March 9, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
379 
Accuracy Casting. 
In accuracy casting at targets it is best to 
use a moderately long rod, say 6 to 6^2 feet, 
and quite pliable. jHere much depends upon 
the nicety of your casting, and, especially at 
the close targets, your cast should start gently 
in order for you to follow its flight with your 
eye—hence the pliable rod, which requires less 
“elbow grease.” Stand in an easy position, 
with your weight evenly balanced. Point the 
tip of the rod straight at the target. Raise the 
rod slowly, and, as you do so, with the tip 
draw an imaginary vertical line up from the 
target against the background. Keep your 
eyes fixed upon this line, and as you cast 
forward, which should be done slowly, bring 
the tip of your rod straight down the line. 
With a little practice you will be surprised at 
the accuracy which may be attained. Watch 
the flight of your plug carefully (here is where 
the white enamelled ones come in) in order 
to gauge the distance of the cast. It is well to 
stand a little back from the edge of the plat¬ 
form, so that if you see a cast is likely to fall 
short, you can help out by stepping forward 
and extending the rod. If you over-cast the 
target, which is the safest, you stop the cast 
of course by checking the reel; but never do 
this suddenly or you will cause your plug to 
kick back several feet with the jerk. Practice 
casting with as nearly the same motion and 
speed as possible, and it will do much toward 
improving your average. 
Don’t put too much line on your reel—this 
is a common fault. The spool should be well 
but not entirely filled: leave about an eighth of 
an inch of the spool ends visible. Get a line- 
dryer and take care of your line or it will soon 
become sticky and rotten. Don’t neglect to 
clean your reel and keep it oiled. Use only 
the best watch or clock oil you can buy, and 
remember that a reel should only be lubri¬ 
cated and not flooded. Simply remove the oil- 
caps and touch the bearings with a feather or 
fine sliver of wood dipped in oil. Do this often 
and keep your reel always in a leather box or 
chamois bag to protect it from dust and dirt. 
Lou S. Darling. 
A Lobster Pot Trip. 
One hot afternoon last July, returning to 
business after the noon hour, I felt badly, in no 
particular spot perhaps, just an uneasy restless 
feeling. Just what I wanted to do I hardly 
knew, but there was one thing I did not want 
to do, and that was work. I was sick # and 
tired of the whole thing, and I just made up my 
mind that I was working myself into an early 
grave. The weather did not help matters any. 
the bright blue sky overhead and the gentle 
breeze fanning my cheeks made me feel worse 
than ever. Why should I work, anyway? I 
owned my home, we had a good dinner, and I 
knew that we had food enough for supper and 
perhaps breakfast, and here I was pegging away 
at my task with all this beautiful world just 
outside the window. As I was thinking about 
this in came my daughter, who said, “Father, 
Charlie D. is going across the Sound after some 
lobster pots, and wants you to go with him; he 
says to get something to eat and a coat and 
come right down.” 
I needed no urging; I simply did as requested 
I went home and explained to my wife that I 
was suddenly called away from home and would 
she get something to eat and my old coat. She 
looked a little queer and, I imagined, said 
something a little sarcastic about leaving busi¬ 
ness and going off at that time of day. I was, 
however, thinking of other matters and just 
kissed her good-bye and said how sorry I was 
to leave her and went on down to the dock. 
The friend who had telephoned to me, was 
formerly a lighthouse keeper at the eastern end 
of Long Island known as “The Little Gull 
Light.” He had left there a few months pre¬ 
vious to this and had taken up his residence in 
my own horde town of M. on the opposite side 
of the Sound and some miles further west, mak¬ 
ing us in a direct line of about forty miles from 
Little Gull Light. He was running at the time 
a little auxiliary sloop boat with a small cabin 
and a five horsepower motor installed under 
the cockpit floor. The boat had originally been 
designed for use without power, the motor being 
a comparatively new thing to her. She had 
ample sail power, and with her big mainsail 
and jib could walk away with the best of the 
fleet. This with her motor for calm weather, 
and a nine-foot cabin to sleep in, made her an 
ideal boat for the trip. 
When my friend moved his household goods 
and belongings away from the lighthouse, he 
left behind him eight or ten lobster pots, and to 
get these was the object of our cruise to¬ 
day. Our plan was to run down to a point 
about opposite the light, and make a harbor for 
the night. Then with an early start in the morn¬ 
ing, to run across to the lighthouse, have break¬ 
fast with the keeper, get our pots and come 
home. We had with us the necessary gear for 
bluefishing and hoped by coming home around 
Plum Island and up through Plum Gut to bring 
home a mess of bluefish. 
I found Charlie at the dock waiting for me, 
with his mainsail all set and jib ready to run 
up. “What do you think of the weather, Tom.” 
asked Charlie, pointing to the northwest. Look¬ 
ing in the direction indicated there, sure enough, 
was a blot on the fair face of nature in the 
shape of a black thunder cloud just making up. 
Now just what to do we did not know; we had 
a fair wind, the sea was smooth, and even if 
the clouds did prove troublesome, we thought 
perhaps we could take care of ourselves, and if 
worst came to worst, we could run into some 
nearby harbor and weather the storm. So put¬ 
ting the jib on her, we cast off our lines and 
started. 
Running out of the harbor with our boom 
wide off to port before the light southwest wind 
and with the help of the motor, we slid along 
down toward the Connecticut River. The sea 
was smooth, the wind was light, and most of 
the sky looked very pleasant. There Was, how¬ 
ever, the black cloud in the north which we 
thought would bear watching. It was about an 
even thing we figured, whether the squall would 
sag off to the northward or whether it would 
follow on in our wake and strike 11s. It seemed 
to change very little and looked about the same 
as when we started. Outside and to the south¬ 
ward of us. slowly stemming the ebb tide on 
the way to New York, a tug with a half a dozen 
empty barges was slowly working to the west¬ 
ward. Three or four schooners with all their 
light kites out were taking advantage of the 
tide and southwest wind to go the other way, 
while the polished brass work and gleaming 
white sides of a big steam yacht completed a 
beautiful marine picture. 
Two hours brought us to the river, and again 
we hesitated, trying to decide whether to stop 
there for a harbor, or to run on a few miles 
further. The cloud had perhaps risen a little, 
but remained much the same as when we started. 
So we concluded to keep going. By the big 
light at the mouth of the river, and the little 
bug-light on the “jetty,” and down over the 
shoals lying at the mouth of the river we kept 
steadily on our way till about sunset, the wind 
dropping, we took in our canvas and slid into 
a quiet cove to anchor for the night. A sheltered 
little harbor we found, and mooring our boat, 
we made everything snug and started the oil- 
stove for coffee and supper. Nowhere does 
coffee taste as good as it does on the salt water, 
and the hot beverage and sandwiches made 11s 
a royal feast. Then clearing away the dishes, we 
made up our bunks for the night. 
It was too beautiful an evening for us to want 
to retire at this early hour, so we went out 
into the cockpit to enjoy the evening. Near 
11s a black sloop yacht lay quietly on the glassy 
waterr three or four fishing boats and a small 
naphtha launch had also chosen this spot to 
spend the night. As the shadows lengthened 
the brightly lighted cabins and odors of bacon 
and coffee that floated to us from them, made 
a scene of quiet restfulness not soon to be for¬ 
gotten. The black cloud had sagged away to 
the northward; overhead the stars had begun 
to shine, and night like a mantle, settled over the 
scene. “I guess it’s about time to turn in,” re¬ 
marked Charlie. To this I agreed, so going be¬ 
low, we shoved the slide partly over, crawled 
into our narrow bunks and knew nothing 
more, until the gray square of light in the hatch 
told us that it was daybreak. 
I could hear Charlie move around in his berth, 
so spoke to him, and looking at my watch and 
found that it was 4 o’clock, while Charlie poked 
his head out and looked at the weather. “What’s 
the verdict?” I asked. “Oh, it’s a little thick, 
but I think it’s going to be a good day, so let’s 
have a cup of coffee and start." This we soon 
did, oiled the motor, got up our anchor and 
started across the Sound. We felt our way at 
half speed down to the open water and made our 
course south by west, trusting to strike the 
Little Gull in about an hour. The fog was 
like a wall, and shtit us in on all sides; damp 
wreaths of vapor blew across and over us, but 
we kept steadily on. An hour and a half and 
the loud boom of the fog-horn at the light 
showed that we were right up at the tower, and 
slowing down the engine to half speed, we 
crept around and up to the. southern side of it 
and let go our anchor about ten rods from the 
shore, when a hearty hail came from the dock, 
“Hello! Charlie, what in the world are you do¬ 
ing over here?” “Come off here and get us. 
JOHN ENRIGHT LANDING A 43 POUND SALMON ON THE SHANNON RIVER IN IRELAND. 
