July, 1922 
FOREST AND STREAM 
327 
T he last day dawned, and as we sat 
upon the porch of Wittcamp’s dis- 
cussinjj conditions, Charlie came rushing 
around the corner of the house yelling, 
"Ocean City for ours, the black drum 
are falling all over the surf.” 
We dove off the veranda, over to our 
tent, out with rods and oilskins, into the 
boat, and, with a happy cough and a 
chuckle the engine took hold and we were 
oft' through the Inlet towards Cedar 
Beach. 
We had a basket of shedder crabs, but 
on arriving at the beach we dug a num- 
ber of big clams; the drum is a shellfish 
eater and will not touch fish bait such as 
bunker, mullet, squid, etc., at least so 
they say. We filled our bait boxes with 
cut bait and waded out across the shal- 
low inner slue to the outer bar and, in 
water cold as ice up to our knees, made 
our cast.” 
‘‘There they are,” yelled Charlie, and 
there they were, to be sure ; we could 
see the shining forms of the big fellows 
in the curl of the breakers as they flashed 
back the mirrored rays of the sun. ‘‘Capt. 
Nickerson’s into one,” called Ted. ‘‘So 
am I,” replied Joe. Stead then gave a 
yell — Ted struck viciously and snap went 
his rod just above the winding check. 
He said things — then tore to shore and 
we could hear the put-putt of the fast 
disappearing boat as he sped campward 
for an extra rod. 
The fun was fast and furious while it 
lasted, but the school soon passed on up 
the coast, leaving a goodly number be- 
hind. They were not wasted, the hotel 
was glad to get them. The fish were 
all well over fifty pounds each; queer, 
long - finned, humped - backed fellows, 
whose black and white bars showed 
plainly when first drawn from the water, 
but faded out to a dull color after a 
while. They boomed just like a drum 
and some of the fishermen told us that 
at times they have felt the vibration of 
the drumming as a school of these fish 
passed under their boats. 
These drum have not the slender lines 
of the channel bass, nor are they such 
swift fighters, yet, after they have taken 
the bait with a savage rush, a mighty 
good tussle will they give one. 
In the afternoon the fish returned on 
the other tide and we all were there to 
meet them. I was greatly surprised to 
see Dr. Raynor standing knee deep in the 
water — in his kindly way he was coach- 
ing a young friend in the art of surf- 
angling. Cap and several of the Coast 
Guard were there, too, and, as if to make 
up for the broken rod, Ted hung and 
quickly landed two of the largest fish of 
the day. Dr. Raynor’s friend suddenly 
gave a wild screech and started to run 
out to sea as a huge drum gulped his 
bait and tore off for deep water; the 
boy was game, however, and fought that 
powerful fish like a veteran and soon had 
it to gaff. 
Y^ELL, no channel bass did I get at 
^ Corsons. but nevertheless the Gods 
were kind and sent near relatives, the 
black drum. Less sport, too, have I had 
on channel bass than those drum afforded. 
What they may have lacked in spectacu- 
lar dash or pep, they made up in their 
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