340 
FOREST AND STREAM 
July, 1919 
CATFISH PHILOSOPHY 
THE THIRD INSTALMENT OF A SERIES OF STORIES DEPICT- 
ING THE SIMPLE JOY OF FISHING FOR THE HUMBLE CATTIE 
By LEONARD HULIT, Associate Editor of FOREST AND STREAM 
T he weather was 
inclement for 
several days 
following the mud 
puppy incident and 
Mr. Woodhull had 
seen or heard noth- 
ing of Matt. Heavy 
rains had fallen, 
making fishing practically impossible in 
the much swollen creek. The first after- 
noon that conditions promised fair he 
walked down to the cottage where the 
boy resided with his widowed aunt. He 
did this not solely because he was lone- 
some, but subconsciously the boy was fast 
becoming an essential part of his up- 
building recreation. He had found in 
him a gem which, like so many another, 
needed polishing only and a proper set- 
ting to become a brilliant. 
The cottage and garden were well kept. 
The aunt was inclined to be talkative 
after introduction by Matt, who was de- 
lighted at the prospect of a long visit 
from his friend. 
“Seem’d ough it would never stop 
rainin’,” he broke in between common- 
places in the conversation, “ ’gates is up 
at both dams at the mills an’ the creek’s 
flooded, but its some better to-day. To- 
morrow’ll be all right at the mill hole — 
the upper one, an’ — ” 
“Lands sake,” observed the aunt, “if 
Matt could learn other things as he does 
fish and where to go for them it would 
be more like, but,” she added aside, “he’s 
a good boy in the main and a sight of 
help and company for me. He’s turned 
thirteen now and when school is over and 
his garden work and chores are done, I 
don’t mind. He brings home a lot of fish 
and sometimes more than we can use and 
they help out with the table. And when 
one takes a thought on the different ways 
they can be cooked it helps out all the 
more.” 
“There’s perch in the gate hole an’ 
plenty of ’em,” said Matt, “an’ some big 
ones too but I don’t know if they’ll bite 
when the water’s riled up. They don’t 
often but we can get some grasshoppers; 
that will sometimes tempt ’em.” 
That the boy was well provided with 
poles was evidenced by the stock stored 
in the rafters of the woodshed. Many of 
which had never as yet seen service, but 
all showed the same care in selection 
and trimming and had the initials M.B. 
cut in the butt of each. Each had its 
related history as to which particular 
swamp had produced it, and what it was 
especially designed for. 
No collection of split bamboos in the 
den of the man of wealth were ever dis- 
played with more pride. But these were 
cheap; the swamp and woodlands pro- 
duced them without cost. 
Lines and hooks were, however, a more 
serious matter. They cost money; of 
which the lad had but little. The aunt 
while quite indulgent could spare but lit- 
tle from her meagre income except for 
his clothing. Even part of the small 
earnings of the lad by doing an oc- 
casional errand or chore for a neighbor 
must go into the general fund. 
One privilege however he had; a 
neighbor had given him a steel trap and 
the past two winters he had taken a 
few muskrats and from the sale of the 
skins, which brought but a few pennies 
each, he had purchased such lines and 
hooks as he had. 
That money his aunt had promised 
him should be his to use as he wished. 
Matt was as yet but little versed in the 
skill of the trapper, but later in life 
when the writer knew him well he was 
a past master of the art. 
T he following afternoon the two met 
on the bridge and this time went up 
stream instead of down as formerly. 
This led them to the mill which as was 
the custom in those days, embraced both 
sawmill and flour grist mill, as it was 
then termed. 
Both being driven by the old t3q>e over- 
shot wheel the action of which, as well 
as the water rushing through the gates 
from the pond above, created a large 
and deep basin of water which was al- 
ways a favorite place for fishing for 
both men and boys. 
The lad had a stock of prepared 
worms. The man had brought along a 
piece of beef as well as a small slice of 
salt pork, and as they passed through 
the meadow had succeeded in getting 
some grasshoppers which were put in a 
small tin box. The box had some nail 
holes punched through the lid to “give 
’em air,” as he said. 
Here fishing was easy. The banks 
came well down to the water’s edge and 
shelved off rapidly so that deep water 
was within easy reach. It was the work 
A fine assortment of tempting lures 
of but a short while 
for the lad to find 
the parts of two 
broken boxes, and 
they were soon made 
into comfortable 
seats after which 
two forked branches 
were pushed do\^^l 
into the soft earth with forked ends up 
to receive the poles as rests. 
“Don’t seem like it’s much use to work 
for anythin’ but catties yet,” remarked 
Matt, scrutinizing the w’ater closely. 
“It’s too muddy an’ perch don’t seem to 
eat much when it’s like that, wonder 
why, can’t they see? It’s funny,” he 
rambled on when they were seated, “how 
men will, an’ I watched ’em an’ seen ’em 
do it, string a worm solid through on a 
thick hook, sometimes breakin’ ’em all up, 
when if they’d on’y loop ’em on two or 
three times it’s better. 
“One man said the fish could see the 
hook an’ wouldn’t bite, as if a fish 
thinks a thing out like that, ’sides don’t 
I take ’em all the time that way and 
more of ’em too? They’s some big pike 
in here an’ more above the dam an’ 
some day we’ll give ’em a go. Mr. Sil- 
ver’s got a boat an’ I can have it any 
time if I give him some fish, oars is in 
the mill. He won’t let me have it with 
other boys, says they knock it about too 
much, ’sides he says two boys are one too 
many to be together anytime.” 
Matt had brought along his two longest 
poles as the basin was wide and it gave 
them more chance for getting out to 
different points. Mr. Woodhull had used 
pork for bait, cutting a long slim slice 
and put it well up on the hook. The 
boy using his favorite worms, remarked 
as Mr. Woodhull put on the pork, “I’ve 
heard they’d bite it an’ I know they’ll 
eat pieces of chicken; seen a man use it 
once, but what’s the use when the’s plenty 
of worms ? Salt pork, there don’t seem to 
be much about that they’d like.” At this 
point the man’s cork went down quickly 
and as he struck the pole bent sharply 
and the line cut the water at an angle, 
now this way, now that. The tip of the 
pole finally touching the water, the lad 
grew excited. “Gee,” he said, “you’ve 
got a big he eel; but he scoots aroun’ 
pretty fast for that. Bet it’s a pike an’ 
a buster.” Slowly the fish was brought 
around to the bank and when finally 
grassed it proved to be a catfish of fully 
three pounds in weight. No matter how 
in earnest or how much the boy became 
excited over some unexpected catch, he 
was never boisterous. It is true he had 
yelled when the mud-puppy was sent 
close over his head but as he afterward 
said : “ ’Twas ugly enough to scare a 
blind sawbuck.” Matt was elated over 
the big catfish. “I told you the big ones 
was here,” he said. “Sometimes you get 
