November, 1920 
FOREST AND STREAM 
601 
which contained, judging from the fish 
on top, and from the fisherman’s state- 
ment, nothing but black bass. 
The proprietor of the place stated that 
there were 500 pounds of them. 
Mr. Howard remained after I left and 
was shown three barrels full, in addition 
to the box. 
When we entered the place we sup- 
posed that the fishermen had a few bass 
that they had caught individually and 
were willing to sell. After seeing the 
wholesale slaughter of bass the place 
seemed to groan “murder” so only one 
of us purchased bass. Later when 
cleaned we found “shiner” minnows, 
which make the dike and surrounding 
water their habitat. 
Mr. Howard was informed that the 
bass were taken in trammel nets; that 
the laws of Missouri permitted taking 
them in that manner and selling them 
within the state. 
Missouri charged a $3.00 non-resident 
fishing license this year, the money, so 
widely advertised, to be used to protect 
and propagate game fish within the state. 
The writer procured such license in 
April. 
If the Missouri law permits wholesale 
slaughter of game fish, then the laws 
should be remedied; if it is against the 
law, then the fishermen should be prose- 
cuted. In this Connection I wish to state 
that Mr. Howard and myself are willing 
to take oath to the above facts or appear 
in court (where I suppose the fine, if 
assessed, would be so nominal that the 
one box would pay it and costs.) 
Knowing your love of fair play we are 
taking this matter up with you, trusting 
that you will find a way to help change 
things. 
Joe Caldwell, Illinois. 
DUCK SHOOTING WITH A CAMERA 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
W HILE driving across the sand hills 
of northern Nebraska one morning 
in early August, I missed the traveled 
road and ran into an impassible swamp. 
After considerable effort whipsawing the 
car back and forth I at last backed on to 
terra firma and proceeded to turn 
around. Glancing across the tops of the 
tall grass that bordered a small lake a 
hundred yards away I noticed a bunch 
of ducks lighting upon the surface. 
Standing in my car I was able to see the 
shore water and to my astonishment dis- 
covered that it was literally black with 
large birds. Two or three took flight and 
I recognized them as mallards. I imme- 
diately knew that they were young birds, 
evidently hatched and reared in the 
larger lakes a little farther north and 
were driven down by the cold wind and 
rain the night before. 
Here was my opportunity that I had 
long hoped for. Donning my waders and 
loading my kodak, I sneaked through 
the grassy cover until within a few yards 
of the water. Quickly rising into view I 
took aim and shot. Never before had I 
bagged so many with one load. The Ne- 
braska limit is twenty-five birds but I 
exceeded that limit many times. But 
still I was unsatisfied. Down at the other 
end of the lake the great flock circled 
and bunched. I gave them load number 
two. This time I got them all. Around 
they swung, not to be' scared from their 
new swimming place by a strange being 
with a noiseless fowling piece. The 
leaders cupped their wings and down I 
sank from view. When directly over- 
head down they dropped into the water. 
This time I could only get a few in range 
but to an old hunter, who for many years 
in late September and early October, had 
from the blind in dawn or twilight 
brought down a brace at the crack, crack 
of his trusty old double, it was the best 
shot of the three. 
For forty falls and many springs (be- 
fore the law prohibited spring shooting) 
I have hunted water-fowl in Nebraska. 
It is needless to say that during that 
period there have been many hours of 
real sport. But after all I can truth- 
Mr. Booker and^Large-mouth Bass 
fully say that this bloodless bag brought 
more true satisfaction than any full bag 
of toothsome birds I ever lugged into 
camp. 
G. H. Nichols, Nebraska. 
BASS AND NORTH EAST WIND 
To the Editor of FOREST AND STREAM; 
A LL lovers of fishing, whether old vet- 
erans or novices, have ofttimes 
heard the old saying that “wind north- 
east, no fishin’ today,” but it seems that 
fishing and fish have changed as well as 
almost everything else in this age. 
One cloudy Saturday afternoon during 
last May, when a strong northeast wind 
was blowing, my old friend, S. S. Good- 
hand, and I were sitting on a box in 
front of one of the stores in our little 
village, Sudlersville, Maryland, debating 
whether we should go fishing or not. At 
last we decided to go and were soon at 
Unicorn Mill Pond, about five miles from 
our home. 
As it was then three o’clock in the 
afternoon and it looked like rain, we 
were naturally in a hurry, but my friend 
was the best man with the oars in Queen 
Anne County, and he soon had us headed 
to the wind and up pond. Our tackle was 
soon assembled, we began to cast and 
shortly I had a strike and a bass landed. 
We lured several from the brush strewn 
shore and then, pushing out near the 
middle of the pond where a small bunch 
of pads was flipping up and down, I 
made a cast and — bang! I thought I 
had struck a log or stump, but at last my 
line began to move towards the boat. At 
about 15 yards from us something went 
in the air and we knew at a glance he 
was the Daddy of them all. 
I kept him coming, and after some ex- 
citing sport I led him up to the side of 
our boat, and reached over and lifted him 
in without aid of gaff or net. He was 
one of the largest that was ever caught 
in that pond, weighing 7 lbs. 2 ounces, 
and measuring in length 24% inches, 
with a girth at the belly of 16% inches. 
I had him photographed and then sent 
him to Philadelphia where he was on ex- 
hibition. On many occasions during the 
past three years I have fished on east 
winds and had big catches, so it would 
seem that bass bite the bait, not the 
wind. 
Harry O. Booker, Maryland. 
CROWS AND A CAT 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
IT ARLY one morning as I was leaving 
F-* my home for work, I heard some 
crows in the timber of a grove in the 
rear of my place. I saw the crows flying 
toward the stub of a tree which had been 
broken off about thirty feet from the 
ground. They would dart toward the 
stub and then fly away to a limb nearby 
on which they would perch and caw in 
an angry voice. 
There was something dark and shady 
hanging to the side of the tree but, at a 
distance I could not distinguish what it 
might be. As I approached nearer I 
was able to recognize the dark object, 
which was our neighbor’s cat Tabby. 
Poor Tabby was hanging to the side 
of the tree stub for dear life by the claws 
of all of his feet spread out, with his 
eyes shut and never making a move. He 
would neither go up higher nor go down 
the stub to safety amongst the under- 
brush where he could easily have eluded 
the crows. 
Stopping behind some brush, where I 
could not be seen by the crows I leisure- 
ly watched their performance for a few 
moments. A crow would fly past Tabby 
and strike him with his wing or attempt 
to peck him with his bill. There seemed 
to be a leader amongst the flock as each 
crow seemed to take his turn attacking 
Tabby while the others would sit on their 
perch and criticize the movements of the 
attacking crow. 
But Tabby would not be knocked off. 
He just hung on the tighter. 
After watching their game for a few 
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