Jan. 31, 1914. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
145 
Sir Micropterous Salmoides 
Wherein Was Contained a Pleasant Surprise 
By Robert Page Lincoln 
I N the history of fishingciom there is a time 
when angling inclined people especially ex¬ 
ult, and that is in, and around, the opening 
of the season for fishing, whether for trout, bass 
or any other variety of the finny brethren. Par¬ 
ticularly, m the good old bread and butter state 
of Minnesota, where the mosquitoes come from 
despite my pen pictures, when the law says you 
may fish for bass, a thousand and one gladly 
take down their rods, minnows, or whatever they 
choose to fish with, and hie them away with 
hearts full and anticipations at the tide-watei 
level. Bass in the state of Minnesota is a by¬ 
word. Sir Salmoides is wooed and won by 
every manner known to science, here, there and 
everywhere, North, South, East and West, tn 
lakes innumerable. There was one certain year 
when I broke all rules and regulations. I did 
not go as usual to the lakes, but by some fas¬ 
cinating premonition I chose for my opening- 
bout the famous Minnehana creek. The reason 
I did this is easily answered. The previous year 
I had found out that at a certain mill-pond, basa 
were found in great numbers. Farming gentry 
alone seemed aware of the joyful state of con¬ 
ditions. But the fact did not escape my pene¬ 
trating eye. I tabulated the welcome fact in 
the memory book, and true to my word, when 
the fishing bars were lowered I made ready for 
my opening tryout in the Minnehaha Creek, and 
people would have laughed at me for my simple 
Waltonian intentions, assuring themselves that l 
would return as empty handed as when I went 
out. This did not lower my spirit of resistence, 
however. I let one man in on the deal. This fel¬ 
low runs by the name of Jim, for short, other¬ 
wise James, in polite society. Jim had been anx¬ 
iously studying folders, and astonishing railroad 
pamphlets, and the more he had studied the 
more puzzled he had become as to where he 
should go. I gently broke the news to him. 
“Impossible,” uttered Jim with a smile of 
gentle derision, born of resignation to the inev¬ 
itable. “There may be pickerel and suckers in 
any amount of numbers, in 'the Minnehaha, but 
surely you do not go so far as to say that there 
are bass there also. Tell me about it. What 
have you seen, and when?” 
“There are bass there I tell you,” I said, and 
explained the state of circumstances witnessed 
the previous year. “There are bass in that mill¬ 
pond galore. I have seen with my own eyes, this 
very spring, and I should know. But there is 
one trouble. The farmers hold rights to the 
shore-line, and you cannot walk around there 
without being shooed off.” 
“Well then, how in the world are we going 
to fish there,” broke in my fish-patriotic friend, 
lifting his brows to the hair line. “Is it a case 
of wade the water.” 
“Wade, nothing,” I shot back, safe and smit¬ 
ing. “I have the canoe. On the water we are 
as safe, and free, from being driven away, as 
though we were a hundred miles from civiliza¬ 
tion. All we have to do is to haul over the canoe 
on the buckboard, slide it off and in, and fish. 
What easier?” 
“Well this certainly is good news, and is 
out-of-the-ordinary for a certain,” admitted my 
Photos by O. Warren Smith. 
friend. "To show you that I have confidence in 
this, I will go with you, and we will thoroughly 
work the pond, and any pools, there may bt. 
You arrange and I will follow. We will spend 
opening day on that pond. We will make a 
day of it.” 
I never went about arranging for anything 
in this line with such a tingling sensation in my 
blood, as on that day, before opening. It was 
something far from the ordinary, as my friend 
had said. I was loaded down to my knees with 
confidence. I selected my best steel rod, the 
best reel, and some of the finest minnows fol¬ 
lowed suit, as members of the collection. I will 
admit that I was on edge, and breathing like a 
steam engine. The fever was on me thick and 
hot. What would the old pond yield? Had I 
not seen those bass there in the shallows? Then 
I asked myself, why in the name of all things 
was this not the best place of all; it was noi 
frequented. From the road it was impossible 
to see the bass, for there the water was deep, 
and dark, way up to the shore. But over there 
on the other side, at the pasture edge, I had 
witnessed the truth, and knew that a veritable 
treasure existed within our reach. While the 
resort lakes were being littered with enthusiasts, 
and near-enthusiasts, here would we be, alone, 
with the whole fish world at our mercy. Jim I 
dragged out to the house the night before open¬ 
ing. We were to get an early start. He had be¬ 
gun to see things as I had, and was equally as 
eager for spoil. Promptly, at the hour of three, 
in the morning, the alarm clock jangled a wel¬ 
come and we routed out, and hurrying down¬ 
stairs prepared a hot breakfast, and made our 
lunch. Then out and away, while yet the stars 
were in the heavens, and gloom lay embanked 
all around us. We would strike the point of 
destination early, easily before the rising of the 
sun, and would be on the pond when the first 
rosy streamers of Dawn were mellowing the 
East. The country side was silent. We met 
no one. And reaching the pond a still more in¬ 
tense silence surrounded us. We alone, in liv¬ 
ing form, held the key to the situation. Driving 
into a secluded pasture, we unharnessed the 
horse, and staked him out; and after a few 
more preliminary preparations we got out the 
canoe, and carried it to the water, slid it in, and 
were soon at the paddles. 
Upon the murmurless waters we rested, 
waiting for the coming of dawn; we smoked a 
bit, got things in order, and tried to sleep some. 
Gradually it became more light, and dawn took 
possession of the world. The universal gray 
tinge to things swelled in volume as the moments 
slipped- by; the East grew redder, and finally 
the moment of moments had come. We both 
selected frogs for our bait, with Hunter weed¬ 
less hooks to hold them. Gliding silently into 
the bay, in question, where I had seen some fine 
specimens some days before, we began to cast. 
“Never could wish for better surroundings.” 
said Jim, whose master eye took in all there was 
to see. “There!” His frog plunked into the 
brim alongside of a fallen, and sunken, tree. 
And I say this: No sooner had that frog pirouet¬ 
ted to its destination 'than there was a swirl in 
the water; a savage jerk, and a giant bass had 
the thing in its power. And further do I make 
this interesting declaration. I had trolled my 
frog halfway in, when likewise a bass had mine, 
right across the middle, and with a deft move¬ 
ment, with thumb on the cored line, I set the 
fine-pointed hook in the iaw of the pugnacious 
one. 
Now, things happened. Fishing from a 
canoe demands skill and ingenuity of balancing. 
We had to play those fish seated, or kneeling, one 
ON A GOOD STREAM. 
