June, 1918 
FOREST AND S '1' 11 I! A M 
m 
gled frocks and festooned pavilions ap¬ 
peared too rich in ornamentation for a 
place where yesterday my pantaloons were 
polka dotted with needle-tusked sandbars 
and where my throat nearly turned to a 
short length of gas-pipe on account of the 
no-water sign. If I could indite the 
thoughts that were mine when I caught the 
plaintive timbre of the violin from a bow¬ 
ery a mile distant; if I could put on paper 
the weird fancies mothered by the sight 
of society abloom where yesterday the 
coyote and the Redskin figuratively passed 
the time of day, this page would go up in 
a vermilion hued puff of smoke. 
L AKE Andes is said to be the largest in¬ 
land lake in America without an out¬ 
let. Veteran bass fishermen galore 
say no fishing retreat in the country equals 
Andes. Both the state and nation have 
dumped millions of black bass in the sheet. 
Minnows are not permitted for bait, the 
reason being the danger run of inducing 
such tribes as carp and other undesirables. 
At present the species in the lake are 
black bass, bull-head and pike. Bass are 
to be had by the million. Bull-heads are 
plentiful and the pike are but fairly get¬ 
ting a foot-hold. 
Ranchers are now complaining about the 
encroachment of the artificial wonder on 
their estates. It is said an outlet is to be 
made soon that will connect the lake with 
White Swan creek, and great care is to 
be exercised to screen so no enemy fish 
can navigate to Andes. The lake is rising 
at the rate of a foot a year. Red Cloud 
Island lies towards the east end of the 
lake. Time was when Gondolia lake was 
a half day’s travel from Andes, whose 
waters now hold Gondolia amalgamated 
with her own. Several of the artesian 
wells now are half a mile from shore and 
only the old-timer can locate one. No 
trees are studded about the edge of the 
Lady of the Sioux for the reason that the 
border spreads before saplings attain a 
foothold. 
In the three days our clique played 
sleight-of-hand with the black bass we 
gave 123 the fresh air treatment. The 
average weight was three pounds. 
Many things were learned about this 
fish by the members of our crew. The 
most interesting was when we had two 
dozen in a gunny sack and towed them 
about fondly believing they could obtain 
sufficient air through the bag to live. All 
died. Again, we discovered that bass, when 
strung through the gills, small boy fash¬ 
ion, may be quickly and successfully 
drowned. They hold their mouths open 
and the inrushing water caused by the 
speed of the boat soon robs them of life. 
We found that when strung through both 
the upper and lower lips they may be towed 
from Joplin to Jericho without danger of 
suffocation. 
We had thousands of strikes. All the 
fish that struck let loose of the prong like 
domesticated lightning. An old-timer fig¬ 
ured this out for us. Perhaps he is wrong, 
but the thing looks reasonable. He said 
that at this time of the year the water is 
literally polluted with pollen from moss, 
wild rice, celery and whatnot. This acts 
on the bass much like hay fever on hu¬ 
mans, making them loth to partake of food 
One need not be wealthy to own a cottage 
but leaving them with the old fire and fight 
when anything comes in view. Though it 
seems strange to accuse the bass of having 
contracted hay fever, all of our party hold 
to this theory since we found not one bit 
of food in any of the stomachs of the 123. 
Perchance some of the veteran bass artists 
may be able to focus a ray of enlighten¬ 
ment on this phase of our observations. 
No carp ever went to the skillet with 
the perfume horse-power our bass carried. 
The flavor was much like that of well- 
cured mud. An old gentleman by the name 
of Peek-A-Boo-In-The-Night informed us 
that boiling water and soda would remove 
the scent. We tried it and it did the trick. 
T HE lake has grown to such propor¬ 
tions that its rim is stationed with an 
array of hamlets, hills, council re¬ 
treats and camping grounds of a race of 
The breeze-swept waters are a boon 
yesterday. In our initial swing around the 
fin conservatory we passed the following 
fancifully christened places: Red Cloud, 
Maiden Lake, Three Finger Lake, Fire¬ 
water, Fancy Hat, Nancy Hanks, Hell’s 
South Forty, Dead Man Slough, Round 
Moon Lake, Mary’s Gulch, Echo Canyon, 
Eternal Hill and Starlight Gap. These are 
in addition to the flourishing towns of Lake 
Andes, Wagoner and Ravenna. 
Some authorities maintain that Lake 
Andes is destined to become a briny sea 
in time unless the proposed graduated 
drainage ditch is installed so the overflow 
may trickle to White Swan creek, where it 
will be quickly introduced to the Father of 
Muds—the Missouri. The water spouting 
from the six artesian wells is heavily pol¬ 
luted with alkali, so much so that the 
heavy six-inch pipe once in evidence has 
been eaten entirely away. The proposed 
ditch need be but one mile in length and 
comparatively shallow. The danger of in¬ 
troducing carp is the brake that holds in 
check this work, for this fish once in the 
lake means the finis brand skull-and-cross- 
boned on the future of every bass in the 
pool, since carp are to the fish family what 
the crows and sparrows and starlings are 
to the gems of the air. 
What appears to be a shameful sin is the 
lack of adequate supervision over the an¬ 
tics of the thousands of anglers who an¬ 
nually come from every state in the union 
to pit their prowess against the army of 
the bass. The nearest warden is said to 
reside at Wagoner, and the reason we did 
not come across with our non-resident fees 
is because we were unable to locate a war¬ 
den. This lack of inspection seems to be 
decimating the fish like an incipient plague. 
Colonel Lynch, the Indian Agent, resides 
at Wagoner and he is doing all he can to 
conserve the larder so dear to the hearts 
and stomachs of his grown-up children. 
But it is the same old story of a willing 
Red Riding Hood against the scarlet tongue 
and sparkling tusks of a wolf. 
W E were supposed to leave for home 
in the middle of the afternoon. But 
three days on the bosom of Lake 
Andes are not enough! 
We were casting from boats when the 
time agreed on rolled around. Each of our 
two boat loads should have quit fishing at 
three bells. But we failed to leave the 
little sea until the jewels of the heavens 
sparkled and danced like a field of lantern- 
flies aglow in the crystal body of Lake 
Andes. And here is the reason: 
About three o’clock the whispering breeze 
faded and the nervous little wavelets with 
their liquid lucid dimples were erased from 
(continued on page 365) 
