816 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 17, 1964. 
1 An American Angler Abroad. 
In telling of some recent experience while visiting 
England, the desire uppermost in my mind is to give 
to my brother anglers at home some notion of the 
interesting and charming personalities whom I met 
there, as well as the delightful things that I saw. 
I must begin by saying, that as an angler, I felt at all 
times like the child visiting the parent. 
Mr. R. B. Marston. 
It was my great good fortune soon after reaching 
London to meet Mr. R. B. Marston, the editor of The 
Fishing Gazette — the paper recognized everywhere as 
the encyclopedia on fishing in British waters. And I 
believe that the strongest credentials that I carried into 
Mr. Marston's office, were my love of fishing and my 
warm sympathy with all members of the angling craft 
wherever they may be. I have many times in life heard 
it said of successful men, that "the principal reasons of 
their success in life, is the love of their work." I have 
never seen the man to whom this saying applies so 
aptly as in the case of Mr. Marston. He loves his 
work and his friends, and he has more of both than 
is the good fortune of some of us. 
Through Mr. Marston's courtesies to me, I was in- 
troduced at the Fly-Fishers' Club, where I met many of 
the club members, and I was shown through the various 
rooms used by men who are certainly born anglers. 
Many_ specimens of fish adorn the walls, all being con- 
tributions by the members. Nor are the specimens 
confined to fish taken in English waters, but there are 
fish from many parts of the world; over the fire-place 
in the main saloon is one of the finest specimens of the 
tarpon I have ever seen. 
To me the most interesting room in the Fly-Fishers' 
Club is the work room. In this room, at odd hours, 
the members make their own flies, and in doing so, they 
have at their command a study from nature to imitate. 
This nature study consists of a cabinet of many shallow 
drawers; these drawers are divided into squares, proba- 
bly two inches, lined with metal, and in each one of 
these small sections is a natural fly carefully preserved 
in liquid the color of water; over this is glass; the 
-case is hermetically sealed, and the fly floats so that it 
rests in the center of its compartment and against the 
glass. In many instances the male and female flies of 
the same species are together; and every species of the 
flies known in Great Britain is here preserved. From 
this vast collection of the "real thing" flies, the fisher- 
men make the copied artificial fly. On the same table 
with this cabinet is another cabinet containing all kinds 
of feathers, hooks, silk, tools and snells — all club prop- 
erty, and all for the use of the members of the Fly- 
Fishers' Club. Many of the members would as soon 
take a salmon or brown trout with a chub, as to take 
one with flies not of their own handiwork. They are 
born anglers every one of them; they match their own 
genius with a nature shy indeed, thus reaping the joy 
of a victory just sweet enough to tell about. 
The Piscatorial S:ciety. 
I shall ever deem it a piece of good fortune to have 
visited England at the time of the annual supper of 
the famous Piscatorial Society. The club rooms of 
the society are open to the members and their friends 
every Monday evening after 6 o'clock; and once a year 
the club gives a supper and entertainment. And from 
the members I met there and the things I heard and 
saw, I can easily understand Vice-Chairman Walker's 
suggestion on this occasion, that these suppers should 
be held oftener, either quarterly or semi-annually, for 
a more delightful gathering of congenial spirits I have 
never met. I use the term congenial spirits, as it seems 
best to describe the close relationship existing among 
the various members of the society. In referring again 
to congenial spirits, I am thinking of the pictures that 
adorn the walls of the reception saloon. All around 
this room close together hang cartoons of each and 
every member of this club. The head and face of 
each man is an exact reproduction of a photograph; the 
body and legs of each have been produced from des- 
criptions given a very clever artist of some particular 
hobby of the original. One, for instance, pictures a 
prominent member on an old-fashioned high-wheel 
bicycle, riding into a stream at high speed while bait- 
casting for fish. Another shows a member sitting in a 
boat fishing, with fish piled up to his arm pits, and 
the boat sinking, but the man still fishing on; and a 
hundred and more others are quite as interesting. In 
the main saloon, there is probably the finest collection 
of big game fishes in the world. The walls ~ of the 
vast room are covered with them from four feet above 
the floor to the ceiling, all mounted behind oval glass 
and completely inclosed. The specimens of salmon are 
magnificent, and so are the brown trout, pike, chub, 
grayling and others. In, one end of the room I found a 
fine specimen of the American small-mout,h black bass. 
Mr. Marston was keenly interested in my description 
of this fish and his fighting ability. 
At the supper there were probably one hundred and 
fifty members and their friends, and the good fellowship 
existing between them was manifest at all times. Presi- 
dent H. H. Brown, as - toastmaster, was heartily re- 
sponded to by . the Hon. Secretary Mr. T. Farnsdorf, 
Col. Graham Gordan, Vice-Chairman Walker, R. B. 
Marston, Sub-Committeeman Blundell, and others. 
And true to the letter and the spirit of . the sympathy 
and love existing between anglers wherever they may 
be found, the American angler abroad was most 
cordially welcomed by all, and the keen affection ©f 
relationship best shown by Col. Graham Gordan, 
leaving his seat at the table and going to the piano and 
playing the "Star Spangled .- Banner," which every 
member joined in singing as fervently as though they 
had been born under its starry protection. 
My next interesting visit was in the private library of 
Mr. Marston, where I had the pleasure of seeing and 
examining many precious old volumes of rare books; — 
among them original editions of Izaak Walton, printed 
early in the seventeenth century, and a book of 
nature, published nearly a century before in German, 
from which Walton gathered much data for his writings. 
I regret that my time in this library was so limited 
—it was like a five-minute stop for dinner to the hungry 
traveler with a rare meal before him. 
W. Baden Powell. 
There is probably no man in England or, in fact, 
anywhere else, who is more entitled to the term 
"natural sportsman" than W. Baden Powell; a 
yachtsman of national fame; a hunter of all kinds of 
game, and an angler whose advice is often sought and 
diligently followed. I had the pleasure of an evening 
with him, and the evening was entirely too short. In 
his collection of sportsman's accessories, I saw a rare 
pair of guns, recently made from his own ideas — the 
only pair of its kind in existence. The forearms of these 
guns are so constructed, that the thumb and finger 
slide in a groove on the sides, so that in swinging from 
right to left or left to right, the position of the gun 
is not altered either on the shoulder or before the eye.:: 
Of his rods much might be written that would be of 
interest. They have all been constructed on scientific 
lines from Mr. Powell's own specifications. The work 
bench, where he makes his own salmon and trout flies, 
proves an interesting corner to the visiting angler, as. 
well as to the owner. 
Dragnet. 
I had read many of "Dragnet's" clever witticisms in, 
times gone by, and was anxious to meet face to face 
this wielder of the rod and pen. I had this pleasure 
at the Piscatorial Society supper. His genial smile and 
abundant welcome are with me still, and will remain. 
Dragnet is infectious, and this is true of them all. 
I. didn't need the streams and lakes and rivers in 
England to impress me best with English anglers. It 
was behind the pipe in cozy places that I learned many 
things about angling and formed a sweeter regard for 
my fellow man. T. E. Batten. 
The Log of a Sea Angler. 
BY CHARLES F. HOLDER, AUTHOR OF "ANGLING/" "BIG GAME 
FISHES," ETC. 
I. — Crab Camp. 
One glides gently from the snows of winter into the lap 
of spring in going down the Atlantic Coast in the former 
season. We are menaced with ice fields off Delaware 
Bay. The next day something undefined has happened, 
and a day or two later a butterfly comes fluttering aboard, 
blown off shore with the odors of verdure from low-lying 
Florida to tell us the story of summer and the fountain 
of youth. It is then that we take out the rods and talk 
over the fishing with a sympathetic disciple of Ananias, 
who is also on the trail of the tarpon or something else 
at Pass Cristian or somewhere along the shores of the 
delight makers. 
While we were wrangling over the height of kingfish 
jumps a large shark came alongside. He had a pro- 
nounced notch in his dorsal fin, and our skipper informed us 
that the same man-eater had followed him for several 
months. This is serious, as one of the crew had shot 
away the dorsal, and it was supposed that the great crea- 
ture was on his trail. 
Key West rose out of the silver sea last night, and I am 
in the center of a cocoanut grove, where the soft wind 
plays upon a thousand seolian harps, and the musical 
rustle sounds like gentle rain. The air is like velvet on 
the cheek, and filled with the perfume of innumerable 
flowers. Surely the fountain of youth is not far away in 
the grove, where the mockingbird sings the night long. 
Some time during the night the boys from C's plantation 
serenaded me, and when they came in to drink my health, 
I noticed that they had scarlet passion vine blossoms 
wound about their heads. Their soft voices, the tinkling 
of guitars, banjos: and triangles, the deep bass of a conch 
shell carried me far away. 
Outfitted and sailed on a little steamer for Garden 
Key, where they welcome strangers. That night S. took 
me down to the "quarters" to look up boatmen, and found 
there Long John, Bob Rand and Chief, playing seven-up 
by the light of a single candle. Between them was a 
pitcher- of water and a small bottle of well-known and 
patent pain killer, which served as the not over-jpyous 
tipple. Bob, with true politeness, pushed the latter to- 
ward me, but I declined ; self-preservation is the first law 
of nature. . They each poured out a large spoonful, filled 
up the glass with as much water as their conscience per- 
mitted, and drank our health. The trouble was obvious: 
there was no whiskey on the key; and I understood that 
cologne would not be safe at times. 
These three men are characters, and doubtless live here 
for reasons best known to themselves. Long John is six 
and a half feet in his stockings, which he never wears ; 
is thin beyond understanding; his face is red as a beet; 
even his little eyes look burned by the pain killer. John's 
hair is dyed black, or rather green. Bob is also red as a 
beet, but shorter; and Chief would be, but he is a Semi- 
nole of a pure type ; not the^ stoical, morose Indian you 
read of, but a good-natured jolly fellow, always laughing. 
How a man can look so pleasant on an habitual diet of 
pain killer is one of the unsolved mysteries of the reef. 
I intended to engage one man, but took them all, as 
they are partners in a sailboat called the Bull Pup, and 
she looks it. The men are to hunt up fishing grounds, 
take me out, and do the cooking in camp on the various 
' keys. !-.;. 
Took a survey of the ground in a rowboat — a perfect 
fishing ground. Garden Key is thirteen acres in extent, 
and lies in the center of a growing atoll. A deep blue 
channel surrounds it, and the navies of the world could 
float here if the channel was wide enough to swing them 
— a perfect harbor for vessels transport size. To the west 
three miles is Loggerhead ; to the southwest, Bird Key; 
to the northeast, East Key; then Middle and Sand keys, 
all capped with mangrove and bay cedars, lying like 
gems en cabuchon in a setting of turquoise. 
Sailed for East Key early in the morning; reached 
it after a two hours' run. The Bull Pup is well named. 
She wrestles with every wave and fights it out. Wish I 
had increased my insurance before I left the mainland. 
She is about 20ft. long, with a full square bow, a small 
cabin aft that has more smells than anything I have ever 
met. At first I thought it was one smell, old bilge, but I 
believe I counted fifty, then gave it up. Amidship is a 
large well into which we toss our fish, so none are wasted. 
Ran up into the lee of East Key at noon; hot, but 
pleasant. The island has about five acres, and the brush 
comes down to within one hundred feet of the water, 
affording a good sandy beach as white as snow, and made 
up of ground coral and the secretion of a seaweed. It is 
filled with crab holes — spirit crabs, so white that at first 
I could not distinguish them. When I laid down and 
kept perfectly quiet they came out by hundreds, and eyed 
me for a while, then began to move, climbing upon my 
legs ; but the moment I stirred, they disappeared like 
magic. 
The men pushed into the hot bush, I following, and 
finally found a clearing near some cactus. Here we pitched 
the tents while Chief cut a quantity of branches which he 
thrust into the ground, forming what he called a sum- 
mer house, a ramada. By night we were in shipshape, 
the Bull Pup anchored offshore, and the dinghy hauled 
up on the beach. I doubt if I can get used to the birds. 
The moment we landed they rose in such numbers that 
I could hardly see through them, each screaming at the 
top of its voice, floating over us with a particularly grace- 
ful motion, with bill pointed downward. Many of them 
are terns, a few noddies, dark with white heads. The 
terns nest in the sand anywhere, while the noddy builds 
a rude nest like that of a dove. Its egg is nearly white, 
while that of the tern is very speckled. There is no 
water on the island, but Bob, after taking his bearing, 
dug up a five-gallon keg from the sand where he had 
planted it some time before. We used that, and when we 
left filled it from our supply. Bob said he kept it there 
as one time he was caught offshore in a hurricane and 
blown on to East Key. He got ashore, but nearly perished 
for want of water before he was found. Ever since water 
has been kept here and all the men have the bearings. 
The eggs are so thick that it is impossible to walk in the 
bush without stepping on them; there must be tens of 
thousands. At night the birds settled down and the only 
sounds were the peculiar ringing of the water on the 
sand hard by and the boom and crash of the sea on the 
neighboring shore, a melody that soothed me to sleep on 
my bed of sweet-smelling bay-cedar boughs. 
How long I slept I don't know, but I was awakened by- 
Chief stumbling over the tin plates and his artistic swear- 
ing in Seminole. The men were trying to get off without 
disturbing me to turn a turtle for breakfast. 
"Green turtle mighty nice," said Chief. 
"Turtle balls a doggone sight better," put in John. 
"Calipie for me," said Bob. 
As for me, why, the turning of a turtle was what I 
came there for; so I shook the soldier crabs out of my 
clothes, and we filed out of the bush and headed for the 
beach. Chief led the way, and went directly down to 
the water's edge, where the ripple of the waves mace 
music and sent millions of phosphorescent lights darting 
here and there, or stranded some large dazzling light on 
the beach. We walked along silently in single file, spla;hr 
rag our bare feet in the water, wading in the shallows 
for nearly half a mile, when suddenly Chief stopped, and : 
I saw, leading up from the water over the gleaming saids, 
a double mark, as though someone had lain flat and vith 
a swinging motion attempted to make a trail up the bach. 
We followed this up, and not ten feet from the iush 
came upon a big green turtle which must have weirhed 
150 or 200 pounds. She did not move or pay any aten- 
tion to us, and was laying her eggs in a hole abouttwo 
feet in depth, occasionally scraping in sand. We sood 
watching her, when suddenly she made a rush foi the 
water, her flippers flying like windmills. Not bein en 
rapport with such work, I got on the wrong side ancihad 
my eyes and mouth filled with sand, and fell uporthe 
reptile's back, which would have carried me along esily ; 
then Bob and Chief grasped her on the same side and 
lifted, and I gave her the conge, turning her over /hen 
she beat her breast with sturdy blows, as a gorilla i said 
to do when perceiving its prey or enemy. Bob qxkly 
slit the flippers with his knife, making a small orific and 
with a piece of rope yarn tied the pairs so they coul not 
move. A more helpless object thau the turned turtldoes 
not exist ; its solid back, so good a protection frorreome 
enemies, here prevented it from turning. 
Leaving our game, we returned to the water an<took 
up our march again, just at the edge. The moon w; half 
full, and light clouds were moving from the west artly 
clouding it — an ideal condition of things, for. turtleurn- 
ing, as on a clear night a turtle can see a man twhun- 
dred yards off, so brilliant is the star and moonlighhere. 
As a test, I found I could read the large print in a>aper 
