March ii, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
369 
at dark we crept into the gut-way of Three Mile 
Harbor, the swift clear tide rushing over the 
white sand, swirling about the gravelly points, 
and a moment later the anchor embraced the 
clean sand under the bank inside the harbor. 
With jollifications we got a big supper, passing 
jokes right and left and making merry. Our lan¬ 
terns drew to us great swarms of white moths 
that flew about our heads much to the disgust 
of Jean. I thought they were good fun and in¬ 
finitely more welcome than mosquitoes. 
In the morning the escallopers were some¬ 
what surprised by our arrival, and on their way 
out to the escalloping grounds they rowed all 
around us. Jean heard some of the fishermen 
the elements, the hard work, have weather¬ 
beaten their faces and mellowed their souls until 
it is a pleasure to spend days in their company, 
hearing their stories of sailing and fishing, told 
in their rich sympathetic voices that carry a 
suggestion of wind in the sedge flats or the 
gurgle of the tide about the boat. There was 
Captain Billy waving us welcome from his 
white Sally, and Captain Elisha on the Avon, 
and Mr. Lee on the silver gray wharf. 
Once away from New York, man’s humanity 
to man grows and waxes strong. At Three- 
Mile Harbor I was welcomed by everyone and 
could leave my oars or any of the gear of the 
Wance lying about for weeks at a time undis- 
zig-zagging along at a rate that makes one 
swing the net at a lively rate. The water is 
as clear as air, and the interesting life on the 
bottom, from big welks to darting sand-colored 
flounders or flatfish, can be plainly seen. To 
cook escallops properly is to fry them a very 
little in butter and serve with a sauce. If fried 
too long they get hard and do not melt on the 
tongue. When opening them I can never resist 
eating about every fourth or fifth one. They 
make a delicious stew. The fringe, or part that 
is thrown away, makes excellent bait for cun- 
ners and was also relished by the trio of tame 
wild mallards that swam about the Wance while 
I opened escallops on the poop deck. 
say that we must be from New London with 
things to sell. “I have some things I would 
sell,” she laughingly said. 
One old escalloper informed Mr. D. that 
“there’s lots of water if you keep in it,” and 
another that he had “some round clams, but the 
law wasn't off long clams yet.” 
Soon we lifted the anchor and started down 
the harbor for the landing. Three Mile Harbor 
is an ideal place for small boats. Except for 
a few picturesque fishermen cottages, the rounded 
rolling hills that encircle it on three sides are 
unbroken forest. There are some sweeps of 
grassy pasture, broken with park-like lines and 
clumps of oaks, and beaches where farmers 
gather sea weed. Long, low grassy points reach 
out, little sequestered bays put up into the flats 
toward the woods, tame ducks cruise about, gulls 
cry and fishhawks scream. The fishermen are 
genial and honest. The sweep of wind and 
water, the constant association with nature and 
THREE-MILE HARBOR. 
Photograph by Julian Burroughs. 
turbed. The law in regard to clamming and es¬ 
calloping, too, is carefully observed, which is 
refreshing to one bred in the thieving, law-de¬ 
fying atmosphere of the upper Hudson. The 
little basin, about the size of the proverbial 
millpond where we left the Wance anchored 
while we spent three weeks over at East Hamp¬ 
ton, is three times landlocked. Coming in 
through Sammy’s Beach in the main gutway, the 
larger harbor is entered, a lovely sheet of water 
of perhaps two square miles area, then through 
a still more narrow gutway between the grassy 
points into a second little harbor, and from 
there a number of openings lead into quiet bays. 
“You ain’t got very good holdin’ bottom, but 
if you do go ashore here you can’t hurt noth¬ 
in’,” said Captain Billy. 
Never have I seen so many escallops, and it 
was fun to catch them. Often they will come 
to the surface and jump half out of water, and 
even the biggest ones when disturbed will go 
Why does a school of fish make the surface 
of the water red? Mr. Lee says it is their gills. 
I do not see how this can be. One day, during 
northerly weather, David, Howard, Louis and I, 
cheered on by the women folks, drew a seine 
over on the ocean beach at East Hampton. A 
school of mullet came along, a large area, all 
red and boiling. When they were inside the 
jack there was some pulling and yelling. When 
the waves came in we all pulled and gained 
yards; when they went back they dragged us 
feet first through the sand. Soon the fish re¬ 
alized that something was wrong, and the red, 
boiling spot went furiously around inside the 
net. In a few moments we had a pile of silvery, 
flopping mullets, snappers, flounders, skates and 
dogfish on the sand. If there is anything better 
than a fat mullet, fresh from an October sea, 
I have yet to taste it. 
Surf bathing, clamming, escalloping, blackfish, 
snapper and cunner fishing, enjoying quaint old 
