110 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Not 
Charon Waiting at the Big Ferry—Just a Casual Visitor at the Camp. 
man is thirstiest four miles from one lake 
and three miles and nine-tenths from the 
other ? 
A T last, camp established, and the thou¬ 
sand and one odd little jobs that 
make for the success of a four weeks’ 
outing complete, we began to fish, at first in 
the home lake, then growing more and 
more in the spirit of the wanderlust, reach¬ 
ing out to other gems of the woods until 
part of our people at least found the now 
famous Crab Lake Mecca. 
Now for that Best Day: 
The two Charlies, Theodore and I had 
grown tired of just catching fish. We 
wanted more fishing, bigger fish, and newer 
scenes. We studied the map of Vilia Coun¬ 
ty and started out. The Charlies had an 
improvised sail boat, and as long as the 
wind held good, Theo and I, taking turns 
at the rowing, were playing a pair of bad 
second fiddles. 'We separated at the first 
big island and when we shot the outlet, 
the white dot away ahead showed that 
muslin was better than ash for the present. 
We saw the Charlies no more until Theodore 
and I bumped into the grammar school 
of all the bass at recess that afternoon. 
Theo, unfortunately and most unwisely, 
was breaking in a new pair of leather boots 
that day, and as he alternately wet them 
by sticking first one leg, then the other, 
over the side of the boat, and then allow¬ 
ing old Sol his innings, he developed a 
case of “shed ’em.” 
We made a short portage, and in the 
next lake put out the spoons—one a Skin¬ 
ner No. 6 and the other a do-dad with a 
ball in the center and blades revolving 
about the sphere. If the fish were there, 
thev refused to “spoon. The next lake, 
reached by a little longer portage, requir¬ 
ing more sapling rollers and a great deal 
of grunting—for we were using wooden 
boats—was a gem, about as round as the 
full moon. There was a little fringe of 
beach, and then came the virgin pines. 
A bald eagle circled overhead, and as 
we floated and watched him in his majestic 
dips and slants, came the roar of a gun 
from the timber, and the big bird fell, his 
great wings spread out on the water. 
Appeared a Chippewa Indian, much the 
worse for wear. He had escaped be¬ 
fore we could get to shore and tell him 
what we thought of him. I have a few 
of those feathers from that grand bird yet. 
They conjure up the flight of that degen¬ 
erate redskin, but do not convey the roar 
that we sent after him as he split the 
breeze. 
At the outlet of the Little Gem, we saw 
a good run of minnows and stopped to fill 
our pail. I had the deep end of the net, 
and wore only my flannel shirt. As the 
tail thereof floated out righc merrily with 
the tide, the flies and other land fliers 
took advantage of my innocence, pose and 
general business with the deep end of the 
net. 
It was very bad medicine, but we got 
the minnows. We had caught only one 
small bass by this time, and as it was near 
noon we stopped at the outlet into the big 
lake to boil the kettle and roast the bass in 
case of peaty mud. 
To cook a fish that way, you first take 
out all the “works” and then make a “plas¬ 
ter cast” over the whole fish. Drop the 
wet ball on the coals and about the time 
the mud or clay is. baked hard, your fish 
is done, and when you break off the earthen 
covering the skin of the fish will come 
with it. With a little salt (that every one 
should carry at all times in the woods) 
you will have something to eat, and to 
talk about afterward. 
W E smoked; perhaps napped; then 
putting out every spark of our fire 
with water carried in our hats, we 
pushed out into the big lake that seemed 
to have a thousand bays. Casting, trolling, 
drifting, rowing, we finally reached a part 
of the shore that was a trifle bolder than 
the rest. The boat was just drifting then. 
From just around the point came a 
splashing. We both thought possibly that 
it was a doe feeding on the lily roots. 
Everything, wind and all, was in our favor, 
and as we swung slowly around the little 
peninsula, we saw a mother otter and her 
babies sliding! 
They had two paths from a little bank 
down to rather deep water. One was wet 
and slippery; the other not so wet. Down 
the slippery one the little rascals and their 
playful mother were “belly-busting” it like 
so many happy school children down a 
snow covered pasture hill. They would 
come out, shake themselves like dogs, and 
slide again. A change of wind, or the 
quick eye of the mother spoiled it all for 
us—and them. That sight was worth all 
that trip cost me! 
We picked out the two Charlies anchored 
in a little bay still fishing, but by a steady 
use of the field glass, soon saw that they 
had had no luck and were just napping. 
While drifting we baited up with a pair 
of lively minnows and cast toward the 
point. Then we carefully slid the anchor 
overboard and cautiously snubbed the 
craft so as not to alarm any fish that might 
mistake us for a derelict log. 
There was a slight ripple on the water, 
and as I straightened up from the job of 
anchoring, I saw Theo’s slight smile and 
caught the gleam of his eye as the handle 
of his reel began to turn. I had put out 
his other rod, and the second one of my 
own while he was playing his fish. 
Biz-z-zzzz went my reel Number One. 
Br-rrrrr said Theo’s Number Two. I 
struck, and was amazed to hear my second 
reel begin to sing. That is the first time I 
ever saw four bass struck from one boat. 
% 
E XCITED? Well rather. It seemed 
as if each of us had six hands and the 
dozen were trying to get into that min¬ 
now bucket at the same time, and catching 
the slippery little cusses. I don’t believe 
that for a few minutes either of us could 
have picked up a brick on a shovel! 
With that kind of fishing we soon had 
the Number Two rods under the seat and 
out of harm’s way. We were plenty busy 
with just one each. While glancing up to 
see if my cast was going right I saw the two 
Charlies coming. Their clinker was under 
a double ash breeze and believe me the 
boat was carrying a bone in her teeth. 
They had awakened and used their field 
glasses to good advantage, so you see there 
were four rods in the final action after 
all. 
The mere fact that they came in like a 
wallowing hippopotamus, and let go their 
anchor like green bargemen did not seem 
to affect the fishing at all. We had the 
minnows: the bass were hungry and must 
have ’em. Ergo, we got ’em. We cast, 
caught, killed. We baited, cast, caught, 
killed. What’s the use of description. 
You have all caught a bass. Just use the 
multiplier. 
The bass stopped biting as suddenly as 
the first strike had come. Then came the 
rock-bass, great big fellows, and though 
tired and surfeited with a grander sport, 
we were fish hogs enough to keep it up 
until the bait ran out. 
It was a tiresome row back to the home 
camp. It was dark and the portages had 
somehow grown from feet to miles. Also, 
being unable to pick up familiar landmarks, 
we rowed further than need be. 
