Bassing in the Leech Lake Section. 
Not in the month of July, thank you! Leech 
Lake is perhaps the greatest pike fishing body 
of water in this wonderful country of ours; 
not thg.t the pike run extra large, but on ac¬ 
count of the vast unlimited quantities of them. 
There is no doubt about it, one can get his fill 
of fishing, with any old hook and about any 
kind of bait. But if you wish to try your in¬ 
genuity, skill, patience, temper, strength and 
endurance; in fact, about all your resources, 
just bear in mind that fishing for bass is what 
you want and must have. 
The broker and I had planned to go and get 
some of those wily fellows, and over to Lake 
May we went. On our way we met a guide 
who is noted in the section as a mighty hunter 
and fisherman, one of the very few people who 
have had the unusual good luck of killing more 
than half a hundred grizzlies, and also tells of 
his wonderful deer hunting powers; how he 
killed nine, one after the other as they followed 
a trail out of the forest; of his catching a 27- 
pound muskie, and lifting him into the boat, 
after he had broken two rods; and when we 
were just a little inquisitive as to how a fish 
could break two rods, and yet not escape, he 
never even stuttered, but came back with the 
very clever answer, that the fish struck one line, 
broke that rod, and in its struggles became en¬ 
tangled with the other, and after breaking that 
one he remarked that it was up to him to land 
the fish, and taking hold of the lines, he worked 
with him until he was ready to quit, brought 
him alongside of the boat, and reaching over, 
caught him back of the gills and lifted him into 
the boat, “just like a log.” 
To any one going to this section I say, do 
not overlook this guide, be sure to look him 
up; it is well worth while. He is good; he will 
tell you things which will make you sit up and 
take notice; you cannot help but enjoy him; 
neither can you afford to miss him. Just ask 
for the man who killed sixty-three grizzlies— 
in the old country. 
On our arrival at Lake May, we rowed 
through to Long Lake, trolling for big fish, 
which we failed to get, and as Silas, a noted 
authority, informed us, when you go fishing in 
May and Long lakes, better take some fish 
with you, or you are apt to go hungry. This 
we found to be advice most timely and good, 
for we were compelled to work very hard to get 
enough for our noonday meal. We portaged 
into Long, trolling our spoons in both these 
lakes, which are noted for their big fish—and 
they are still there; we did not take any of them 
out. It is not impossible to hook a muskie, 
and if you -do—well, there is no getting away 
from facts: this tiger of the fresh waters is king. 
"Long live the king!” Such swiftness of 
motion! Up out of the water he comes again 
and again to look you over, not as bass, 
straight up and shaking his head, but with 
leaps and bounds, tearing at the line with his 
razor-like teeth. He is a whirlwind, a tornado 
and a cyclone, all combined; no foolishness 
here; straight business all the time, a con¬ 
tinual line of antics well planned and clever in 
their execution. When you bring one of the 
big fellows to gaff, with rod and reel, you have 
ceased to be a fisherman, you have graduated; 
you are now an angler. 
Do not fish in any of these lakes in this sec¬ 
tion without a wire to protect your line. If 
you do you are apt to regret it. You may lose 
a big fellow, and that hurts, for they do not 
get on every day. I know what I am talking 
about, because we lost one once. He cut the 
line with his teeth. The commission man 
hooked him when trolling for pike, and while 
we saw him once when he left the water, he 
took the spoon with him. 
On through Long to Round or Third. Keep 
your eyes open now or you will overlook the 
inlet, which is not at the end, where you would 
naturally look for it, but over to the right as 
you go in and very near the outlet, hidden 
among the thick rushes. That was where our 
guide got busy, loaded us on his back, and we 
went through dry shod into Fourth. Some of 
the greatest of game fishes are in this little 
body of water, but our objective point was 
Fifth. We had heard wonderful things about 
this lake and were longing to get into it, so 
no fishing in Fourth, but on through we went 
to Fifth, which looked very good with its moss, 
lilypads and rushes, making excellent hiding 
places for this elusive fish. 
There we met with the disappointment which 
unfortunately too often befalls the bass fisher¬ 
man. They were not striking. It is not neces¬ 
sary to tell how we worked, trying to coax 
them to rise, casting a frog, spoon, and our 
varied line of artificial lures, of which we had 
a complete assortment, but all this went for 
naught. Our best efforts furnished us but little 
sport, very few fish and no good ones at that. 
Not once did we get a strike such as a bass 
generally gives, rather an indifferent nibble. 
No, sir! I will take my bass fishing in Southern 
Minnesota, Iowa, and as for Nebraska, it has 
many lakes in the sandhills—Hackberry, Ducy, 
Willow and Enders—which would put this sec¬ 
tion of Minnesota to shame. 
I will, admit that the month of July is not 
the best time to hunt this troublesome fellow, 
but had they been as plentiful as we had been 
led to believe, I know we would have been 
more successful, for we are both good hard 
workers, and fairly good casters—at least, good 
enough to get bass if they will meet us half 
way and give us a chance. The fact is, they 
treated us very shabby. 
Our portages, when the guide did the work 
and we got near to nature, among the moss 
and ferns, the balsam, birch, jack pines and 
immense Norways, many of which towered 
straight as an arrow for fifty to sixty, even 
seventy-five feet without a limb or branch to 
mar their splendor, was worth while, but as I 
said, never again, Alexandria, Osakis, Madison, 
Jefferson and Washington are far better for bass. 
At Alexandria—at lakes Carlos, La Homa 
Dieu and Ida—you find the “gray” bass, the 
gamiest of all, the fellow who never gives up till 
you have him in the frying pan. What a start¬ 
ling, furious fight he gives you, in the air 
many times, before he shows any inclination 
to give up. I have had them break water four 
or five times. It is wonderful how a bass does 
keep a fellow guessing. They are called wary, 
and very properly so, yet I have seen many 
strange antics, which would lead one to doubt 
this. I was fly-casting for them a few days 
ago in among the moss and rushes, when my 
flies became tangled in some loose moss, and 
I was compelled to pull it up to the boat, in 
order to release it. While I was yanking and 
pulling in, hoping the hook would let go, 
imagine my surprise to see a bass come up 
within six feet of the boat and undertake to 
run off with flies and moss and get caught for 
his want of cunning. 
Again in Sixth Lake a bass struck at a frog 
which he had followed up to us. So I give it 
up. They are much too hard to understand. 
Any kind of bait some days, then again nothing 
doing; again some clear, bright days you find 
them ravenous; at other times with the same 
conditions, try as you may, you cannot interest 
them. I have caught them morning, noon and 
evening, but would not advocate the middle of 
the day as the best, would say morning or 
evening, one or the other, I cannot say which. 
I have fished for them all morning with no luck; 
made a catch between 11 a. m.' and 2 p. m. and 
none after; have caught them with their 
stomachs full and with them empty, and have 
about made up my mind that the whole thing 
is a fair knowledge of the waters, a reasonable 
amount of skill, and a tremendous amount of 
hard work, and strike them when they are 
feeding. 
The fish we caught in Sixth Lake were 
sluggish. They put up a very poor fight, and in 
fact acted very little like bass; no coming out 
of the water, and who wants to catch bass if 
they do not show themselves? To my mind 
the great sport of bass fishing is the sturdy 
fight he puts up. The jump into the air, with 
open mouth, trying to shake out the hooks; 
the fast and furious rushes, first one way, then 
the other, the struggle and plunge to get under 
the boat. No yellow streak here, but game 
through and through. This is the kind that 
makes the blood tingle, and brings your heart 
into your throat, removes that tired feeling, 
and makes fishing the grandest of sports. 
Honest, we had more real sport and excite¬ 
ment with the pickerel than with the bass in 
this section. Of course, this may get a rise 
from some ardent angler, but what is the use 
of having an opinion if you are afraid to ex¬ 
press it? Take it all in all, our dinner in the 
woods, on that old beaver dam, with the 
wonderful stories which our guide told us, was 
the best part of the day. He was well ac¬ 
quainted by this time, and told two to our one. 
Besides, we had company at our house, two of 
