Oct. 25, 1913- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
529 
THE BASS OF WHITE LAKE. 
(' nt.nupd from page 527. 
8:30, or a little earlier, the fish showed some 
activity and a desire to investigate the bait, and 
this continued up to mid-day and beyond. From 
then until sundown there was but little doing, 
the second period of activity starting in about 
half way between sundown and dark. I did not 
try them, however, after it became quite dark. 
Paddling gently and slowly along through 
the “grass,” sometimes alone and sometimes with 
a chosen companion, casts would be made to 
right and left, a top-water coaxer bait being the 
only kind available that could possibly be used 
among that growth. 
The strike was always sudden, hard and 
usually unexpected, even when the fish could be 
seen. I never did quite get used to a strike 
from a fish that I knew could see me make the 
cast. And this latter condition was the notice¬ 
able feature of the fishing. So long as there was 
no sudden movement or noise of wood against 
wood or metal, the movement of the boat and 
its occupants seemed not to be noticed by the 
fish at all. But it was some time before I was 
able to absorb that fact—if it ever was com¬ 
pletely absorbed. 
Once I saw a bass right below my paddle 
blade as the boat slowly glided by. He had 
been disturbed by the canoe and was quietly 
swimming away. I took in the paddle and cast 
over him PTe turned and followed the bait 
close up to the boat and then sheered off. Six 
or seven times this happened until with a savage 
rush he took it—and I took him. 
Another time a swirling rise drew the bait 
below the surface. I slowed it up, and as it 
came within full sight in the clear water, I both 
saw and felt the strike. I set the hook, and for 
the fraction of a second I saw the conspicuous 
red and white bait fast to the corner of the 
mouth of the biggest bass that ever happened. 
A second glance showed that two bass had struck 
almost simultaneously, and that the outline of 
this “biggest” fish was the result of a quick view 
of the second one’s body lapping that of the 
one with the bait, my eye for the moment catch¬ 
ing the head of one and the tail of the other, 
which appeared to be about thirty inches apart. 
The next moment my hook was fast in a tough 
reed stem, and the fish—both fish—gone ! 
Another time, while clearing a bad back 
lash, the bait was taken while slowly sinking in 
an opening among the reeds, the additional coats 
of paint I had given it making it slightly too 
heavy to float when at rest. There were yards 
of loose line lying in the bottom of the boat, but 
I managed to get hold of it up near the first 
guide, to strike, and finally to land the fish. 
The fishing was not particularly good while 
I was there, as the bass were beginning to pair 
and the weather quite hot, but the new things 
I learned about those White Lake big-mouths 
made it a most interesting trip. 
The smooth side of the lake, under the lee 
of the windward shore, proved to be far the 
best, the mirror-like surface enabling one to see 
the fish and fish for them individually. Also 
they rose better under these conditions than they 
did where even a gentle breeze ruffled the sur¬ 
face. Verily the bass fisherman never ceases to 
learn new things. 
The best and pleasantest time of the day, 
however, was the half hour between dusk and 
dark. But it was such a short half hour. 
A few days before I got there a young 
friend of mine, who lives nearby—only seven 
miles away—caught one that weighed eight 
pounds even after being out of the water quite 
a while. This fish he saw, cast at with an under¬ 
water minnow, and landed unaided. It was 
along the “swamp side” that he caught the big 
one. 
One has to use fairly heavy tackle fishing 
among the “grass,” as these big-mouth fellows 
are pretty husky fighters and make a headlong 
dive among the thickest of the reeds and water 
plants the moment they feel the hook. And a 
good many of them get away, then. 
The only one I caught along the swamp side 
on this trip took the bait—a gang minnow— 
among the branches of a treetop lying in the 
water. In an instant he had the line around 
three separate limbs, and then some of the loose 
hooks caught. But in the perfectly clear water 
I was able to sink the tip of the short casting 
rod I was using, clear the line from the snags, 
and lead him into open water. Then we had 
some fun together before I took him in. 
One particularly rapid fighter, weighing less 
than three pounds, dashed under the canoe the 
moment I struck, and my rod was broken about 
six inches below the tip, before I realized what 
had happened. But he did not get away, even 
then. 
Big bags are not the order in White Lake, 
but the fishing is glorious. And the bathing in 
that warm, transparent water is a dream. 
Forest and Stream is the official organ of the National Archery Association. 
Some Old Friends. 
Chicago, Ill. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
The following letter I am sure will interest your 
host of archer readers: 
Santa Maria, California. 
Dear Doctor Weston: 
I received your letter yesterday, and I write 
at the first opportunity to thank you for it. The 
only friends I have now are old archers, whom 
I have never met, and know them only through 
correspondence. You know what delightful let¬ 
ters they all write, and what a noble class of 
people they universally are. Although I may 
never be so fortunate as to meet them, except it 
may be in the land far away, where I am sure 
the only weapon used will be the long bow we 
all love so well. I belonged to the first archery 
club formed in the State, at Santa Cruz, in the 
year 1878. and what glorious times we used to 
have! All were so enthusiastic and so ingenious 
in the manufacture of bows and arrows. But we 
were scattered after a few years’ practice. Some 
are dead, but those grand old days can never be 
forgotten, and still hold a place in my memory. 
I take Forest and Stream, which is very in¬ 
teresting. They publish all the accounts of the 
tournaments. They talk so much nowadays of 
a point of aim, etc., which I am trying to com¬ 
prehend, although I can hardly understand it. I 
consider myself a pupil of dear Maurice Thomp¬ 
son, who wrote such charming articles on arch¬ 
ery nearly forty years ago. And his theory has 
been mine—to “draw to the ear” and get your 
aim by riveting your eye on your game at the 
time of release. I have never shot much at the 
target, but principally at such game as ground 
squirrels, rabbits, etc., with an occasional shot at 
a turkey buzzard on the wing or even a deer, 
but that does not occur very often. Yet still it 
has happened to me several times, and I find a 
turkey buzzard an easy game at forty yards’ dis¬ 
tance; and have shot an arrow clean through a 
deer at fifty yards. I am still trying to get up 
an interest in archery but it is all for love. 
Little boys from twelve to fourteen years of 
age are the most interested, and I have many 
such as dear friends. 
I presume you have met Z. E. Jackson, of 
Atchison, Kans., at the tournaments. I can name 
him among my archer friends, although I have 
never had the pleasure of meeting him. He is a 
famous arrow maker, and has made hunting 
arrows and target arrows for me. There was 
an old archer, F. G. Winkler, down in Pasadena 
a year or so ago, and h'e wrote that he was com¬ 
ing up to see me, but he was taken sick and 
failed to appear, and I have been anxious about 
him, as he is eighty-two years of age, but an 
enthusiastic archer, as all good archers must be. 
I am much obliged for the photo of your 
daughter drawing the bow, and would like to 
make some suggestions, and perhaps may do so 
when we know one another better. I hope your 
daughter will keep up her practice in archery 
until she gets to be an old lady, and will teach 
her children the divine art. M. S. Willson. 
Pittsburgh Archers. 
Pittsburgh, Pa., Oct. 14. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: A challenge American round match 
was shot on the Beechview ranee, Oct. 12. 
Holmes and Douthett were the challengers, and 
