AUGUST, 1917 
FOREST ANI) STREAM 
355 
your fish, and get any fun except that of 
derricking your game out like a pot fish¬ 
erman who measures his sport in avoirdu¬ 
pois and digits. If your tackle is so light 
that it might break and your fish escape, so 
much the better verdict on your sports¬ 
manship. A sportsman gives the other fel¬ 
low at least a fifty-fifty chance; he doesn’t 
proceed on the heads-I-win, tails-you-lose 
proposition. 
Y OU don’t think a perch or pumpkin- 
seed will take a fly? Then you never 
tried. And you never* can tell ’til 
you have. Last fall I was plugging for 
bass—with a home-made plug at that— 
and as I reeled in a big carp chased that 
plug for all he was worth, and was mad 
when I didn’t let him have it. Besides, I 
have caught perch and pumpkinseed on a 
fly: a brown hackle, on about a Number 6 
or 8 hook. Throw your fly where there 
ought to be fish, let the fly sink a foot or 
two, then work it gently in. You’ll get a 
strike almost any time—one that will jar 
some, too. 
I’m going to dry fly for them this spring. 
I’ve seen them come up and snatch at an 
insect on the surface of the water and then 
leg it for dear life. Carp will do the same. 
It is a matter of repeated observation that 
when fish are feeding on insects they work 
over to that side of the water from which 
the insects are coming. That side will 
evidently be the windward one. I have 
often noticed, while fishing, that floating 
insects disappeared with that noisy 
smack! which indicates eager feeding by 
hungry fish. So I think that a dry fly, 
floated out at such a time, would meet with 
a welcome reception, and open up a new 
line of sport. The time may come when, 
in default of nobler game, our grandchil¬ 
dren will dry-fly for carp as we do for 
trout now. Why might not bass be taken 
in the same way? As long as the fly floats 
and the wind drives it along, and a slight 
ripple agitates the water, it would pos¬ 
sess sufficient movement to suggest life 
also—the necessary attraction. 
It is very certain that an increasing num¬ 
ber of us must often satisfy our angling 
desires on fish other than those so-called 
game. Why not, with light tackle and 
praiseworthy sportsmanship, try to raise 
angling even for bullheads to a fine art? 
But the garden hackle is a good lure; 
it gets them every time. Likewise the 
grasshopper, the cricket, the horse-fly, a 
fish’s eye, and a strip of fish. I never 
tried pork-rind. On a bright day and 
under proper conditions, no sane-minded 
sunfish will let the sweet seduction of the 
Dung Palmer go by unnoticed. The size 
of the hook should be about the same as 
for the fly; perhaps a size or two larger, 
Number 4 or 6. It is true that the perch 
or pumpkinseed is ambitious; and just to 
show that he is a sport he will absorb a 
shark hook or start his jaw rivets in the 
attempt. But he prefers not to have the 
size of his mouth thrown in his face. 
Use a small hook, and he will bless you. 
If your line is light and fine, you will 
not really need a leader, although your 
plebeian patron will appreciate the delicate 
compliment. A bobber? No. 
THE FISHING BUG 
By William O. Miller 
The fishing bug is a microbe 7 < 
That comes with the breath of 
Spring; 
On the first soft breeze from the 
Southland rolled 
He sails on a phantom wing. 
He comes as soon as the ice goes out. 
Ere ever the black flies swarm, 
He lures in the form of “the record 
trout” 
That swims with a mystic charm. 
The fishing bug sings the song of the 
reel —• 
And he lives on a bamboo pole; 
He haunts the depths of a fern-lined 
creel, 
Or the pail where the live-bait shoal. 
His favorite food is a milk-fed worm 
That basks in a mossy tub 
With undulatory, colvolvular squirm — 
He vows it a regal grub! 
The fishing bug has a gossamer wing 
Made up of a million Hies — 
The Ibis, Prof essor, the Grizzly King — 
Of wonderful shape and size. 
His leg is a leader, his foot is a hook, 
His head is a dipsey unique — 
On a swivel it spins, for an all-around 
look — 
While his trunk is an archer sleek. 
The fishing bug leaves a deadly sting, 
That deepens from year to year; 
It comes to a crisis in every Spring, 
When the months of the roses near. 
There’s only one cure, the doctors 
assure, 
For this terrible anglers’ bane: 
It’s an annual tramp to a tight little 
camp 
In the glorious woods of Maine. 
The methods for catching white and yel¬ 
low perch, pumpkinseeds, and rock bass 
are on the whole pretty much alike. That 
is, if you still-fish. In angling from the 
shore, your method of procedure will vary 
somewhat with the season. The fish lie 
farther out in April than in May and June. 
Your outfit consists of light rod, reel, and 
Number 4 or 6 hook. In beginning your 
drive, lob the worms on the hook rather 
generously, so that there is plenty of at¬ 
traction ; leave a loose end hanging down, 
to wiggle and so beguile the victim. Later, 
when you have them coming, you do not 
need so much bait on the hook. In fact 
you will get more catches if the fish must 
seize the barb end of the hook in order to 
take the bait. Attach a split shot, or light 
sinker, to give sufficient momentum to 
your cast. Throw out twenty or thirty feet 
at least from the shore, or even more, if 
the bottom gradually shallows. Wait a 
reasonable length of time—say a half hour 
or so—and if you get no encouragement 
launch out farther. When the bites begin 
to come, reel in a little line, and so coax 
your game nearer, the object being by 
shortening your line to increase your 
chances of setting the hook on a strike. A 
little judicious chumming is helpful at this 
time. 
Perhaps a word or two about likely spots 
may not be amiss. These fish like an ob¬ 
ject of some kind to lurk about. Yellow 
perch are wont to haunt near beds of water 
weeds. Pumpkinseeds lie about stumps 
or dock-piles. White perch and rock bass 
frequent localities with a gravelly bottom. 
All these fish possess one admirable trait 
—when you find them, they’ll “strike ’til 
the last armed foe expires.” I remember 
one occasion, when fishing for white perch 
off a gravelly point in Croton reservoir. I 
cast out about twenty feet, where the water 
had a depth of not over two or three feet. 
I was using the light tackle described 
above, with bait. In thirty minutes I 
caught thirty fish, from eight or nine 
inches up. I had two hooks on my rig, 
and sometimes caught two fish at a time. 
During that experience, I forgot that such 
fish as bass or trout exist. Again last 
summer I had a somewhat similar experi¬ 
ence, while fishing for rock bass in Lake 
Ontario, near Mexico Point. I used the 
same rig in general, with a somewhat 
larger hook. The bait was Night-Walkers. 
These fish ran about a pound in weight, and 
were capable of putting up a stiff fight. 
In about an hour’s time, I had boated 
twenty-eight.—Gentle reader, do not think 
that I am a fish-hog, catching in the name 
of sport fish which only spoil and have to 
be thrown away. I am the father of five 
children who, with their immediate ancest¬ 
ors, are fish-eaters. 
A LL these fish are fierce biters, tak¬ 
ing the bait with a rush that is a 
good index of their fighting quali¬ 
ties. Trout are proverbially shy. Bass 
will notoriously bid you au revoir and sail 
away, if they catch sight of you in sus¬ 
picious circumstances. But contrary per¬ 
haps to commonly received opinion these 
fish—contemptuously called coarse—some¬ 
times possess apparently a scintilla of dis¬ 
cretion. Sometimes, not always, I have 
stood or sat within sight of a school of 
sunfish and caught every last mother’s son 
and daughter of them, when they each one 
went like the fool to his destruction. 
Again, I have fussed and fretted by the 
half-hour to induce a little fat-headed 
pumpkinseed to take a bait, but in vain; 
while the obstinately discreet one rolled 
up to me an eye “that was childlike and 
bland,” but utterly scorned anything in the 
way of temptation. To have the best 
measure of success then, keep out of sight 
of your game. It may do much good; it 
can’t do any harm. 
I’m going to talk about myself again. 
Last summer I stood on a little dock and 
caught forty yellow perch while a boy, in 
a boat anchored just the other side of the 
school, failed to get a bite. I was partly 
hidden by a power boat behind which I 
was standing: he was staring straight down 
into the watfr so intently that he evidently 
gave the fishes fits. 
Keep out of sight of the fish. Use light 
tackle. Kill your fish on the rod. Take 
plenty of bait—these fellows are all bait- 
stealers. Strike a likely spot, make a 
good catch, and stop when you’ve got 
enough. That’s all. 
