300 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 20, 1909. 
own individual manner of jumping. Some took 
the fly as they came out of the water, while 
others took it on the return, but whichever 
tactics they selected once, they persisted in. The 
greater number described a neat arc of a circle 
during their aerial journey, but certain of them 
had other and very distinctive movements. 
There was one trout, perhaps fifteen inches 
long, which I watched with particular diligence, 
but I never succeeded in learning how he got 
out of the water. He was evidently quicker 
than my eyes. The first I could see of him he 
would be about six inches above the surface 
and perfectly parallel to it, having no bend in 
his body. Then he apparently fell back on his 
belly into the stream. So far as my vision went 
he seemed to be lifted horizontally out of the 
water, but of course that was impossible and 
there was more to it than I saw. 
Another very large fish acted as though he 
put on the emergency brake when he found him¬ 
self going out of his element. He repeatedly 
stuck the first ten inches of his body up through 
the surface at about a sixty degree angle, and 
then settled back the same way he came. 
The flies must have been of a very lazy 
family, for only in a single instance did one 
of them attempt to leave the current and travel 
by his own means. This one fluttered about 
until he landed in an eddy and was swept 
ashore. Holding that specimen above my head 
and looking at him from a trout’s point of view, 
there was little to see except a belly about the 
color of newly-cut cork. This gave me a sug¬ 
gestion, and after the athletic exhibition was 
ended I proceeded to make a floating insect of 
my own. 
There was a pair of flies in my book—the 
kind of flies one sees somewhere in a store and 
buys as an experiment. Of course I had for¬ 
gotten where I bought them, and probably never 
knew their name. However, the wings were a 
very accurate imitation of my real subject, and 
the size was about right. I bound a thin strip 
of cork on to each side of the bodies of these 
flies and then tested their buoyancy in a wash 
bowl. They would float if they happened to 
light right side up, but when they toppled over 
their wings became soggy and swamped the 
whole craft. This difficulty was overcome by 
drying them thoroughly and then taking them 
to the kitchen where mutton chops were being 
fried and immersing them in the frying-pan. 
When the fat had cooled they were rather funny 
looking flies, but they would float all right. 
The next day brought little change in either 
the weather or the temperature, and I was on 
hand to add my. quota of white bellies when 
the flight should begin. In due time a sample 
of the real kind came floating down, and was 
not long in finding a trout that was waiting for 
it. I marked the spot and sent one of his mut¬ 
ton-chopped cousins over the same course. 
There was a leap and a plunge and the fight 
began. Then there was a sudden straightening 
of the rod and a sagging of the line—the fight 
was ended. The hook had broken at the bend. 
However, I felt pretty cocky over the way the 
fly had fooled the fish, and when there was an¬ 
other rise I put his brother into action. By 
this means two trout were taken, but the third 
which struck was very large, and after some¬ 
thing of a struggle he broke the snell and that 
ended the day’s operations. 
The second hatch was slight as compared with 
the preceding afternoon’s, but I made six more 
flies in order to be on the safe side for the mor¬ 
row. These did not prove to be so much of a 
success. The cork and the mutton fat were all 
right, but the wings were not so good as those 
on the first two. This insect was not very com¬ 
mon after the first day, and we soon lost sight 
of it altogether. A week later we saw several 
one afternoon, but the cork flies had been left 
at home. It was not found convenient to carry 
them in a fly-book, for on warm days when 
the hook was in the hip pocket they were in¬ 
clined to be too liberal with their grease. 
The day we saw the last of this magical 
species Robert attempted to imitate the light 
colored effect by fastening a piece of match to 
the body of his fly. It did not make a very 
taking proposition, but he succeeded to the ex¬ 
tent that he actually caught one trout which, 
when landed, came from the water with the 
match sticking out of his mouth like a tooth¬ 
pick. 
Last summer we sat on a bridge to eat our 
lunch. After the meal was finished we fell to 
making flies from the glossy, yellowish paper in 
which the sandwiches had been wrapped. This 
we tore into narrow strips and tied around 
shreds of bark and slivers from the planking. 
As we dropped them they would spin down on 
to the water and float away like—well, I don’t 
know just what. After a good many efforts we 
induced a fish to strike at one, but it seemed to 
be all he wanted of that kind. 
Trout appear to be quite a little like people, 
in that there will always be some one of them 
willing to jump at any foolish proposition which 
is presented. First and last, by way of experi¬ 
ment, we have given them a good many oppor¬ 
tunities to show their human traits. We have 
offered them almost everything, unless perhaps 
it may be a pitchfork, and I am not certain but 
that some inquisitive old tartar would think him¬ 
self a match for that. 
Winfield T. Sherwood. 
The Anglers of Paris. 
Russell W. Woodward has loaned us, from 
his large collection of rare prints, two which 
illustrate the proverbial concentration of 
French anglers in their sport. One of these was 
published in these columns not long ago; the 
other is reproduced in this issue. Both have 
to do with famous battles in France, but depict 
the indifference of the angler to his sur¬ 
roundings. 
In the January Scribner’s Francis Wilson 
Huard refers to this trait of the anglers of a 
nation often described as emotional, as follows: 
“What is it that fascinates them? From my 
window I have watched for hours at a time, but 
never as yet have I seen a single fish drawn 
from the water. At first, I took these placid 
creatures for philosophers who came to the 
river’s bank to let their thoughts drift along 
with their lines in the current. But on closer 
examination I discovered what was to me an 
linknown science (perhaps it is an art), in the 
measured movements, attentive eyes, and rigid 
features of these dauntless sportsmen, who 
watch for a bite much as a wild beast lies in 
wait for his prey. 
“One day, when pressed for time, I accosted 
one of them, asking if he were aware how soon 
the next boat passed. From the way in which 
he turned toward me and uttered ‘Ssh!’ I 
understood what strange and boundless passion 
guides these tranquil Parisian fishermen. 
“Wet or dry, when the frost is white on the 
window panes, or when the asphalt melts under 
foot, risking pneumonia and sunstrokes, I see 
them every day of my life, men and sometimes 
women, hanging over the walls or gathered 
along the banks. 
“Our old concierge, who, from her lodge in 
our house, saw the Siege of Paris and the 
Commune in 1870, told me that when the Hotel 
de Ville was aflame, and shot fell thick and fast 
' along the quays, four or five of these intrepid 
anglers continued their occupation, baiting their 
lines and patiently waiting for the fish to bite, 
as though nothing were the matter.” 
A Bethabara Query. 
Milo. Ohio, Feb. 12. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Last week being very good weather 
to work indoors, I started to rough out a rod 
of bethabara. Now, I would like to know if 
in any way the dust from this wood has caused 
anyone working on it to have a rash break out 
on face and hands. In some way it has caused 
my arm and neck to break out with a fine rash, 
but only in spots where I had put my hands 
while I had this greenish dust on them. The 
wood I am working is of the very dark order. 
M. P. Keefe. 
[We have experienced much discomfort to 
eyes and nose in working green and brown 
washaba (bethabara), but have not heard of 
other unpleasant effects of the dust, though per¬ 
haps other anglers can enlighten Mr. Keefe on 
this point. The effect of the dust is particularly 
disagreeable while sandpapering this wood. 
Rodmakers who work bethabara regularly 
generally protect themselves from the dust. 
With automobile goggles that fit snugly over 
the eyes, a cap that can be pulled down over 
hair and ears, a jacket buttoned tight around 
the throat, and perhaps a damp sponge over the 
nose, they are quite well protected while ripping 
bethabara with circular or band saw. At the 
bench, however, such precautions are not neces¬ 
sary, as the dust is too heavy to float far, but 
still it irritates the nostrils and the eyes.— 
Editor.] 
Anglers’ Club of New York. 
New York City, Feb. 10.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: At the regular monthly meeting of 
this club, held on Feb. 2, the club representatives 
to the National Association of Scientific Angling 
Clubs were appointed as follows: Member of 
the executive committee, Robert B. Lawrence; 
delegate to the annual business meeting, R. 
Johnson Held. The tournament committee was 
directed to hold the national tournament on the 
last Thursday, Friday and Saturday in Septem¬ 
ber if possible. An amendment to the constitu¬ 
tion, eliminating from the club’s definition of a 
professional the clause referring to those en¬ 
gaged in the manufacture or sale of fishing tackle 
or sporting goods, was offered. This, under the 
rules, will come up for discussion and action at 
the next regular meeting. 
Edward Farnham Todd, Sec’y. 
