August 28, 1875. 
327 
ANGLERS, (iO EAST. 
The correspondence of the New York Keening Mail 
contains some of the freshest and pleasantest writing we 
meet. There is much virtue in a good correspondent; 
note our “Letters from Sportsmen,’’ which we think 
the best part of our paper; all live, all energetic, and 
all what somebody thinks or does. It may be more dig- 
nified to clip editorials, but we are not too high-toned to 
confess our obligation to the volunteer letter-writer, even 
in a contemporary. After a lively introduction to I)a- 
mariscotta and other old towns of ilaine, the writer gets 
to field sports in this fashion; 
“ Down East” involves neither rude speech nor un- 
cultivated ways, nor lack of refinement or luxury. These 
broad, old-fashioned dwelling houses are not only thor- 
oughly comfortable and abounding in curious treasures 
brought from over the seas i.n vessels built, manned and 
commanded by the sons of ^Maine, but they shelter an 
educated, cultivated and hospitable people, who, every 
summer, welcome their sons and daughters, with their 
friends and little ones, and merrily entertain them with 
picnics, boating excursions, fishing and riding. If your 
inclination is to tempt the white perch with the reluct- 
ant worm, to seduce the young pickerel with the jump- 
ing frog, to capture the athletic mackerel, to dig the 
pensive clam, to struggle with the lobster fiend, or to 
cast your fly for the speckled trout, river, pond or brook, 
within easy distance, affords the field for your skill and 
patience; while if your rifle is also of the party, you 
may now and then try your nerve and sight by a shot at 
an eagle sailing overhead, or, startled in your fishing by 
the weird cr)- of the lonely, mysterious, mournful loon, 
you may bring him down to be admired for his beauty, 
and stuffed for the ornamentation of your hall. 
Fishing for fun is cne thing; fishing as a business is 
quite another. There is nothing novel to your readers 
in the ordinary fishing for cod, hake, mackerel or blue- 
fish, but they 'may never have snuffed the odors of a 
“ porgy” factory, and, if not, let them be thankful for 
themselves, and have compassion on those who have 
had that experience. Gasworks are as roses, and the 
Harlem flats like unto honeysuckles in comparison. But 
for all that, the owners of “sheers” in these unduly 
perfumed factories are more than satisfied with the ill- 
savored business, and then consent to stand the scent if 
not a cent is ever sent to start more rival factories. The 
“ porgy” is a fish averaging, perhaps, from twelve ,to 
fourteen inches in length, which yields under pressure 
the porg}' oil, mainly used for tanning, but also largely 
for paints, where it does dutj'- many times, no doubt, as 
“ pure linseed.” That’s some of the tale; but the sum 
of (he tails that come into the porgy boats is prodigious, 
and the extent of the trade deserves further specification. 
In the first place, it takes, about $30,000 to go into the 
business, properly equipped, the outfit requiring one or 
more steamers especially constructed for the purpose, 
and these cost .$12,000 to $15,000 each. The fish for- 
merly swarmed along the shore, and then sailing craft 
answered the purpose, but they have been caught in 
such quantities that they now more generally run from 
twenty-five to thirty-five miles out at sea, and the steam- 
ers must “ go for them.” The immense seines are piled 
up, one half on one small boat and one half on an- 
other. When a “ school” is sighted, the boats separate, 
dropping the seine as they go, and as rapidly as possible 
surround as large a space as the seine will enclose; then 
haul in on the rope running along the lower edge of tbe 
net (some of these seines are thirty fathoms deep), and 
so bring the fish up in a sort of bag, from which they 
are thrown into the hold of the steamers, which then 
make all haste to the factory, where the fish are fed into 
a sort of elevator arrangement, which carries them to 
the huge vats, where they are first thoroughly s'eamed 
and then pressed. A barrel of fish will average two gal- 
lons of oil, which generally sells at from 40 to 50 cents 
a gallon, but which is just now worth onlv about one- 
half that price. Twenty-two hundred barrels were taken 
at a single haul of a seine on Saturday last. The season 
lasts only about three months, and as large profits are 
made upon a capital of more than half a million dollars 
invested in the business, it is evident that there must be 
lively times among the porgies during these three months. 
The pressed carcass of the fish after the oil is extracted 
(known as “ porgy chum”) is sold for fertilizing pur- 
poses, and it is said that much of it, after being dried 
and ground, goes to farmers as “genuine Peruvian 
guano,” at $C0 to $80 per ton. 
A very important note of explanation must not be 
omitted. These porgy factories, with their vile smells, 
are not located here at Damariscotta, but down the coast, 
a dozen miles away, whence no offensive odors come 
here to taint this clear, invigorating air. 
But there are other fish to fry of a more appetizing 
sort. Up in Olney township, eight miles to the north, 
lives Mr. David C. Pottle, who for some fi%'e years has 
been engaged in breeding and raising brook trout, and 
a visit to his place is one of the most intere.sting excur- 
sions of all the pleasant ones hereabouts. The ride 
thence is tantalizing to the soul, and a weariness to the 
flesh-- of your horse. You toil up a steep and rocky 
hill, and think of the interest the insurance companies 
have in the endurance of the traces; at the top you get 
a momentary glimpse of a fair and picturesque country, 
with winding streams and luxuriant intervals and plenty 
of level ground, where the road ought to run, but don’t, 
and then you transfer your solicitude to the “breech- 
ing,” and speculate upon the probable behavior of your 
horse when he goes down upon his knees and you land 
between his ears. Four rods of trotting ground at the 
foot, and then another hill, longer and steeper and 
stonier, and you are reminded of the answer of the dis- 
tinguished Irish gentleman who was asked in court 
which of two offensive articles he considered most li- 
belous, and who declared that “one was cruelly bad, and 
the other was equally coarse.” 
But at last you reach the euphonious villages of “Pud- 
dle Dock” and “Head of Tide,” and a mile beyond the 
latter the trout ponds come to view, and under the 
guidance of Mr. Pottle — an intelligent, modest man of 
about fifty, with patriarchal beard and a voice of 
loving kindness as; he ;handles and talks about the fish 
for which he seems to have a genuine affection — the 
breeding arrangements are inspected. Several living 
springs upon the farm furnish a never-failing supply of 
fresh water. Eight dams have been constructed, mak- 
ing as many successive ponds, and he has had as many 
as twenty thousand trout of different ages at one time. 
At present there are not more than one-half that num- 
ber. Those of different ages are in different pools, the 
oldest being now four years old. At this age they are 
removed to special ponds or tanks for breeding purposes 
or sold. For a consideration, parties are allowed to 
fish with hook and line for the larger fellows, which the 
house-wife will serve up a la picnic (with a crisp slice 
of fat pork) under the trees in the yard. 
Adjoining'Mr. Pottle's place is another brook, with 
excellent natural facilities for trout breeding and raising, 
which can be secured and adapted for the purpose for 
a very moderate sum; and I wonder that some few gen- 
tlemen of means and a love for country sport do not 
associate themselves into a trout club, take possession 
of the location, and ensure for themselves and friends 
an annual retreat of trout catching and feasting. 
A FOLLOWER OF “THE FISHERMAN.’ 
One of the famous preachcis of the West, Hev. M. 
W. Reed, discourses thus pleasantly about fish and fish- 
ing, in the Milwaukee Sentinel: 
Red Rock, Manitoba, July 25. — Yesterday, Louis, 
our guide, broilght to u.s,the alarming intelligence that 
our pork was exhausted, hence our rapid retreat down 
the Xepigon to this post of the Hudson Bay Company. 
We had laid in provisions for the period of fourteen 
days, but the appetite of the member from the Fifth 
Congressional District is not to be reckoned beforehand. 
He has devoured a good deal of fish, to be sure, but 
always with pork. We have had an exceedingly cheer- 
ful time since the 2d of July morning, when the Peer- 
less took us and our traps on board at Milwaukee. See- 
ing that we paid full fare, we can praise her and her 
officers without suspicion. She is fitly named. We left 
her at Bayfield, in which town, beautiful for situation, 
we put in three days. There we chartered a small 
schooner and made the tour of the fishing stations in 
the neighborhood, and thence across the lake to the 
north shore. Thunder Bay has been written up so 
thoroughly that I need not attempt a description of its 
manifold beauty. At Prince Arthur’s Landing, four 
miles from Fort William, we unrolled our tent, bought 
a skillet, a hatchet and tin-ware, and, went into camp. 
Thence through Nepigon Bay to this place at the mouth 
of the Nepigon River. Here we had our choice out of 
twenty canoes and a hundred canoe-men. With two 
canoes and four men we began the ascent of the river. 
We journeyed lei.surely, making camp early and break- 
ing it late, so fishing morning and evening. I believe 
that there is not another river so beautiful. Now it 
widens to a lake, and now it narrow's to a rapid. It is a 
mountain brook magnified a hundred diameters. For 
thirty-six miles we are hardly out of sight of white water 
— water beaten every drop into foam. Every camp we 
made was in sight of the tossing plumes of a Sault. Mr. 
Hall, our “artist on the spot,” has found pictures innu- 
merable, and can only say that life is short, and make 
here and there a sketch at random. It is an embarrass- 
ment of riches. Our Indians were born here, and have 
never been 100 miles away; never seen a locomotive, 
never read the Sentinel; never heard of Beecher, but 
they know the river as you know Wisconsin street, and 
they love it. The lithe Chippewa whose paddle steers 
our own “birch,” exults in running the canoe within an 
inch of a ragged-edged rock, and when 1 look at him 
reproachfully, chuckles. I am a good deal tried with 
him, but I admire him. He is a master in woodcraft. 
He will out of next to nothing create a supper. 
In eight minutes by the watch he has caught a trout, 
dressed and fried him brown. I marvel at the resources 
of this red brother who does not know how to spell. He 
wants a cup. He takes a bit of birch bark, gives it a 
twist, and there the cup is. A rod is broken, and the 
owner sadly thinks how far it is to Welles’; this Indian 
mends it, and it may break again, but it must break in 
a new place. They are very cheerful ; conversation 
never slackens. Even in the very strait and peril of the 
rapid they chat on. Their confidence in them.selves is 
so assured and easy that we have confidence in them, 
and at this date make no criticism of anything they 
choose to do. The birch is a sort of sacred tree ; they 
hack at any other but not at that. It means a good deal 
to them. One of our canoes carries five men and tent, 
cooking utensfls, provisions, etc. Yet one man carries 
it across the portages without making any fuss about it. 
If the boat leaks so much as a drop, it is drawn out and 
the crevice found by e}'es sharper than mine, and the 
place pitched. I hesitate to tell you of the fishing. In 
this age of general unbelief even in affidavits, and know- 
ing the suspicion which attaches itself to a fish story, it 
requires courage to tell the truth of fi.shing in the 2^epi- 
gon. I have cut out of birchbark the outline of the 
largest trout killed by this party. He is 224 inches in 
length and he is 13 inches in girth. C. Germain, ex- 
sherift' of Dodge count!', arrested him, but as he did it 
with my rod, I take the credit of the capture. This 
“ brook trout ” was the largest of seven, the smallest of 
which only measured 19 inches by 10. Wtiat to do with 
the fish? All, that w the question. No friends, no 
enemies or neighbors of any sort to send them to. Our 
Indians, the member from the Fifth, Hall and Germain, 
did their utmost and greatly, but the human stomach 
has limits. We had to stop fishing or kill for the sake 
of killing, and we are not that sort of men, I trust. 
Are these fish game? Consider the ri#er they swim 
in! It takes a live fish to go up these rapids and falls. 
These big fish are scarred where they have grazed rocks 
in their swift pilgrimage. Are they game fish? Well, 
I should say so. The member from the Fifth is no in- 
fant, and his rod is of the best that Welles has. To see 
him and that bend and writhe, and to hear him yell for 
a landing net and spit out Saxon language at my delay 
in bringing it, would seem to say that the gleaming 
thing under the foam was game. Even the little fellows 
•six inches long make one anxious. I never so much as 
dreamed of such fishing. I have threaded the tangled 
way beside a good many trout brooks, and been happy 
at night with three pounds in my basket. But twenty 
pounds in half an hour from the same pool! Think of 
that, you fishermen of Sparta who rise early and go out 
to “Welch Valley” and toil terribly for a few little 
three-inch suggestions of trout. Of course there is a 
shady side to this picture of days on the Nepigon. There 
have been seasons of fog and drizzle, and grumbling 
follows these. It is a “ virtue to be jolly ” at these 
times; one has to strive toward it. We have been 
thoroughly soaked a pair of times by a thunder-shower, 
“ with all that name implies.” I am a damp, moist, un- 
pleasant body while I write ; the sky is lead, and the 
bluffs of the beautiful river .smoke as the hills did in 
David’s time. I have spoken of the deftness of the hand 
of the Chippewa. It is also, I regret to say, as dirty as 
it is deft. To watch him plunge that hand into the 
flour sack and dredge for material for supper biscuit is 
not appetizing. In fact, I have twice spoiled a splendid 
hunger by Watching the cook too narrowly., I find it 
best to note the scenery and not him. Sometimes, under 
pressure, the whole four fall to cooking, and then ob- 
servation is barred. 
Flies? Yes, several. The hum of the industrious 
mosquito blends with the roar of the falls. You strike 
out madly — and hit something — sometimes, though rare- 
ly, the insect. Then there is the sand-fly in the clouds. 
He is a sappy sort of an insect — made up of wings and 
a jaw, and a skin full of water. If you hit him he is 
paste; nothing cri«p about him. Then there Is the deer- 
fly; not numerous or I should not now be living. I 
have a mixture of pennyroyal, coal oil, and sweet oil, 
which is unpleasant to all these insects. Twelve days’ 
use of it has created a complexion that soap fails to re- 
move. I am informed to-day that I ought not to have 
u.sed soap, that soap sets the color. I am under the im- 
pression that I shall wear it home with me. 
We have now and then met pleasant parties camping 
along the river. Gen. Whipple, of Sherman's staff, 
dined with us to-da}*. Rev. Mr. Heberton, of Colum- 
bus, O., and brother are in camp above us. Capt. Miner, 
U. S. A., still further up. With all these we have eaten 
salt and exchanged the courtesies common to fishermen. 
The officers of the Hudson Ba}- Company at this post 
and at Fort William, have been vert' kind to us, giving 
us every facility within their power. Especially are we 
indebted to Mr. Vernon of this place for attention. 
Come from ^Milwaukee by the Peerless to the Sault 
Ste. Marie. Thence by Canadian line to Red Rock 
Here you can procure everything needful and of the 
best. August is a better month than July lor fly-fi.eh- 
ing. Bait-fishing, if you like, is always in order and 
alwaj's successful. There is no danger of failure in the 
supply. Lake Michigan, the source of this river, 75 by 
50 miles compass, is a viist breeding-place. There is no 
fishing for market on the river. All persons are forbid- 
den to carr}' any fish awa\'. It will remain the best 
stocked river in the world. No mill or still can vex 
these waters. No plow can furrow these hills. The Ne- 
pigon is dedicated to trout. Even if you do not care to 
fish, here is scenery beside which that of the famous 
Adirondack region seems tame indeed. If you come a 
little later than this bring a gun along. The hills swarm 
with partridges, now out of season. It ma\' be well to 
have a gun at any time. Wilson, one of our men, is 
still sore from the effects at a hand-to-hand fight with a 
bear. I can only wish that the lovers of ferns and 
mosses might walk these hills. It seems a pity not to 
be. able to bring away and carry home some of the won- 
derful beauty of this region, but where can one stow 
it? The air is tonic and sickness up here seems incred- 
ible. It is the wilderness. The cares of life are off. It 
is a vacation. But Hall again remarks that life is short. 
I am minded by the date of this letter that I must be 
gone. Points not the beak of the Chiccora towarl 
Mackinaw? Adieu, my gentle savage pilot of the swift 
birch. I am sorry to leave you, but thou art happier 
here with the wild river than we could make you with 
our civilization. Thou art wise here, famous and suffi- 
ciently equal to the occasion. To move thee would spoil 
thee. M. W. Reed 
