426 
FOREST AND 
STREAM 
August, 1920 
BEACH FISHERMEN IN THE MAKING 
HOW THREE YOUNGSTERS WERE INITIATED IN THE ART AND CRAFT OF 
SALT WATER FISHING ON A TRIP TO THE SAND DUNES OF NEW JERSEY 
Ey A. F. WESTERVELT 
F OR some time three young friends of 
mine had begged me to take them on 
a sand dune trip. They had had 
some experience in wood’s camping but 
were now anixous to try a beach camp 
although I had advised them that sand 
camping among the flies and “skeeters,” 
away from fresh water was rather a tough 
proposition. However, I had promised 
the boys a week-end trip to old ocean 
where, I told them, they would either be 
converted to real beach fishermen or they 
would never again have a desire to eat 
sanded grub. 
Our outfit, of course, was the first 
question to be considered but all details 
were finally worked out to the satisfac- 
tion of us all. 
Two of the boys would each carry small 
shelter tents, such as are used in the 
army, and I decided upon a little five 
pound tent; this though light, would be 
big enough for the other boy and me. 
For this trip, very light tents had to 
be selected, as our entire equipment was 
to be carried by pack; they had to be 
strong enough, too, to withstand the 
gales that sweep along the Jersey shores 
and they needed to be waterproof to keep 
out the downpour of the occasional thun- 
der storms. 
As to the fishing rigs to be taken, the 
boys were somewhat amazed; no little 
fifty yard reels, such as they were accus- 
tomed to, for this trip, but big, husky ones 
carrying about 900 feet of linen line that 
would stand, at least, a 24 pound pull 
and each was 
equipped with a 
little lever that 
would throw the 
gears out of mesh 
and make the spool 
free in casting. The 
rods were strange 
to the boys, too; no 
five or six foot ar- 
ticles but giants, 
nine feet over all, 
with agate guides 
as big as dimes. 
Six foot tips and 
butts of 28 inches 
seemed to them 
like regular bean- 
poles, but when I 
tried to show them, 
in the back lot, how 
to heave a 4-ounce 
sinker a couple of 
hundred feet the 
boys could see why 
such a man-sized 
outfit was required. 
Some queer can- 
vas buckets, too, I 
brought out that 
night. “What are 
those feed bags 
for?” said Bill; 
Fishing on the beach 
“are we going to pack by horses?” “No, 
son,” said I, “we are going to tote our 
own loads.” 
Much mystified, the boys said nothing 
more, as they had found out that much 
questioning often brought forth evasive 
replies. “Well,” said I, finally, “I’ll tell 
you. These are water buckets; you see 
they collapse like a pancake, so as to pack 
easily and after they are opened up, will 
carry water. We have to take these buck- 
ets as drinking water is not found on 
the beach ; we will have to get it at some 
Life Saving Station and carry it with us 
to the place where we make our camp. 
How the boys laughed at the bait I had 
brought home wrapped in a newspaper. 
Opened up, it revealed a lot of slimy ob- 
jects with big staring eyes and long feel- 
ers. “What are those?” asked Tom. 
“Well,” said I, “these are squid or 
cuttle fish. I got them down in the Ital- 
ian quarter of the city at a fish stand 
and, if you will come over after supper, 
you can help me prepare them.” The 
boys were keen for this, of course, and 
could hardly wait for their meals to be 
bolted as they were naturally curious to 
find out how this repulsive looking mess 
could be fixed up into bait. 
They didn’t eat much I am sure — too 
excited. 
The bundle of squid was opened in the 
sink in the kitchen and, taking one up, 
I cut off the head, laying it aside with 
the remark, “Here is something, that for 
a channel bait can’t be beaten!” Next I 
slit Mr. Squid open and lo and behold, a 
nice triangle of thin flesh holding just 
the one bone Mr. Squid possessed down 
the middle; I drew out the bone and 
peeled off the reddish-brown skin and the 
meat was ready to be cut into baits. The 
boys did this with an old knife and 
shears, making each piece about an inch 
wide and three inches long. 
When all the squid had been so pre- 
pared I took a friction top can and put 
in a layer of squid pieces, then a layer of 
salt, then another layer of squid and an- 
other layer of salt and so on, until the 
can was full. “Fine!” said I; “that will 
be more than 
enough for us.” 
Our packs were 
now to be made up. 
The things to be 
needed last, of 
course, were placed 
at the bottom and 
so on, in order, to 
the top. Warm 
woolen underclothes 
were put in, as a 
continued soaking 
in salt water was 
to be expected ; 
bathing suits, tents 
and blankets, 
sweaters for even- 
ings, extra pairs of 
wool stockings and 
sneakers. Tackle, 
axe, cook kits, lan- 
tern, knife, fork 
and spoons, camera 
and films, small 
toilet and medicine 
kits followed in 
their places. Light 
rubber capes or 
ponchos, too, were 
packed in. 
It was some little 
job to pack all our 
With packs slung and rods in hand we were ready to start 
