716 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 6, 1911. 
Enjoy The Pleasures Of Hunting 
Every Month In The Year 
The most enthusiastic hunter often finds 
it weary waiting between game seasons. 
When the season does arrive it lasts but 
a few short weeks at best and is over just 
as he is getting in good shooting form. 
Don’t Get Rusty—Be a Trapshooter 
It affords all the keen enjoyment and 
pleasurable excitement of hunting, with 
the added zest of competition. 
The clay birds are in range every day in 
the year and offer the same opportunities 
for quick, accurate shooting as live birds. 
Join your local Club; if there’s none nearby 
Start a Gun Club-We Will Help 
Write for free Gun Club Booklet No. 3, 
it contains valuable data for every shooter. 
E. I. DU PONT DE NEMOURS POWDER COMPANY 
“ "Pioneer 'Potvderma.Kers of America. ” 
established 1802 Wilmington, Delaware 
It not infrequently happens that the fish finally 
gets the better of the contest. 
It is a work of labor and a test of endurance 
to land one of the larger tarpons. Sometimes 
the big fish keeps up the struggle for several 
hours, during which the sportsman is kept on 
a continual strain and must be constantly alert. 
In the present season it has sometimes taken 
five or six hours’ hard work to land one of the 
larger tarpons. It occasionally happens that a 
shark will come along just toward the end of a 
long contest and make a meal off of the tarpon. 
One day recently a tarpon was being hauled out 
of the water into the boat when a shark made 
a sudden jump and bit it in two. 
During the winter season here the Panuco 
River is swarming with pleasure craft of various 
kinds. Most of the private yachts here this 
year brought their own launches and each day 
they are filled with devotees of outdoor sports. 
When fishing for tarpon becomes tiresome 
these seekers for amusement go out to the 
jetties and try their hand at catching and killing 
sharks. As many as fifty sharks have been 
killed by one of these boating parties in one day. 
Fishing for the mammoth June fish and for the 
smaller varieties is also indulged in by the 
visitors—The Sun. 
IZAAK WALTON’S PARISH CHURCH. 
Clerkenwell parish church contains some 
interesting monuments. Among them is one 
to Bishop Burnet, the Whig historian, who was 
buried beneath the altar. There is also a 
memorial stone to Sir William Wood, the 
famous Clerkenwell archer, and author of a 
curious little book in praise of archery, called 
“The Bowman’s Glory.’’ When he died in 1691 
three flights of whistling arrows were dis¬ 
charged over the grave, and this seems to have 
set the precedent for the three volleys now fired 
at military funerals. 
Izaak Walton’s son, Izaak, was baptized and 
buried here, and the Compleat Angler has made 
an entry in the register regarding his other son 
of the same name who became a canon of Salis¬ 
bury.—Westminster Gazette. 
A DAY WITH THE BLACK BASS. 
The small-mouthed black bass starts life 
under a disadvantage. He is born in the spring, 
and thus comes to be reckoned among the coarse 
fish, the tribe of bottom feeders, the, so to 
speak, “submerged tenth” of the fish world, 
whereas his talents and powers in the fight entitle 
him to a place among the gamest of the game. 
The presence of this fish in Canadian waters 
gives to the opening of the coarse fishing season 
a prestige lacking in the Old Country, for the 
black bass will rise to a fly, and otherwise ex¬ 
clusive trout fishers will generally so far re¬ 
cognize his existence as to devote a couple of 
days to his capture towards the end of June. By 
“fly,” be it known, is not meant the ethereal 
insect which floats so gracefully on the surface 
of a chalk stream, nor, indeed, an imitation of 
any living thing (for which praise be! for wad¬ 
ing would be a nightmare if the bass fly had 
any living counterpart), but a concoction of fur 
and feather described to me by a tackle dealer 
as “like a salmon fly, but more stylish.” I would 
have purchased some of these fashionable in¬ 
sects if they had been tied on eyed hooks, but I 
have a particular aversion to flies tied on gut 
more especially on double gut as are most bass 
flies, an entirely unnecessary precaution, as a 3- 
pound fish is a rarity except when bait fishing. 
This question of flies is quite a difficulty out here. 
To anyone accustomed to use the eyed variety 
a fly whipped to gut is an abomination, yet 
though nearly all tackle is imported, I have only 
found one dealer who has had the enterprise to 
obtain any of the former, and he charges 8s. a 
dozen for a quality of fly retailed in London at 
is. 6d. 
Fly tying is a useful accomplishment and I 
had once again to congratulate myself on hav¬ 
ing acquired the rudiments of the art which 
enabled me on this occasion to produce one or 
two lures of bright, not to say startling, appear¬ 
ance. The most sober colored and incidentally 
the one in which I had most faith was made 
with peacock eyes for wings, a flat, gold body, 
and golden, pheasant tail. The others—well, 
suffice it to say they were a new variety. The 
most readily accessible and, unfortunately, the 
most popular river for bass fishing in ’ this 
vicinity is the Chateauguay, which joins the St. 
Lawrence a few miles above Montreal. We 
were a party of five that set out one morning 
from the little French boarding house a few 
days after the opening of the season, and a 
more disreputable-looking crew it would have 
been difficult to find. My own well-worn waders 
and brogues looked positively neat besides the 
costume of my companions (it may be remark¬ 
ed in passing that this is my own opinion; I 
was in a minority on the point), for in this 
part of the country waders are hardly ever 
worn, and ordinary flannel trousers, after being 
used for wading for a decade or so, become a 
most unusual and peculiar shape. My flies 
came in for so much adverse criticism that I 
reluctantly bowed to the voice of experience 
and accepted the loan of a scarlet ibis. On 
arrival at the river the party scattered, after 
arranging to meet at the dam about two miles 
up stream for lunch. This river is a delightful 
one to fish. It is about 50 to 60 yards wide, 
with shelves of rock running well out into the 
stream, still pools, and an occasional rapid 
forming swirling eddies below. For some time 
the ibis failed to attract any attention; then, in 
a most unlikely place, shallow water close in to 
the bank, I got a rise but missed the fish. 
_ After this I tried the shallow pools for some 
time, but it must have been a chance riser and 
probably a small fish, which is difficult to hook 
on these large flies, for I got no more offers 
though I worked hard for over an hour. A 
deep pool round a bend in the river seemed to 
