140 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Aug. 3, 1912 
Now, that Reminds Me”—V. 
By O. W. SMITH 
Photograph by the Author. 
N OW, that reminds me’ of some grass¬ 
hopper fishing I once did for brook 
trout. 
"Not a great ways out from the city of Green 
Bay, Wis., there are several little trout streams, 
unimportant, but naturally much fished. I pre¬ 
sume that those streams have local names by 
which fishermen designate them, but so far as 
I am concerned all are nameless. One found in 
Pittsfield township has always been an especial 
favorite of mine. I fished it often during eight 
years, and naturally became well acquainted with 
it from the swamp in which it had its genesis 
to the Suamico River into which it emptied. It 
was little and unimportant, and yet I look back 
upon those days spent along its banks as among 
the most enjoyable of my piscatorial experiences. 
After all it is not so much the fish one catches 
as the attachment one forms for a stream that 
makes fishing attractive. 
“The Pittsfield stream was visited by my wife 
and I one hot August morning. We walked in 
from Tremble, a little box-like depot on the 
C. M. & St. P„ which we had reached by a 
freight train. Our good friend A., a farmer 
whose comfortable house stands hard by the 
creek, was surprised to see us, but as usual ex¬ 
tended a hearty welcome. 
“When we informed Mr. A. that we were 
after trout, and that we were going to get them, 
too, he laughingly promised to eat raw all we 
caught. It seemed that the local fishermen, 
farmer boys, insisted that either the trout had 
left the creek, or that they were all caught out; 
in any event trout fishing in that stream was 
away below par. But we were not daunted. 
Lives there a fisherman worthy of the name who 
does not think that he will secure a basket of 
fish even though experienced anglers inform him 
that it is an ‘off day,’ or 'the fish have migrated 
to colder waters’ ? Shouldering our rods, while 
our friend grinned, we set out for the cow pas¬ 
ture, a favorite portion of the stream with us. 
“ ‘Say,’ shouted Mr. A., making a trumpet of 
his hands, ‘don’t forget that I am going to eat 
raw all you bring back.’ 
“If such a taunt as that would not stir an 
angler to great efforts, nothing would. Mentally 
I resolved to stay by those fish until I had 
enough to make our fun-loving friend a- sub¬ 
stantial meal, though my wife was plainly down¬ 
cast. 
“Early though it was, the air was fairly stifl¬ 
ing, a premonition of what was to follow, yet 
there was something about the shimmering at¬ 
mosphere and sere landscape that was thought 
provoking and satisfactory. For all the world 
the landscape had what one might term an Ari¬ 
zonian aspect. Every mid-summer angler knows 
what I mean, a time when the water is low, fish 
shy and sulky, pool after pool apparently tenant¬ 
less, flies unattractive and worms valueless. Well, 
we fished and we fished. Up and down the pas¬ 
ture we worked, exercising all our skill and em¬ 
ploying all the little tricks common to old trout 
fishermen, but without avail. Oh! I caught one 
miserable little fingerling less than four inches 
long which I promptly liberated with the in¬ 
junction, ‘Go home and grow up.’ It began to 
look as though our farmer friend was to have 
the laugh on us, a matter more unendurable than 
a mere fishless creel. Discouraged, my wife un¬ 
jointed her rod and returned to the house to 
discuss clothes and child training with the far¬ 
mer’s wife. Shortly after I heard a shout and 
looked up to behold Mr. A. on the back porch 
going through an energetic pantomime of trans¬ 
ferring something from a pan to his mouth. I 
shook my fist at him and hurried out of 
sight. 
“When well screened by brush, which grew in 
clumps along the creek, I sat down close by the 
water’s edge to think the matter out. I had 
tried all my flies; I had used worms, so there 
was but one thing more to do, catch a grass¬ 
hopper. Now the short-cropped grass was just 
alive with those insect's, but I worked for fully 
five minutes before I succeeded in capturing one 
of the lively fellows. Then, face bathed in per¬ 
spiration, with unholy delight, I impaled the 
struggling ’hopper upon my hook. Crawling up 
to within twenty feet of an open and unprotected 
pool, I sent the bait whirling through the air. 
It landed upon the far bank of the stream well 
back from the water’s edge, where I let it re¬ 
main for some moments; the fine line held well 
above the water. When certain that any sus¬ 
picions which might have been awakened in the 
brain of some watchful fish by the shadow of 
the flying insect had been allayed, I gave the 
line a sharp jerk. Instantly, and in a very 
natural manner, the hooked ’hopper leaped out 
upon the surface of the water. There was a 
swirl and a tug and I had hooked for the stream 
a good fish. I honestly was sorry he was so 
large, for I could not throw him out by strength 
of rod, therefore in playing him alarmed any 
other fish there might have been in the pool, but 
there were other pools, a matter for which I was 
devoutly thankful. 
“From the next hole above I stole three fish 
without its sly inhabitants discovering that the 
grasshoppers, which jumped into the water, car¬ 
ried with them a barbed hook. It was great 
sport, the difficulties adding thereto immeasur¬ 
ably. A shadow or a heavy footfall upon the 
bank was sufficient to warn every speckled rascal 
that danger was nigh, and they then wormed 
back under the overreaching bank from which 
hiding places they could not be induced to move. 
I visited several holes from which I failed to 
secure a single fish, but others surrendered two 
and sometimes three of their bright denizens. 
As I worked upward, always moving very cau¬ 
tiously, I found the fish more numerous; perhaps 
because the country yokels had fished the lower 
reaches of the creek more steadfastly, or prob¬ 
ably because the trout were seeking the cooler 
water of the upper portions of the stream. 
“For some distance the creek made its way 
through a woodlot where it spread out and trick¬ 
led over gravel and small stones, utterly without 
pools or even moderately deep water. Of course 
I caught nothing there, though now and then I 
would see a small fish dart like a shadow through 
the water. Knowing the stream as I did, I took 
a short cut through the woods to another open 
pasture with which I was acquainted, located 
some half a mile or so up the stream. There 
several small springs gave liberally of their cold 
water, and there of course I found fish. Profit¬ 
ing by my experience lower down, I approached 
the water with great caution, cast my kicking 
grasshoppers from a great distance, and when¬ 
ever possible swung my fish clear of the water 
without resorting to my landing net, but several 
times I hooked fish so large that I was glad to 
utilize that convenient tool. Because I cast from 
