Where Barefoot Boys Look for 
Trout.—VII. 
Concluded from page 300. 
The most successful freak fly I have ever had 
was one that Old Billy christened “Cotton-flan¬ 
nel Sue.’’ For lack of anything better to do I 
was once wandering about in a hen roost when 
I chanced upon a thin, feeble looking feather 
with a Plymouth Rock complexion. We had 
often wondered if a big, demonstrative fly would 
not be useful on deep holes late in the evening. 
This seemed to be a good time to put the sug¬ 
gestion to a test, SO' I captured the feather. Tak¬ 
ing a long number three snelled hook I wound 
the shank with several layers of white wrapping 
twine. The mass must have been a quarter of 
an inch in diameter and an inch long by the 
time I had exhausted my twine. With a knife 
I scraped the winding until it had the sort of 
fuzzy appearance which inspired Billy with the 
cotton-flannel idea. Then I tied the end of the 
feather and some red dog hair where hackle and 
wings are usually tied on a fly. 
The feather was about three inches long and 
my original intention was to cut off a part of 
it when I had a chance to inspect the whole 
creation and see how much was needed to make 
it look balanced. As the feather was very soft 
and pliable I revised the earlier plan, and in 
place of cutting it, bent the tip back to the head 
of the fly and tied it there. Of course this made 
a loop-tailed production, but since there was no 
trustworthy evidence that trout objected to loop- 
tails, it seemed best to test the point. 
Thus constructed. Cotton-flannel Sue had a 
head only slightly smaller than a pea, which 
was made up principally of black thread wind¬ 
ings. Her wings differed from the wings of 
other flies, not only in having their outer ends 
connected, but one was going and one was com¬ 
ing. All told she had a very distinctive appear¬ 
ance and was as large as a good big grasshopper. 
While I sat under a maple tree and worked 
upon this wonder the rest of the company had 
an hour of real enjoyment. Their remarks be¬ 
came so pointed that I determined to try the 
thing privately, in the hope that I might some¬ 
where find a crazy trout which would win for 
me a license to laugh in return. 
That evening we fished the Boice pool, and 
when I thought it had become too dark for the 
others to see what I was using, I looped Cotton- 
flannel Sue on to the leader and gave her a 
chance. She looked frightfully big sailing across 
the sky, but I decided they would take it for 
a bat and accordingly gave her full play. We 
had only caught a few small rainbows during 
the evening, but in a short time Cotton-flannel 
Sue had a sixteen-inch brown trout by the jaw, 
and she walked him to shore with very little 
ceremony. Remembering the size of the hook 
I had all faith in her grappling power, and I 
yelled like a Comanche Indian as I slid the net 
under the fish. The others came to see what 
the commotion was about, and I had a very 
haughty quarter of an hour, while for a time 
their remark mills seemed to be out of repair. 
This one incident did not prove to be the ex¬ 
ception. For work between twilight and dark 
we found Cotton-flannel Sue to be the surest 
fly we had in the party that season. On one 
occasion she even distinguished herself in broad 
daylight. 
I neglected to take her from the leader as I 
finished fishing one evening, and when I went 
to the stream about 5 o’clock the next after¬ 
noon I carelessly tossed her into the water to 
soak the snell. The sun was shining bright and 
I was thoughtlessly watching the shadows creep 
down Hanover’s eastern slope, when the rod 
was nearly yanked from my hand. The mon¬ 
strous insect had floated on to a swell where 
the water crowded between two rocks and with¬ 
out the slightest hesitation a trout had attacked 
her. Like nearly all the fish which tampered 
with Cotton-flannel Sue, this one was captured; 
ANGLERS. 
From an old German print in the W'oodward Collection. 
in fact, it was a very timely catch. As I was 
netting it a man, famous for his scientific knowl¬ 
edge, stepped off the train on the other side of 
the creek en route to make us an unexpected 
visit. 
The professor looked pleased when he saw 
what a large chunk of fresh brain food he was 
to have for supper, but his brow knit and his 
vocabulary broke loose when he inspected the 
fly. The name which he gave the species was 
even longer than Cotton-flannel Sue’s tail, but 
I am not certain that I remember it correctly. 
It sounded like imbecillus stupidissimus. 
On the stream a few days later I met a rather 
trig-looking angler, and in our visit we in¬ 
spected each other’s fly-books. When he came 
to where Cotton-flannel Sue spread herself over 
nearly a whole page as she hovered a brood of 
Beaverkills, he was visibly moved. I explained 
with modest pride that it was a sample of my 
own tying and asked him what he thought of 
it. He made no direct answer, but soon an¬ 
nounced that he must be going. As he hurried 
up the creek I could see him occasionally look¬ 
ing back as one does who is escaping from a 
person of doubtful sanity. Plainly this would 
never do. I must conceal my pet fly or lose 
caste with the cult; possibly to the extent of 
facing a commission in lunacy. 
During my return to the house I came upon 
a rubbish heap and found an old fashioned tin 
spectacle case lying there. I appropriated this 
and carried it about with me as a home for 
Cotton-flannel Sue. Early the next season I 
put her in commission again, but it was an un¬ 
lucky day. At nearly the first cast she was 
drawn under by a heavy current and hooked her¬ 
self to a snag or something else which she could 
not pull out. The leader finally parted and I 
never saw her more. Although somewhere 
in the bottom of the Esopus Cotton-flannel Sue 
lies buried, yet in the annals of the “Camp 
Don’t Hurry” crowd her soul goes marching on. 
Robert and Old Billy left the mountains be¬ 
fore I did that season. Once back in Oswe- 
nango, they proceeded to make a fly for me 
which should be large enough to compensate 
for my loss. From a bar of quarter inch iron 
Robert forged a hook fully six inches long and 
two inches across the bend. Upon this they 
built a body of red flannel and tin foil. A 
lock out of a whitewash brush was used for 
hackle and Billy purloined .a turkey’s wing from 
Lucy’s domestic economy to complete the job. 
The snell consisted of about four feet of dog 
chain which was followed by some yards of 
clothes line. This whole equipment was sent to 
me by express, together with a letter containing 
many touching remarks. 
As there was considerable sentiment connected 
with the thing, besides my thirty-five cents ex¬ 
press charges, I brought it home with me and 
it now hangs in my den. It is about as catch¬ 
ing an instrument as Cotton-flannel Sue herself. 
Every time my little Puritan wife has a house¬ 
cleaning fit on, either she or someone helping 
her gets hung up on it. Recently I was clawing 
around in its neighborhood and it got me, too. 
Then I took a nail hammer and now it is not 
quite so pointed as it was. 
Big brown trout often have a habit of sulk¬ 
ing or boring, which is very unsportsmanlike. 
Erequently we try to shame them out of this 
trait by stoning them. This is not entirely an 
effort upon our part to improve their ethics, but 
rather to prevent our leaders being sawn in two 
against a rock, and to keep the snell from being 
broken when they run their noses on to the 
gravel. A little pebble dropped into the water 
will generally start them moving when they 
attempt to sulk, but sometimes we have found 
veterans who would stand quite a bombard¬ 
ment of this kind. One in particular made a 
record for himself. 
I had been for a long walk, and having a 
curiosity to see what time it had consumed, 
looked at my watch as I struck on to the bridge 
near our boarding place. It was just half-past 
ten. A little distance up the creek I saw Robert 
nimbling from boulder to boulder like a goat. 
He was deftly testing one spot and another 
with his flies, so I stopped to see what would 
come of it. In a few minutes he hooked a fish 
and then I sat down to watch the play. 
