FOREST AND STREAM 
241 
Heeding the Cal! of the Wild 
Recounting the Sad Fate of the Little Fellow Who Bit Off More Than He CouldChew—and Other Bass Stories 
By Wm. A. Jordan, Jr. 
A MONG the low, gray hills in the Verde 
Valley of northern Arizona there is a 
lake. Though small, it is worthy of this 
appellation, in view of the fact that no larger 
body of water exists within a considerable dis¬ 
tance. It bears the name of Peck Lake, obvi¬ 
ously so-named on account of its diminutive size. 
During the calm, warm days of summer a 
mossy green scum forms over the surface. But 
in "the cool and breezy days of autumn and win¬ 
ter that scum is replaced with the breath of 
Jack Frost. When the water becomes clear and 
cool,—for in the summer it is turpid, due to the 
fact that the carp are moving about more exten¬ 
sively-—one may notice that the broad tails of 
the gamy bass begin to disturb the surface of 
the water more frequently. To view a scene like 
this brings to life in a man that vital spark 
which tells him that the beauties of nature are 
for his enjoyment as well as for that of each 
and every other organism within its realm. 
“Why then is it not time for me to get out 
my rod and tackle, and enter into the true pleas¬ 
ures of a sportsman,” is the utterance of my 
inmost thoughts on such an occasion. These are 
the very outcries which my own nature sends 
out in answer; or, in other words, “The call of 
the wild.” 
It is one of those calls which I will here at¬ 
tempt to answer in such language that all the 
brother sportsmen within the attractive bounds 
of this magazine, may conceive of its meaning 
plainly. 
On the morning of November 22, 1913, my fa¬ 
ther, one of my brothers, and myself, were on 
the way to the above described lake with the 
sole object of obtaining a bag of black bass. 
The lake lies about five miles to the north of 
our home. The wind that morning blew cold 
and chill, directly against our faces. It seemed 
as though we would freeze before the red ball 
should cast his rays within the expanse of our 
feeling. But, after beating our feet on the 
rig-bed, and clapping our hands to keep warm, 
we arrived shortly after eight o'clock. 
The longer we fished the stronger the wind 
grew, and therefore the rougher -the water. 
Nevertheless, we still held to one of an angler’s 
many patience sustainers. It was the thought 
that if the wind (existing condition) would sub¬ 
side (alternate with some other supposedly help¬ 
ful condition) the fish would bite. Sometimes 
such a thought will serve as a powerful incen¬ 
tive to a fisherman’s patient and long-continued 
attempts. 
We fished to the extremes of the favorable 
shore line in one direction, and started back, 
re-attempting to secure that which we had not, 
and retracing our former course. It was then 
nearing noon when the waves disappeared, and 
the surface was calm. But in spite of this good 
change, we had almost decided to pull in our 
lines and call it an unfruitful task. 
Hello! what was that? It was the splash and 
the struggle of a black bass some distance down 
the lake from where I was fishing. My brother 
Walter had enticed one of the ravenous fellows 
to fight a minnow. When I saw him lift that 
shiny bass from the water’s edge, my feelings 
were pacified and my ambition renewed at once. 
You, of course, know that when you see your 
companion catch a fish at a time when you have 
been catching none, you are convinced by some 
occult power that that is the very best place for 
you to fish. So, possessing a similar thought, I 
quickened my pace in order to get there before 
he should catch all of them. Just before I 
reached the place where he was fishing, he drew 
out another of the same sort and size. They 
were not large fish; but they were sufficiently 
large to persuade me that the fish had begun to 
strike the bait. 
My brother caught those two near a dead ash 
tree which had fallen into the lake. As he did 
not continue to fish there for a longer time, it 
seemed to me that there might be a good op¬ 
portunity of getting another one near the dead 
tree. So I walked cautiously upon the rocky 
shore, which lay two feet or more above the 
dead snag, and dropped a lively minnow of the 
common sucker specie into the water between the 
shore and the nearly-concealed tree trunk. 
Slap! went the cork float as it was suddenly 
disturbed from its floating position. Down 
deeper and deeper it sank, until I saw that it 
was being taken under the tree trunk. Then 
I immediately gave the line a quick, short jerk. 
I threw a half-pound bass out, high and dry on 
the hillside. Without hesitating I walked quietly 
to the minnow pail, put on another minnow of 
the same size and specie as the first, and then 
returned to the lucky spot—if such an expression 
is permissible in a tale of this sort. The min¬ 
now was dropped into the water with a “plunk,” 
and within two feet of the former strike. The 
bait had not more than sunk to the depth per¬ 
mitted by the float, when the same thing hap¬ 
pened again. I did as before, but the fish did not 
come out with the hook, which was stripped. 
The scamp got the minnow. 
Of course this event roused my excitement 
to a more intense state than before. In view of 
the fact that this place was a suitable one, I 
soon had the minnow pail at the place of action. 
Another minnow was soon fastened on the; 
hook, and then dropped back into the same place 
as before. By lifting the minnow to the surface, 
and then lowering it as if it were taking its 
natural movements and position, a similar strike 
was made at the bait. Having allowed the line 
to be taken quite well under water, again I at¬ 
tempted to land what I thought was the same 
identical victim which had eluded my hook just 
before. When I exerted a quick pull on the line, 
out came a little, ten-inch bass. I saw it was the 
same fish which previously took a minnow suc¬ 
cessfully from my hook, because on exerting the 
pull, both minnows were ejected from its gullet, 
out on to the rocks. Both of these minnows were 
used to further advantage, as will be shown in 
a later paragraph. It was a remarkable occur¬ 
rence with so small a fish. 
Now I will relate another thrilling fish story. 
Perhaps this will not be so thrilling and excit¬ 
ing to those who have trouble in convincing 
others of the truth of their fishing experiences: 
The very next thing, after having laid the last 
fish on the bank to rest, I rebaited my hook with 
one of the minnows which had been ejected from 
the mouth of the bass. It seemed surprising that 
a minnow could be alive after having been 
crushed in the jaws of its most dreaded enemy. 
Nevertheless, it was alive. I dropped it in the 
water among the boulders. The minnow was al¬ 
ternately raised to the surface and then allowed 
to sink. 
After the minnow had played around and 
caused a small disturbance, it was struck with 
all the fury of one of its enemies. While I stood 
motionless on the bank with my rod gripped 
tight in my hands, the line sank deeper and 
deeper. Suddenly it stopped sinking, and as 
the surface of the water was calm I could see the 
line make many successive twitches, so slight was 
their force that small wavelets were set up. 
This presumption was not long in entering my 
mind: I thought that the fish which had taken 
the bait was crushing it so as to make it edible. 
Then the fight began when I exerted the first 
pull. It did not last long, for the bass with 
which I had come in contact was too much for 
the light weight trout line. He broke it as if it 
were a cotton fiber. This is not all. 
With grave determination I brought out an¬ 
other hook, tied it to my line, and rebaited it 
with the other of the once-used minnows. It 
was lowered cautiously into the same hole, and 
manipulated in the same manner as was the 
previous one. Only a few minutes elapsed until 
the same plunk! came to my ear. I repeated my 
efforts as in the other instance, but I am glad 
to say that the fellow on the other end of the 
line did not get away. After slashing with the 
line criss-cross in the water for a minute or so, 
he was hauled in—a four-pounder. His mouth 
was well open, for he was exhausted. To add 
to the excitement of the crisis, just as I had the 
prize well out of the water it dropped off the 
hook, and fell in the shallow water, with myself 
on top of it. By a fortunate stroke of the hand 
I raised it against the grassy bank, and there 
held it with my own weight until my fingers had 
their deathly grasp among its gills. When I 
looked around my rod was lying below me in the 
water. Piscis extremus. 
Shortly after this wonderful event the wind 
began its frolicking with the waves. My luck 
was ended. So was it with my father and brother, 
until later in the afternoon, when each of them 
had a fine strike. My father had a tussle with a 
large one, which succeeded in breaking his line 
by running under a snag with it. That was very 
discouraging to him of course, because he had only 
the honor of catching the smallest one in the 
bag. It weighed less than a quarter of a pound, 
and was slightly longer than the minimum size 
limit, seven inches. 
Perhaps my bad ending with the fish was 
partly due to the fact that I was tempted to 
walk around on the opposite side of the lake to 
try the shotgun on two red-head ducks. They 
had been swimming around as it convinced that 
they were in no danger. The medicine took, and 
I got the ducks. 
As the waves grew higher, and our good spirits 
vanished into dying embers of discouragement, 
we decided it was a good time to make our de¬ 
parture. With our bag of seven fish and two 
ducks we arrived home at sunset. 
