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A Trip to Aransas Bay.—I. 
In the month of February I found that I 
could afford a trip to Texas and decided to 
visit the famous Aransas Bay. A friend ga\e 
me the address of a guide who lived in the 
town of Rockport, situated near the northern 
end of the bay, and the terminal of one of the 
branches of the San Antonio and Aransas Pass 
Railroad. » , , „ 
I ordered sent by express six hundred shells 
loaded with twenty-six grains of smokeless 
powder and one ounce of shot, bought a split 
bamboo tarpon rod with an extra lancewood 
piece, a tarpon reel, two lines, a rod trunk and 
_the wrong hooks. By some oversight I 
ordered hooks with plain piano wire leaders 
instead of regular tarpon hooks, which have 
six inches of fine chain between the hook and 
the leader. This chain prevents the wire leader 
from breaking short off at the hook in case the 
fish gets it wound around his body—a some¬ 
what recent invention which saves many fish. 
I invested in a leather butt-holder which 
buckles around the waist and affords a rest 
for the butt of the rod, taking much of the 
strain off the arms and allowing both hands to 
be used on the rod and reel. With my bluefish 
rod and reel for small fish, I packed all the 
tackle in the rod-trunk, tied my automatic .35 
rifle to my 12-gauge pigeon gun, put on a blue 
flannel shirt, and, with my shooting clothes in a 
valise, started. 
I took the New Orleans express train via 
Pennsylvania and Southern railroads from 
Jersey City, arriving at twelve o’clock noon 01 
the second day, six hours late. The Southern 
Pacific express we wanted to catch ought to 
have left at noon, but they were obliging 
enough to hold her until we had driven across 
the city and were safely on board with our 
luggage. The train arrived at Houston that 
evening at eleven, and I put up at a hotel op¬ 
posite the station for the night, rising in time 
to catch the San Antonio express, which pulled 
out at eight o’clock. I had to change cars 
twice, finally arriving at the thriving metropolis 
of Rockport at eight o’clock that night, tired, 
dirty and somewhat discouraged, as you 
hear. 
I got into conversation with three men who 
were going from San Antonio to Rockport, 
and they cheered me up quite a good deal by- 
telling me that it was much too late in the 
year to get any shooting, and that I might just 
as well go back home. I bravely concealed my 
delight at this information and gently told 
them that I had brought my tarpon tackle and 
would be contented only with the fishing. They 
burst into laughter and one of them said: 
“Tarpon? That is a good joke! Why, man, 
the first one came earlier than usual last year 
and he was not caught until the 27th day of 
March. You are too late for the birds and six 
weeks too early for tarpon. You had better 
make tracks for home.” 
When I thought of the two thousand miles 
I had come, the boat I had chartered for two 
weeks at $12 per day, the $100 worth of new 
tackle and my great expectations of sport with 
both rod and gun, I tell you, I felt fine. How¬ 
ever, they made no move to put me off the 
train then and there, and I turned the subject: 
of conversation into other channels. 
My guide, Ed Armstrong, met me at the 
station and escorted me to the hotel, which 
was some distance away upon the shore of the 
bay. I found out from him that the $12 per 
day included his wages, the hire of the sloop 
and the wages of the cook, but not the pro¬ 
visions for the trip, so in the morning he called 
for me and we went to the store to order our 
tl 
OFF FOR THE DUCKING GROUNDS. 
supplies. They kept everything there except 
things to drink, and when we had ordered 
everything we needed, we walked down to the 
wharf, where our boat was moored and were 
soon followed by a wagon bringing our pro¬ 
visions, my traps and four great cakes of ice, 
each one weighing one hundred and fifty 
pounds. I wondered what all this ice "was for, 
and asked Armstrong. He replied that it was 
to keep our game from spoiling, and my spirits 
rose a little at this cheerful inference that he 
expected me to get some. In the middle of the 
cockpit in our sloop there was a large ice-box, 
and I found all the other boats similarly 
equipped, ice being abundant at thirty cents a 
hundred pounds. 
As we were about to cast off from the dock, 
Kline, the cook, who rejoiced in the nickname 
of “Delmonico,” said to me: 
“Which do you like the best, canvasbacks 
redheads?” 
“Both,” I promptly replied, and he hopp 
out on the wharf and called out to a man or 
boat near us: “Say, Jim, kin we have soi 
birds?” 
“Sure,” said the man; “come on board a 
help yourself.” ' 
Then Delmonico went on board the ma 
boat, opened the ice-box, picked out thu 
canvasbacks and three redheads, and returr 
to us without even thanking his friend. Thir 
ing of the price of canvasbacks in Fulton m 
ket when I left home, I felt a trifle uneasy e 
was almost afraid to ask: “How much 1 
they be, Delmonico?” 
“Be?” he said, looking at me in surpr 
“they won’t be nothin’. He’s only tickled 
death to git rid of ’em. So’ll you be ir 
couple of days.” 
At this distinctly cheerful remark my ho 
took a jump upward and the two-thousa 
mile journey began to seem like a short c 
We got underweigh and sailed down the 
toward the famous Aransas Pass, “pass” be 
the word used all along the gulf coast for in 
and when we had covered some eight m 
Armstrong let her come up in the wind 
anchored half a mile from the shore. T 
Delmonico cooked part of our lunch on a 1 : 
gasolene stove in the forward end of the ce 
and Armstrong busied himself in startin 
charcoal fire in the broiler out on the stern 
This broiler was such a simple thing, and 
become such a necessity to my comfort 1 
since, that I think it merits some descript 
It looks like an ordinary bucket encasec 
sheet iron, but the staves are of fire-brick 
terial instead of wood. Three inches above 
bottom there is a shelf an inch thick, also r 
of fire-brick clay and punctured with holes 
an inch in diameter to allow the air to c 
through; in the bottom on one side there 
low door of sheet iron which opens and aff 
sufficient draught to carry off the fume 
gas. A few pieces of charcoal placed upor. 
shelf, the door opened, a bit of coal oil sprir 
on the coal and a match applied, that i' 
/that is needed to create a fire, over w: 
when the fumes have passed away, one' 
broil anything as perfectily as in any restai 
in the world. The broiler should be placei 
the stern as near the rail as possible, so tha* 
sparks and dripping grease will be blow 
leeward. For more than a year I searche' 
the mate to this one, and found it in New 
on the corner of Fifty-ninth street and Cc 
bus avenue, where an Italian fruit vendori 
using it to warm his feet. Needless to': 
that one is now mine, and if you will 1 
down on Long Island to shoot with me i 
Great South Bay, I will give you such foil 
is fit for the gods. 
As Delmonico cleaned up the dishes it 
cabin, with Armstrong I sat in the co 
smoking my pipe and wondering what w 
happen next. My expectations of sport bt 
