August, 1918 
FOREST AND S T R E A M 
463 
I picked up something which felt like a 
fish—but it proved to be a snake! 
After a long, still hunt I located the hook 
somewhere in the slack of my pants 
My foot skidded and I sat down in a 
couple of feet of cold, wet water! 
cert Crooked Brook rose a foot and a half, 
but I made the proper allowances which 
one gentleman fisherman always makes 
when another gentleman fisherman lies 
about fishing—I deducted 90 per cent, from 
the number of trout Jake said were in the 
brook and there were still enough left for 
good sport. 
In the afternoon we tramped a mile to 
a farm house and dug a full quart of 
angleworms out behind the barn. It re¬ 
minded me of my boyhood days and I 
must say that was the finest mess of nice 
fat angleworms I ever saw all snarled up 
lovingly with their little arms around each 
other’s necks. I made up my mind that 
a trout which wouldn’t try to swaller a 
hook with one of those delicious tidbits on 
it ought to take a tonic for his appetite. 
Before dark we cut a couple of “poles” 
(not rods, mind you) near the camp. They 
were about 10 feet long and just limber 
enough to stiff-heel a good sized trout out 
of a pool whether he wanted to come or 
not. To these we tied perhaps nine feet 
of line and on the lower end was the sim¬ 
ple. single, primitive trout hook. A few 
inches above it four split shot were 
clamped on the line. This constituted our 
outfit except for a tin box of worms to 
fasten on our belts, also a creel apiece. 
A FTER supper we decided it would be 
a good idea to bunk up for a few 
hours’ sleep since we were to be on 
the brook by sharp midnight, so after we 
had smoked our pipes we doused the glim 
and turned in about dusk, but I couldn’t get 
to sleep to save my life with that fishing ex¬ 
pedition ahead of me. Besides I was lonely 
and kept asking questions of Jake, who 
was in the bunk above me. His answers 
got shorter and snappier, then he finally 
busted out, “How in blazes will we get 
any rest if you’re gonna keep up your 
chatter all night? For gosh sake close 
3'our fly-trap and go to sleep!” Then I 
told Jake where he could go if he liked— 
and it wasn’t to sleep either! After that 
I lapsed into an ominous silence and nursed 
my wounded feelings, but as for sleep 
there was nothing doing. Judging by the 
way I heard Jake shifting and squirming in 
his bunk I didn’t think he was sleeping 
very sound either. 
Finally he says softly, “Newt, are you 
asleep?” “No, I’m not,” snaps I, “and 
what’s more I can’t go to sleep—how 
about you?” “Not a wink,” says Jake; 
“whaddye say we get up and see what 
time it is?” “That’s agreeable to me,” says 
I, so Jake bounced out and struck a light. 
It was only 9 P. M. Then we both dressed, 
filled our pipes and sat down to kill time 
with conversation. About 11 P. M. we ate 
a lunch and lighting a lantern which Jake 
carried started for the brook which was 
only about half a mile from camp. It was 
blacker than cats and cloudy. I was .still 
skeptical about a trout being able to see a 
worm in the water a night like this. 
Arriving at the brook we traveled it up 
a distance through a meadow and Jake 
posted me at a pool which he said was 
one of the best on the stream. “Now,” 
say's he, “I’ll go down to where the brook 
enters the lake and fish up. You also 
keep fishin’ upstream—there’s a lot of good 
trout Water above here. You’d better wade 
right up the middle of the brook instead of 
fishin’ from the bank where the brush is 
thick. You needn’t be afraid of gettin’ 
drowned because it’s not more’n three feet 
deep anywhere.” “What about the lan¬ 
tern ?” says I, very inquisitive. “I’m gonna 
put it out and leave it here,” says Jake. 
“You leave it here and I’ll .put it out,” says 
I, very obliging. “All right,” says Jake, 
“but don’t try to fish with a lantern in one 
hand and. a pole in t’other. So long and 
good luck.” Jake disappeared in the gloom 
while I sat there fighting off mosquitoes. 
It occurred to me that the light might be 
attracting these pests, so after looking at 
my watch ("which lacked only 15 minutes 
of midnight), lighting my pipe and draping 
a couple of appetizing angle-worms on my 
hook I blew out the lantern. 
Honest, the darkness was so thick you 
could slice it. With both eyes open I 
couldn’t see an inch ahead of my nose. 
I sat there puffing away and waiting for 
midnight. The “skeeters” still continued 
to gnaw fiercely and I smeared some fly- 
dope over my. face and hands. They 
seemed to like this stuff, however—I could 
hear ’em lickin’ their chops and fightin’ 
each other for choice positions where the 
dope was smeared thickest on my face. 
After waiting what seemed to be an hour 
I struck a match and looked at my watch. 
As it flickered out both hands rested on 
the grisly midnight hour. Rising I waded 
by faith and feel into the brook until I 
seemed to be about in midstream, then I 
swung my baited hook out into the dark¬ 
ness ahead and dropped it into the pool. 
Hardly had I heard the split-shot tinkle 
on the surface when—-biff!—one had it! 
Ever since that instant I KNOW a trout 
can see in the dark. I was so surprised 
and taken off my guard that I yanked vio¬ 
lently upward on the rod with both hands. 
The result was the trout went perhaps 100 
feet into the air! I stood there listening 
and presently I heard it drop in the grass 
near the brook. Blundering up the bank 
I stood listening. There was a faint rustle 
just ahead of me. Dropping on my hands 
and knees I began feeling quietly about 
for the trout. Suddenly my hands came in 
contact with it and I grasped the cold, 
clammy thing, before I realized, even in 
the dark, that it was no trout I had hold 
of! Then I dropped it with a derisive 
shriek and jumped backward! Striking a 
match I held it down in time to see a big 
slimy water-snake glide away toward the 
brook! As the match went out my hair 
nearly pushed my hat off! 
A FTER that experience I concluded the 
trout was probably a small one and 
not worth hunting for anyhow, so 
I floundered back into the brook and tried 
again repeatedly, but got no rise. I thought 
this was very curious until I found there 
was no worm on my hook, so I rebaited 
(by feel). Scarcely had I dropped the 
hook into the pool until another had it. 
This time I was more careful. Lifting the 
wiggling fish into the air I held out my 
free hand and swung the trout toward me 
in the darkness, but the slippery thing 
missed my hand and hit me a cold, clammy 
wallop right across the face! Then I went 
up the pole hand over hand and down the 
line until I came to the trout, removing it 
from the hook. I tried to slip it Into the 
basket, but in the darkness it missed the 
slot and fell back into the brook! 
Then I tried to locate my hook to feel 
if it needed rebaiting, but I couldn’t find 
it anywhere. Feeling along the pole and 
following up the line I finally located the 
hook in the slack of my pants. In getting 
it loose I brought away part of the slack. 
Just then a playful trout who wasn’t watch¬ 
ing where he was going bumped me on 
the ankle. I gave a yelp and went into the 
air about three feet. I guess that snake 
was still on my mind. By this time my 
hook was fast again—this time in a tree- 
limb above my head, too high to reach, so 
I wound up the line on the end of the pole 
and broke it, leaving the hook in the tree. 
I spent the next half hour hunting for the 
lantern. Lighting it I tied on another 
hook, rebaited, blew out the light and went 
to fishing, but I couldn’t get another rise— 
I guess I had stirred up the pool so much 
the fish were nervous; either that, or the 
trout that got away had warned the others. 
I started upstream, feeling my way in the 
water step by step. I had progressed quite 
a little distance and was getting along fine 
when somebody hit me an awful jolt right 
across the bridge of the nose! I saw all 
kinds of fireworks and before thinking 
struck back in self-defense—and skinned 
my knuckles on a tree which had fallen 
across the brook! A short distance above 
the tree I stepped on a slanting, mossy 
stone, my foot skidded and down I went 
(continued on page 504) 
