1196 
FOREST AND STREAM 
PRIZE FISH 
are caught on “Bristol* Rods. 
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Leonard, and whenever they tried conclusions 
with him, the result was always the same, every¬ 
body else occupied chairs in the dress-circle, 
while Leonard held the stage with the birds. 
During a lull in the flight, Ray and Rip stalked 
the “winters” at the west end of the pond, a 
futile attempt, as the birds rose a long shot 
distant from the gunners, and nothing resulted 
from the ensuing discharge. 
I routed out the kodak and snapped a picture 
or two of Leonard picking up the dead birds 
floating in the pond—the results of our last 
shot, six down out of a flock of seven “sum¬ 
mers” that had come right into our face and 
eyes in answer to the seductive call. Then 
Leonard squatted down in the stand while I 
tried a picture of the layout. 
I heard the mellow note of a “summer” and 
stood still while Clarence made a neat right 
and left. Reinforcements had arrived—‘‘ole 
Plum-centre” had opened up. 
A little later, while we were all in the stand, 
a flock of eight “summers” happened on- the 
scene, and great was the slaughter thereof. One 
survivor hustled of? for Duxbury—the reserves 
had proved too much for them. 
After eight o’clock the shooting fell of?. We 
had over thirty “summers” in the little pile 
under the grass in the shadow of the stand, but 
no “winters.” The next flurry was due to occur 
when the tide came up over the marsh at two. 
During the interval we killed several more 
“summers,” singles, and missed two chances at 
single “winters.” One of these big fellows 
came in from behind us and was missed by both 
boys, while the other flopped right into my face 
to escape both barrels. The boys also burnt 
some powder when Leonard whistled this last 
one back, but only served to accelerate his de¬ 
parture for Duxbury. 
As we were consuming the last crumb of 
lunch, a single “summer” dropped in. Both 
boys fired, and the bird fell. Up till now, Rip 
had claimed most of the birds after each dis¬ 
charge, so Leonard thought he’d get ahead of 
him. He ran out into the pond, picked up the 
bird and exclaimed, “Anyway, I got that one.” 
Rip and Ray were so surprised that they could 
say nothing. 
A young fellow, a cousin of Leonard’s, who 
had been shooting just across the river, came 
over to visit. He told us that he and his brother 
had killed twenty-three “summers,” and that 
the two men in the stand beyond them had sixty- 
one. Lie and Leonard decided that the birds 
had changed their line of flight from the Dux- 
■bury marsh so that instead of passing over us, 
they were cutting across further to the south¬ 
west. To prove their contention, we caught 
sight of first a pair, and then a flock of nine 
“summers” following the river course. The 
breeze had died away and Leanard’s whistle en¬ 
ticed the pair and four of the nine yellow-legs 
our way. We accounted for both the former 
and three of the latter. 
Later on, three more followed the same route, 
and as they whirled over the stool, Rip jumped 
to his feet and fired. One bird fell, but the 
combination of an extra heavy load and the 
slippery mud on the floor of the stand proved 
the youngster’s undoing and the salvation of 
the other two birds. At the crack of the gun, 
the boy came splashing back in a shower of 
mud, stumbled over Ray and the Scribe, who 
were just going to unlimber their fowling pieces, 
and all three of us came down with such a 
thud in the mess below us that we were some 
minutes getting free from the sticky mud. 
Leonard and his cousin were laughing so 
heartily at our mishap that they could not shoot, 
so the other yellow-legs escaped. 
Leonard’s cousin left us and had barely 
reached his beat on the river bank, before the 
tide, which had been pouring into the east’ard 
end of our pond, flooded the marsh. A minute 
later Leonard whispered, “Look there!” 
A quarter of a mile to the sou’west two large 
flocks of “summers” were circling. At the call 
of the whistle they joined forces, set their wings 
and swooped down on our harmless decoys. 
We all emptied into the serried ranks, and 
when they reformed and swung by again, two 
barrels from each of us again took toll. The 
air was full of feathers, the pond of dead and 
dying yellow-legs, and the long marsh grass of 
cripples. Out of the invading force of thirty 
birds, only four survivors joined the route. 
We ran out of the stand and started across 
the pond to gather up the cripples before the 
tide carried them of?, then picked up the dead. 
While thus engaged, first one, and another 
single, remnants of the scattered host, tried to 
spy out the battlefield, but a shot apiece laid 
them low. 
We now had fifty-eight “summer” yellow-legs 
in our pile, our shells were spent and the flivver 
was straining at her anchor. “All aboard,” 
shouted Captain Leonard, and the rattle of the 
Peace Ship drowned all sounds of our final 
discussion of a summer shore bird shoot. 
A PISCATORIAL CONTRADICTION 
MFRELY A POLITE WAY OF SAYING THAT THE 
TROUT DOES NOT ALWAYS FOLLOW SET RULES 
By Virginius. 
T HAT is what I have learned to call the trout. 
Kit Clark said, if I remember correctly, 
that the trout is a most obstinate creature, 
and he undoubtedly told the truth. If that fish 
decides to ignore all the dictums and doctrines 
that have been evolved during the last few hun¬ 
dred years concerning his habits and actions, he 
will ignore them and continue to do so just as 
long as he wishes. 
There are certain courses of procedure in 
fishing for trout that almost all anglers, includ¬ 
ing even the writer, subscribe to. These are 
founded upon well known habits that trout 
adhere to. For instance, a trout lies facing up¬ 
stream ; moreover the angler must not show 
himself to the fish lest he frighten it. Not long 
ago the writer was hurriedly returning to the 
road at the end of a day’s fishing by walking 
down the side of the stream up which he had 
been fishing. Nearing a certain pool which he 
had fished thoroughly on the way up and had 
taken one trout from, he saw a fish rise to a 
natural fly. Unable to forego the pleasure of 
a cast over this fish, he entered the water at 
the head of the pool—the surface of which, 
by the way, was smooth as glass; and standing 
eighteen or twenty feet from the spot where 
he had seen the fish, cast a dry fly to it. Know¬ 
ing that he was a base heretic to. expect any 
result from such ridiculous methods, imagine his 
surprise when the trout instantly rose to his lure! 
This fish when creeled proved to be a rainbow 
trout. 
In fishing another stream several weeks later 
