White Bass Fishing. 
In Wisconsin the advent of no fish is more 
eagerly looked forward to than that of the 
white bass. The fish is not restricted in its 
range, being found throughout the Great Lake 
region as well as in the upper Mississippi and 
its branches. The white bass of the lower 
Mississippi valley* belongs to another genus. 
White bass were at one time common in the 
Ohio River, but during recent years few have 
been taken. In form the fish resembles the 
crappie and calico bass, and like them, is tut- 
mouthed, the under jaw projecting most grue- 
somely. The color is a beautiful silvery white, 
greenish along the back, and shading to a 
golden on the under side. Above the median 
line are six or more dark stripes extending the 
length of the fish, hence the name by which it 
.is sometimes known, “striped bass.” Weighing 
on an average perhaps a pound—though speci¬ 
mens have been taken which weighed three 
pounds—the fish does not put up much of a 
fight, though with light tackle a sportsman will 
enjoy an afternoon on the river. As a pan¬ 
fish, the white bass is excellent, the flesh being 
white, firm and flaky. A man would not have 
to be starving to enjoy white bass properly 
fried. 
As soon as the ice has disappeared from the 
' lakes in April, the pike seek the reedy shallows 
to spawn, and in spite of laws to the contrary, 
boys and men follow them with jack-light and 
spear; and when I think of the pike’s ravenous 
appetite and cruel nature, I do not lavish much 
sympathy on them. As the water begins to re¬ 
cede come the suckers, and the boys are busy 
with net and spear. The arrival of the sucker 
is interesting to me only as it heralds the ad¬ 
vent of the goldeneye ( chrysops ). By the 
middle of May, when the trees are putting on 
their fresh coats of green and the birds are 
singing as they sing in no other month of the 
year, the fish arrive. In spite of the myriads 
of mosquitoes, which infest the lowland along 
the Wolf River, men, women and children pack 
their lunch baskets and go fishing; for the white 
bass is no respecter of persons and will as 
quickly bite the hook of a barefooted boy as 
that of a bank president. Last year I visited 
the Wolf River on the 13th of June—late for 
the fish. The banks of the river below Gill’s 
Landing were lined with jolly fishers, while 
the river itself was dotted with all manner of 
craft, from white-and-gold launches and house¬ 
boats to disreputable appearing punts. 
As a rule, there is little class feeling on the 
river, to the praise of the fishing fraternity 
generally. I say it, but there must be an ex¬ 
ception to every rule, and last year we met the 
exception. Our party was fishing from a boat 
which we had rented for the afternoon, and. 
drifting with the current, we had reached Big 
Bend and dropped anchor. A vile-smelling 
gasolene launch, whose captain was a man of 
aldermanic proportions and possessed of a red 
face and a porcine disposition, came honking 
by and anchored just below us, cutting off our 
sport, for the other boat was within fifteen feet 
of ours. Of course we could not forbear 
passing remarks to one another regarding the 
action. Turning to us, the owner remarked 
condescendingly, “You fellows never mind; 
we’ll soon dig out.” We fumed for some 
time, then lifted our anchor and dropped it 
again near shore, where a bayou opened out 
into the marsh, and we had sport royal. We 
were using small - shiner minnows. I used a 
light fly-rod, while my companions used bait 
rods, and if I interpreted certain remarks and 
glances correctly they expected to see my light 
rod smashed, a bit of enjoyment which was 
denied them. 
On Wolf River the catches of white bass are 
phenomenal, single individuals taking as high 
as 200 fish in an evening’s fishing; though there 
is no excuse for that sort of thing. The local 
papers make a mistake when they record such 
catches, and some of the outdoor magazines 
err grievously when they display photographs 
of them. Let sportsmen everywhere frown 
upon destructively large catches. 
Every fisherman has noticed that when he 
pulls in a white bass two or three are pretty 
sure to follow the one hooked. One of my 
companions, aware of the habit, fastened an 
extra hook to his leader and soon captured 
two at once. As the fish came struggling to the 
surface, doughtily contesting every inch of the 
way, one could not help experiencing a thrill of 
admiration; however, I do not commend the 
use of two hooks. While a minnow is the most 
successful bait, still a white bass will not dis¬ 
dain to take a fly upon occasion when properly 
presented. Some years ago I wrote an article 
on white bass fishing in which I mentioned 
taking the fish with a fly; that article brought 
me a number of letters of inquiry and almost 
universally the writers confessed that they did 
not know that the fish would rise to a fly, 
though a man from Michigan said that he had 
so taken them and thought that his experience 
was unique. You cannot take white bass on a 
fly in deep water; but when you see them break¬ 
ing water near the shore, cast your fly—pref¬ 
erably a gray fly, though I have found the 
scarlet ibis good—close up to the sedge and 
see what will happen. O. W. Smith. 
Grandfather Mountain. 
Raleigh, N. C., Sept. 4.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Grandfather Mountain is to be made 
a gift to the State through Gov. Kitchin. I 
spent half a day in August on the Linville peak, 
one of the three of this mountain, which is 
6,000 feet high, and found the entire mountain 
forested, no timber cutting having been done. 
This gift, which covers many thousands of 
acres of lands, follows the one made last spring 
by Mr. George Vanderbilt of his mountain 
lands above the 2,000-foot contour lines. The 
streams have been stocked with trout. 
F. A. Olds. 
“My Friend the Pickerel." 
Augusta, Me., Aug. 28. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: Mr. Spaulding in a recent issue writes 
a very clever and interesting letter on fishing ex¬ 
periences, which I enjoyed reading very much, 
tut it would have been much more appreciated 
if he had not so grossly abused “my friend the 
pickerel.” He calls him a “braggart and cow¬ 
ard” and • “solitary in his habits with no care 
for his race or pride in his posterity, unloved 
and unlovable; he is beside a quitter. Lying in 
still waters and hiding from his enemies in the 
weeds he is ready to jump on a weaker brother. 
His only emotions are fear and rapacity. On 
the table he resembles the excelsior in packing; 
his flesh has no taste nor flavor and is useful 
only to fill an empty space. He is the shredded 
wheat biscuit of fishdom, nourishing but inferior 
to salt pork and potatoes.” 
If that is not an indictment that would send 
him to the kingdom hot, there could hardly be 
one legally framed. Without hope of reward I 
am going to come to his defense and ask an 
appeal from this cruel judge to the higher court 
of public opinion. If Mr. Spaulding’s acquaint¬ 
ance with this fish verifies his statement he must 
have run up against some breed that is different 
from the real pickerel of my boyhood and man¬ 
hood. 
As for being a “braggart or coward” I have 
never seen the pickerel show a boastful appear¬ 
ance that he was not willing to back up with a 
“free fight for all” and ready to tackle any other 
fish that his wide jaws could encompass. He 
will tackle a pound yellow perch with his back 
full of pointed spikes and swallow him head 
first, regardless of the danger to his appendix, 
no matter what size he may be. Show me any 
other fish that has greater courage. He fre¬ 
quents all kinds of waters and never retreats. 
In all my fishing experiences I have never found, 
save in two instances, where he had any of Ins 
own kind in his stomach, which indicates the 
kindest regard for his own race. It was said, 
when the black bass was first put in our waters, 
that the bass would kill off the pickerel by spear¬ 
ing them from underneath, but this fear proved 
groundless, as in waters where both kinds abound 
in large numbers and with which I am familiar, 
I have never seen a single pickerel killed by a 
bass. That he will watch for some other fish 
and seize him with the quickness of lightning 
shows him possessed of good judgment, and 
what fish with good common sense would not 
do it? Even the man with rod and reel may 
take valuable lessons in the art of catching fish 
if he will resort to such adroit methods. It 
makes no difference with him, whether it is a 
nine-hook grapple or a single bait; he will at¬ 
tack it with the same fearlessness. 
When it comes to eating this much-despised 
fish his meat is found firm and juicy, sweet and 
palatable, and I am wondering where the pickerel 
of Mr. Spaulding’s acquaintance* are found or 
who did the cooking. Dress a large pickerel, 
split him open and bake him properly, lay him 
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