380 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March ii, I 9 H- 
Trout Fishing at Chippenhook. 
At the springs, where I chanced to be stop¬ 
ping, there came a man who professed to be an 
expert with the rod and reel. He was from 
the city and attracted a great deal of attention 
from the visitors at the springs by his recitals 
of his various piscatory experiences and triumphs 
in the trout streams of the neighborhood. He 
sallied forth one day with his beautiful store 
rod and tackle to try the stream of Chippen- 
hook. 
A boy of twelve observed him and his rod, 
and after his return on the afternoon of the 
same day went over the same waters to try his 
luck. The boy’s rod was a simple birchen one, 
his line large enough for pickerel fishing through 
the ice, his hook such as old salts give you at 
the seaside when they do not want you to catch 
anything. However, he set forth, but without 
any bait. What was he to do? The ground was 
parched and dry and worms not to be found. 
I have generally found this to be the case at 
country resorts, unless you pay the porter for 
furnishing them. The boy’s heart was as light 
as his bait box, but his head was not as empty. 
As he traveled along through the fields he 
noticed the grasshoppers jumping, and occas¬ 
ionally one fell into the stream. But very few 
of these swimmers succeeded in crossing the 
Rubicon, because all at once there was a dimple 
on the water and the struggling swimmer dis¬ 
appeared. 
“That must have been a fish,” thought the boy. 
“Let me try the same bait.” So throwing down 
his pole he carefully made his way through the 
meadows, and as the grasshoppers jumped he 
followed them, and banging his hat down upon 
them, caught without great difficulty enough to 
commence operations. 
At the first place he threw in, there was a 
rapid eddy whirling around among rocks at a 
sharp curve of the brook, and just below was 
a stone wall, the dividing line of two estates, 
underneath which the brook swirled and tumbled 
as if anxious to escape from its trammels, and 
like some culprit in his prison cell, make a wild 
dash for liberty. As soon as the line struck the 
water and went under the bank at the boy s feet, 
he felt a tug, and pulled up but found nothing. 
The bait itself was gone. Again he affixed a 
grasshopper, which he had kept alive in his bait 
box, formerly used by his sire as a receptacle 
for fine cut tobacco and cast in his fortune 
on the line. Again after a brief period there 
was a strain, and he pulled out a little trout 
which seemed to have an appetite suited to a 
much larger stomach as he flounced about at a 
great rate, still holding the ’hopper as he was 
deposited in his captor’s pocket. 
Again up the stream, trying in many places, 
successful in none, the boy made his way to a 
spot where there was a great basin. In this 
basin there were numerous dace always to be 
seen near the bottom with their heads up stream, 
but never a one of them bit at that boy s bait, 
although he had tried them oft. “Perhaps I 
shall have better luck to-day,” said he, “and as 
I have been here before and there is nothing to 
prevent the dace from seeing me or the shadow 
of my pole, I will cross the brook below the 
basin and see if I cannot do something on the 
opposite side.” 
So saying he crossed the brook and went di¬ 
rectly away from it a couple of rods. Then he 
lay down and carefully wound up his line at 
the top of his pole—he had never heard of a 
reel— all d leaving a few feet depending and 
renewing his bait, he crawled on his stomach 
until he got at a suitable distance to cast his 
line, having the tip of his pole at the verge of 
the bank and the line just long enough to strike 
the water beneath it. The basin, though broad, 
was very shoal, but under the banks the stream 
ran deep. “Now, here is a place for luck, said 
he as his bait struck the water. 
No sooner had it done so than a fierce tug 
that bent his rod rewarded his painstaking. He 
threw the rod backward with the fish at the 
end of the line, and landed him safe within the 
meadow and then rapidly crawled back to ex¬ 
amine his prize. The first glance assured him 
that his trophy was no ignoble dace, but a real 
beauty of the most beautiful and daintiest of fish, 
a speckled trout of a full pound weight. 
“Ah,” thought he, “where there is one, there 
are more,” as the old woman said of the burg¬ 
lars who entered her house. Another ’hopper 
was affixed to the hook, and again the boy ap¬ 
proached the brink in the same manner as be¬ 
fore. The same result ensued thus far—the bait 
struck the water, a fish bit, but the boy did not 
get him. The bait, however, was taken. 
Again he crawled back, rebaited, returned as 
before and cast in without result. Then there 
was a good one. The boy threw his pole with 
fish at end of line, crawled back and captured 
it. Again the lure was cast, but no response 
ensued. Finally he arose, approached the bank, 
looked over, and there were the innumerable 
dace all occupying their old positions, all with 
their heads up stream, fins lazily moving—evi¬ 
dently they were not hungry—and they never 
were. 
Onward now the boy went, trying his line in 
various places, but for a long time with no re¬ 
sult. At last he came to a pasture where there 
were many rocks, and where the brook ran 
brawly, and it looked good, for trout were among 
the many eddies, shoals, running waters and deep 
holes. In one of these likely places the lure was 
cast, and the effort rewarded with another vic¬ 
tim. On again to a deep hole, a place that 
looked to be the finest in the whole course of 
the clear and transparent waters. 
“Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 
Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils 
Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank 
Reverted, plays in undulated flow, 
There throw, nice judging, the delusive snare, 
or some such thought came into the boy’s mind. 
Standing as far away as possible and screened 
by the sheltering arms of a gigantic maple, the 
boy made his cast and several of them without 
result. At length he put on a fresh ’hopper and 
cast again. And this time a good bite confirmed 
the fact that a dainty fish desires a dainty dish 
for his refection, and so out he came to find 
a lodging in the boy’s pocket. Patience re¬ 
warded by one more capture, and then the trudge 
home. 
“The shades of night were falling” as the boy 
reached a plank bridge, which afforded passage 
over the stream from the main road to a far¬ 
mer’s yard, and there the boy stopped to try his 
luck again. The stream was very wide at this 
point, as clear as crystal and quite deep. On 
either side was a dense growth of alders and 
birches, and just below the bridge was a deep 
hole. To the boy’s surprise at the very first 
cast out dashed from the opposite side, under 
the cavernous bank of which he lay concealed, 
a fish that seized upon the bait with amazing 
voracity. He hooked himself, and the boy raised 
him out gently and put him upon the planks, 
thence into his pocket, and whistling gayly made 
tracks for the hotel. Here to the astonishment 
of all the guests he produced the seven trout, 
most of them fine ones, and the water he had 
fished over was the same as that which the 
city fisherman had tried in the forenoon, which 
goes to show that a birch rod, whether wielded 
in the hands of a school mistress or a boy, is 
better than a brightly varnished and resplendent 
metal-mounted one, and live bait better than 
artificial flies—sometimes. Piscator. 
Amateurs’ Expenses. 
Boston, Mass., March 4 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: The Boston Herald, in announcing 
the time and place for holding the national cast¬ 
ing tournament, says: 
“Many anglers from Canada and Mexico are 
expected to compete in addition to quite a dele¬ 
gation from Massachusetts and Rhode Island of 
the Eastern States that will be represented.” 
The expected does not always happen. The 
management of the National Association has al¬ 
ways called its tournaments “international” af¬ 
fairs, evidently because it hopes that some day 
a foreigner will compete. “National is not 
sufficiently imposing, so it seems. Canadians 
have never taken part in any of the big tourna¬ 
ments, J believe, and if there are any anglers 
in Mexico, they are probably interested more 
just now in watching their little war than in 
practicing on their hot sands for the forthcom¬ 
ing international at Milwaukee. Rhode Island 
and Massachusetts are also unknown in these 
big tournaments. When the last one was held 
in New York city they did not take part, and 
the affair suffered mainly from lack of local 
support. 
The casting clubs throughout the country 
should all be represented in the national meet¬ 
ings and tournaments. One important reason 
why they are not is found in the fact that few 
men who can spare the time can afford the 
necessary expense. The cost to one living 1,000 
miles from Milwaukee is about $100, including 
railway fare, hotel bills and entrance money in 
the tournament. 
It is an honor to be elected delegate or execu¬ 
tive committeeman from one’s home club to the 
National Association, and when the club elects 
one, it expects that he will attend. I have never 
heard of a case in which a club provided for 
the expenses of its representative, though this 
may be done in some cases. Some say that it is 
only fair that it should be done, for the club, 
not its representative, derives any benefit that 
may accrue. 
Whether its representative could accept ex¬ 
pense money is another matter, and one that, 
so far as I know, has not been tested. There 
are those who say he cannot, since he is an 
amateur, and that to accept expense money would 
be equivalent to being paid for services ren¬ 
dered. 
Others argue that if a club wishes to con¬ 
tribute toward its representative’s expenses, it 
