\ Day on a Michigan Trout Stream. 
editor Forest and Stream: 
There is always great pleasure in visiting the 
)ld stream and taking trout from the old holes 
ind pools, all of which have a history of suc- 
ess and failure—a big one taken here and a 
>ig one lost there—and as the fly lights in one 
>f those places how strong is the expectation— 
iow many more hopeful casts can be made than 
n a place entirely new. Still, a new stream is 
lot without its pleasant qualities. The ex- 
ilorer’s sense of something different and much 
o be expected is with us when we visit a stream 
n which we have never fished. 
I have tried all of the really good trout 
streams in lower Michigan many times with the 
'xception of the Manistee, to which stream I 
nade my first visit on May 30. My desire to 
visit this stream was largely increased by the 
etter of Mr. Mershon in your issue of May 16. 
‘I did not hope to find grayling, but the senti- 
nent of his effort to save this stream for that 
excellent fish gave me an added pleasure in visit¬ 
ing it. Being invited by some Lansing friends 
to spend a few days with them in their cottage 
on Portage Lake, I accepted, and while there 
la row of five miles took us to the north end of 
’he lake, then a walk of about three miles over 
an old railroad bed, and we were on the bank 
of the Manistee River, rather tired, but still 
well able to try for trout. It is a handsome 
'stream with frequent bends, containing fairly 
deep water, generally smooth and sandy bottom 
and running with an average depth just right 
for wading. It is also sufficiently wide to make 
‘fly-casting a pleasure. We had a very enjoy¬ 
able day. The trout were plentiful enough to 
satisfy any reasonable sportsman. My basket 
was twenty-three speckled trout, none being re¬ 
tained under eight inches, more than half of 
them reaching ten, and four going to thirteen 
inches in length. The queen of the water 
;seemed to be what the large trout wanted, as 
'all of them were caught on that fly, some of 
the smaller ones taking Rube Wood and coach- 
•man. 
This stream seems to contain speckled or 
dirook trout only, as I saw no other kind, and 
T trust no other kind are there. The rainbow 
trout is all right and I like him on my line, but 
when all is said he is no more gamy nor is he 
handsomer in my opinion than our own speckled 
trout, and on the table he is not in the same 
class. I caught two trout during the day with 
“.something resembling blood suckers fastened to 
them. One I had opportunity to observe very 
carefully as I brought the trout within reach 
ready for the net. It was fastened to the fish 
at about the middle of its side and trailed along 
until I had netted the fish and lifted it from the 
water, then it immediately let loose and went 
wriggling like a small eel until it escaped through 
one of the meshes of the net. It was fully five 
inches long. The trout was about a ten-inch 
one, and seemed active enough, but there was a 
bad sore nearly an inch in length where the 
blood sucker or whatever it was had been fast¬ 
ened. I have fished many streams and caught 
thousands of trout, but I never before observed 
one thus afflicted. 
Small trout are very abundant in this stream, 
and with proper care the fishing ought to con¬ 
tinue good. The seven-inch limit is all right as 
far as it goes, and no doubt helps much, but in 
bait-fishing at least the size of the hook should 
be limited. I have done very little bait-fishing 
for trout in many years, but when using bait 
I never use smaller than a No. 1 sproat hook. 
Hardly one small trout out of five caught with 
bait and returned to the stream lives. With the 
large hook very few small trout will be taken 
and you will get just as many good ones. 
M. B. 
A Luckless Trip. 
Edgewater, N. J., July 3.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Whether it was because Bates did not 
have his hat on straight, or because we forgot 
to spit on the bait, the fact remains that after 
fishing Lake Hopatgong assiduously for two 
days we were compelled to return home white¬ 
washed, skunked. 
We whirled the festive plug, we skittered, we 
trolled with spoons and phantoms and live bait, 
bucktails and spinners. The fish must have been 
smiling broadly, for our efforts were truly piti¬ 
ful. Bates’ long suit is skittering for pickerel, 
but the alligator faces would not skitter for a 
ducat. As the lake is reputed nine miles long 
and three at its widest, we agreed that there 
ought to be a few fish there. How the boys in 
camp, chaffed us when we came in for meals, 
sunburned to a crisp, but fishless withal. 
On the second day we brought some live bait 
and tried slow trolling. No use. However, Mr. 
Carter, of Easton, a cottager at the lake and 
an angler par excellence, while rowing slowly 
in a circle about us, picked up fifteen pickerel, 
largest 4 y 2 pounds; two small-mouth bass, largest 
about three pounds; one Oswego bass and three 
large yellow perch. 
But as I remarked before, Mr. Carter is a 
fisherman and a gentleman, and to watch him 
manage two rods, landing net and the oars while 
slow trolling alone, is a treat, indeed. 
The fish at Hopatcong are just now being 
caught almost exclusively slow trolling with live 
bait, the fish all lying, apparently, in the deeper 
water, the water alongshore being tepid. 
I must say a word about accommodations at 
the lake. Though I returned empty handed, so 
far as fish are concerned, yet the two hour 
trip by rail, the ride through the canal lock and 
across the lake to Nolan’s point is the finest in 
the vicinity of New York I do believe. It costs 
a dollar a day to stop at camp. From that figure 
up to the $4 daily of the hotel any man may 
choose. As for George and I, we sleep under 
canvas whenever we get the chance. 
Darius Dalrymple. 
Trouiing on Irish Waters. 
Antrim, Ireland, July 1. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Here are a few bits of angling experi¬ 
ence, gathered during forty years of active life 
in the old country, during which I spent many 
a day by river, stream or sea shore. Nothing 
is more wholesome or helpful than such excur¬ 
sions as I used to make. 
I had just hooked a nice little trout in the 
Glenavy River one afternoon, when I was aware 
of some person or animal close behind me. 
Turning, I found myself face to face with a 
solemn old billy-goat with patriarchal beard and 
massive horns. 
Should I try to get hold of those threatening 
horns and fight the enemy, or hold on to my 
trout? I am a man of peace, so I gave way 
before my butting friend, and was pushed into 
the shallow stream, soaked no doubt, but land¬ 
ing my fish securely by my net in mid-stream. 
I have since heard that the ancient warrior was 
quite an adept at driving intruding visitors off 
his domains. 
Fishing one morning on a small lake, and 
on casting a long line to attract a rising trout, 
I found my flics arrested behind me, and look¬ 
ing round, found to my dismay that I had 
hooked by his rough coat a shaggy Irish terrier, 
which had been calmly watching the fish and 
the fisherman. Fortunately, “Paddy” was of a 
forgiving disposition, so I got my flies and he 
his liberty. 
Did you ever see a dog go into the stream to 
help secure a fish? No one could show more 
enthusiasm, or more intelligent interest in the 
capture of the struggling fish than the dog, and 
in addition to helping to land my fish, my faith¬ 
ful retriever, “Jack,” would trot home in the 
evening before me on the country road, with 
my rod and net safely carried in his broad 
mouth. How often one finds when enjoying 
the rest and relaxation of a quiet country holi¬ 
day, that the companionship of a sober, wise 
dog is much to be preferred to that of a talk¬ 
ative, restless man, who rather mars than en¬ 
hances your day’s pleasure. 
On Ballyshannon River one July day, I had 
been most lucky in killing several fine white 
trout in a fresh, which was tumbling over the 
falls. . Several ran to three pounds, and I was 
deep in my delightsome employment when I 
was joined by a chatty stranger, who being a 
native of the place professed great knowledge 
and proficiency in the gentle art. As he 
gossiped on I hooked another fine fish and be¬ 
gan patiently to play him, but with great cau¬ 
tion as he was very fresh, and leaping up some 
feet into the air frequently. The grand struggle 
had gene on for about fifteen minutes, when my 
trout began to give up the fight. Here my 
visitor begged to do me the favor of landing my 
fish. Taking my net, he hastened to the river 
edge and got the net in, talking all the time. 
I advised caution and brought the tired fish 
to the brink. 
Imagine my dismay and righteous wrath when 
