j-ULY I, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
13 
about two feet in ten rods, and then dipped 
into a pool several rods in length, shadowed by 
white birches, water maples and willows, and 
with many rocks showing in the clear water. 
We set up the rods, hooked on live chubs and 
cast into the swirl at the head of the pool. At 
once Carl's line ran out in jerks which told of 
a good fish at the end. I reeled up out of Carl’s 
way and cast below him. In a flash the bait was 
seized and the fish ran into deeper water. In 
the meantime Carl had landed a black bass of 
about two pounds. I hooked my fish and the 
circus began. A swift rush across the pool and 
then the bass broke water three times in quick 
succession, going into the air at every leap, and 
then tearing across the current into deep water. 
Up and down, across and back he fought his 
way, swimming deep and fighting every inch of 
the line recovered. I gradually worked him into 
swift water where he was in plain sight all the 
time. Letting him have all the strain he wanted 
he soon became tired and gradually his rushes 
became shorter, and he hung back on the line, 
twisting this way and the other until Carl slipped 
the stringing needle through his lower lip and 
he was mine. Four and a quarter pounds in 
weight, with firm set dark green scales, long 
tapering body and a bull dog jaw, he had all 
the marks of the fiercest fighter of inland waters, 
the small-mouth black bass. 
The bass were there in numbers. We could get 
a strike at any time and all caught proved to 
be good fish, from two to four pounds in weight 
and fighters to the last gasp. 
Our camp on the island was all one could 
wish. Good water, plenty of drv wood, shade 
and solitude. We had but one visitor, a farmer 
from nearby who was looking for cows. We 
supplied him with several three and four-pound 
bass from our live box, and he told us he did 
not know there were such fish in the river, and 
he had lived there for years. 
We remained on the island three days, then 
broke camp, drifted down the crystal river with 
its ever-changing shores under the shade of 
giant elms and water maples, under white birches 
which mirrored their graceful shapes in the 
placid water, saw signs where deer had come 
down to feed on the pond lilies in the coves 
along the shore, camped wherever fancy dic¬ 
tated, and found the fishing all that any reason¬ 
able man could wish. We were on the river 
ten days, and then one morning Hans took us 
back to the station with a good supply of bass 
packed in ice, and the next morning we were 
at home and distributing the fish among friends. 
This summer we intend to ship our boat from 
here, and put into the river at a town where the 
railroad crosses above the place of embarkation 
last summer. There is health, comfort and sport 
in such a trip, and above all a river as beauti¬ 
ful as the river of dreams. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
“When will sorrow disappear?’’ asks an Aus¬ 
tralian philosopher, who goes on to reply to the 
question in his own way to the effect that 
through the influences of the new thought it 
will eventually end. Sorrow disappears at the 
edge of the woods and does not reappear until 
one’s vacation is over and camp is broken in 
preparation for the return to town. Sorrow 
then is deep or light, in accord with the tem¬ 
perament, the affiliations and the duties of the 
individual; light if one’s return home is colored 
with rosy memories of loved ones who are wait¬ 
ing and watching eagerly for his return; deep if 
one’s burdens are heavy and his hours of rec¬ 
reation few. 
* * * 
A Southerner not long ago wrote an article 
for one of the papers concerning an Arkansan 
who fishes for bass in a shallow lake from the 
back of a favorite saddle horse. The picture he 
made of the angler, as well as the story, he 
considered unique. R. B. Marston, commenting 
SURE-FISHING—A GOOD CAST. 
Photograph by Hartie I. Phillips. 
on the story in the Fishing Gazette, says the 
famous Colonel Hawker frequently fished from 
his horse for trout in the River Test at Long- 
parish. That was over one hundred years ago. 
Twenty-odd years ago I fished one of the best 
trout streams in the Rocky Mountains while 
mounted, and caught trout, too, with a fly-rod 
which I sti 1 have.- Necessity, not choice, ac¬ 
counted for the method. I had been badly in¬ 
jured in an accident and was unable to walk, 
much less wade. There was a choice of riding 
in a big prairie wagon without springs, or on 
a cowpony. That litle cayuse was with me when 
the accident happened, a witness to it, in fact, 
and I have always believed he understood that 
I was nearly helpless and needed all the care 
he could exercise on the frightful mountain 
trails. At any rate he carried me most of the 
240-mile journey that followed ere a surgeon 
could be found. Sure-footed always, it was cer¬ 
tain that he was never more careful than while 
carrying me. Only once did he make a move 
that hurt me severely, and that was through 
fright when a mountaineer suddenly stepped into 
the trail. 
The stream in question was filled with slip¬ 
pery boulders, the pony was smooth shod, the 
water swift and often deep, making the pony 
nervous. Otherwise he was patient and obedient, 
standing as still as the conditions would permit 
when the reins were dropped, and even the rush 
and splash incident to getting trout into the 
short-handled landing net did not disturb him. 
It was an experience I often recall with pleas¬ 
ure, but it never occurred to me that casting a 
fly from the saddle was' anything more than 
unusual. 
* * * 
Something like forty years ago, Prof. O. C. 
Marsh, of Yale University—the most eminent 
paleontologist of his day—fished a match on 
horseback in the Rocky Mountains with the army 
officer who commanded the escort of one of his 
expeditions. 
The bone diggers had set out from old Fort 
Bridget', and Professor Marsh, who, besides being 
a great anatomist, was also a good sportsman— 
a capital wing shot, and a very expert fly-caster 
—grew so enthusiastic over the numbers and 
size of the trout in B’ack’s Fork, Ham’s Fork 
and Henry’s Fork, that he used to discuss the 
fishing at great length about the camp-fire after 
the day’s work was over. The officer in charge 
of the escort was also very fond of fishing and 
believed that he could catch more fish than any¬ 
one else, so one night he challenged the pro¬ 
fessor to fish him a match the next day. The 
two started out early on horseback, each fol¬ 
lowed by an orderly from whose saddle hung 
a capacious gunny sack. Each angler rode his 
horse down the bed of the stream, fishing from 
the saddle and finally bringing his fish around 
so that the orderly could net it, and slip it in 
the gunny sack. 
I forget which man caught the most trout— 
they were all large ones—or the greatest weight; 
but I know that a camp of hungry men and boys 
lived on fish for several days after this unusual 
contest. 
*1* V 
In a ramble over the mountains the other day 
I met two anglers whose rods were fitted in a 
manner seldom seen elsewhere. Each one had 
six or seven guides. These guides were about 
three-eighths of an inch in length, with outside 
diameter of a quarter-inch and inside diameter 
of three-thirty-seconds inch. On closer exami¬ 
nation I found that each guide had been fas¬ 
tened on a bridged keeper by winding silk over 
both, then the ends of the keeper or base at¬ 
tached to the rod with silk windings. 1 asked 
the owner of one rod if his guides were not the 
porcelain “eyes’’ from the bobbin carriers of silk 
machines, and he said they were. 
Whether the material is porcelain I do not 
know, but it is white, hard, and has a polished 
surface, being used for that reason, as it does 
not fray silk threads passing through the eyes. 
In Europe porcelain guides are sold by tackle 
dealers at 40 to 75 cents each. These eyes are 
sold to the trade for thirty-six cents a dozen, 
and while just as good, are far less clumsy. 
Grizzly King. 
