Fishing in the Old Mill Pond. 
Plainfield, N. J., March n. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Come, brother sportsmen! I think 
by this time we need a little awakening. The 
winter so faj- has been a long one to us, and 
there are yet many weeks before we can take 
our favorite rods and seek some of the streams 
from which we have derived so much sport in 
seasons gone, but never to be forgotten. 
Each trip has left some pleasant memory, as 
time cannot efface the happy hours passed, may¬ 
be with some chance companion—a stranger? 
yes, but for the moment. Society can erect no 
barriers in the great out-of-doors. Men are not 
judged by the clothes they wear or whether the 
collar worn is of regulation height. They are 
simply anglers, that is all; members of a great 
brotherhood, and to such the right hand of good 
fellowship is gladly extended. Or perhaps we re 
call some of the mornings last summer when we 
arose before daybreak, prepared our breakfast 
and lunch, and started across the fields, car¬ 
peted with the summer wild flowers, the air 
ringing with the songs of the birds as they wel¬ 
comed the birth of another day; or yet again 
feel the tingle experienced as we landed the big 
one of 1907. 
Presumably we have all gone over our kits 
many times, have re-varnished our rods if neces- 
' sary, and seen that everything in our cabinets 
is in apple pie order for the coming season, 
which, to the true angler, is not much of a 
hardship. By way of enlivenment let us all sit 
down around the fireplace; you, my brother of 
the short and heavy casting rod with the wooden 
lure, as well as you who delight in the dainty 
fly-rod. We are all after the same game and 
differ only in our mode of capture. Your pipes 
are all lighted, are they? Well, then for the 
yarn: 
One hot afternoon last summer, not caring 
to venture far from home, as it looked very 
showery, I took with me a fly-rod weighing 
scarcely four ounces, and went to a nearby pond 
to catch a few sunfish, which you know are 
very gamy and afford lots of sport when light 
tackle is used. 
Placing a fair sized worm on a No. 8 hook 
I made a cast. Before it had time to settle I 
had a bite, and after playing him awhile brought 
in a fair sized sunnie. Rebaiting, I made an¬ 
other cast, when zipp! I had a strike for cer¬ 
tain. Mind you, I was fishing for sunfish and 
was not calculating on anything larger. I knew 
there had always been a few black bass there, 
but most of them were very small, so you can 
judge of my surprise. Why, he had most of 
my line out before I could stop and make him 
show himself, which he presently did, a black 
bass weighing two pounds if an ounce. I can 
tell you there was a commotion in that neigh¬ 
borhood for a while. He fought like mad, but 
finally gave up, and I brought him Ashore. 
Say what you like about casting rods, but 
give me the light fly-rod every time for real ex¬ 
citement. I love to feel its willowy, snake-like 
action when in play. I love to see it glistening 
in the sunlight as it bends and sways according 
to the moods of the fish. Anyone can land a 
two or three-pounder with a heavy rod, but it 
takes skill to fight to a finish a gamy bass weigh¬ 
ing eight times the rod he is pitted against. 
Having awakened to the fact that some real 
sport was to be had I again cast, and this time 
with the same result, only this delegate weighed 
exactly two pounds one ounce and nearly 
smashed the rod before he gave up. As I 
looked them over flopping around in the grass 
I could not but think that to the angler, indeed, 
is left much of the joy of the unexpected. 
After the water had time to quiet down a little 
1 tried again, but without success. They were 
evidently tiring of worms, so I thought perhaps a 
small spinner would stir up some pugnaciously 
inclined old fellow to try his luck. Two casts 
succeeded in knocking the chip off his shoulder 
and that bass found that all that glitters is not 
fish. Making a last cast I felt a slight tug, and 
reeling in found a sunfish not much larger than 
the spoon fastened to the hook. I know they 
will sometimes rise to the fly, but never had 
the luck to catch one on a spinner before. 
Gathering up my traps and the fish I started 
for home well satisfied with an afternoon of 
such unexpected success. 
Clarence E. Bond. 
The Anglers’ Club of New York. 
New York City, March 18 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: The regular monthly meeting of the 
Anglers’ Club of New York, held March 17, was 
preceded by a dinner at which Mr. Chas. H. 
Townsend, Director of the New York Aquarium, 
spoke on the pollution of the fishing waters; Mr. 
Louis Rhead on “Worms” and other matters of 
interest to anglers, and Mr. W. A. Babson re¬ 
lated some personal experiences in fishing and 
hunting in Newfoudland. 
The tournament committee reported, recom¬ 
mending that the annual tournament be held in 
Central Park on May 14, 15 and 16, and that the 
events be as follows: 75-foot fly, distance; 150- 
foot bait, distance; 5-oz. fly, distance; open fly, 
distance; one-quarter-ounce bait, distance; one- 
half-ounce bait, distance; salmon fly, 15-foot 
rods; dry fly, accuracy; one-quarter-ounce bait, 
accuracy; one-half-ounce bait, accuracy; and 
surf casting, 2j4-ounce weight. 
Cups are to be given as first and second prizes 
in each event and there will also be merchan¬ 
dise prizes. These events are limited to ama¬ 
teurs except the open fly, one-half-ounce bait, 
salmon,'and surf casting, for which professionals 
are also to be eligible, but separate prizes are to 
be given for professionals, in addition to those 
for amateurs mentioned above. The one-quarter- 
ounce, one-half-ounce, and surf events are to be 
cast in a lane to comply with the rules of the Na¬ 
tional Association of Scientific Angling Clubs. 
Edward Farnham Todd. 
Trout Fishing with the Senator. 
“The Senator” is a genial son of Erin, now ’ 
about sixty-five years of age, witty, quaint of 
speech, and possessing a fund of dry humor, 
which is irresistible. To listen to him is a sure 
cure for the blues. He never cracks a smile at 
his own wit or humor, and when he is recount¬ 
ing some grotesquely humorous incident per¬ 
sonal to himself his countenance is as stolid as 
an Indian’s, and invariably his listeners are con¬ 
vulsed with laughter at the droll manner in 
which the story is told. 
The Senator is a fisherman, and when I say 
“fisherman” I mean to convey the idea in the 
highest meaning of the word. He is not one 
who just fishes and dubs along the bank of a 
stream with hook and line and worms for bait, 
but one who has made a life study of the 
gentle art, and has mastered all the intricacies. 
He is the best trout fisherman I ever knew or 
ever saw. He can handle a fly-rod and seventy- 
five feet of line as easily as a farmer boy can 
flourish an ox whip. He knows the habits of 
the wily trout, where to fish for them under 
different conditions, and what flies to use. He 
invariably brings home a good basket of trout 
when he goes after them. It is a pleasure to 
see him hook a large trout and bring it to creel. 
I has been my good fortune on two or three 
occasions to accompany the Senator to the 
North Woods orutrout fishing expeditions. We 
used to go to Wilmurt, Herkimer county, and 
fish the West Canada Creek. For twenty-seven 
years the Senator has not missed taking at least 
two weeks during each trout season for an 
outing on the West Canada, and he knows every 
rock and rift and pool for miles along that 
stream. 
On the occasion of which I write the Senator 
and myself arrived at Henry Pauli’s place at 
Wilmurt—a post office, school house, bridge and 
sawmill being the sum total of the settlement— 
on the 12th day of May. The weather was fine, 
the creek right, the trout hungry, and we spent 
two delightful weeks in that beautiful wild 
country fishing the pools, rifts and stillwaters 
of that excellent trout stream. An early start 
of a morning, a delightful drive through the 
woods and clearings to an objective point either 
on the East or West Branch, or a long tramp 
down stream, and a whole day of the Senator’s 
company, returning at night tired and hungry 
with good baskets of trout, was pleasure indeed, 
and to repeat the experience each day for two 
whole weeks was to me the acme of human en¬ 
joyment. 
One day we went down stream. It was one of 
those rare days of spring, when all nature 
seemed to smile a joyous welcome to those who 
had but to come out and commune with her; 
one of those days which make the pulses leap 
and cause one to feel within himself a sense of 
thanksgiving that he is alive and has the mental 
and physical aptitude to enjoy in its highest 
sense the great outdoors. 
Armed with our trout rods, our leaders well 
