September, 1919 
FOREST AND S T R E A :\I 
469 
A muskallonge, concealed by water-lily pads or submerged weeds, exhibits all the stealth and cunning of the tiger 
pipes after supper, Ed. answered our 
questions. Yes, we could catch plenty of 
pike and bass right here but if we wanted 
a big musky we had beter go over to the 
big lakes several miles east. We could 
canoe up this lake three miles until we 
came to a tall, blasted pine on the east 
shore then land and take the trail 
through the timber to the big lakes. 
There was no one there but we would 
find a boat hidden on the shore to the 
right of the trail. The boat might not 
be much of a boat and the oars just made 
with an ax but it would have to do, as 
there was nothing better there. 
N ext miming was fine and clear 
and we took the birch canoe and 
paddled up the beautiful shore of 
the lake for three miles. In writing of 
the beauties of the lake shore, I am not 
writing of summer resorts where hand- 
some cottages abound and where every- 
thing seems hand made, but of natural 
pine forests, stretching back from the 
very shore line to almost infinite dis- 
stance; of grass meadows, sprinkled over 
with the most beautiful Christmas trees ; 
of bays, where the constantly lapping 
waves have made a shore line of stones as 
perfectly placed, one upon another, as 
if by the hand of a skilled artisan; of 
islands, rising from the water level to a 
mound shaped center, thickly covered 
with beautiful pine trees and all out of 
sound of civilization. And what a mar- 
vel it is that Nature does all of this with- 
out regard as to whether man, with all 
his power of appreciation, may ever see 
or admire. 
After hiding our canoe we took the 
trail, which we found fully equal to Ed’s 
description, and, we thought, a little be- 
yond even that. Two miles of condensed 
toil and trouble, with hog backs, swamps 
and windfalls to add variety, if not sim- 
plicity to the route through the forest. 
The trail was plainly blazed. As 
our only pack was a large sack for car- 
rying our possible catch and our lunch, 
we could not carry rods, so had to de- 
penJ on a hand line, which we carried 
in a pocket. All troubles must come to 
an end sometime and we finally reached 
the shore of the big lake and located the 
boat as directed. It had evidently been 
knocked together at some saw mill and 
hauled in by the longer route. Our first 
attention was given to our lunch, after 
that a rest under the pines until our im- 
patience getting the better of us, we got 
out our hand line and attached a number 
eight Skinner spoon. As Ted weighed 
one hundred and eighty pounds I elected 
tj row and allowed him to handle the 
line. 
‘‘Now,” said Ted, “you row slowly past 
that point where you see those weeds 
sticking out of the water. A bar runs 
across there and that is where he is wait- 
ing for us.” As we neared the point, Ted 
dropped the hook over the stern and be- 
gan to pay out line but had not let out 
more than fifteen feet when there was a 
commotion near the hook, as if a bomb 
had exploded, and, as the line straight- 
ened out, a musky flew into the air, en- 
tirely out of the water. He looked to me 
as large as a shark. My oars remained 
suspended in the air through .sheer 
"mazement, while Ted with jaw set, 
hung to the line. Now bear in mind that 
when a musky of this size is caught with 
rod and reel it takes a half hour’s nerve 
racking strain to tire him out, so that he 
can be shot or gaffed. Ted, however, did 
not propose to take any such chance with 
his hand line. He used his one hundred 
and eighty pounds of weight and muscle 
and in came Mr. Fish, hand over hand. 
Fortunately the hooks held and he lifted 
the musky right into the boat and then 
the fun commenced. That fish had no 
idea of remaining in that boat, being as 
much alive as he ever was but we had no 
idea of his doing anything else. Ted 
grabbed for the revolver lying on the seat 
but I yelled: “Don’t shoot, you’ll sink 
us,” so we both threw ourselves on that 
fish, catch-as-catch-can, and McLaughlin 
in his palmiest days could not have done 
' better. The bottom of the boat was wet 
and that musky was as slippery as any 
eel. Fore and aft we went, bumping 
heads and getting hold but without being 
able to hold on. My pipe went skipping 
over the water and my watch crystal was 
wrecked by a slap of his big tail. Final- 
ly. by good luck, Ted got a hold in the 
gills and turned him up while I gave him 
a knockout blow with a paddle. 
W E shook hands and rowed for the 
shore and Ted said: “That would 
be enough if it was not half so 
much.” We repaired damages as well 
as we could and started on the back trail. 
We took turns carrying that fish and be- 
fore we reached the other lake it had 
grown in weight at least one hundred 
pounds. When we got to -Jake’s we 
weighed our prize on the steelyards and 
found it to be twenty-eight pounds. 
“Just the weight,” Jake said, “that 
makes the best fight.” We have since 
caught larger and smaller muskies but 
never such a scrapper. How we got that 
fish home and banqueted our friends is 
snother story and, although we have 
often made the trip since and have grown 
older and wiser, we have concluded that, 
in spite of our added wisdom, if we had 
that job to do over again we would prob- 
ably lose that musky, and assure our 
friends that he weighed much more. 
The recollection of that trip through 
the untouched wilderness of Northern 
Wisconsin stands out vividly among life’s 
memories, and clear and distinct above 
the lesser incidents there remains the 
vision of that fighting fresh water tiger. 
