Aug. 2, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
157 
The Welcome Box 
of “Eats” 
cent of 
— un¬ 
bother 
box of 
ready 
W HY not enjoy 100 per 
your outing pleasure 
spoiled by the fuss and 
of cooking? 
Just take along a generous 
Heinz Pure Foods. They’re 
prepared. 
But they 
have the 
real fresh 
flavor. Good sturdy foods to satisfy 
lusty, outdoor appetites — and tempt¬ 
ing delicacies to top off every feast. 
No outing kit is complete without 
Heinz Baked Beans—baked to per- 
Heinz 57 Varieties 
fection—high in food value. Heinz 
Spaghetti (Real Italian Style)—a new 
joy for those who “hit the trail.” 
The latest Heinz food creation—and 
a triumph. Just heat and serve. 
Heinz Peanut Butter solves the but- 
ter prob¬ 
lem. Heinz 
Tomato 
Ketchup, of 
course; Heinz Pickles, Sweet and 
Sour, Heinz Fruit Preserves and Jel¬ 
lies. Heinz Foods are well packed— 
easy to handle. Sold almost every¬ 
where. You know their goodness. 
Send for list of the 57 Varieties 
H. J. Heinz Co., Pittsburgh, Pa. 
pickerel, sunfish, crappies, and I believe perch; 
in fact, all of the fish one is liable to find in 
Southern Minnesota lakes. 
Again in the middle of the lake we started 
on in our quest for the bloodthirsty ones, whose 
cool, hard forms we wanted most right in our 
boat up there under the seat, slapping the top 
with their fine tails. We got out the pace and 
hooks, well baited with the choicest frogs, fresh 
from the rich and luxuriant Waterville meadows. 
But we moved in and around over the fishing- 
beds, allowing the bait to drop down into the 
water at just the right height, but no strike did 
we get. In the meantime, while Burhans was 
thinking up another plot, the sky grew overcast 
and presently the west began to darken. Light¬ 
ening blazed forth, but we kept right on fishing. 
However, the wind coming up, we made for 
shore, arriving just in time to get good and 
soaked. But after the momentary shower had 
come to an end, we again put to sea, the mizzen 
mast risen over the ping-pong jib-boom, which 
is just abaft the lee scuppers, east of the drug¬ 
store. This time we nailed our course in an 
opposite direction, aiming straight for a point 
of land that nosed out into the lake. And it 
proved prolific of fish, too. It happened just 
when I was in my deepest reverie and pain, and 
while Burhans was telling me his latest plot. I 
felt something become annexed to my hook, and 
the next moment consternation reigned aboard. 
“You got one! You got one!’’ triumphed 
Burhans, and down came the oar with a whack. 
“Reel him in carefully; don't let him get any 
slack line.” 
This I was striving to do, and my reel came 
up to standard in a hurry. Back and forth that 
dear old pike went it, but the net in Burhans’ 
hands was too much for him. To stop him from 
hands was too much for him. It slipped under 
jumping out of the boat, we set my tackle box 
on top of him, which, being as heavy as lead, 
from the fact that it contained 350 different baits, 
served well as an emotion preventer. After 
congratulations had been extended, and after I 
got out my pace and hooks with a brand new 
specimen of the Waterville frog family on it, 
I sat back to hope and wish. Burhans rowed 
the boat to a nicety, always keeping his weather 
eye out for any suspicious move. And now hap¬ 
pened the unexpected. It appears that we struck 
into a school of those cool, wiry fellows you 
will hear so little about. Burhans’ reel created 
an angry hissing all at once as it started to re¬ 
volve in the bottom of the boat. And just about 
at that identical moment my line leaked out 
ominously without jerk or any disturbance, and 
I knew that I also had one on the barb. We 
both had caught fish. 
Burhans’ rod bent like a willow wand, and 
remember he was manipulating a steel rod. I 
could see that his fish was nothing short of a 
monster. Hastily I swung in the boat and 
started to reel, Burhans staying on the other 
side of the boat, doing his level best to stop 
the finny denizen in his fight. As luck would 
have it, they made no great rushes, and thus 
the lines did not get mixed. We allowed no 
slack, but held right to it. I got my fish in and 
lifted it into the boat hurriedly, but not so Bur¬ 
hans. He was having the time of his life, for 
the fish persisted in staying out in the lake, hav¬ 
ing not the least desire to come in. But Bur¬ 
hans’ reel, impelled by steel-like fingers, con¬ 
trived to vanquish such strenuous conditions, 
and the fish came in, slowly tiring. 
I had the net ready, and reaching far out 
and under I shoved it up, but the fish was so 
big I could not get it over him, but the needle¬ 
like fins properly caught in the threads of the 
net, and we managed to get him in. He weighed 
12^2 pounds, I believe. Anyhow, I was going 
to lift him safe and sound from Burhans’ end 
of the boat over to my end, so I could sit and 
watch him so he wouldn’t jump out. If I 
thought I had a firm hold on him when I started 
on that momentous trip toward my end of the 
boat, I relinquished all such allusions a moment 
thereafter, for the fish gave nine Herculean 
twists and executed a Jitsu. The boat swayed 
drunkenly, 1 was possessed of a lack of balance 
and hope, and lowering my dome of fancy I 
plumped into the brine, the fish still in my hands. 
Down, down, down I sped, and still down. 
Eight sea weeds darted by me like telephone 
poles seen from a speeding car. The fish gave 
nine more deliberate Herculean twists, drove 
ten fins into me on various parts of my body, 
and then I let go. Some moments thereafter I 
came to the surface and was man-handled into 
the boat by Burhans. 
“Where is the fish?” he asked, and there 
was pain in his voice. 
But results spoke better than words, and I 
felt much like a martyr about to have himself 
separated from his think capacity. I tried to 
