Forest and Stream 
f3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MARCH 2, 1912. 
VOL. LXXVm.—No. 9. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
WOMEN ANGLERS. 
DR. MOODY TRIES HIS HAND. 
Winter 
A bout Nov. 15 every year the big mill 
whistles on Lake Pend Oreille bray their 
information "the day is done ’ for the 
last time until spring. The mill operatives are 
out of employment for the winter, unless they 
enter the logging camps, which many of them 
do, but there are not enough jobs to go round. 
Those who do not find jobs in the logging camps 
seek employment in a unique manner. Perhaps 
nowhere else in the United States is the same 
industry carried on. To understand it, condi¬ 
tions here must be explained. 
Lake Pend Oreille, like many of the inter¬ 
mountain lakes and streams of the Pacific North¬ 
west, is filled with Rocky Mountain whitefish 
(Caregonus zvilliamsoni), but nowhere are they 
to be found in such numbers as in Lake Pend 
Oreille. ■ 
This fish must not be confused with the white- 
fish of the Great Lakes. Ours is a much smaller 
fish, averaging less than a pound in weight, 
though specimens weighing three pounds have 
been taken. The Rocky Mountain whitefish is 
a slim, trim built fellow, with pearly white scales 
and a very small mouth. During summer they 
remain in the deep, cool water of the lake, com¬ 
ing to the shallow water late in fall for the 
purpose of spawning, where they remain until 
late spring. 
While the Great Lakes fish is rarely taken on 
a hook, the Western whitefish takes bait or fly 
Fishing on Pend 
By CHARLES STUART MOODY 
quite readily. In fact, there is meaner sport 
than fly-casting for these fish in fall when they 
first appear in shallow water. 1 hey strike 
eagerly and fight savagely though not so per¬ 
sistently as a trout or bass. 
It is when the bays are covered with ice that 
whitefishing becomes both sport and business; 
when the men out of employment find a job for 
the winter. 
The “oldest inhabitant” scans with weather- 
wise eye the northwest and prophesies a storm. 
The fishing colony begins preparations for the 
exodus. Steamers, launches, rowboats may be 
seen making across the lake for Bottle Bay 
(poetical name), the spawning bed of uncounted 
numbers of whitefish. Of late years these hand¬ 
some fish have attained considerable commercial 
importance as a food fish, and the demand is 
always greater than the supply. 
When the Frost King appears, the shallow, 
still bay is the first to receive a coating of ice. 
The fishermen have been busy. White tents dot 
the lake shore, tar paper cabins nestle in every 
sheltered nook, canvas shelters built on sleds, 
each with a tiny Sibley stove, stand ready for the 
season. The fishermen have laid in a supply of 
fire wood, hooks and lines prepared, knives sharp¬ 
ened, and most important of all, bait collected. 
This is essential, for the whitefish is a dainty 
feeder and scorns plebian fare; at least, until 
late in the season, when the natural food has 
Oreille 
been consumed and hunger drives him to accept 
almost any offerings. The most taking bait is 
a certain white larva found in partly decayed 
pine stumps. The bait hunter may carve a large 
stump into kindling wood with his axe without 
finding more than a half dozen worms, then 
again he may harvest a half pint from a single 
stump. It is all a matter of luck. Stumps close 
about the bay have been prospected, the hunter 
must fare far in the timber for his supply. Im¬ 
provident ones are obliged to purchase bait at 
one cent each. Once collected, the bait keep 
fresh all winter by merely covering them with 
corn meal. 
The method of taking whitefish with hook and 
line is very simple—and very difficult. The tackle 
is primitive and consists of a stout oiled silk line, 
a fine leader, two ounces of lead and a diminu¬ 
tive hook. 
The frost comes. The colony awakes in the 
morning to find four inches of ice covering the 
bay. Everything is bustle and preparation. The 
houses on the sleds are pushed out, fires lighted 
in the stoves, holes cut through the ice, and the 
sleds pulled over them. The fisherman seats 
himself, decorates his hook with the tiniest bit 
of the bait, and lowers it through the ice to the 
bottom. Gradually he pulls the line up. If the 
fish are not feeding in that spot, another is tried, 
and another until the proper place is located. If 
one of the fishermen finds the feeding ground, 
