Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy. 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JANUARY 24, 1914 
VOL. LXXXII.— No. 4. 
22 Thames St., New York. 
Now That Reminds Me” 
By O. W. Smith 
OW, that reminds me” of one of those 
1^1 little known trout streams, and Wiscon¬ 
sin possesses scores of them, some natu¬ 
ral water, others the result of wise plantings. 
Ofttimes the agriculturists through whose lands 
the little creeks trickle do not know the luminous 
secret of their seldom pools, and, such is human 
nature, few anglers will enlighten them. So far 
as I know for four years I was the only fisher¬ 
man who visited the particular streamlet of which 
I am talking, four years of bliss and undisputed 
possession, then in an unguarded moment I told 
a friend of my discovery and that was the begin¬ 
ning of the end. No little stream will endure 
over-fishing, and not all anglers are satisfied to 
fish a little stream in a little way, satisfied with 
small returns for much labor; but to those who 
are and know how to fish them, the creeklets are 
a source of unfailing delight and recreation. 
The manner of my discovery was rather 
peculiar. Many a time had I crossed the narrow 
ribbon of pearly water, for it made its way be¬ 
tween two pin-feathered cities of some two thou¬ 
sand inhabitants each and about six miles from 
either, but never had I investigated it, though 
I had noticed that it appeared like a ‘‘spring 
brook.” But one hot July day I was out for a 
bicycle ride, in the course of which I found the 
creek in my path and, being thirsty, I thought I 
would test its drinkability. The water proved 
sweet and moderately cold. Now, I don’t know 
whether you will believe me or not, but I hon¬ 
estly believe that I can tell trout water by its 
taste. You know how it is with a dyed-in-the- 
wool trout-fisher. Once I had sampled the quality 
of the water, imagination did the rest. I could 
see trout darting beneath the bridge over which 
I had rumbled and trundled so many times. I 
followed the trickle, it was little better, up into a 
cedar thicket and the flashings and dartings I 
saw there exalted me into the —teenth Heaven. 
I hastened home, breathing no word of my discov¬ 
ery, not even to the partner of my piscatorial 
joys, so fearful was I that my secret would out 
I preserved my soul with what patience I could 
until the Fates decreed that I might have a day 
off, then, with Sunday rod and folding creel, I 
straddled my faithful wheel and hied me to the 
stream. 
Now I have said that not every one can fish 
the little streams, and I have about come to be¬ 
lieve that such fishers are born, not made; in¬ 
deed, there are anglers, and good ones, too, who 
find it absolutely impossible to follow their tor¬ 
tuous courses. A man must be the possessor of 
unlimited patience, that is a prime requisite for 
such streams are enough to vex the soul of a 
Job; then he must know instinctively where the 
trout lie, the possibilities of an upturned stump, 
overhanging bank or miniature pool; further¬ 
more he also must be able to steal through inter¬ 
lacing brush as did the Indian of yesterday when 
on the war-path. Once let a man really love lit¬ 
tle rivers, learn how to fish them and succeed in 
taking a two-pound sparkler from their seldom 
pools, and my word for it, he will remain a fisher 
of little streams all the rest of his angling days. 
He will use bait most of the time, hoppers or 
earth worms, for few of the brooklets lend 
themselves to the fly fisher’s art unless they are 
meadow streams, though when the average trickle 
wanders far beneath the direct rays of the sun it 
becomes untenable for trout. But let me haste 
to the end of my yarn, the fire burns low. 
Reaching the bridge, I glanced up and down 
the road to see that I was unobserved, then care¬ 
fully concealed my wheel in the brush, jointed my 
Sunday rod, an eight-foot pocket affair, rather 
stiff, I selected it for just that sort of fishing, 
baited up with a worm and went to it. Now I 
should say that a baited hook had never been 
cast in that stream for the trout were there and 
ravenously hungry, fairly tumbling over them¬ 
selves to reach the worms. Why, from the first 
little pool I took six good fish, and when I say 
good fish I mean that they would average eight 
or nine inches in length. Only those who have 
been up against such a proposition will believe 
me, but I solemnly aver that in less than two 
hours I took thirty-five trout that filled my large 
basket chock full, and one of them weighed, when 
I reached home, after it had bled like a stuck 
pig, two pounds and a half. The taking of that 
monster was an event and well worth telling 
about. You fellows who took those four and 
five-pound rainbows from the Peshtigo River will 
consider a two and a half pound fish a small one, 
THE PROOF OF THE FISH IS IN THE CATCHING. 
