Aug. 24. 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
253 
Kennel. 
THE BATAVIA SHOW 
EIGHTH ANNUAL DOG SHOW OF THE 
Genesee County Kennel Club 
SEPTEMBER 19th to 21st 
Our premium lists are mailed. Did you get yours? 
Seventy-one winners’ classes. Money in all breeds assuring 
one point; $ 1,500 cash. Over $200 in cut glass prizes. 
Judge all breeds, Mr. James Mortimer 
ENTRIES CLOSE SEPTEMBER 11th 
Address all communications to 
CHAS. W. GARDINER, Supt. . - Batavia, N. Y. 
high ground. I’ve just looked at a map and find 
Marr’s Landing on it. I am tempted to ask why. 
For then Marr didn’t live there and apparently 
no one else did. I had been told that a man lived 
at Marr’s who could deliver the best fly-fishing 
ever, if one could only persuade him to it. 
After “landing” and reaching the high 
ground of the bank, I found myself on a neck of 
land with a big “slough” (pronounced slew) on 
one side and the swirling river eddies on the 
other, not a shack in sight, and I began to get a 
beautiful case of cold feet. This wasn’t helped 
much by having a crazy Siwash suddenly yell, 
sprint by me and plunge into the river after his 
annual Turkish (?) bath, just as I was finding 
the mainland end of the slough. At least a thou¬ 
sand red-heads (mine among ’em) rose at that 
yell. Just then I spied a shack and some cleared 
ground just beyond a knoll ahead of me, and 
burst into a sprint that I have never before or 
since equalled. The owner of the shack had for¬ 
gotten to latch the door, but I didn't know it; 
so it was a rather mixed and tangled piece of 
humanity that suddenly rolled in on his floor. 
During such ejaculations as “Who got ye, Kid?” 
and “Hell, there ain’t a mark on him,” I un¬ 
tangled myself and told him about the Siwash. 
He grinned, I grinned, and we got talking about 
Dolly Vardens, cut-throats and rainbows. Any¬ 
way, the program when we went to bed was to 
start at sun-up next morning to pack in to the 
head waters of the Washongal. 
We were delayed a little locating my rod and 
haversack, but finally found them within about 
six inches of the river at or to the right of 
where the Siwash jumped me. All the time we 
were hunting them my friend kept anxiously ask¬ 
ing me if I “didn’t have no safety-pins,” adding 
that he only had three himself. Finally we 
started off with a black mare for pack animal 
and an old buckskin for exchange saddle horse. 
The mare looked decidedly Andean in the per¬ 
spective with two “Pratt’s ’Astral Oil” cases hang¬ 
ing from the saw-buck saddle—these in lieu of 
and slung as alforjas. But my companion seemed 
to have no rod, which worried me, and I spoke 
of it. “Don’t you fret yourself, stranger,” he 
said, “I’ll get ’em if my pants don’t bust, which 
is why I’m carryin’ those safety-pins.” And he 
did “get ’em,” too. And this was his method: 
He cut a small sapling about nine and a half 
feet long, bent the hinge coils of his safety-pins 
to 45 degrees to their shanks, wrapped them as 
two guides and a tip ring to his sapling, strung 
up and started to work. His reel was a wonder; 
simply a large spool with a thin shank upon 
which,he had wound about thirty yards of E 
level enameled line, finely dressed and rubbed 
down with deer tallow (I fancy mutton would 
have done as well had it been so handy), and all 
inclosed in a small round tin can, through one 
side of which he had punched a small hole from 
the inside out with the flare edges rolled and 
reamed back to a smooth surface for the free 
running of the line. The whole he kept in the 
left hip pocket of his “pants.” Cumbersome as it 
sounds and looked, it gave him little or no 
trouble. He seldom, if ever (and then only after 
playing a particularly stubborn fish), seemed to 
have any annoying coils of free line at his feet. 
But what bothered me most was that after catch¬ 
ing fish after fish his line and his fly always 
floated, while his leader (hand made) did not. 
Fish after fish would rise vigorously to his fly, 
get hooked and landed, while fish after fish would 
rise vigorously at mine, come clear of the water, 
plunge in again and sail off scot free. Two or 
three I did manage to get through dumb luck by 
striking at the flash in the water. I remem¬ 
ber getting two by the tail and one by the belly, 
which shows the mere luck of it. 
I was tired and sore and wet and cold when 
we left off to get ready for supper, and he 
stopped to clean the fish, while I went up to the 
camp for dry socks. Fumbling for them, I came 
across a stray lemon in my pack. Half Of this 
I squeezed into each of our generous tin cups, 
poured in about two ounces of whisky each, 
sweetened the mass with fine brown sugar (the 
only kind me had), put in some ice-cold spring 
water, and waited for my partner’s coming. As 
he appeared I pointed to his dipper, raised mine 
and said, “How.” As he picked up his cup, I re¬ 
member dimly fearing a possible assassination. 
He drank off the mixture, however, apparently at 
one gulp, a huge smile occupying the space 
allotted for his face, as he put down the cup and 
exclaimed, “Kid, that sure is skookum chuck!” 
From that moment to this I have called him 
“Skookum,” and the unfortunate part of it is 
(such is fame), I cannot now recall his real 
name. 
Between gulps of our villanous coffee next 
morning, Skookum suddenly said, “Kid, we’d be 
in the hell of a fix if I did bust my pants. You 
ain’t ketchin much, and I reckon you ain’t lendin’ 
that rod o’ yourn to nobody.” I was still pretty 
sore, but by some inspiration I managed to grin. 
It was a ghostly, sickly affair, but it got Skoo¬ 
kum, and he opened up and told me all about it. 
Then he borrowed my rod, strung up with his 
own line, leaders and flies and went down to the 
stream and showed me a few things. They 
were impressive. I’ve never forgotten them and 
many of them I’ve never seen equalled. His 
management of the fly on the water was the most 
marvelous thing I’ve ever seen. It seemed in¬ 
credible to realize that he was not controlling 
the thing by some hidden electric battery, for he 
imitated perfectly the fluttering struggle of the 
natural fly to free itself of the water, and at 
times he would purposely sink it in the riffles 
then let it come to the surface again a little 
lower down, then again he would shorten his line 
in the middle of the forward cast and simply 
touch the water three or four times before let¬ 
ting the fly finally settle down and float on a 
slow moving current. Then he produced a little 
pocket oil can, anointed the hackles of a few 
flies for me, and, stringing up his cut pole and 
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Do you want to buy a dog or pup of any kind? If so, 
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155 North Ninth St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
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The 
American Kennel Gazette 
Subscription, $2.00 per year 
1 Liberty Street New York 
Gives all official news of the American Kennel 
Club, including registrations, with addresses of 
owners and breeders, fixtures, club officials, ac¬ 
tive members, official awards of shows, and can¬ 
cellations and corrections. 
Breeders’ Register for names of breeders by States. 
Stud Dog Register for names of stud dogs by States. 
These Registers have proved of great benefit to 
many. Fee only $2.00 per year for each breed 
or stud dog. 
BEFORE THE DOCTOR COMES 
- USE — 
MANN S EMERGENCY MEDICINE AND ACCIDENT CHEST 
Copyright. 1912, by Ernest G. Mann. 
For use before the doctor comes. All medicaments bear names 
and numbers; index plain and brief for quick, safe use. Chest 
handsome, light, compact and portable. Put up for sportsmen 
generally, and campers and yachtsmen in particular. Price. 
$12.00 complete, f. o. b., N. Y. Circular mailed on application! 
Manufactured and filled by 
E. G. MANN, Druggist 249 West Broadway. New York 
