FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug. 5, 1905. 
A Reminiscence. 
My friend _Hill and I had held many an earnest and 
prolonged discussion over the question of a suitable 
place at which to spend our approaching summer va- 
cation. To give a proper flavor to these lines, let me 
preface them with the remark that we were both mem- 
bers of that large and respectable fraternity, known as 
fishing cranks. 
It was not a fashionable resort or “watering place” 
that we were in search of. On the contrary we pre- 
ferred something wild and primitive, where we could 
find a bit of the “strenuous life” and be mother 
nature’s red-faced children once again. We had, for 
several weeks, been laying in a stock of flies, leaders, 
lines, reels, and many other interesting and necessary 
etceteras which go to make up the fisherman’s outfit, 
and which, as a rule, give us more pleasure, in their 
selection and purchase, than we ever get out of them 
again. 
In this way we had worked ourselves up into a high 
state of enthusiasm and were, so to speak, hot on the 
trail of the best trout fishing to be found within a 
radius of 500 miles of Chicago. 
One day, over a down-town lunch. Hill broke out 
after this fashion “See here now, Colonel, let us go 
about this matter in a sensible and business-like way.” 
Whenever Hill struck that gait, I knew something un- 
usual might be expected, and so .1 was all attention. 
“Now,” he continued, “every time we have been dis- 
appointed, it has been because we listened to these 
fellows that go fishing for a week, and catch their fish 
after they get home — mostly suckers — and then advise 
their friends to go to streams that have been fished to 
death — if they ever did afford a day of first-class fish- 
ing. Now isn’t it about time that we began to make 
some use of our knowledge of geography and the gen- 
eral lay of the land — the number and character of the 
streams; the nature of the country, as to farming, 
lumbering, mining, railroads and other matters having 
a bearing upon the problem, and in this way figure out 
for ourselves, just where good tiajut fishing and plenty 
of it can be safely depended upon.” 
Leaving no opening for me, he Avent on: “Now I 
have an idea, that somewhere on the Northern Penin- 
sula, where the rivers of Lake Superior, and those of 
Lake Michigan and Wisconsin take their rise, and floAV 
off in different and opposite directions, we can find 
just the place Ave are looking for.” 
Mrs. Hill makes as fragrant a cup of coffee as ever 
was brewed; and knoAving this so Avell, I suggested that 
we adjourn to meet at his house on the following even- 
ing, for an after-dinner continuation of the discussion, 
with special reference to his valuable suggestions. Of 
course my motion was adopted. The hour having ar- 
rived, and dinner over, I was in a measure compelled to 
brag on the elegant action of Hill's favorite rod — and 
also to listen patiently to that wliopper that he always 
tells about how he took thirty-four trout (none of them 
less than a foot long) out of one hole, Avith that same 
rod and a now faded and bedraggled Parmachenee- 
belle. 
The maps were at length brought out and we began 
a careful examination of that stretch of country, known 
as the “Great Divide.” We were not long in dis- 
covering a net work of streams, that seemed to have 
gotten mixed up with each other, and after wandering 
around in an aimless sort of way, had in some mys- 
terious manner untangled and separated. 
The town of Watersmeet seemed to be located in 
about the center of the tangle of streams. We learned 
upon further investigation and inquiry that lumbering 
in that section was a thing of the past, and that we 
should therefore escape the annoyance of the frequent 
flooding of the streams, which we had so often met with 
on the Southern Peninsula. 
It was not a farming country, and therefore only 
sparsely populated, and of course, the streams were not 
fished out. If any other consideration was necessary 
to convince us that we had found what we were look- 
ing for, it was discovered in the fact that the Northwest- 
ern Railroad Company had for years assisted in, and en- 
couraged, in every way, the stocking of those streams, 
and also, in the protection and preservation of the 
trout. And so it was settled, Mrs. Hill and her two 
lovely daughters all voting in the affirmative that we 
should go to Watersmeet. 
The day of our departure arrived, and our baggage 
was checked and our tickets punched, for what we felt 
sure was the fisherman’s Eldorado of the Northern 
Peninsula. 
The Northwestern runs a special and palatial train 
for the accommodation of the fraternity, leaving 
Chicago at 5:05 P. M., and arriving at Watersmeet at 
7:06 A. M., without change or other discomfort, and 
just in time for breakfast, with Mr. and Mrs. Darling,' 
of the R. R. eating house. We shall have a word to 
say about this man Darling a little later on. I shall 
never forget the first few hours of that evening ride. 
Any one who has ever resigned himself to the comforts . 
of a Pullman sleeper, for a flight through whirling 
fields of grain, orchards, meadoAVS, groves, gardens, 
and restful homes, all aglow with the rose-tinted flames 
of the setting sun, with his case of favorite rods by his 
side, while only a few hours beyond — and they to be 
hours of rest and slumber — the royalest sport on earth 
awaits his arrival; any one Avho has expenenced all 
this, knows all about it. 
The morping came none too soon,, and while the 
dew was still glittering on the jack pine, the cedar, the 
tamarack and the spruce, Ave whirled down the tortuous 
valley of Duck Creek, into Watersmeet, and were soon 
introduced to Mr. Darling and to breakfast. 
I think I’ll just pause here and have it out with this 
rnan Darling. He was rightly named. In other words, 
who nathed him Darling builded better than 
they knew. After breakfast, and a few passing remarks, 
as a sort of limbering up process, “I told him we had 
come to stay for seyeral weeks, and expected to go into 
camp on the outskirts of the village, if we could find a 
■suitable location. Now who ever knew a hotel pro- 
pnetor to drop his morning newspaper, and interest 
himself in hunting up a camp for strangers whom he 
had known but an hour? That is just what he did for 
us, and within a few minutes we were standing on a 
beautiful grassy knoll that seemed to have been made 
to order for us. After we were nicely settled, I called 
on Mr. Darling and stated that we would like to get a 
little ice from day to day, and that Ave expected to pay 
well for the accommodation. He asked me if I knew 
where the ice-house was. I told him I did, for it was 
one of the most conspicuous buildings in the village. 
“Well,” said he, “it’s all yours.” 
About the next time I met him he took my breath 
away after this fashion: A gentleman by the name of 
Fuller, from Chicago, brought in as fine a basket of 
trout, running from twelve to fifteen inches in length, 
as I had ever seen. Mr. Darling had been with him 
and informed me that they were caught in the pools, 
about three miles below on the Ontonogon River. 
“Any time you would like to try your luck, I’ll take the 
Pede and run you down in the morning, and if I can’t 
stay with you, I’ll run down in the evening and get 
you.” 
I hardly knew whether to take him seriously or not, 
so I turned to Mr. Fred Johnson, an acquaintance of a 
few days, and asked, “Does he mean it, Mr. Johnson?” 
He simply replied, “When you have known him as long 
as I have you will not doubt it.” 
The Pede Avas a railroad velocipede, and many a 
ride we enjoyed, after days of sport and toil, and they 
• are all da}^s of toil — before we regretfully turned our 
faces toward home. 
Mr. Darling had spent many days with us, devoting 
himself wholly to our pleasure and success, Avhen I 
said to Hill: “It cannot be that Darling is going Avith 
us this Avay just for the fun of it." So I walked doAvn 
to the hotel and said to him, “I think I’d better settle 
up before we get in too deep.” 
“Settle up for what?” 
“Well,” I said, “you have been with us several days 
now, and of course we expect to pay you.” But it Avas 
no go, he simply walked off and left me. I have omitted 
to mention a very characteristic incident Avhich oc- 
curred a few days after our arrival. 
“By the Avay,” said Mr. D., “if you folks ever want 
any fresh meat, you’ll generally find some part of a 
carcass of a sheep hanging in the cold storage room, 
and if you don’t know enough to help yourselves, you 
ought to go hungry.” 
Then turning to Mr. Johnson, he said, “Fred, take 
Mr. Akers in and show him where to find it.” The 
result was tlpt I went back to camp with a mess of 
chops on which no fiber of wool ever grew. 
I must here refer to another matter, which added 
so much to the pleasure of that memorable summer. 
The Northwestern Railroad people treated us as 
though we were the special g:uests of the company. 
We could take any morning train and be landed at any 
stream, lake or other point of interest, by simply noti- 
fying the engineer where we wished to get off. At 
night all we needed to do was to wave our baskets 
before any approaching train, and the brakes were in- 
stantly whistled down, the train sloAved up, and a strong 
arm assisted us aboard. We never found a conductor 
who would accept a penny for such a princely favor. 
The summer was not specially favorable to trout 
fishing, on account of the extreme drouth and conse- 
quent shalloAv and clear water; and yet we seldom ever 
failed to make a fair catch when we went early and 
staid with them. The lakes about Watersmeet are 
even more plentiful than the streams — clear, cold and 
alive with bass. 
I never knew until T began to visit them, what sport 
two men and a boat can have with the proper casting 
tackle, where bass are plentiful, fat and saucy, and just 
spoiling for a scrap with a spoon. Mr. Darling had 
loaned me a Meek reel, and introduced me to one of 
his guests by the name of Mull. I soon found myself 
wondering how I had managed to get on so long 
without knowing Mull. He had often visited that lo- 
cality and knew the ins and outs — the cross-cuts — where - 
the boats were sunk and the paddles concealed, as well 
as any guide in the country. He Avas an expert in 
handling a boat, which, by the way, is a valuable and 
well-nigh indispensable acquisition for the bass fisher- 
man. When you see two men come in with a fine catch 
of bass, give the man who handled the boat more than 
half the credit. Mull could cast with wonderful pre- 
cision. His line never tangled, his spoon went out like 
an arrow and generally dropped just where a bass was 
waiting for it. Given an old sunken log — with the 
boat brought to it properly — and you could safely wager 
that Mull’s spoon would drop within six inches of it, 
near the shore, and then dart like a ray of light length- 
Avise along the log and — there was something doing. 
When he struck the hook home, he usually remarked, 
“That’s the system,” and seldom ever failed to land his 
fish. I have known him to land thirty small-mouth 
bass in thirty consecutive casts. 
Our first trip was to Lake Marian, about three or 
four miles northeast of town. We took an early train 
down to Crosier’s Mill and walked across the country 
to the lake. On this cross road Ave passed through 
grand timber that might have been the meeting place 
of King James and Rob Roy. 
Mull raised an old boat, and we were soon crossing 
one of the loveliest lakes one will see in a lifetime. In 
going over and returning, we saw by actual count! 
loniteen deer. This was a day long to be remembered, 
the bass were of the large Oswego variety, and what 
a fight they could put up! I had a strong Chubb rod,' 
m which I had unlimited confidence, j 
Mull generally took the paddle, and headed for a tree-; 
top, and knowing that I was a novice, he cautioned; 
me not to cast until he gave me the signal. “Now! 
ypur spoon just this side of that limb. Reel in 
quickly —I was fast on the largest bass that I ever 
tackled. Then the fun began. “Look out! Keep him^ 
out of that brush. Keep your line taut! Give him| 
fine give him line! Look out, he’s coming at you.”- 
But I was too slow — under the boat he went, and be-^' 
foi e I realized it, my rod was broken into slivers; but 
my hook had gone home to stay, and seizing the line.; 
1 continued the -struggle, and at the end of a hard- 
longht battle, my bass was safely landed. 
I gazed upon him with a tinge of pathos, and with a' 
feeling of admiration for his pluck and fighting quali- 
ties. 
But I have neither time nor place in which to relate, 
thrilling incidents of this day’s sport. 
On our return to the railroad with a very heavy' 
sack of bass, we found Mr. Darling — the darling — wait -1 
mg for us with the Pede. • } 
Mull snd I hired a horse and a sulky and- 
simply did the country. We visited lakes seldonfl 
ever fished, _ made our own rafts, and held many 
a cotillion with their unsophisticated inhabitants. We 
were fishing one day in west Six Mile. Mull had, 
hooked an_ unusually heavy bass and was having a time 
to keep him .out of a pine treetop lying* a few rods 
fi om us, and to prevent which he was urging me to 
pull out in the lake further. Finally the big fish sulked 
under _ the boat, and Mull arose from his seat, and 
squatting on his_ haunches close to the side of the boat,' 
was trying to dislodge His bass, when in some way he, 
lost his balance and went over, capsizing the boat and 
turning me out into twenty feet of water. 
I can only give a very brief account of this well-nigh 
serious affair. Our heavy iron anchor went to the bot- 
ton and neither of us thought anything about it. But 
as soon as Mull began to swim and' push, the boat 
sank, so that I could barely touch it and keep my heacb 
aboA^e water. At length I touched the rope with my 
foot, and then kiicAv wliat the trouble was. With diffi- 
culty I raised the anchor and got it in the boat. We! 
then SAA^am and pushed it to Avhere Mull suaa' our pad- 
dle. and having recoA^ered this, Ave succeeded, after hav-,. 
ing lieen in the Avater fully an hour in getting the boat; 
to shore. I was well-nigh exhausted. We emptied; 
our boat, wrung the water out of our clothing, and went; 
back to the scene of our accident to see if our tackle' 
could be located. Drifting as quietly as possible. Mull, 
with his face close to the water, soon announced that, 
he could see my rod. Over he went like an otter and 
soon rose with the rod and Mr. Darling’s Meek’ In 
this way we recovered everything, except Mull’s fine 
rod and reel. His bass had carried or dragged that 
away and we failed to get trace of it, and had to go ' 
home without it. 
On the following morning he and a friend returned i 
Avith a drag of hooks, and on the first draw caught his ■ 
line and so recovered everything but the bass. Mull 1 
was much chagrined that he did not get him, as he in- ' 
tended to have him mounted as a souvenir of the ' 
crowning catastrophy of that eventful day. 
J. W. Akers. ! 
Why One Goes a-Fishing* j 
To CATCH fish? Perhaps, but that’s not half the story.! 
Even the man who fishes for his living cannot be satis- ; 
fied Avith such an answer. .He goes out upon the waters 
that he may get the wherewithal for the maintaining of 1 
his little home. And you and I, anglers not for pelf’s , 
sake, but for the loA^e of the sport, surely we will not I 
hear complacently that Ave go a-fishing to catch fish, 
l ine, an empty creel at eventide gives us a keen sense of ■; 
disappointment and a full one a rich feeling of satisfac- i 
tion, and yet to sum up our day’s angling in terms of ; 
the content of the creel — why, it is simply absurd. ; 
Think of the ozone we have inhaled, of the enchanting ■ 
views we have beheld, of the birds’ songs we have heard, ' 
of the fairy-like reflections Ave have seen in the water’ ‘ 
of the much needed exercise we have taken, and of the 
manifold indefinable glorious experiences of which only ’ 
the angler knows, experiences, but remotelv connected ' 
Avith the actual catching of fish. To catch 'fish ! Bah ! 
He is but a sorry philosopher Avho would so say. If that 
were all, you and I had no such love as we have for ' 
the tapering rod, jeweled reel, silken line and grace- 
ful fly. 
_To-day as I lie on the soft moss under the branches 
of a giant pine on the shore of the lake, and with a pecu- 
liar delight anticipate to-morrow’s fishing — ah. it is not t 
just the catching of fish that explains that delight. And ' 
the psychology of my present experience every angler i 
understands, and . he alone. ! 
By the by, do we, lovers of the angle, not find a large ! 
measure of our happiness in our sport through antici- ■- 
pation, and also through memory, living over again the 
glad hours when we sought the sequestered lair of the 
lordly salmon, or wary, trout, . or doughty bass? (This ' 
thought comes to me as I am dreaming of the morrow i 
and recalling the past, while I lie here in the shade and 
my eyes rest upon the rippling water yonder shimmerim^ 
in the sunlight.) . ' 
lo catch fish! Oh, how' small a part is tlrus answered* 
What freedom from professional and business care in 
angling! ^ If those overAvorked, nervously unstrung men 
in our cites, who walk the streets nights because they 
