Bass Fishing in the Sebastian River. 
Most of the small fresh water streams of 
Florida abound in black bass and Sebastian River 
is no exception in this line, but I seriously doubt 
whether there is another stream containing the 
same volume of water that surpasses it in the 
number of large-mouth bass it contains. It is 
a small stream, so narrow that it is more often 
spoken of as the “creek” than as a river, and 
the only way we do know that it is a river is 
because the maps say it is, and of course they 
ought to know. It is scarcely more than a dozen 
miles in length, but so crooked that the waters 
from its source no doubt flow twice as many 
miles before reaching its mouth. It begins its 
tortuous course in the marshes about three miles 
to the southwest of the little hamlet of Wabasso 
and flows in a northeasterly direction until it 
reaches the vicinity of Roseland, where it turns 
east and empties into Indian River. 
Along the banks of the Sebastian grow in 
tropical profusion giant cypress trees and stately 
cabbage palmettos, all gaily decked with orchids 
or heavily draped with Spanish moss. In low 
places back from the streams are small ponds of 
sluggish water in which flourish turtles, alliga¬ 
tors and cotton-mouth moccasins. All kinds of 
water-loving birds abound in countless numbers 
during the nesting season and the trees are often 
entirely covered with egrets, gannets, curlews and 
water turkeys. Hawks, owls, ospreys and eagles 
are fond of the place, and at all seasons of the 
year the angler can find many things to interest 
him besides the fish, if anything else were needed 
to keep him interested. 
The water in this river is cold and has a 
swift current. At frequent intervals are deep 
holes and here the bass are found in great num¬ 
bers. The sides and bottoms of these holes, 
however, are often a mass of tree trunks, limbs 
and roots, which tax the fisherman's skill and 
patience to the utmost. A goodly supply of lines 
and hooks is needed, for the bass seem to de¬ 
light in wrapping your line around some pro¬ 
truding root. The branches overhead may also 
demand some of your attention, and between 
them, the roots and the fish themselves, you will 
be busily engaged. The lazy fisherman has no 
place here. In some places the garfish have 
possession and here edible fish are scarce. Other 
deep holes are full of catfish which seize the bait 
almost as fast as one can cast in. Here also 
bass fishing is poor, but there are hundreds of 
other holes to try out, and once a good place is 
found you will soon have a nice string of bass 
or croppies. 
It had been a long time since I had wet a 
line in this stream, and when men, women, 
children and even the lazy darkies kept coming 
in with big strings of bass and bigger stories of 
how many more they could have caught if the 
bait had been plentiful, hooks had held out or 
something else unfortunate had not happened, I 
could scarcely restrain myself from joining the 
crowd. I was very busy, however; the fish could 
wait, but the work would not. 
Christmas week came and with it two days 
of recreation. Bright and early the tackle was 
hunted up and we were soon at the river. We 
took our minnow net and hunted up a little creek 
where minnows were said to be plentiful, and 
after an hour or two of hard work succeeded in 
capturing a few. Trees, vines, briers and saw 
palmettos hung out over and down into the water 
and seemed to vie with each other in trying our 
patience. The moment we succeeded in finding 
a place where you could use the net, the min¬ 
nows seeing you would dart under the rubbish 
along the shore and would emerge only after 
vigorous stirring and splashing with a stick. 
Finally we secured enough to begin fishing. 
Creeping carefully up behind an overhanging 
palmetto tree I dropped a minnow into the deep 
water. It was instantly seized by a big catfish 
which was soon flopping about on the bank. My 
companion landed a croppy almost at the same 
time. The croppies kept us busy for a while, 
and then stopped biting. I moved to another 
place, and seeing a number of fish on the oppo¬ 
site side of the stream, fairly swarming around 
some cypress roots, I cast a minnow over to 
them. It proved to be a school of catfish which, 
from the way they devoured my bait, were raven¬ 
ously hungry. I hurried away from there and 
found a nice place on a fallen tree near a shal¬ 
low piece of water. I saw several nice bass 
lying along the white sands near the bottom of 
the pool, but they saw me too and went away. 
Remaining perfectly quiet on the tree trunk, I 
had the satisfaction of seeing several more edg¬ 
ing back toward the log as if to look into the 
cause of the hurried departure of their fellows. 
I allowed my minnow to drift by them in the 
current and one had darted forward and seized 
the bait, and in another moment he was flounder¬ 
ing on the bank. This was repeated several 
times and then the bass seemed to get wise and 
refused to bite any more. 
My companion had also secured a fine string 
of fish, but as our luck now seemed to be at 
an end he proposed going up stream a mile or 
more where there were deeper holes and more 
open water. I agreed and we started, but on 
the way I tried an eddy at the foot of a giant 
cypress tree and added several croppies to the 
string. 
We reached the place spoken of by my com¬ 
panion in a short time and I was soon taking 
from the water the largest bass that it has ever 
been my good fortune to hook. They say down 
here in the picturesque language of the South 
land “there belongs to be” a bass under every 
cypress root and in this particular piece of water 
I think it is quite true, for we kept pulling them 
out in numbers for a while. They were shy, 
however, and in spite of their numbers kept 
moving away after one or more had been caught 
at one place, which made the sport all the more 
interesting. 
By this time we had all the fish we could use 
and some for our neighbors, too, and remem¬ 
bered that I was three miles from home, that 
it was 3 p. m., and that I had a Christmas tree 
to decorate at the church for the evening exer¬ 
cises. All this called for my immediate presence 
at the village and so we reluctantly bid good-bye 
to Sebastian River and its large-mouth black 
bass—but not forever. C. A. V. 
The Boatman’s Tuna. 
Los Angeles, Cal., Jan. 25. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: Although local anglers have come to 
consider midwinter as the ebb of all angling 
activities, January is prolific in surprises and 
often finds the angler well repaid for his faith 
in the unlimited possibilities of the sea. Rod 
and reel men are proverbially sanguine, and al¬ 
though there was a time when fresh water ang¬ 
lers scoffed at the cumbersome gea^ and bung¬ 
ling methods of the brethren who went down 
to the sea for sport, modern light tackle has 
changed all this until to-day the sportsman 
recognizes no difference as to the ethics of his 
favorite pastime, whether followed in brook, 
lake, river or the ocean. 
For several years past something of note pis- 
catorially has broken loose at some of the re¬ 
sorts about the middle of January. One year 
it was a phenomenal run of the large and gamy 
spotfin croaker in San Pedro Bay. Another 
year a big school of pompano invaded the waters 
of the same bay. Kingfish always are plentiful 
in the bay, often constituting a nuisance by 
beating other more desirable varieties to the 
bait. China croakers, a good sporting variety, 
often come in in mid winter, and upon occasion 
halibut of from five to twenty-five pounds 
weight can be hooked. 
Two years ago this month the most famous 
run of yellowtail ever recorded in these waters 
began at Redondo Beach, being occasioned by 
an immense school of squid. 
At this season great schools of the delicious 
and sporting carbina or surf fish often appear 
close to the beach. It is hard to get these fish 
to take any sort of bait, but sometimes they 
take a notion to feed and do so with a ferocity 
that gladdens the anglers. At Catalina the alba- 
core are the chief game fish to be had in winter. 
George Michealis, the veteran boatman, after 
putting in the summer coaching expert anglers 
in tuna fishing, decided a few weeks ago, after 
the busy time had passed, to go out and put 
his theories to actual practice. Michealis got 
Fred Goulding to go with him one bright morn¬ 
ing and steer the ship. Michealis is a magnifi¬ 
cent specimen of physical manhood, some six 
feet tall and built like a Grecian bronze. He 
was prepared to whip any tuna into subjection 
that was takeable and went at it with what the 
anglers call a “stiff-handled” reel. He was not 
long finding his tuna. The leather drag was 
worn through in a jiffy, and several were hooked 
before one finally stayed, until the line parted. 
At last there seemed some prospect of a battle 
of endurance. The fish was a fair specimen 
and the usual “pumping in” begun. Like most 
tuna, this one would give up two feet and take 
three, until at the end of an hour and a half, 
