652 
FOREST AND STREAM 
NOV. 22, 1913. 
proved a nine-pounder. ‘‘Grandson of mine,” 
See remarked as he put it on a stringer. The 
fish was hooked so badly it died before the boat 
could get back, and it was set out for dinner 
next day. 
Among those who were guests at the club 
house was Dr. Cartright, a leading physician of 
Pittsburgh, also a skilled fisherman, a fine shot 
and a thorough sportsman. The doctor was of 
an inquiring turn of mind and wished to see 
what the pickerel had been feeding on, so he 
cut it open to examine the contents of its 
stomach. About all he found was See’s two 
hooks, loose and almost ready to pass out of 
the vent. There was no pork—probably it had 
been digested—but a bit of line remained. There 
was no mistaking them. They were the same 
hooks I had fixed for See the afternoon before. 
Then the fishermen who had heard so much 
from See about his twenty-pounder made the 
air ring with shouts for him. “See! Oh, See 1 
Come look at your fish!” they called. As they 
saw him they jeered, ‘‘Oh you twenty-pounder! 
Oh, you big whale! Fine twenty-pounder, isn’t 
he ?” 
The young man came, examined fish, hooks 
and piece of line, lit a cigar, then turned on the 
guying gang, and said: “What are you sports 
hollering about? I guess if any one of you had 
those hooks in his stomach over night he’d have 
lost in weight, too,” which was so palpably true 
it silenced comment. 
To go back to the far West. One finds in 
all the Pacific States fish everywhere. They are 
well protected by stringent laws. Many rivers 
and lakes are restocked each year, and there is 
no danger of their decreasing as the game has. 
In fact, they should increase. Around as large 
a city as Seattle there are close in many places 
where a catch of fifty trout in a day is possible, 
and bass are almost as plentiful as trout. 
When I last visited there, Cedar River was 
my favorite fishing place for trout. To reach 
it was about a two hours’ ride. Railroad fare 
was reasonable and many patronized the week 
day trains, but the late Saturday night train was 
packed with fisher folk—men, women and chil¬ 
dren. Sunday afternoon all returned with fish 
—lots of them. 
With Old Joe Smith for guide I went often 
and together we got to know every deep hole, 
and every bend where trout could be found. 
There was one place in particular always good 
for a dozen or more of fair size. It was there, 
too, where Joe landed a remarkable fish. We 
were side by side, when Smith, after consider¬ 
able play, brought a fifteen-inch trout to net. 
“Well, I’ll swear, look a here,” he said, starting 
to remove his hook from its mouth. I “looked 
a here” and saw Joe holding a trout with two 
tails, one at each end, but the forward tail be¬ 
longed to a gopher, which the fish had swal¬ 
lowed. It was a fair sized gopher and filled both 
stomach and gullet of the fish—filled them full 
and running over—for several inches of the little 
animal’s tail hung from the trout’s mouth, yet 
with such a load aboard it wanted more and paid 
the penalty. 
Often I have seen bass on a still afternoon 
jump for swallows, skimming close along the 
water of some quiet lake. I have seen a pick¬ 
erel grab a small rail off a lilypad and have 
caught many a bass or trout with a mouse in 
its stomach, but how this trout caught the gopher 
and why he wanted more to eat is beyond me. 
A fisherman once told me of much success 
he had using a live mouse for bait. He said he 
would hook the mouse through its nose, make 
a gentle cast and let it swim, then before it had 
gone far a bass would grab it and he would 
grab the bass. That kind of business seems too 
cruel for good sportsmen, and I should imagine 
few would care to try it. 
Bass near Seattle were plentiful, but hard 
to catch. In some of the little lakes hundreds 
could be seen any clear day, yet the catch would 
be less than one fish to each fisherman. All 
grades of fishermen, all kinds of tackle, every 
variety of bait, one did no better than another. 
“If I only had some live minnows,” said a 
perspiring man, who was slatting around a heavy 
cane pole with a quarter-pound frog hooked to 
the end of his line. “If I only had some min¬ 
nows 1 ” No wonder he was looking for an easier 
job, yet there seemed considerable sense in his 
idea, and to carry it out I hired a man with 
horse and buggy to go five miles where there 
was a little creek “full of them.” 
“Don’t bring too many; five or six dozen 
will do,” he was told. After an absence of six 
hours he returned, bringing seven little chubs in 
a big milk can of water. 
“All I could get,” he said. 
They were enough; in fact, six too many. 
I hooked on a lively one, dropped it back of a 
log where in a deep hole over thirty bass were 
taking exercise swimming around. Not a fish 
was minnow hungry. One did come up and 
look, then seemed to turn up his nose and left 
the bait untouched. It was no use trying. Noth¬ 
ing could be done, but release the minnows, go 
in and loaf until train time. It is bad business 
when after a hard day’s work twenty fishermen 
don’t even have hard luck stories to tell. 
A trip seven miles down Lake Washington 
to Mud Lake was more successful. There bass 
would not look at pork or any artificial bait, but 
freely took some young frogs caught along the 
lake shore. The frogs were perhaps two inches 
long. A light fly-rod kept them skipping about 
most naturally, and as long as they lasted one 
could not ask for better fishing, but as soon as 
the supply became exhausted it was the old story 
retold, not a strike or a rise at anything. 
The only failures I ever scored with pork 
rind were around Seattle. Perhaps conditions 
were wrong. It may be the water was too clear. 
Possibly there was too much natural food, but 
most likely the fish were just notional and con¬ 
trary. One thing is certain, I have faith in it 
and if I ever go that way again I will try if 
the bass have changed their minds. 
From Seattle a trip was taken across to 
Victoria, where much salt water fishing was 
done. We will talk about catching salmon— 
they liked salt pork and various kinds of kelp 
fish—later on. 
The most remarkable happening there was 
catbhing a very large skate with a light line and 
small rod. 
Not so wonderful had it been a game fish, 
because a fighting fish sooner or later will tire 
himself out by his mad rushes, but here was a 
dull loggy fellow continually sinking and work¬ 
ing along the bottom. The line would only 
stand a thirty-pound pull, and twice the skate 
ran it out until hardly a yard was left, and there 
was constant danger of its fouling something 
along the bottom which would end the struggle 
in the fish’s favor. At last he came nearly to 
the top looking to see what was bothering him. 
Up to that time I thought I had hooked a large 
halibut. As soon as the fish saw the launch, 
down he went again, and it took a good three- 
quarters of an hour to get him alongside, then 
a false move was made in trying to gaff him, 
and away he went like a shot running out over 
200 feet of line. It was twenty minutes more 
before he was brought in again, and this time 
he was gaffed. Then began a furious ruction 
which ended when one of the party got a line 
around his tail, and with two men helping, 
hauled him aboard the launch. Still the fish 
struggled, and his last effort was splintering 
into fragments the handle of an oar which some¬ 
one put into his mouth. Had it been a man’s 
foot instead of an oar there would have been 
one more unfortunate to go through life a 
cripple. 
The skate from nose to tip of tail measured 
nearly six feet. He was four feet broad and 
weighed no pounds. 
A local restaurant served his wings to an 
invited few. Epicures say skate’s wings and 
shark's fins are in a class by themselves. Per¬ 
haps, but for me all such delicacies go into the 
discard. 
Danbury, Conn., Nov. 4. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: Kindly mail two copies of your 
“Handbook for Sportsmen,” just out. 
I should have written in September to you, 
as the little advertisement in your paper sold 
my two setters before the ink was quite dry. 
I had seventeen letters and three personal calls. 
This speaks well for Forest and Stream as an 
advertising medium. 
A mixed bag of New England shooting yes¬ 
terday will give you an idea what is expected 
of a New England shooting dog.. My companion 
and I killed together three European partridges 
each, two ruffed grouse, two quail, three wood¬ 
cock. one English pheasant and four snipe. Of 
course such things do not happen every day. 
C. F. Brockel, 
Manager Danbury Book Company. 
Philadelphia, Pa., Nov. 5 . —Editor Forest 
and Stream: Reports from Urbana and Remlik, 
Va., also Kinsale, near the mouth of the Potomac 
River, advise me of an abundance of quail. All 
conditions for nesting the past summer have 
been favorable and undoubtedly second nestings 
have occurred. Many Baltimore, Washington 
and Richmond sportsmen take advantage of 
these shootings. Fishing at Urbana and Remlik 
is fine just now. Dick Swiveller. 
A. C. A. Membership. 
New Members Proposed. 
Atlantic Division:-—James B. McMahon, Jr., 
510 West 148th St., New York, N. Y., by Fred 
W. Baldwin. 
Northern Division:—W. Philip, Galt, Ont., 
Canada, by J. N. MacKendrick. 
Western Division:—F. G. Winter, Railway 
Ex., Chicago, Ill., by Henry C. Morse; George 
A. H. Scott, 1145 So. Wabash Ave., Chicago, Ill., 
by Robert J. Wilkin and T. C. Angell. 
New Members Elected. 
Atlantic Division:—6793, John Oscar Rey¬ 
nolds, 1119 Anderson St., Trenton, N. J.; 6794, 
Harold C. Fackert, 245 Clinton Ave., Jersey City, 
New Jersey. 
