Nov. 28, 1908.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
861 
and the fly should be played well. If we could 
sink the fly deep without lead, we might take 
fish in much deeper water. Nothing can be done 
in muddy discolored water. Anglers who in¬ 
tend to visit Florida the coming winter might 
find it worth their while to carry a fly-rod with 
them. I have taken many fish on the west coast 
in purely salt water. The spotted weakfish or 
sea trout is a free riser. Friends staying at 
Homasassa years ago assured me that they had 
taken more than a dozen species of salt water 
fish with flies. They used light split bamboo 
fly-rods. 
I11 my experience the Southern big-mouthed 
bass has been a free riser at suitable artificial 
flies, but one may have to try many patterns 
before he gets just what is wanted. Some 
peculiarities in the water or local habits of the 
fish may account for the difference. Only last 
September I fussed with small-mouth bass for 
four or five days before I did any good with 
flies. There is one thing certain—if you can 
kill fish in this way you will enjoy the maximum 
of sport, life and movement, exhilarating exer¬ 
cise and diversion. Theodore Gordon. 
Paraffin Oil and Dry Flies. 
Commenting on our recent remarks relative 
to 'dry-fly casting, which he reprinted in full, 
Editor Marston, of the Fishing Gazette, asks: 
“Is it possible that our American friends do 
not touch the fly with paraffin to make it float? 
It saves 75 per cent, of the old arm and wrist 
work that used to be necesary before the great 
discovery was made that if the hackles and 
wings and body of an artificial fly are paraffined 
they will float the fly on the water (after a few 
casts to get rid of the surplus oil), so that 
you cannot sink it except by pulling it under, 
unless a very heavy hook is used.” 
t Because a great many of our brooks and streams 
are rapid, not so much attention is given to cast¬ 
ing with floating flies here as in England; how¬ 
ever, this fascinating method is gaining favor 
year by year. Our anglers are not dry-fly 
purists. Neither do they follow the method 
religiously. Theirs may best be termed fishing 
with the floating fly, since many of them cast 
the dry-fly here and there, searching for trout, 
rather than waiting for a rise before making 
the cast. It is common enough to see them 
fishing a pool or rift thoroughly with the single 
floating fly, of course taking advantage of 
every rise meanwhile. 
Not all of them use paraffin oil to prevent 
the fly from sinking. Instead, they dry the fly 
by a series of false casts, and perhaps this ac¬ 
counts for the reluctance with which some try 
the method. An angler who once employs 
paraffin oil will not be satisfied afterward to do 
without.it, for it is even better for flies on our 
swift streams than for those used on the slower 
streams of parts of England. 
We have seen scores of casts made with the 
paraffin fly up and across rapids where the fly 
floated for several seconds until the line be¬ 
tween rod and fly was gripped by the current 
and the fly pulled under. Ample time was 
nearly always given any trout within striking 
distance to take the fly. We have cast the 
paraffined fly during the steady drizzle of an 
April rainstorm, and had no difficulty in float¬ 
ing it every time, although it is only necessary 
to anoint it occassionally even under such ad¬ 
verse conditions. Even on waters where the 
wet fly is more successful, there is a strong 
temptation to cast with the floating fly, and if 
there were no other reason for its use, the 
fact that it may always be seen on the water 
is sufficient, to say nothing of the joy of seeing 
a trout rise to it. Then—and particularly on 
narrow and brushy streams—it is so much 
easier, and withal pleasanter, to cast one fly 
than two or more, and there are those who 
are ever ready to claim that one fly skillfully 
handled is as good as three. Certainly this is 
true at times and some of the most successful 
anglers use but one. 
Paraffin oil is an almost colorless fluid that 
may be obtained from color men for about five 
cents an ounce retail. One of the best re¬ 
ceptacles we have found for it is the tiny metal 
oil tubes that are sold by tackle dealers for ten 
cents. This tube has a screw cap carrying a 
wire flattened at the end. Fill with paraffin 
oil and fasten the “bottle” on your creel strap 
with several turns of waxed thread, so that it 
will be handy. In anointing a fly, use only a 
small quantity of oil, touching the wings and 
hackle lightly, then whip the fly in the air until 
the surplus is removed, else the fly will leave 
a blob of oil on the water when it alights. Be¬ 
sides floating the fly, the oil improves it, giv¬ 
ing it a saucy appearance, and permitting the 
wings to stand out as they should on a floating 
fly, while the hackle bristles in a businesslike 
manner. 
Pushing the Launch Home. 
Ossining, N. Y., Nov. 16.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: About once each year I have to burden 
you with a tale of Ossining, so that our fair 
city and its vicinity will remain on the map 
from a game or fish standpoint. This time it 
is a fish tale, though, if I should write of the 
quantities of ducks I have seen in Tappan Zee 
and Haverstraw Bay this fall, you would doubt 
the duck tale. Hundreds of flocks of duskies, 
blue-bills, teal, marsh ducks, white-wing coot 
and an occasional flock of geese have dropped 
in here to exercise the strong sculling arms 
of our local nimrods. Some of the flocks con¬ 
tinued their Southern flight minus a few lunk¬ 
heads of their number. Most of them, how¬ 
ever, shook a few spent shot out of their glossy 
feathers from a 100-yard distant salute, and 
made a clean get-away, leaving a few neigh¬ 
borly loons to present their respects to the dis¬ 
appointed shooters. 
A loon laugh is very humiliating at times, 
and here starts the fish tale. There have been 
a number of fair catches of striped bass made 
here this season, messes of from twenty to 
thirty being quite numerous. True, there have 
been no large ones caught, but then there is a 
chance of hooking a big one at any time that 
puts zest into the sport and causes one to carry 
along a landing net or gaff and some good 
tackle. In the local fishing club I have been 
trying all seaon to edge up from fourth on the 
list to first or second place, where a fine prize 
and honor awaits me. Last week I received 
an invitation from “Cal” Wagner, who, by the 
way, is a mighty disciple of Izaak Walton. 
When Cal goes fishing it is generally alone, 
and he generally gets a mess; so I considered it 
a distinct honor to be asked along. We had a 
twenty-five foot launch and made for the “oyster 
farms,” or, rather, what once was oyster farms 
up in Haverstraw Bay, midway between Croton 
and Flaverstraw. We had plenty of sandworms 
and a goodly supply of sandwiches. When we 
got to the farms we sat there surrounded by 
other boats, whose occupants, doubtless, the 
same as we, were ruminating upon the joy of 
being alive and fishing upon such a perfect day. 
It was fine, though the fish were not stirring 
much. Never mind; we did not care, we were 
happy and lazy and smoked and dreamed till 
it commenced to get dark and one by one the 
boats went put-putting away home to Peeks- 
kill and Croton and other places. The last one 
to leave before us was bound for Ossining, its 
occupant, a fellow member of the Point 
Sinasqua Rod and Reel Club, as he slid away 
in the gathering darkness, imparted the cheer¬ 
ful information that he had caught one that 
would shove me one point further down on 
the list of prize winners. “Good for you!” I 
called back, but I did not mean it. 
We fished a little while longer and it got 
dark, and a fog commenced to settle down from 
the north. Finally Cal said, “’Bout ready to 
pull up and get in?” I was, for I did not like 
the looks of the fog. The lights of Haverstraw 
were obscured, Rockland light resembled a 
glow-worm in the distance and Croton’s long 
line of lights to the east were being wiped out 
one by one as the fog licked down along the 
shore. Cal pulled in the mud-hook, turned 
on the switch and the gasolene and gave a 
twist on the handle of the balance wheel—noth¬ 
ing happened. 
“Is that gasolene turned on at the tank?” 
“Yep,” I answered, a little shiver chasing up 
and down my spinal column. Cal is a big fel¬ 
low, and he got down to business. He ground 
and ground and spat, bang! off went a charge 
in the muffler and one little kick-back in the 
cylinder sent him sprawling with a sprained 
right wrist, and a lot of fantastic language. 
“Try that gasolene,” be bawled. There was 
a tank half full. Down on his knees he went 
again to turn, this time with the left hand. 
There was the same result with a kick-back 
that put the left arm out of commission. 
It was no use, we could not start the miser¬ 
able thing and there we were four miles from 
home shut in by fog and only a broken eight- 
foot oar to do business with. Cal got our 
bearings with the tide, which was luckily still 
ebbing, and we started a weary fight for home. 
We expected any minute to hear the familiar 
sound of Alderman Joe’s launch in search of 
us, but there was no chance, we found later, 
as it had been pulled out for the winter. We 
made two and a half miles in two and a half 
weary hours, rounding Croton Point at 8:30. 
After crossing the reef a piece of 2x4 was 
spliced on to the oar and the remaining one and 
a half miles made by pushing across the soft 
mud flats opposite Ossining. To make matters 
worse, a loon laughed at us just nineteen times 
from the time we started till we were taken 
in tow by a tardy lot of rescuers a quarter of a 
mile from the landing. 
C. G. Blandford. 
All the fish laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Laws in Brief. See adv. 
