FOREST AND STREAM 
149 
How Jules Parmalee Caught the Big Pickerel 
Tacitus Hussey. 
After the Williams Dam, at the foot of Center 
street, was completed by the late L. J. Wells, the 
Des Moines River below the dam, in the spring, 
and above in the autumn months, became famous 
fishing places. A novice, if he knew how to bait 
a hook with a wriggling worm, or a fat chub 
from Four Mile or Walnut Creek, had no trouble 
in catching “a good string” of the finest black 
bass, wall-eyed pike, pickerel, goggle eyes, or the 
slow moving catfish, ever placed in a frying pan. 
It was not an unusual thing for an expert to 
invite a company to a “fish breakfast” and setting 
his alarm clock for the hour of half past four, 
hie away to the river, catch a dozen game fish 
of various kinds, get home at six o’clock, clean 
them and have as many as were needed, ready 
for the frying pan in an hour after they were 
taken from the water. On some occasions, the 
east and west shores below the dam, would be 
pretty well lined with anglers, who, as a general 
thing, were well rewarded for their early rising. 
At that date (i860), there stood where the 
Edison Electric Light Plant now stands, two 
trees near the edge of the river. One of these 
was a pretty good sized box alder, the other, the 
fragment of a large sycamore which had for years 
stood the shocks of flooding ice and driftwood, 
but had been broken off by the wind. There 
were a number of struggling branches still 
clinging ito it which budded and put forth leaves 
just as if nothing unusual had happened. The 
robins and orioles used to congregate in these two 
trees, seemingly for the purpose of encouraging 
these fishermen, or cheering them on account of 
their early rising. 
The space between these two trees was well 
marked with a rocky shore, extending quite a 
distance along the river, and where the bass con¬ 
gregated in great numbers. If a fisherman could 
not “get a bite” at one of these points, he would 
feel very much like winding up his line and go¬ 
ing home. The writer has known, on a favorable 
morning, of one hundred and fifty bass, pickerel 
and wall-eyed pike, to be taken from this rocky 
point in two hours by four expert fishermen. 
One bright May morning in 1861, there were a 
few sportsmen congregated here, 'among them 
were Tom McMullen, Jim Burbridge, Charley 
Weaver, Geo. O’Kell, the writer and a few ama¬ 
teurs. Some very good catches had been made; 
but nothing larger than a three pound bass had 
been taken. A little later in the morning, there 
appeared a small, well dressed young man, with 
the usual ensignia, of a fisherman, a rod in a case 
and a pair of high rubber -boots. 
He very leisurely took his jointed rod from 
the case, adjusted its several parts to his satisfac¬ 
tion, placed the reel on the handle, carefully se¬ 
curing it. Then he unwound one of' the small¬ 
est lines we had ever seen, trained it through 
the loopholes and out at the tip. Then he at¬ 
tached a sinker of suitable weight and last of all, 
what we afterward learned, was a “Buell Spin¬ 
ning Bait.” This caused considerable curiosity 
as it was something new; for we supposed that 
minnows were the only kind of “taking bait.” 
The stranger very leisurely stepped to the 
water’s edge, ten or fifteen feet above the nearest 
fisherman, and whirling the line several times 
around his head, sent it with a “swish” as the 
reel unwound, far out into the river. The line 
was reeled in very slowly, not allowing the artifi¬ 
cial bait to touch the bottom. This was repeated 
several times and finally there was a “strike,” and 
the slender rod bent quickly in response. The 
line was gradually shortened and a two pound 
bass was landed. Three more bass were taken 
in the same way; and the group of fishermen be¬ 
gan to be interested. Stepping a little farther 
out into the river, a longer cast was made into 
the swift current; and it seemed to the watchers 
that the shining lure had scarcely touched the 
water, before the slender rod almost bent double, 
the line began to tighten and pass through the 
water with that peculiar hiss so musical to a fish¬ 
erman’s ears. 
The young man was all alert, now. His thumb 
was placed on the reel in order that the line 
should not be paid out too rapidly. The springy 
rod was held well up as the reel was wound very 
cautiously, so that when the hooked fish made a 
sudden dart for deeper water, the line could be 
paid out stingily, but at the s'ame time kept safely 
taut. The young man showed no sign of excite¬ 
ment, yet the spectators could see that he was 
giving all his attention to the business in hand, 
watching every movement of the hooked fish with 
the deepest interest. 
Three times did the pickerel display his size as 
he leaped into the air, shaking his gills and snap¬ 
ping his angry jaws in his effort to rid himself 
of the unwelcome hook. One of these leaps was 
nearly three feet in the air in which he almost 
doubled himself up in his effort to strike the 
line with his tail. Now he would come in toward 
the shore with such speed as to cause the rapid 
reeling of the line in order to keep it taut. Then, 
with a motion -as quick as thought, he would 
change his tactics and make a run for the deeper 
waiter, making the line whiz as it was given out 
grudgingly; and the slow reeling in would begin 
again with many side rushes and circles. 
Each one of these movements brought him 
nearer the shore and each struggle seemed weaker 
than the last. The fight was nearly over! Finally, 
with the cunning maneuver, well known to all 
expert fishermen, he was brought near the shore, 
the line shortened, still with the thumb on the 
reel, in case there was enough strength in him 
for another rush, he was “played” up and down 
the stream near the shore until he was “drowned,” 
to use a fisherman’s parlance and ceased to strug¬ 
gle vigorously. Then, with one hand on the reel, 
the rod still bending under the weight of the par¬ 
tially submerged fish, the angler waded into the 
shallow water and placing one hand under his 
well earned prize, threw him on the shore, strug¬ 
gling and gasping, while the captor wiped the 
perspiration from his animated face! 
When the “strike” was made and the group of 
fishermen saw that the struggle was to be a pro¬ 
longed one, they courteously took their lines from 
the water in order that there might be no en¬ 
tanglements. They did noit offer assistance nor 
suggestions, as it was evident from the beginning 
that the stranger was equal to the occasion. The 
fish was “guessed” at fifteen pounds; but the 
actual weight was twelve and a half pounds. 
When the admiring company gathered around 
the big catch to offer congratulations, one of the 
boldest of them asked: “To whom .are we in¬ 
debted for this object lesson in the skillfull hand¬ 
ling of the big pickerel?” “My name is Jules 
Parmalee,” he answered modestly. “My brother 
and I have recently opened a jewelry store in the 
Savery House Block, corner of Fourth and Wal¬ 
nut street. I thank you for your courtesy to a 
stranger.” And “stringing his fish,” he depart¬ 
ed as quietly as he came. And it was thus the 
fisherman of Des Moines added another name to 
the “Anglers Club” which met at the river banks 
during the many fishing seasons which followed, 
few of whom are now left to “wet a line or tell 
a fish story”! 
“HYU, SALMON!” IS THE CRY. 
A little party of Indians from the tribes that 
inhabit the west coast of Vancouver Island have 
been trickling through Vancouver lately, in a 
rivulet of barbaric color on their way to the 
canneries. These tribesmen and tribeswomen, 
whose ancestral history has been -more closely 
associated with the salmon than with anything 
else for hundreds of years, for the salmon has 
always been their principal food supply, come 
each summer from the west coast of Vancouver 
Island to the Fraser River canneries. 
These primitive people are picturesque and at¬ 
tract many eyes when they pass through the city. 
In Steveston they live in a little board and can¬ 
vas village of their own, and eat salmon three 
times a day during the cannery season. Many 
of the men are fishermen and nearly all the 
women work in the canneries. 
The sockeye run is now running in the Fraser, 
and the canneries are running their machinery 
every day. A good many more white fishermen 
have taken out licenses this year. 
The sockeyes, the humpbacks and the cohoes 
and other members of the salmon family look¬ 
ing for spawning beds are seeking out the sand¬ 
bars of the Fraser, the Skeena, of Rivers Inlet 
and many other brackish river mouths and salty 
inlets. 
Week after week school after school of these 
swifty swimming sea gypsies come nosing in 
from somewhere far out in the Pacific Ocean, 
circling around the ends of Vancouver Island and 
either meet their fate in the wide stretching arms 
of the waiting -trap or net or escape to reach 
the river’s inland reaches, there to sacrifice their 
lives in giving forth the eggs which the sun heat 
hatches in the shallow water which lies motion¬ 
less over the yellow river beaches or the gravel 
shoals. 
The simple drama, always terminating in trag¬ 
edy for the fish one way or the other, has been 
enacted for years and years, and the Indians have 
been eye witnesses of the exodus from the time 
the salmon left the sea. 
THE OREGON TIMBER WOLF. 
Philadelphia, July 14, 1914. 
Editor Forest and Stream'- 
In your issue of July nth, The Timber Wolf 
in Oregon, page 54 last line. “This skull as far 
as known, etc.” I thought it might be of interest 
to know that we have at the Academy of Natu¬ 
ral Science, 2 skins and skulls of the type speci¬ 
mens described by Townsend. 
I have been a delighted reader of your paper 
for the past 20 years. HENRY TUCKER. 
