Sept. 8, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
379 
“Hello, Oscar! What you doing on that 
piazza? Why ain't you out there in the Bay 
catering some of those bluefish?” 
"Hello, Captain Tom. 1 did not know there 
was a bluefish in the Bay. I have not seen 
one this year.” 
“Well, they were breaking offshore to ‘beat 
the band' as I came in with the sloop. You 
take my word for if this time, and give them 
a try in the morning.” 
“All right, Captain Tom, thank you, I will. 
What you going to have to drink?” 
“Oh, guess I’ll take a little plain whisky.” 
Good luck and good-night exchanged, 1 had 
a pull at the pipe before bedtime, and soon 
thereafter was in the land of nod, dreaming 
of the fish butchers of the sea. 
As the tide served right next morning, I 
was -up early, boarded the launch, soon under 
way clear of the oyster stakes in the Kills that 
render trolling next to impossible. My rod had 
been previously rigged, a swivel, a four-ply 
leader and a small lead squid comprising the 
business end, leaving nothing to do but get 
them overboard and regulate the speed of the 
motor to fit requirements. 
I had not seen a break of any kind; however, 
1 was not dismayed. Standing up in the launch 
facing the stern, I started across the tide, 
paying out about a hundred feet of line from 
the reel, steering the launch by listing it from 
side to side, the tiller remaining perfectly at 
rest. I had made quite a stretch, with no 
signs of a fish. Just at this time the motor 
was running unevenly, requiring a little ad¬ 
justment. With line overboard and rod in 
left hand, I stooped to reach the throttle 
valve, when whiz, when the line from the reel 
under my thunmb. I had hooked, and had 
coming toward the boat my first fish. Such 
mad breaks and plunges as the fish made were 
a menace to my light tackle, yet I was cautious 
and shortly landed a 4j/2-pounder. After get¬ 
ting my nerves quieted down a bit, I came 
about with the launch and ran over the ground 
again, the sport continuing until I had taken 
seven of those hard fighters of about equal 
weight (confessing to you on the quiet that 
I did not land all I had hooked), when I con¬ 
cluded to call it quits until some breakfast 
could be obtained. 
Arriving at the dock, the boatman cleaned 
two of the fish, which I took to the kitchen 
of the hotel, with instructions to broil and 
Just a few lines by way of preface will suf¬ 
fice on that inexhaustible subject, the gaso¬ 
lene launch. This is the ninth year mine has 
been in commission, being the first gasolene 
launch to make her mooring in the Great Kills. 
My trials the first year, incident to running 
the motor on a theoretical instruction—book 
knowledge—were numerous, there being many 
times that I could not sit in the launch and 
see myself propelled through the water with¬ 
out turning a hair or wheel, as is the case to¬ 
day, when the motor does all the work without 
a “kick.” I have always contended that the 
operator of a gasolene motor was responsible 
for at-least two-thirds of the trouble experi¬ 
enced, and in later days have not changed my 
mind. 
There was considerable protest and some 
bad language used by the men who fished 
from the old Whitehall rowboats at the puff- 
puff of the motor, it being generally conceded 
that there would not be a fish this side of 
Sandy Hook in a short time if I was permitted 
to run the “infernal thing.” However, I was 
getting on in years and not so fond of rowing 
as in former days; I and the launch had come 
to stay; we are there to-day, and with us some 
twenty-five power boats, some of them being 
owned by the fishermen who protested so 
loudly the first year my launch was in com¬ 
mission. 
It is an admitted fact that we do not catch 
so large fish as in former years, having to go 
further away from the Kills for them. If we 
confine ourselves to this particular locality, 
the above fact is not so surprising, if one con¬ 
WHIPPING DOG RIVER FALLS, NORTH SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 
Photo by F. F. Frisbie. 
The members of the Tuna Club come from 
every State in the Union, and would welcome 
a new ground on the Atlantic Coast; and if the 
Field correspondent will discover such and prove 
up, he will be given a blue button doubtless and 
a hearty welcome. , 
Last year the tuna fishing at Santa Catalina 
was very poor, but in September the Japanese 
tuna came in, all weighing about 50 pounds, 
affording great sport. The tuna is an ocean 
wanderer, roaming about, and may entirely skip 
certain resorts for a year or so, then, without 
warning, come back to play havoc with rod and 
reel. Tuna Club. 
Bluefishing with Rod and Reel 
from a Gasolene Launch. 
siders the march of civilization, the pound-nets 
on the New Jersey coast, the oystermen and 
clammers, who are constantly churning up the 
bottom of a once famous feeding ground for 
all kinds of fish, to say nothing of the sixty 
odd sloops which to-day make their mooring 
in the Kills, where years ago there was less 
than one-tenth that number. It is not wholly 
the motor boat, I am thinking that is responsible, 
But, be that as it may, I have something to 
say of a day at bluefishing with rod and reel 
from this same gasolene launch. 
It is possibly some five years ago as I sat 
upon the veranda of the hotel late one after¬ 
noon, watching the sloops, one after another, 
in the Kills, that an old captain, whom I had 
known several years, hailed me: 
FLY-FISHING ON THE GARGANTUA RIVER, NORTH SRORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 
Photo by F. F. Frisbie. 
