Some Fishing Memories. 
Concluded from page 499. 
Two disciples of Sir Izaak especially interest 
me, the first being the veteran, the second the 
tyro. The former with his repose of manner, 
but dispatch of business—methodical and self- 
contained to a degree—perfect epitome of a 
man in dead earnest, and the latter, excited, 
enthusiastic and restless, trying to do several 
things at once, and see what every one else 
was doing around him—a most excellent illus¬ 
tration of the rolling stone. The tyros are 
sometimes a sore trial to the veterans, though 
usually they are borne with. There are occa¬ 
sions, however, when some extreme case calls 
forth a protest, one of which I recall. 
The day was perfect and an unusually large 
crowd lined the dock, catching whiting, blue- 
fish and other small fry. Finally, when the. 
sport was best and all busy, there came bus¬ 
tling down the dock with much loud talk a 
tourist from the interior. He carried a fishing 
outfit wholly unsuited to the intended sporr, 
and for bait a tin can with what looked to be 
large sections of salt codfish. From his ad¬ 
vent he was the busiest man on the dock. For 
some time he sprinted back and forth, exam¬ 
ining and handling each fish caught, firing 
questions, commendations and advice like an 
automatic at men he had never seen before. 
Tiring of that, he finally hung a generous 
shark bait of salt fish on his large hook, and 
announced, “Look out, boys, I am going after 
the grown folks. I am going to catch a regu¬ 
lar old Jonah eater.” He started to cast in 
by a man who had just caught a fish, but 
dragged his bait back before it touched the 
water to run to the side of another man, 
catching a larger fish. Then for the next half 
hour he ran up and down, back and forth, 
crowding every one that caught a fish, getting 
his line across and tangled with other lines, 
and making himself generally intolerable. 
The climax was reached, when, for the third 
time, he crowded in on a peppery old veteran, 
who was famous for his impatience with any¬ 
thing that for one moment distracted his at¬ 
tention when fishing. Dropping his rod, the 
old gentleman rushed at his tormentor and 
opened hostilities by kicking his bait bucket 
as far out to sea as he could drive it. Then, 
with his gray beard fairly bristling with rage, 
he made at the fellow, swearing he would 
throw him after it. 
While I could not give that nuisance a cer¬ 
tificate as an experienced angler, his running 
was certainly high class. He dashed down the 
dock at a speed that quickly distanced his 
pursuer, and gaining the' beach, tore up the 
sandy road, scattering sand like a snow plow. 
We cheered him out of sight, and then, like 
his conqueror, resumed our fishing in peace. 
A decided contrast to this case was that of 
another novice, a nice, quiet, appreciative fel¬ 
low, who did not know, and knew that he knew 
not, whom I encountered at another time, 
He was doing the best he could with improper 
tackle and useless bait, when we discovered 
him, and it was a positive pleasure to give him 
the bits of advice and assistance that fishermen 
always gladly give to those who show appre¬ 
ciation. His first fish, which he frankly ad¬ 
mitted to be the first he had ever caught, de¬ 
lighted him beyond expression, and we one 
and all rejoiced with him. He had the be¬ 
ginner’s luck and caught fish after fish, grow¬ 
ing, if possible, more enthusiastic with each 
one, until finally he pulled out that odd look¬ 
ing freak of nature, a flounder. It was a good- 
sized specimen, looking like a large animated 
disk of card board, black on one side and 
white on the other. Reeling it in, he stretched 
forth his hand to grasp it, but getting a fair 
view of its strange shape, he snatched his 
hand back and stood gazing at it in fascina¬ 
tion. Again he reached for it, but again his 
courage failed him, and holding it at arm’s 
length he hurried to where several of us had 
been watching him in amused silence, and 
begged us to be good enough to tell him what 
he had caught. “I knew there were strange 
things in the sea,” he said, “but would not 
Lave believed, without seeing it, that it was 
possible to catch fish one-half at a time.” 
When assured that, though queer, his 
flounder was harmless, and indeed a most ex¬ 
cellent fish, he detached it from the hook, 
baited up and returned, as he said, “To see if 
he could not catch the other half.” 
Fishing for shark from an ocean pier and 
while awaiting a strike watching a party of 
bathers in the surf a little way up the beach, I 
was thoroughly enjoying a bright sunshiny 
day. When the strike came it was of such 
vigor as to indicate a fish of proportions. 
Putting back and biceps heartily into the re¬ 
turn strike, I hooked it fast. The usual quick 
run followed, but instead of out to sea, as 
usual, the course taken was a right angle to 
the pier, and parallel to the beach. Seeing 
that its course was directly toward the bath¬ 
ers, and fearing that they might be frightened 
by it, or perhaps fouled by the line and in¬ 
jured, I put all possible pressure on the drag 
and my full weight on the rod. The pull was 
too great, and it stopped the shark just at it 
was abreast of and a few feet from two young 
fellows standing in shoulder-deep water, pre¬ 
paring to meet an approaching breaker. 
With a terrific upheaval, the writhing mon¬ 
ster sprang clear of the water t almost in their 
astonished faces, shaking its head and snap¬ 
ping its wicked jaws. And what of the two 
young men? The surf was heavy that day, 
but their frightened yells were distinctly heard 
for a mile up and down the beach, and al¬ 
though they did not exactly walk on the water 
in their wild rush for the shore, they came as 
near doing so as honest endeavor could to ac¬ 
complishing such a difficult feat. 
Lewis Hopkins. 
Trout Fishing Retrospect. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Trout have considerable individuality. For 
instance, a large female rainbow in the New 
York Aquarium had a very bad temper and was 
always attacking her companions. When I last 
saw her, she had been placed in the tank with 
two salmon, as it was hoped that she would 
get along better with them. (This was years 
ago.) Some fish fight desperately, others do 
not. I do not fancy that they feel much pain 
from the hook, no matter where it is placed in 
the mouth. A boy lost three bait hooks in a 
deep hole under a bank. The snooding was 
good for nothing, and they slipped off the gut. 
He then knotted on a hook securely and caught 
a trout with the three other hooks in its mouth. 
This seems very fishy, but is absolutely true. 
There are not so many trout in places where 
their habits and movements can be noted as 
there were two years ago. 1 regret this very 
sincerely, as it was extremely interesting. 
Among the blessings of fishing are the many 
happy recollections of sport and of a free life 
in the open air. These are on file in a cabinet 
of the brain ready to refresh and cheer us in 
times of difficulty and doubt, illness or depres¬ 
sion. 
It is curious that so many pleasant “think¬ 
ings” should be strung on with a few fish, for 
it is not the biggest basket, the greatest killing 
that comes back to us most frequently, or re¬ 
tains bright interest for the mind. We may 
have taken but three fish after much effort, but 
there was something in the surroundings, a 
sporting, or difficult element in their capture, 
which made the event noteworthy and delight¬ 
ful. We enjoy easy fishing occasionally, but we 
would not care to have it every day or often. 
We wish to imagine that a good deal of skill 
has been required to lure those trout, or other 
fish; that if we had sat in the seat of the duffer, 
they would not have been ours. We desire 
the largest, shyest fish of the stream, whether 
they weigh ten ounces, or ten pounds, and we 
would prefer to take them in a certain way, with 
a small fly and fine tackle, for instance. Also, 
that it was necessary to use this tiny lure and 
gauzy thread in order to deceive them. Who 
would care to spend his annual vacation on an 
overstocked water where great numbers of trout 
could be caught in any old way, by any one, 
with any kind of coarse tackle and bait. He 
might enjoy such a place for a short time, by 
reason of the novelty and contrast with his usual 
experiences. I remember a lake in Maine where 
trout were superabundant and consequently of 
no great size. A lady strung six flies on a 
leader and landed four trout almost the first 
cast. With three flies, one wpuld take two or 
three frequently. We tired of this in a few 
days a.nd made a difficult pilgrimage to a place 
where only a few big fish could be taken in a 
day. We only killed about one dozen, all told, 
but felt as if we had been really fishing. 
During a recent drive to the Beaverkill I 
