Sept. 6, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
295 
TROUTING ON THE WALLENPAUPACK. 
my friend Ray, and as there seemed to be an 
unnecessary number of these merry little cusses 
wasting their time in athletic broad jump events, 
I thought I would solicit their services in 
catching a trout or two for myself. Catching 
the grasshopper was an occupation entirely new 
to me. I found him provokingly unresponsive 
to my friendly desire to use him, even tempo¬ 
rarily, for so useful a purpose. Like the Irish¬ 
man’s flee, when I had my hand on him he was 
not there. I failed to take with me a swatter, 
which would have saved me from many unprint¬ 
able expressions, non-appreciative of the grass¬ 
hopper’s agility. I certainly was in no compli¬ 
mentary humor with the grasshopper and so 
diplomatic relations ceased and my wavering 
faith in the scientific dry-fly hopefully resumed. 
Along this line my equipment was complete. 
My assortment of flies was worthy of a 
showcase by itself in an entomological museum. 
Every fly was warranted to “kill,” which I 
understood to mean would stay in the fish’s 
gills, providing he took it, of course, until it 
suited my convenience to remove it. A few 
times this really happened, but more often these 
flies had an exasperating tendency to wander 
away from the pools where I sought to gently 
place them and disport themselves in the tall 
grass with the evident intention of making 
friends with the elusive grasshopper. Some of 
my flies, with higher aspirations, would seek the 
branches of tall trees and persist in staying 
there. They are there yet. I lost more flies 
than I caught trout, but upon my word, I only 
smiled at my misfortunes, for I was certain 
these very mishaps would develop in me those 
qualities so essentia! to a fisher—the virtues of 
patience and perserverance. It was all in the 
game of catching up to the quarter of a century 
of lost time. 
One morning as I stood by the brook 
leisurely casting the fly, hoping against hope 
to get a strike, I saw a bird with gold and 
black feathers perch himself by a small pool on 
the other side of the stream. He warbled a 
few notes as though to gather up his courage 
and then plunged into the still water. Immedi¬ 
ately another joined him, and then two more 
of the same plumage took part in this morning 
ablution. They were evidently on friendly terms 
with each other. When they left the water they 
perched themselves around their washing pool 
and seemed to vie with each other in singing 
a song of joyous freedom from all care. 
I caught no trout that morning, yet I left 
the brook happy and content as Gay, when he 
wrote: 
"Wandering by the streams apart. 
Glad and calm as they, 
Plying - still my simple art 
All the livelong day. 
“Seeking out the shadiest nooks, 
Of the winding moorland brook, 
Where the pearly waters sleep 
In their quiet pools and deep. 
“Where the greedy trout doth lie, 
Ready for the ensnaring fly, 
Who so free from weeping sorrow 
And from care as I.” 
My vacation sped by as on the wings of the 
wind, but its joys will crowd the memory for 
many a day. Should I forget thee, bright, com¬ 
panionable Wallenpaupack and those gentle 
friends I met beside your babbling waters, may 
my right hand never acquire the angler’s adroit¬ 
ness in catching trout. 
Another Jonah. 
Memphis, Tenn., Aug. 20 .— Editor Forest 
and Stream: We never encounter an amphibi¬ 
ous mouse in the Mississippi valley, not even in 
Arkansas. Tripod. 
CAT CAUGHT MOUSE CAUGHT BY FISH CAUGHT BY 
MAN. 
“New York, Aug. 21.—Warren H. Spangler, 
of Montclair, while fishing in Greenwood Lake 
yesterday, landed a four-pound bass. 
“It was laid in the bottom of the boat. The 
party remained on the lake an hour. The other 
fish caught died, but the big bass showed signs 
of life that puzzled the anglers. When camp 
was reached, Spangler cut the fish open and out 
jumped a live field mouse. It appeared to be 
feeble, but made an attempt to get away. It 
hadn’t gone two feet, however, when the camp 
cat got it.” 
How to Get Pure Water. 
If this cannot be obtained from a nearby 
spring which has good, clear water, or from a 
clean stream, it is possible to filter it in the 
same way that the Indians did. They had a way 
of purifying water from a pond or swamp by 
digging a hole about a foot across and down 
about six inches below the water level, a few 
feet from the pond. After it was filled with 
water, they bailed it out quickly, repeating the 
process about three times. After the third bail¬ 
ing, the hole will fill with filtered water—Boy’« 
Life. 
