714 
FOREST AND STREAM 
June 7, 1913 
They spent the entire year shut in between the 
mountains and I felt that they were entitled to 
some diversion. 
My companion joined me at 6:30. and from 
that time until 8:00 we fished industriously. But 
the results were nothing but bass. My com¬ 
panion is a very expert angler, and he was sure 
that he could get some trout. But each fish that 
he towed out—and he towed out a goodly num¬ 
ber—was another fighting bass. There were 
trout there, bub they were not feeding; the 
tannery water discouraged them, probably, 
d'his section of Pine Creek, and the whole 
stream, in fact, is great water for bass. They 
are there in countless numbers and will some 
day so completely exhaust the food that they 
will likely abandon the stream for a time. They 
feed even now largely on flies, and I know of 
Jio place under the sun where a man who likes 
to catch bass on a fly can have a better time, 
lify friend had wonderful stories of how he 
fishes with a fly and a little spinner in August 
and September and what catches he makes. 
My companion had arranged for a trip the 
following afternoon to Pine Creek above An- 
sonia, where the valley widens out and where 
the stream is not so rough. The train left 
Wellsboro at 12 o’clock and deposited us at 
Ansonia in about three-quarters of an hour. We 
had to walk a mile before striking the stream 
where it was thought we should begin. It was 
hot and close and to our utter discouragement 
we had been fishing only a few minutes when 
the water began to turn brown. For an hour 
we fished without seeing a sign of a trout. I 
finally STiggested that we try minnows instead 
of flies. My companion, who is always prepared 
for any emergency, produced from the bottom 
of his creel a minnow net, and while I was 
changing from flies to a leader with swivels 
and a No. 24 Cincinnati bass hook, he proceeded 
to hunt the eddies for minnows. They seemed 
to be very scarce, but in the course of a few 
minutes he brought me a fine red-sided minnow. 
This was a genuine trout minnow with a small 
head, and in a deep dark pool I soon got a 
sharp strike and after a short struggle landed 
a fine broad speckled trout. I always particu¬ 
larly enjoy a little minnow fishing for trout. As 
a steady diet it cannot compare with fly-fishing; 
but the minnow fisherman, it must be remem¬ 
bered, sees his fish strike. He seldom gets 
a little fish, and he is almost sure to land his 
fish, if he takes his time to it. 
Well, we spent the rest of the afternoon 
catching minnows and then catching trout. In 
all, we got nearly a dozen fine fellows. But 
the minnows were so scarce that it took more 
time to get a minnow than it did to get a trout. 
In a piece of broad, shallow, flat water I towed 
out two lusty trout that I caught on the same 
minnow. Once I saw a fish rise to a fly and 
since my companion said that there were no 
bass in this part of the stream I put on my 
flies and started in to get a fine trout. But long 
ago there was something said about the plans 
of mice and men that is still true, for when I 
had hooked and played him in fine style for a 
few minutes he gave a mighty leap and dis¬ 
played himself as a lusty bass. 
On the mountain side just above us all the 
while we were fishing we could see a great 
forest fire raging. At times, when it apparently 
struck new material, it would send out great 
volumes of dark smoke that completely hid the 
sun and darkened the sky. Once we were so 
near it that we could hear the noise and see the 
flames. Toward evening it died down and that 
night went entirely out under a heavy rain. The 
State is planting some of the bare mountain 
sides of this section with young pine trees. I 
had talked the evening before with Mr. Cox, 
of Wellsboro, who with a gang of men, had 
set out that day some nine thousand little trees 
on the sides of Mount Tom, a mountain that 
was stripped bare of its timber many years ago. 
This planting is great work, but a forest fire 
may do' as much damage in a day as can be 
repaired by planting in fifty years. I shall 
have more faith in reforesting our waste land 
when fire regulations are more strict. I never 
tasted better trout than those we cooked that 
evening in Wellsboro from our catch of the 
afternoon. Trout to be at their best should be 
cooked on the day they are caught. 
The next morning it was raining, and all 
day long there were showers and clearing spells 
that raised the anglers’ hopes, only to dash them 
again with another downpour. My companion 
and I went again to Nessmuk’s grave and looked 
for the hundredth time at the monument, every 
detail of which is so familiar to both of us. 
Then a bucket full of fine trout minnows were 
caught to be ready for the next day. We did 
not propose to be caught again on Pine Creek 
without bait. 
All night the rain poured down, but in the 
morning blue sky began to show itself again. 
But what of the streams? The little brook flow¬ 
ing through'the town was almost a river. Still 
my companion, whom unqualified successes with 
rod and gun have made sanguine, urged me to go. 
He knew that Pine Creek above Ansonia would 
be clear. My train went at 6:40 and I was 
compelled to make up my mind promptly. My 
companion was to work that day, and I must go 
alone. Before I reached the junction I decided 
that there could be no fishing in Pine Creek; 
there was too much water everywhere. I then 
concluded to go to Asaph Run if for no other 
reason than to be able to say that I had fished 
one of Nessmuk’s old streams. 
Many years ago I read an article by Ness- 
muk on “Catching Trout on the June Rise.” He 
told of how he had crossed the mountain one 
afternoon in June from Wellsboro to Asaph 
Run; how he had fished down this run until 
evening and then had stayed all night in a 
woodsman’s cabin; and how next morning in 
fishing on down the stream he had found in a 
large pool such great numbers of trout that in 
two hours he caught all he could carry. These 
trout had been lying in Marsh Creek at the 
mouth of Asaph in the cool water until a flood 
had allowed them to go up the smaller stream 
in a body. Nessmuk had found them before 
they had scattered along the stream. Once, and 
only once in forty years of trout fishing have 
I caught them on the June rise. I, too, got all 
I could carry. I wanted to fish the Asaph be¬ 
cause of Nessmuk’s story. When I got off the 
train and went to look at the stream, I knew I 
should make no great catch. The stream, be¬ 
ing a mountain stream, was comparatively clear, 
but it was very high. There was only here and 
there a place that could be fished, and when 
wading it I should need to be careful to keep 
from being washed away. At the end of a long 
stretch that in ordinary water must be a beau¬ 
tiful pool, I set my minnow bucket in the edge 
of the stream and rigged up. My minnow had 
been pulled only a few feet, when a trout flashed 
up and took it. The trout never let go and I 
soon slid it out on the gravel, where the cur¬ 
rent went into a deep pool at right angles. 
Here I got three good trout that bit and hung 
on in a way that always makes the bait fisher¬ 
man’s heart glad. I had to leave the stream at 
noon to return by train to Wellsboro, and by 
that time my big basket was half filled and I 
had all the trout I needed. Wherever I could 
find a little relatively still water of any depth 
I could catch a nice trout. Below a little fall 
in a deep pool that the high water could not 
affect seriously I coaxed up and caught a num¬ 
ber of good-sized trout. It was such an attrac¬ 
tive place that I spent nearly an hour over it 
and enjoyed the time thoroughly. I wish I 
could have seen the stream at its best. It runs 
through a lonely country, between high moun¬ 
tains, and I know how Nessmuk must have 
loved getting away from the close work in his 
shop to a place like this by the side of a clear 
singing stream under the blue sky. He prob¬ 
ably camped here at times and saw the moon 
and the stars cross this lonely valley at night 
and the sun rise at dawn over the purple moun¬ 
tain tops. Thanks to intelligent stockings, Asaph 
Run, as well as the other mountain streams in 
this locality are nearly as well supplied with 
trout as when Nessmuk fished here. 
That evening I returned home. At the 
Junction I took a chair car on the New York 
Central in order that I might face the stream 
without inconvenience. In the lives of all of 
us are certain experiences that remain with us 
as long as life lasts, and I am quite sure that 
this ride down through the Pine Creek gorge 
is something that I shall recall again and again. 
It was near the close of day, and yet there was 
plenty of light to see everything distinctly. Pine 
Creek was bank full and running wild from 
mountain to mountain. This alone would have 
been a sight worth going far to see. But the 
particular thing that made- the ride memorable 
was the number of streams of water falling from 
the mountain sides. There were scores of these 
—sometimes in a single mile there would be ten 
or twelve. They fell at times sheer down from 
the tops of the mountains, and some single leaps 
must have been for several hundred feet. They 
were white water and could be distinctly traced 
against the dark mountain sides from where 
they sprang from the side of the precipice or 
leaped over the top until they spread out in a 
white fan where they entered the creek. Oc¬ 
casionally I would get a view up a narrow 
mountain valley that was sending down a 
broader white stream that had in it falls higher 
than those of Niagara. The heavy rains of the 
previous days and nights had apparently filled 
the mountains with water, and this was escap¬ 
ing into the main stream at every possible point. 
The train ran carefully, fearing washouts, and I 
had plenty of time to drink my fill of the most 
wonderful succession of scenes that it has ever 
been my good fortune to see. 
But finally night shut down and the trip to 
Nessmuk’s country was nearly over. As I rode 
on through the dark my thoughts dwelt stead¬ 
ily on the man who in spite of some adverse 
circumstances got so much out of living. ....ike 
