100 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 21, 1911. 
it had been done by Uncle Jim, who was just 
around the bend and who had said that it was 
the best bait in the creek, Shorty laughed until 
he finally fell into the creek. It still appealed 
to him as the funniest thing he had ever met 
with. Uncle Jim said that as Tom would not 
catch anything, he might just as well fish with 
one thing as another, and as he did not want 
the minnows wasted, he had rigged Tom up so 
that he would fish away contentedly all day with 
one bait. Uncle Jim retaliated by telling jokes 
on Shorty, and so the evening went until Flint, 
who always cried when he laughed, was too 
weak to sit up, the landlord had shaken his fat 
sides until they were sore, and the audience had 
listened to a performance that the city vaude¬ 
ville could not surpass. 
In the morning a cold rain was falling. Uncle 
Jim advised fishing the East Branch again. At 
the mouth of Pole Bridge Run the party in¬ 
structed Flint to drive back to Double Run 
where they would meet him at noon. The stream 
bottom here was so filled with boulders that it 
was necessary to watch every step. There were 
few gravelly bars and frequently it was impos¬ 
sible to reach the next pool without going far 
up and around on the mountain side. At a long 
shallow pool Uncle Jim and the Young Angler 
competed in leading out trout that seemed not 
to vary a quarter of an inch in size. But Uncle 
Jim, who never saw his peer with a minnow, 
won easily. Charles Lose. 
[to be concluded.] 
Fishing and Canoeing. 
Syracuse, N. Y., Jan. 12. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: We usually go to the Adirondacks on 
a camping and canoeing trip each summer. We 
ship our canoe to Old Forge or Raquette Lake. 
There is fine canoeing from either place, but the 
fishing is not good either for trout or bass. To 
get the former one must make side trips. At 
Eighth Lake we went over to a creek near 
Morgan’s preserve and caught ten to twelve fair 
sized ones, seven to t.en inches long. We caught 
twelve to fifteen in John Brown Inlet near 
Eighth Lake. We also found some in Bug Lake 
on the Morgan road, north of Eighth Lake carry. 
Good catches may be had in Boulder Brook en¬ 
tering Raquette Lake on the eastern shore north 
of Wood’s Point. 
I gave up my canoe trip through Raquette 
River from Raquette Lake to Potsdam because 
of so many discouraging replies from city peo¬ 
ple, but when too late I found they were tender- 
feet and that the carries were no worse between 
Tupper Lake and Potsdam than in the river 
from Raquette Lake to Tupper. The log jam, 
etc., they told about were only waste timber they 
climbed over because they did not find the trail. 
We took the train from Raquette Lake to 
Clayton and the ferry to the A. C. A. camp at 
Sugar Island in the St. Lawrence, where we 
spent a most enjoyable week on the island with 
the Association, of which I am a member. We 
camped there in our canoe tent as we did in the 
Adirondacks, got our own meals, etc., although 
many ate at the mess tent of the association. 
The fare from Raquette Lake to Fulton Chain 
is 95 cents, to Clayton it was about $3.29; ferry, 
50 cents to Sugar Island; return ferry, 50 cents; 
railroad fare, Clayton to Syracuse, $2.24. Total 
for round trip, $9.00 each and half price for the 
toy. C. H. Mattison. 
“Well, Sir! Once—.” 
ill. 
“Well, sir, once I saw an amateur fishing off 
the city dock that played high hook right,” said 
the next man. “Lot of people out fishing and 
looking on, and he came down with a big tin 
tackle box, evidently borrowed from some fisher¬ 
man friend, as he did not seem to know the rudi¬ 
ments of the game. Hunting out a line, appar¬ 
ently rigged for fresh water fishing, the hook 
tied to the line without wire snood or other pro¬ 
tection from teeth of salt water fish, he looked 
about until he found a bit of stale mullet some¬ 
one had left lying on the dock. Baiting with 
this he pitched the hook out into the water, get¬ 
ting the line well tangled in the effort. Pull.ng 
in he tried again, with no better success. The 
next effort sent the bait in a tangle over the 
rod of 'a man fishing near by. Another effort 
resulted in knocking off a spectator’s hat. Every 
one on the dock was laughing at him, but he 
was too busy to notice them. He kept right on 
swinging and casting, fouling some and striking- 
others, until he had cleared a space around him 
and had the end of the dock to himself. Then, 
as the bait happened to remain in the water for 
an instant, the unexpected happened. The line 
went out with a whiz, burning the man’s hands 
the first rush. He let out a yell, and then be¬ 
gan the wildest rough and tumble fight I ever 
saw with a fish. It was evident to all that he 
had something unusual hooked, and his method 
was as unusual as his fish. All over the dock 
he went, dragging, jerking, pulling and hauling, 
losing and gaining line, but never letting go, 
although some of the rushes cut his hands badly 
and the pain was intense. The fighting was as 
savage as though the man was tied to a lusty 
yearling calf, and I never could understand how 
the line stood the strain. Every time line was 
gained the man would shout for joy, and then 
when a particularly savage rush took it through 
his hands, he would howl. I looked on from 
a safe distance and was astounded to see the 
end come suddenly and in the most unexpected 
manner. With a sudden rush and swing that 
looked like it would have broken a shark line, 
the man yanked out of the water and threw well 
back on the dock a magnificent sergeant fish 
weighing not less than twenty-five pounds. 
“We were around him in an instant, but he 
gave us little time to admire the fish. Wadding 
up the line and thrusting his damaged hand into • 
the gills, he snatched up the tackle box and went 
up the dock in a run. A boy who followed him 
returned soon with the information that he did 
not go to a doctor, but was at a photographer’s, 
having his fish and himself taken in every pose 
possible.” 
“Speaking of amateurs,” said a little man who 
had heard the story, “I saw a man who had 
never caught anything larger than a perch catch 
a kingfish and a good one, too. Now, I have 
been up against nearly everything in the water, 
except whales, and I don’t know anything that 
gives a man much more for his money than a 
kingfish. This man came on the ocean pier at 
Lake Worth one morning when nothing much 
was doing, but he wanted to fish. The tackle 
man on the pier sized him up and fitted him 
with a heavy outfit, baited for kingfish or amber- 
jack, cast out, and not expecting any result, 
promptly dismissed him from mind. The man 
lighted a cigar, and leaning comfortably against 
the railing proceeded to enjoy the beautiful 
ocean view and the company of his wife. A 
few small fish had been caught, but there had 
been no signs of anything large about, and I 
was much surprised to notice a strike on the 
newcomer’s line. The fish was going off strong 
before he observed it, and when he did, he 
jerked, just as he would have done had he been 
fishing in the creek at home. He hooked, and 
the first rush was made with the line running 
free, the man being too much surprised to handle 
the reel at all. 
"No two fish ever do exactly alike, either in 
biting or fighting, and this one did the unusual 
by making a short run and allowing itself to be 
turned at once when the man began to reel. It 
came in sluggishly for quite a ways, and I had 
just about concluded that it was no fighter, when 
there was a savage rush, the reel screamed, and 
the man banged against the railing. His hat 
flew off, and he nearly lost the rod, but rallying 
quickly, he held on. Feeling for the reel, he 
got a rake that brought the blood from his right 
hand, and an attempt to thumb burned the left 
thumb to the quick. He seemed about out of 
commission, and I knew the fight had not really 
started yet. Getting the reel again he was re¬ 
covering a little line, when a rush struck the 
rod, held high, and he got the butt in the pit 
of the stomach, causing him to double up with 
a grunt and lose hi^ cigar. The next rush took 
him against the railing again, knocking off his 
glasses, and most of the remaining breath out 
of him. His wife, wildly excited, was running 
around, trying to assist. 
“The man tried to back out on to the pier 
after the second collision, and fought for a few* 
moments without further damage, but a particu¬ 
larly savage rush took him again hurling toward 
the railing. His wife tried to stop his wild 
career by holding him around the waist. His 
only idea of handling the fish seemed to be to 
hold hard and I never saw a man so severely 
punished by a fish. He was game all right, and 
his wife, though scared almost to death, was 
trying her best to help him. Finally between 
them, never once doing the right thing, and both 
utterly used up, they actually tired the big fish 
out and dragged him up to the pier where the 
tackle man gaffed it. 1 he little woman broke 
down and cried when she saw the condition of 
her good man. Both hands were bruised and 
cut; hat, glasses and cigar gone. He was a 
good sportsman, though. ‘Never mind, dear,’ he 
said, as soon as he got breath. ‘Come and see 
the nice fish we caught.’ ” 
Lewis Hopkins. 
This Mackerel Not Shy. 
“An absolutely true fish story” was related by 
Captain Lewis, of the schooner Antoinette, which 
put in at Vineyard Haven the other day while 
en route from Florence, N. J., for Boston, says 
the New York Fishing Gazette. One night when 
fifteen miles southwest of Fire Island, Antoinette 
sailed through large quantities of mackerel 
schooling on top of the water. One of them, 
eighteen inches long, jumped over the rail and 
landed on deck. Members of the crew imme¬ 
diately laid hands on the fish and soon enjoyed 
a mackerel breakfast. 
