June 15, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
751 
for a moment and let them go to hide their 
heads again in the crevices of the rocks like 
little Ostriches? 
We realized how imminent was our return 
to the common, prosaic things of civilization, 
and how surely we should miss these tall, 
straight firs of the Maine forest. I love them 
every one, and the graceful deer, whom we have 
come to look upon as familiar friends. A forest 
without them will always seem to us now un¬ 
occupied and lonely. We love the memory of 
our camps, each one of which we have named 
“Moose Horn Camp,"’ “Bide-a-WAe,” “Camp of 
the Pointed Firs,’’ “Sunnyside,” ‘ Deer Camp,” 
where the pretty little doe passed right before 
our tent doors; “Marauders’ Camp,” where we 
unwittingly disturbed a nest of robins; “Camp 
of the Twin Sisters,” where we first saw the 
dainty little wild flower of that name; “Camp 
Ararat,” and all the rest. We shall miss the 
pathway of the moonlight on the water, which 
we could see at night from our bough beds 
through the open doors, and the falling asleep 
to the dancing light of the camp-fire on cold 
nights, and its comfort when we came in wet 
from a rainy day of travel. Such w'armth and 
good cheer come only to mortals who. like us, 
are leading a wandering life in the wilderness, 
following the woodland waterways of iMainc. 
Without doubt, the love for camp smoke is 
an acquired taste, yet we cling to it as we do 
to the precious fund of w'oods lore which we 
acquired in those three short weeks, and in my 
capacity as keeper of the log, or camp historian, 
the acquiring of information devolved upon me 
as an official duty, and "live and learn” was my 
motto. My thirst for information promptly 
earned for me the title of the “eternal question” 
and “the interrogation point,” but with such a 
fund of knowledge to draw from as these ex¬ 
perienced ^ifaine guides, how could one forbear 
to ask questions? 
We have learned that to “snub” a canoe is 
to check or stop it suddenly; we have learned 
to know the “deer line” which shows plainly 
along the edge of the woods how far up the 
deer can reach in their browsing; we have seen 
an Allegash tow boat, a quaint species of local 
watercraft, which is in a class entirely by it¬ 
self, and on the St. John’s we saw a “pirogue,” 
a tiny eggshell of a boat about one-quarter the 
size of a canoe, and the guides say, about four 
times as dangerous. We have been initiated into 
the mysteries of baking biscuit in a Dutch oven, 
an operation which, in our cooking stoves at 
home, is always conducted behind closed doors, 
and no child for the first time watching "the 
wheels go round" in a watch could be more 
fascinated than I was to stand there behind the 
camp-fire and be able to see the white dough 
gradually rise to the top of the tin, then harden, 
tuin to a delicate brown, then a deeper shade 
as W’alter pronounced them done and drew the 
oven back from the fire. We learned to under¬ 
stand what was meant when, during the process 
of baking, the question was asked, “How’s she 
actin’, Fred?” and the answ'er, “Cornin’ fine,” 
also the exact shade of meaning implied in the 
question, "How's the fire, bracin’ up a little?” 
and after our first few days of rankest green¬ 
ness. we knew enough to answer “Yes” to the 
inquiry, “Tea a little too stout fur ye?” 
We learned to know that no offense was in¬ 
tended W'hen two of the guides w'ere referred 
to as “over there swappin’ lies,” and when we 
heard the question, “Where’s Jim?” and the 
answer, “Out pickin’ feathers,” we knew that 
Jim had gone to gather fir balsam tips for our 
beds. 
We learned to love their homely, idiomatic 
speech which is far more expressive than the 
most forcible slang, as this from Richard: “A 
cigarette ’s jest about as near nothin’ as a thing 
ken be ’n yet tiot be nothin’; I never smoked 
hut one in my life, ’n Fve be’n ashamed o’ my¬ 
self ever sence.’’ 
[to be concluded.] 
The Lures that Catch Elusive Fish 
T he subject of dry-fly fishing has become so 
important in America this spring, and as 
thus far the most comprehensive article on 
the subject, other than those that have already 
appeared in Forest and Stream, by Theodore 
Gordon, is one that was published in Leslie’s 
Weekly a few weeks ago, written by Emlyn M. 
Gill, author of "Practical Dry-Fly Fishing,” by 
permission of the author, and publisher, we take 
pleasure in reproducing part of the article here¬ 
with. 
While fishing for fresh water bass, both 
small-mouth and large-mouth, furnishes an im¬ 
mense amount of sport to anglers in nearly all 
parts of the country, it is undoubtedly true that 
fly-fishing for trout has held a place in the af¬ 
fections of its devotees, and also in angling 
literature, for more than two centuries, that can 
never be replaced by any other method of ang¬ 
ling. The principal pleasure to be derived from 
its practice is not the heavy creel at the end 
of the day's sport, but the very attractions of 
the game itself. 
In much fished waters, where the trout are 
scarce and very shy, the utmost skill is required 
to present an artificial fly in such a manner that 
the fish is completely deceived and takes the 
artificial lure without suspicion that it is not 
about to enjoy a repast upon one of nature’s 
dainties. 
In discussing the various methods common- 
Jy used by fly-fishermen, it is necessary to divide 
trout into two classe.s—those that are caught in 
wilderness waters, where they are seldom 
visited by an angler and therefore are unfamiliar 
with his lures, and those inhabiting streams 
By EMLYN M. GILL 
nearer civilization that are constantly fished day 
after day in season and whose trout become 
accustomed to the sight of artificial flies of all 
descriptions. In these streams trout become 
“educated’’ and most difficult to deceive. The 
wilderness trout, unaccustomed to the wiles of 
sportsmen and in keen competition for food, 
fall easy victims to almost any pattern of gaudy 
flies, tied with silks and feathers of brilliant 
hue and frequently made without intention of 
imitating either insect or other living creature. 
Some of the flies most commonly used for this 
style of fishing are the Parmachenee belle, in¬ 
vented by the late PI. P. Wells to imitate the 
belly-fin of a trout; the silver doctor, a lure with 
a bright silver body and wings of fancy feathers; 
the royal coachman, professor, Montreal, red 
ibis, grizzly king and others, all without living 
counterpart in nature. 
Nor are these flies, as a rule, presented to 
the fish in a manner in which they would reach 
it naturally. A weak, flying insect of any kind 
would be utterly unable to swim against a 
heavy current, and yet in this style of angling 
the lures described are often cast down stream 
and pulled up stream against the current by a 
series of jerks, or thrown across stream and 
forced to swim across the heavy flow of the 
stream, apparently against great odds. These 
flies are known as wet flies or sunken flies, for 
when cast upon the stream they immediately sink 
beneath the surface. The belief is held by many 
that wet flies, presented in the manner described, 
are not taken by the trout for winged insects, 
but for minnows or other small fish. 
About the middle of the last century 
a jMr. Pulman made a discovery that 
has revolutionized the methods of fly¬ 
fishing on the celebrated chalk streams 
of Southern England, and which bids 
fair to have a potent influence upon 
American angling. He realized that, 
while trout at times were accustomed 
to feed below the surface, eating the 
larvte or nymphs of aquatic insects, yet 
frequently their favorite food seemed 
to be winged insects that had emerged 
from their larval state, and which, 
with wings erect, floated on the sur¬ 
face of the stream. So Mr. Pulman 
advocated the use of a floating fly, 
to be cast up-stream and allowed 
to drift down with the current over 
the feeding fish. And from this 
Fly-casting is an art that requires something akin to genius. T he 
left picture shows the proper position of rod and hands at end of 
back cast; the right shows proper position of rod and hands at end 
of forward cast. 
