June 24, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
969 
tension became too great to §tand longer. I 
have no recollection of what I said, but I 
danced a war dance on my other foot with 
energy to spare. 
When the time came for starting home we 
were both sorry indeed and many were the re¬ 
solves made to try it again sometime. It is 
heart-breaking work to strike camp, and to my 
notion there is no sadder picture in the outdoor 
world than a deserted camp-site. 
The Right Fly 
By HUGH C. CURRY 
N O one of Heacock’s three friends is ever 
prompted him to make a small wager of 
rpompted him to make a small wager of 
a dinner for four that he would catch a two- 
pound trout in Buckalew’s Creek before the end 
of the week they had set apart for a spring 
outing. 
The four fishermen had come to a Pennsyl¬ 
vania resort during the second week in May and 
secured accommodations at a little country hotel. 
A SHELL MOUND IN FLORIDA. 
The day just ended had been fishless. So also 
had the two preceding days, as regarded any con¬ 
siderable number or size of trout taken, and no 
one in the party seemed to be sanguine of much 
exceeding the legal limit of six-inch fish during 
the two remaining days of their stay. 
As this is a true story, the facts must be set 
down carefully, because it illustrates that the 
habits and customs of fish—in this instance trout 
—cannot always be relied upon to be followed. 
Reams of stuff have been written about the ways 
of animals and fish, but the only infallible truth 
about them thus far is that they still produce 
their young. During the growing-up period, and 
after the year of discretion has been reached, no 
nature faker may assume to say, with absolute 
accuracy, just what any living thing will do. 
Therefore, when Heacock, with nothing but 
half a dozen six and seven-inch trout to his 
credit during the three days that had passed 
suddenly said, as he began refilling his pipe: 
“Boys, I’ve got a hunch that I’ll take a two- 
pound trout out of this creek before the week 
is ended, and I’ll bet dinner for all,” every man 
in the party simply said, “You’re on.” 
“Now, I’ll tell you,” said Heacock. “This is 
as you know a pretty hard brook to fish. You 
also all know that just below the Devil’s Drive 
is about fifty feet of water we have always had 
to give the go-by. Eh? Well, I clum-” 
“Climbed,” said Ellis. 
—“a tree by that piece of water to-day. Don’t 
know why I did, but you fellows had gone on 
down, and as I sat there I thought I’d like to 
see what that water looked like. So up the 
tree I went, and as it hung out over the creek 
I had a good look at it, and I found out that 
an old path or a little waterway used to run 
down to the brook on the opposite side from 
me. I was very quiet while in the tree—just 
sat there thinking and enjoying the beauties of 
the stream, when all at once, guess what? Sneak¬ 
ing along the shore, about three feet from the 
edge of the water, was the slyest looking mink 
you ever saw. I had seen only one in my life 
before, but I recognized the gentleman. Look¬ 
ing everywhere but up into my tree he slowly 
got closer and closer to the water. If I hadn’t 
seen him and followed him from the start I 
doubt if he could have been pointed out to me 
by any one with any assurance that I could 
locate him. But having my eyes on him I kept 
them there. At least I thought I did, but sud¬ 
denly there was a flash—a dark flash—and that 
fellow went into the water so fast that he didn’t 
make a hole—just like you'd cut it with a knife. 
He was up again almost before I knew he’d 
gone, and in his mouth he had about the nicest 
looking fifteen-inch trout I’ve ever seen. There¬ 
fore, I’ve got an idea.” 
As Heacock had said, the brook was a difficu’t 
stream to fish, but that statement was not appli¬ 
cable to the entire length of Buckalew’s Creek. 
The water has a descent of probably 300 feet in 
three miles, but when it is considered that dur¬ 
ing that distance three perpendicular drops of 
about thirty feet each are encountered with the 
customary rapids just above and also below the 
falls, it must of necessity follow that plenty of 
smooth water would be found by one going the 
entire distance. When such stretches of the 
quieter waters were met, one cou'd see for a 
distance of from eighty to one hundred and 
twenty feet a brook of clear, cool water, about 
eight to ten inches deep, just seeming to gurgle 
and laugh over a bottom covered with brown 
and with white pebbles. It is a great pleasure— 
and the work probably causes an added thrill— 
to fight one’s way through brush and over rocks, 
and deftly drop a line into a forbidding looking 
pool and feel a tug without at the time seeing 
the fighter, but certainly nothing can excel the 
joy of standing, early in the spring, in the center 
of a brook about twenty-five feet wide, arched 
with trees just showing buds, and watching a 
trout as he thrashes back and forth, always in 
plain view at the end of a thirty-foot line swirl- 
ling about over the ripples. The sensation does 
not occur often enough in one’s lifetime to be¬ 
come irksome. 
The next morning Heacock’s fishing outfit was 
augmented by a heavy knife and a small saw, 
and after agreeing that the rest of the party 
should join him later at the place he had se¬ 
lected, Heacock proceeded down the brook. It 
took him two hours to cut and saw a passage 
way through the briers, undergrowth and shrub¬ 
bery to the water’s edge. Taking a little time 
to eat his lunch, and to give an opportunity for 
quiet to settle down where he had been sawing 
and hacking, Heacock fished other parts of the 
brook for half an hour or so, and finally re¬ 
turned to his pet location. For three hours he 
faithfully fished that fifty feet of creek. First 
a fly, then worms were tried. Back again to an¬ 
other fly, and still other flies, hoping and ever 
hoping,' Heacock fished as he never had fished 
before without result. A whistle from some¬ 
where back from the creek notified him that the 
rest of the party had called to accompany him 
A SAILING CRAFT ON THE INDIAN RIVER. 
home, and that the day was waning, and reluc¬ 
tantly and shamefacedly he slowly made his way 
through the bramble to the top of the bank. 
“No luck, eh?” Heacock was asked as soon as 
he appeared. He looked so sorrowful that he 
did not receive the chaffing he was prepared to 
take. “Never mind, old fellow, you've still got 
to-morrow.” 
“No,” replied Heacock, “I lose. I’ve had all 
I want,” and he began to lead the march back 
to the hotel, when a shout attracted the atten¬ 
tion of all to their landlord, seated in a buck- 
board, waiting a few rods further down stream 
on a rough log bridge. 
“Now, then,” he shouted, “one of you fellows 
get in here. I’ve got room for the one that’s 
done the most work. What luck?” 
“Nothing to speak of,” was the reply of one 
of the party, as they approached and exhibited 
their different catches. “Mosquitoes and gnats 
are getting a little troublesome in the woods 
now, and they’ll soon keep one busy if the fish 
don’t.” 
“Yes, that’s so. There’s a hoss-fly sucking 
the blood out of my mare’s neck now. First 
I’ve seen this summer,” said the farmer. 
