his friend pulls on his 
waders for a try at the "steady." A fourth likes a cloudy 
day, a fifth prefers it sunny; a sixth unjoints his rod when 
the 'wind shifts to the eastward, while his comrade en- 
deavors to duplicate the success of a past experience. 
Thus only in angling are such strange anomalies pre- 
sented. Our faith in the fishes themselves is implicit, but 
our faith in the advice of a learned treatise or the theories 
of a friend is certain to vanish before a single 
occurrence to the contrary in our own experience. 
And now, as to the "times when fish bite best." Early 
in the summer of 1902 I spent the greater part of a month 
industriously trolling for maskinonge in the waters of 
the Kawartha Lake system. The fish average rather 
small in those lakes, rarely exceeding twenty pounds in 
weight, but they are sufficiently plentiful to insure good 
sport. About forty were taken altogether, and fully 
twice that number struck the spoon, only to escape in the 
thick weeds which make fishing in those waters exceed- 
ingly difficult. But of the total 120 odd fish, hardly two 
dozen bit between the hours of 10 A. M. and 5 P. M., 1 
although each day I trolled persistently from early morn- 
ing until dark. In that locality the same might be said 
of the black bass (small-mouth), only in a less degree; 
and, by the way, I have never found bass that averaged 
larger or hungrier than at Pigeon Lake. Of course, there 
were exceptional times when schools of them were en- 
countered which bit well right in the scorching midday 
heat, when no morsel, however tempting, would have 
budged a maskinonge; but, as a rule, and in common with 
other localities, the bass fishing was perceptibly better be- 
fore 10 A. M. and after 5 P. M. I then left the Kawartha 
lakes and continued on up the St. Lawrence, stopping off 
for a few days at the Grande Decharge of Lake St. 
John for a try at the ouananiche. This side trip was but 
xcry brief, and consequently my experiences cannot be 
accepted as criteria for the times when ouananiche bite, 
but during my short and very pleasurable stay at the 
Grande Decharge there was no hour of the day which 
could have been called better than any other. Possibly 
the bright rays of a hot sun were neutralized by the wild 
W'hirl of foam and rapids where the fish lurked, for they 
rose just as frequently at midday as in the early morning 
or at sundown. Pushing on to Newfoundland, I stopped 
off at Terra Nova Lake for a few days while waiting for 
the caribou to peel their antlers. There are brook trout 
in Terra Nova Lake, plenty of them, and some monster 
ouananiche besides. The latter proved very shy of the 
hook at all times, but with the trout it was different, and 
great numbers of them could be taken at the outlet, but ; 
only very early in the morning or after sundown. The 
small trout in the streams of the interior, on the other ' 
hand, were equally voracious at all hours of the day. 
When I went to Newfoundland in June, 1903 (one 
never goes once to that country without trying it again), 
it was my intention to rise early and be at the pool each 
morning regularly at sunrise. After a week of actual 
experience, however, all such vain notions were dispelled, 
as the salmon not only proved very late sleepers, but their 
indifference to the fly was so apparent before g A. M. 
as to amply warrant a nap on the part of the fisherman 
himself. Once, it is true, my companion did kill a good 
fish at 5:30 in the morning, but that was an exception — 
an exception which even the more clearly demonstrated 
the truth of the rule itself, for it brought me out of a 
warm tent and into icy water at sunrise for four succes- 
sive mornings without so much as a swirl from the 
salmon in response. 
During a sojourn of six weeks on the island, I 
found that casting was usually best during the late morn- 
ing, then again from 5 in the afternoon until dark, and 
on one occasion I actually struck a good fish well on 
toward midnight. It was one of those bright, calm even- 
ings, the stillness broken only by an occasional great 
splash down in the pool below. The salmon were leaping 
in the moonlight, and it were truly heartless to allow 
such a call to remain unanswered. So, accordingly, i-oll- 
ing from the blankets, I slipped on a pair of caribou 
".shanks," and, taking my stand on a boulder, cast out 
from shore. It was a hasty act, and I had ample time to 
repent it at leisure, for I might have known that it is 
always at such inopportune moments that the big fish 
strikes. Sure enough, at the third cast I had him going 
down stream like a runaway locomotive, while he had me, 
minus boots and waders, waist-deep in the chilly pool. 
Well, I don't know just how long I stood in that icy 
water, or how many times I thought of the camp-fire far 
away, or how often I barked my shins on the jagged 
rocks, or exactly the place where I wished that cussed 
salmon, but I would not have missed it for the price of a 
dozen pairs of waders. But, to make a long story short, 
after an acquaintance of some twenty minutes, we parted 
company there in the moonlight, and I clambered back 
over the stones a sadder, wiser, and much colder fisher- 
naan. That was a bitter experience, but not entirely 
without its lesson, for it adds still a little while to "the 
times when fishes bite best." 
Up in the Province of Ontario there is a group of 
weedy little lakes, as yet free from the dangers of the 
summer hotel, and securely hidden from all but a few of 
us who have searched them out. They are small, those 
lakes, and, to a casual observer, would seem to possess 
but few pretensions to scenic charm or picturesque 
beauty; hardly extensive enough to be dignified by any 
term other than mere humble ponds. But when viewed 
through the eyes of a fisherman, and especially of a "big- 
niouth" fisherman, their scenery would be pronounced un- 
surpassed by any waters in Canada — such scenery as is 
dear to the heart of a man with a rod, a kind which is 
suggestive of fish. .Their shores are deeply indented by 
shallow coves, thickly carpeted by a luxuriant growth of 
lily pads. Here and there tangled tussocks of tall, rank 
grasses poke their heads above the surface, while far 
down beneath lie the great weed beds, acres broad, where 
pike lurk in sunny weather. And there are old stumps, 
too, along the banks, blackened and decayed by years of 
service as safe retreats for many a big "Oswego." 
Some years ago I fished one of those ponds for four 
successive seasons, and verily believe it to be the last re- 
treat and happy hunting grounds where all good 
"Oswegoes" finally assemble — but that is another story. 
Early in the season, before weeds had filled the coves to 
any extent, the bass, hungry from a long fast on the 
spawning grounds, affected the deeper water._ Here they 
v/ere taken by gently drifting up and down with live bait, 
and, strange as it may seem, our best luck came neither 
early nor late, but in the morning between the hours of 
9 and I. Fully two-thirds of our total catch was usually 
made before "boiling the kettle," and at all times the late 
morning fishing proved so much better than the earlier 
or even the sundown sport as to provoke comment at the 
time. 
As the season advanced, our bass betook themselves to 
the shelter of certain well known lily pad coves, shallow 
v/eed beds and partially submerged logs along the shore. 
These latter were always at a high premium as the 
choicest of all retreats for large fish — strongholds main- 
tained vi et armis against all comers; and_ many_ a 
grumpy old 5-pounder must have been heartily envied 
by the less fortunate youngsters whose only protection 
from the sun was a humble lily pad or cowslip. Here, 
trolling being out of the question, a different method was 
pursued, one which for pleasure and skill ranks only 
second to fly-fishing itself, and that is bait-casting with 
frog or minnow. Hardly an hour of the day could have 
been called better than any other, for success did not seem 
to depend so much on the caprices or appetites of the fish 
(so frequently the case with small-mouth) as it did on 
the probability that a bass was on the watch behind some 
particular stump or lily pad ; and if present he was always 
ready and willing to" contribute his share of the sport. 
Time and again, a light wind blowing, I have landed half 
a dozen big fellows during the midday heat with not an 
additional fish for a whole afternoon of persistent casting. 
But during those weeks of hot, listless weather in 
August, when the grasshoppers drone their monotonous 
midsummer song, and the nearly stagnant water is calm 
and placid as a mirror, then, and then only, is the sun- 
down fishing best — yes, far the best, but in 1901, after 
three seasons of futile effort, we hit upon a reasonably 
successful method for taking bass in such weather — a 
method which, incongruous as it may seem — improved 
in direct proportion as the sky became brighter and the 
water glassier. Quietly anchor your punt within good 
casting distance of a bunch of pads or weed bed, remove 
the sinker, tie on a nine-foot single gut leader, attach 
a lively frog to a small hook, and gently cast him forth, 
allowing him perfect liberty to swim at pleasure on the 
surface— then wait patiently. Sometimes it is but five 
minutes, oftener ten, and should fifteen elapse the boat 
should be moved a few rods to a more favored spot for 
another cast ; but when he does come, it is with a great 
splash on the surface — a veritable trout splash. Of 
course, for such fishing the weather conditions should be 
perfect to .insure the best success ; absolute calm, a clear, 
bright sky, and, above all, reasonably shallow water, for 
everything depends on the ability of the fish to see the 
frog from their retreats among the weeds or lily pads. 
There are pike in those northern lakes, too; fine,_ lusty 
fellows, and hungry betimes as well, but very sluggish in 
disposition during sunny weather. A pike at midday, 
snugly hidden far down among the weeds, will rarely in- 
vestigate a spoon quickly moving some yards above him, 
hut an animated frog, one of those lean, lank, yellow- 
spotted fellows, drifting slowly within six inches of his 
snout, is a very dift'erent proposition, and even in the 
sunniest weather a method may be employed with reason- 
able success by the persistent fisherman who fears not the 
torrid midday rays and wishes to make every hour of his 
vacation tell. Old "Swego" Vanderburgh, sage _and 
philosopher of Charleston Outlet, secretly confided it to 
me one afternoon as, hidden under a protecting rocky 
ledge, we whiled away the weary minutes of a thunder- 
storm. It is not a new method to the craft; but anglers 
are few back there in those Ontario lakes, and old 
"Swego" reasoned it out and then tried it all by himself. 
In short, at midday, pike should be sought in their mid- 
day haunts far down among the great beds where the 
water is deep and cool, and where sun never penetrates. 
Over such a spot you should quietly anchor, just where 
the ten-foot weeds are visible beneath the surface, and 
still-fish with frog, or perch, _ or minnow. It is not, 
strictly speaking, still-fishing, either; but, more properly 
speaking, a combination of the latter with casting, as your 
bait should be kept slowly moving well down over every 
square yard of the bottom. To safely bring one-third of 
the pjke hooked to the landing net amid such surround- 
ings is difficult, but to land one of those great weeds every 
mJnute or two is no trouble whatever, and such fishing 
should only_ be attempted by one of gentle disposition and 
calm serenity of temper. But toward sunset, when the 
■ first cool shadows of evening commence to creep out from 
under the thick foliage on the western shore, then it is 
