940 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 30, 1911. 
one or the old buck, and you get to dreaming 
about it almost. 
Such have been my feelings for months in 
regard to this big black bass. Mixed with this 
was the fear that some accident had happened 
to him, for so far as I could learn, he had not 
been hooked this season. Perhaps he had grown 
more wary of late. One day last week Elmer 
Fults said to me: “Want to take a whirl at that 
big bass I have beeii telling you about?” Did I? 
You bet I did, and could start in thirty minutes. 
So he brought his car out and we got the rods 
and were on the road in mighty short order. 
It is about seven miles to that part of the 
creek where the big bass has ahvays lived, and 
it took just about twenty minutes to make the 
run. You will remember that you and I on one 
of our pioneering trips were up this creek to 
what we thought was its head. Well, this hole 
•of water is just a half mile further on and has 
never been known to go dry. It lies out in the 
bare prairie, there being no undergrowth what¬ 
ever near it, and only a big liveoak or two grow¬ 
ing near one side, and on its very brink the 
roots of one of these trees have been laid bare 
of soil by the torrents that have swept down in 
past years. Under these same roots in the deep 
water was the lurking place and the home from 
3 r ear to year of the big one. We had to walk 
through the pasture about a quarter of a mile 
from the road to get to the hole of water, and 
you wou'd not suspect its being there from what 
can be seen as one passes along the road. 
We walked up very carefully, as I wished to 
study the place before making a cast. However, 
the merest tyro at the game would not have 
been at a loss to tell where to make the first 
cast in that hole of water. Elmer would not 
try, but insisted that he had brought me out to 
see me hang on to that big bass, and he said 
he thought the odds were about two to one on 
the bass. 
The first cast went short of the roots, as I felt 
a little nervous and anyhow had not been cast¬ 
ing for several weeks, so did not wish to spoil 
things by making too long a cast and getting 
into the roots of the old liveoak. Nothing was 
wrong with the second cast, however, and a 
mighty swirl of water around the wooden min¬ 
now and a yellowish green flash under the water 
told me that there would be something doing 
muy pronto. But there was no strike on that 
cast. This seemed odd. However, as the min¬ 
now was crossing over a ledge of rock not ten 
feet away from me, a three-pound big-mouth 
rose out of the deep water just over the ledge 
and struck the lure with all the savageness of 
his soul. This was fifty feet from the place 
where the first strike occurred and I felt that 
this was a different fish, still I have often seen 
them rise as the minnow hit the water seventy- 
five or eighty feet away and follow it all the way 
across and take it right at your feet. Well, he 
put up an awful fight for a three-pounder, and 
had my pulse racing at fever heat. 
Now, for another cast in front of the roots 
of the old liveoak. It was a good eighty feet 
away, and with a long overhead sweep the min¬ 
now sailed toward the spot where he struck 
the other cast. It had hardly reached the sur¬ 
face of the water before he hurled himself at 
it, and his big head came into view above the 
water, so eager was he to get this pretty light 
green and yellow thing that was so innocently 
falling right into his front yard. With his head 
still in view and as he and the minnow came 
together, I struck good and hard. Looked like 
he “had his feet on the bottom,” for he jumped 
clear of the water and I gave him another touch 
and turned him clear in the air. Golly, how 
he did shake himself! He was then several 
feet in front of the roots of the tree and I put 
every tactic I knew into play to keep him away 
from them. 
Fults yelled and got very'much excited and 
went tearing around on that side of the hole 
where he could see the fight in full. The fish 
made violent efforts to run straight for the roots, 
but I knew he was hooked firmly, so there was 
not the slightest chance of the hooks tearing 
out of his mouth and I simply put the screws 
down hard and held him away from them. 
Well, you never in your life experienced such 
violent, savage rushes, leaps and tugs as that 
old big-mouth put forth. In my younger days 
on my father’s ranch down in Texas I used to 
have to get up on the hurricane deck of a 
Spanish bronco quite often and on occasions 
of this kind you do not have time for any 
musings. Same way with this bass. He en¬ 
tirely took up the stage and concentrated the 
entire attention of the audience on himself, but 
there came the usual lull and slowing down of 
his big show, then more short rushes as he 
came in closer to the tug of the reel, then over 
on his side and gasping for breath like a nearly 
drowned man, then out on the bank and no 
more struggles. Poor old fellow, he was indeed 
a veteran. 
Never was I so sorely tempted to put a fish 
back as I was this one. Of course the great 
fight he put up was due to his enormous strength, 
backed up by his indomitable spirit, but after all 
the odds were against him. So long as I kept 
him away from the roots he never had a chance 
to go free again. 
Atlantic, Iowa, Nov. 4. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: The fox squirrel is perhaps better 
known to the residents of the cities and towns 
than to those who reside in the country districts. 
Because of its beauty, the little animal is en¬ 
couraged by park keepers everywhere, and it has 
become common on the residence streets of many 
cities. In the country districts it is treated as 
game, and as a result is very shy as a rule. 
When I moved to my present home in the coun¬ 
try, an occasional squirrel was to be seen, but 
it was difficult to win their confidence. Soon 
after, hunting was prohibited on the grounds 
about, excepting an occasional day after rabbits. 
Conditions soon changed, and now they come 
freely about, helping themselves to ears of corn 
from the crib and to nuts in the yard. One little 
fellow has been petted until he frequently comes 
to the house to be fed, and sometimes he will 
even enter the room when the family is at break¬ 
fast, and climb upon the table in an effort to 
help himself. They have become so fearless that 
This ended our fishing trip and we both were 
eager to come back to town. We put him on a 
big cake of ice in one of the show windows 
here, and I think almost every one in town had 
a look at him that evening and the next day. 
Want to know what he weighed? If I were to 
tell you, you would think I was romancing, so 
I will just wait until I can look you right in 
the eye and tell you, and then you will know 
I am telling the truth. Roy. 
The Old Angling Coat. 
I love it, I love it, aye, truly I dote 
On the sight of my worthy and old angling coat; 
I've donned it at times of expectancy great, 
When waters were running in nice fishing state; 
'Tis linked by remembrances fond to my heart 
Of heavy creels made by the dear “gentle art”; 
Of places from workaday world far remote. 
And a relic of sport is that old angling coat. 
At the date when I purchased it, long, long' ago, 
After having learnt well how a good line to throw 
With the joys of a lot of fresh fishing in store, 
What angler was ever more happy before? 
What master of hounds, or what jockey of fame, 
What hero of cricket, or slayer of game, 
What sportsman alive of the greatest of note 
Was more keen than I felt in my new fishing coat? 
I’ve “whipped” when equipped in it many times since. 
And when thus arrayed, oh, I envied no prince; 
Good trout in its pockets I often have hid, 
At times when the basket’s been packed to the lid; 
And salmon a few I can too call to mind, 
That have in its useful recesses reclined; 
Eke sea trout, and other fish, needless to quote, 
At times have reposed in that old angling coat. 
’Tis frayed now in places, and nearly threadbare 
By reason of hard and continuous wear; 
But I’ll treasure it still as a dream of “long syne” 
So long as I’m able to ply rod and line; 
For though so well worn, and so ancient in style, 
It’s served me in Scotland and Emerald Isle, 
In England and Norway, afoot and afloat, 
And it spells sweet reflection, that old angling coat. 
C. J. H. Cassels, in the Anglers’ News. 
it is out of the question for us to secure an 
equitable division of the walnuts that grow about 
the place. The squirrels begin harvesting early 
and unless we are vigilant, they get them all. 
It is interesting to sit at my study window 
and see the little feilows laying up their winter 
supply of food. Climbing to the tip of a branch, 
if need be, they grasp a nut in the mouth, then 
sitting on a limb, calmly remove the husk. Then 
running to the ground and some distance from 
the tree, a hole is dug, and the nut buried just 
below the surface. Only one nut is buried in 
a place. I have seen one squirrel repeat this 
operation more than a dozen times in half an 
hour. When nuts are plentiful, one squirrel will 
thus dispose of a considerab’e quantity in a sea¬ 
son. Squirrels are an important factor in the 
planting of nut-bearing trees. The nuts are 
buried promiscuously, sometimes near the tree, 
and sometimes several rods distant. 
I have often watched the little fellows in win¬ 
ter when they came to draw upon the supply. 
Sometimes the snow has been nearly a foot deep, 
but seldom have I known one to miss the loca- 
The Fox Squirrel. 
