April, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
157 
In the year 1890 business demands 
forced me to quit Marshall as a place of 
residence, but I remained in Texas. With 
me I took my love for Caddo and there 
never passed a spring or fall that I did 
not experience that great desire to re- 
turn. I was fortunate in having a busi- 
ness that I could leave occasionally and 
devote time to my happiest recreation, 
fishing. I had to make new friends, fish 
new waters and it was not long until I 
began my ascension to that last and high- 
est plain of the sport, fly-fishing. Like 
most of those who live in the south, I 
naturally thought one would have to go 
much to the north before fly-fishing could 
be practiced successfully, but in a short 
while I found I had labored under a very 
great mistake, as on every piece of water 
I cast my fly I found the big-mouth 
bass ready to take it and more than that, 
all the lesser members of the sunfish fam- 
ily were just as eager for the fly as 
though it was a chosen and very old diet. 
Y ears wore on and I became more 
wedded to the fly-rod and naturally 
began to look and travel the coun- 
try over that I might find the most likely 
streams on which to pursue my favorite 
sport. About three years ago a press- 
ing invitation came from an old friend 
at Marshall asking that I come and 
join on a trip to Caddo Lake. I ac- 
cepted and in a few hours we were at 
one of the fine Clubs now situated on 
its shore. Nearly twenty-five years 
intervened between the present and 
the time of my former visits, time 
had made many changes, it certainly did 
seem odd to find a string of Club houses 
where we used to pitch our tents. We 
fished the same old way, had fine success 
and after two or three days the live box 
contained several hundred crappie and 
black bass. While at one of our meals I 
asked my host, who was a member of a 
younger set of Marshall sportsmen, if any 
one had ever tried fly-fishing on the lake? 
My host gave me a look that I shall never 
forget, then came his reply, “fly-fishing” 
on Caddo Lake, certainly not, who would 
ever be so big a fool as to try it.” I said 
no more, and the subject was dropped. 
After I had parted from my friend and 
the successful trip to dear old Caddo was 
about ready to be recorded in past his- 
tory, I yet propounded the question to 
myself, why can’t black-bass be taken on 
a fly just as well in Caddo Lake as else- 
where? Not long afterwards while on a 
visit to Dallas, Texas I purchased a 
share of stock in the Dallass-Caddo Club, 
a fine building near the Club where my 
Marshall friend had lately shown me so 
much hospitality. This again gave me 
the right to claim an interest in dear old 
Caddo and it was not long before I had 
a good fishing boat, supplied with revolv- 
ing chairs and soft cushions to sit on, I 
also had a little motor in readiness so 
as to economize on the time for making 
long runs and held all in a state of read- 
iness for any day I mieht slip away from 
business and go fly-fishing on Caddo. 
The time came near the middle of 
last April (1918) I quietly reached the 
club, secured the services of a Sene- 
gambian to paddle the boat and 
started in quest of the big-mouth bass 
on Caddo lake. The portion of the lake 
selected for the morning’s sport had not 
been visited by the writer for almost 
thirty years, but I found very few 
changes in its appearance, the water very 
clear, patches of moss and occasionally 
a carpet of water lilies came into view. 
I BEGAN with using one fly, a Brown 
Palmer tied on a No. 8 sproat hook. 
The fly was taken promptly by a 
black bass of good fighting size, gave 
me a nice play, using all the strat- 
egy and dark arts known to the species, 
and when boated I found his weight to 
be 3% lbs. Not wishing to worry my 
readers by having them go with me 
through the entire morning, and listen to 
that same old story that has been told so 
many thousand times, I will say my catch 
for the morning was 23 black bass, two 
of the number weighed as much as the 
first one taken, remainder a little less 
and some of them so small as to pull the 
scales at a % lb. only. I kept a dozen of 
the largest and started back to the club. 
A good crowd met my boat at the land- 
ing and of course many questions as to 
my luck, etc., were soon asked. I exhib- 
ited my catch and quietly told them I 
took the fish with a fly. No particular 
attention was given my remarks until 
some one of them asked if I had lost my 
minnow bucket. I told them I did not 
have one since a fly-fisherman had no 
use for such. Then they began to give 
me some attention, examined my rod and 
quizzed my negro boatman to their entire 
satisfaction; this being done they gave 
it up and sat in my lap, the remainder of 
the day, so to speak, plying me with ques- 
tions as to how and where it was done. 
Thus I demonstrated to my utmost sat- 
isfaction that fly-fishing could be suc- 
cessfully done on Caddo Lake. 
N O account of Caddo Lake in the old 
days would be complete without 
mentioning my old friend and com- 
panion, the late Amory R. Starr, whose 
home on Sasafras Point was the rende- 
zvous of many sportsmen. In front of 
his property and across a narrow strip 
of water, known as “Goose Prairie,” is 
a long peninsula called Long Point when 
the water became low it necessitated 
quite a long trip around the point in 
order to get into some of the best shoot- 
ing and fishing territory and to obviate 
this our modern Monte Cristo surveyed 
and cut a canal across Long Point. This 
canal is in use and as serviceable now 
as when built. Our good friend was 
never so happy as when entertaining his 
friends, which he always did in royal 
style. Whenever you accepted his invi- 
tation and became his guest on Lake 
Caddo, your every want was watched and 
seemingly anticipated. A servant was at 
your elbow for everything; any man who 
could shoot found nothing in his way 
to make the day filled with happiness and 
good sport. In the early morning when 
we made the start for the shooting points 
and blinds we found a competent and 
willing boatman, ready with decoys and 
that ever necessary knowledge of Caddo 
and its best shooting places. No 
thought of ever getting lost or hav- 
ing to endure hardships ever entered the 
mind. When the start was made, the 
oarsman was told where the meeting 
place was selected in order that all 
should have a good breakfast. About 
9:30 or 10 o’clock, after the morning 
shooting had quieted a bit, a boat would 
be seen approaching us. Well wrapped 
in a tight box, kept hot by a spirit lamp, 
was breakfast for all. The oarsmen 
quickly lashed the boats together and 
with the aid of some long boards a table 
was soon in readiness and a feast spread 
before us. As soon as the inner-man 
was satisfied each boat took its way back 
to the shooting stand, and so the days 
passed giving every one all the shooting 
he could wish for and it was not unusual 
on the way home to hear someone say 
his shoulder was sore or his arms ached. 
After the last gun was fired and the 
day was done, we usually fell in with 
the other boats en route home. 
When the bow of our boats nosed the 
shore we found old Henry Simms and 
his helpers there to meet us. A big 
fire of hickory wood in the broad fire- 
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 182) 
End of the canal showing one of the buildings on the Starr place, just across 
“ Goose Prairie ” 
