270 
FOREST AND STREAM 
May, 19R 
Bud was glad to see me, but he didn t 
so far forget himself as to kiss me 
It was a surprise when that uncooked 
smelt v/ent into my facial subway 
When I shifted my position I graceful! 
stepped into a hole up to my chest! 
ADRIFT ON SABLE LAKE WITH “LIZZIE" 
“NEWT” NEWKIRK RELATES HIS EXPERIENCES SMELT FISHING BY LANTERN LIGHT 
AND TROLLING FOR SALMON WITH A MOTOR BOAT THAT COULDN’T HELP HERSELF 
By NEWTON NEWKIRK 
I F I could always have my “ruthers” of 
course I’d ruther fish with a fly than 
troll. Yet I’ve pulled a boat many a 
weary mile with the butt of my rod be¬ 
tween my feet, the second joint resting in 
a crotched-stick and the line saggin’ out 
behind while my eagle-eye was glued to 
the tip, waitin’ for an old bull-salmon to 
come along and grab the bait. I’ve done 
that little thing many a time and I’ll prob¬ 
ably do it again, but I’d ruther catch a 
pound trout on a fly than rassle a five- 
pound salmon into the net from the end 
of a trolling line. 
But when fly-fishing is a month away 
and I have the fishing fever so bad that 
I’m in a critical condition I’ll take my 
trolling medicine gladly and get a lot of 
relief and fun out of it, too. So when 
Bud wired me that the ice was out of 
Sable Lake I grabbed my fishin’-kit, mount¬ 
ed the iron-hoss and beat it. When the 
old, wobbly stage which met the train 
reached Sykes’ sawmill I left it and hiked 
thru the woods toward Bud’s camp on the 
shore of Sable. It was only a short jaunt 
and when I came in sight of the shack I 
could hear Bud singing merrily away in¬ 
side. Bud has a singing voice like a tom¬ 
cat calling to his mate. I’d rather listen to 
a man filing a saw than listen to Bud sing. 
At first you feel sorry for him and then 
you want to kill him and put him out of 
his misery. 
“Hello, you old pelican!” says I throw¬ 
ing open the camp door. “Thrice welcome, 
Newt, you old scout!” yells Bud dropping 
a frying-pan and making a jump for me. 
Bud threw both arms around my neck and 
gave me a good hug. “Don’t you kiss 
me!” says I very stern; “if you do I’ll slap 
your face for you!” “Kiss you! ’ snorts 
Bud; “I’m terrible glad to see you, Newt, 
hut the Lord knows I wouldn’t kiss you 1 ’ 
The very next thing I did was to run to 
the window and take a look at old Sable 
Lake which I hadn’t seen for a year and 
when I rubbered out I nearly fell into a 
faint—it was a flat expanse of black, soggy, 
honey-comb ice! “I thought,” says I turn¬ 
ing fiercely on Bud, “you said the ice had 
gone out?” “It ain’t my fault,’ says Bud 
with a sheepish grin. “Whose fault is it 
then?” says I. “It’s the ice’s fault,” says 
Bud; “when I wired you yesterday that 
the ice was out it looked sure as if it 
would be all out by today—that ice de¬ 
ceived me, Newt, that’s all.” 
“Bud,” says I out of all patience, “you’re 
too durn much of an optimist. Here I’ve 
dropped a lot of important work like a hot 
poker to beat it away up for a few days’ 
trolling simply because I believed your 
wire. Say, you’re not only an optimist, but 
you have other accomplishments—you’re a 
liar!” “If I didn’t love you like I do,” 
says Bud, “I’d make you swaller that word 
liar. This ice’ll all be out in 24 hours— 
there’s nothin’ to it but mush and the first 
breeze will grind it all out of sight. Be¬ 
sides you should worry about losin’ time 
your time ain’t worth any more’n an old 
settin’ hen’s anyhow.” 
;<Y ( 
''OU make me sick,” says I; “it’s 
liable to snap up cold and 
that ice stiffen up and hang 
in for a week.” “Aw,” says Bud, you 11 
je allright after you get some* supper 
under your belt—and tonight we’ll go 
smeltin’ up the brook. How about say half 
1 dozen of them big, plump smelts for 
,-our breakfast tomorrow mornin’?” “Are 
they runnin’?” says I takin’ in my horns 
some—for I sure have a weakness for the 
delicious, fresh-water smelts which come 
uut of Sable. “Runnin’!” says Bud; “the 
.rook’s full of ’em. The Crawford boys 
jot a two-bushel bag full of ’em last 
night. Oh, there’ll be a crowd after ’em 
tonight.” Then we sat down to supper. 
Bud passed me a plate filled with small, 
dark brown objects about the size of 
liens’ eggs. ”No thanks, not now,” says 
[; “I’ll wait until the end of the meal 
—got any raisins to go with ’em?” “Rai¬ 
sins !” gasps Bud. “Sure,” says I, “ain t 
them nuts on that plate?” “Nuts nothin’!” 
snags Bud; “them’s biscuits, you durn fool 
—and I baked ’em myself.” “No offence 
intended—my mistake,” says T humbly, tak¬ 
ing one and trying to bite into it, nearly 
breaking a tooth. “Nuts!—the idea! 
sneers Bud. “Well,” I says, worrying away 
at mine, “I wasn’t so far wrong at that. If 
you have no raisins you ought to furnish a 
nut-cracker to be swollered with each one 
of ’em as a chaser.” Thereupon Bud told 
me if I didn’t like the grub I could chang 
my boarding place. 
About 9 p. m. we started smelt-bent fOj 
the brook half a mile up-shore from cam] 
Our equipment consisted of a lantern, 
pair of hip rubber boots, a long-handler 
big-ringed deep net with small meshes an 
a shortsack to hold the smelts. As w, 
poked along the road pulling away on or 
pipes Bud suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, gee, 
nearly forgot—I’ve got a surprise fC;. 
you!” “Wot, another one?” says ( 
“Whaddve mean another one?” says Bu 
“The ice in the lake was- one,” says 
“Aw, forget it,” growls Bud; “feel th; 
breeze? The ice’ll all be out by tomorrov 
“Well, wot’s the big surprise?” says 
“I’ve got a motor boat!” says Bu 
“Fine!” says I; “that’ll be great to crui; 
around in this summer. “This summer 
says Bud; “I got it to troll with ” “Ma 
dear,” says I, “how are you gonna troll fro 
a motor boat scootin’ along eight or te 
miles an hour? Why if you got a strfll 
of a salmon you'd either be snapped ini 
the lake or pull his fool head off h 
shoulders. “Naw, naw, you don’t unde 
stand,” says Bud; “why I can throttle th;. 
engine down down to less’n two miles a I 
hour. All we’ve gotta do, Newt, is 1 
just set there comfortable like a couple t 
millionaires with our trolls out and let th. 
faithful little engine do the rest. No mot 
buckin’ the white caps, or blisters on yoi 
hands at the oars. Some class, eh 
“Well,” says I, “if your motor boat wit : 
mote like that the proposition listens pret 
good to me.” 
W HEN we reached the brook Vrj 
found a delegation of hilarious n 
tives already on the ground aroui, 
a big fire they had built. A jug or two . 
hard cider added to their hilarity. Thi j, 
were waiting for the smelts to come up tl 
brook from the lake. The spawning run 
this fish lasts only a few days—or rath 
nights, for the smelt does not venture in 
the brook by day. About 10 or 11 p- : 
swarms of them begin to come up ai 
during this period the farmers about Sal 
Lake net them by wholesale and salt the 
down for future reference. They are 
big and delicious as the salt water sme 
