702 
FOREST AND STREAM 
December, 1918 
grinding process going on down below. It 
is these particles of small fish which at¬ 
tract the gulls, and which in turn betray 
the presence of the larger fish. The an¬ 
chor down, rods are in hand—and just 
here it may be well to mention that rods 
for this work should be at least ten inches 
shorter than the usual surf rod, as it will 
be found to be much handier in all par¬ 
ticulars, in other particulars the rig is the 
same as used on the beach. And now the 
diamond squid plays its part; being of 
straight lines it goes to the bottom like a 
plummet and should be of the size usually 
set with an 8-0 hook, as fish raise and 
lower while feeding. We try different 
depths, each making a selection of depth 
and holding to that until fish are located 
in one or the other of the stratas selected. 
The squids meanwhile are continually go¬ 
ing up and down just as much as the swing 
of the rod will permit, keeping meanwhile 
a firm thumb pressure on the reel for well 
we know that when the strike comes a 
loosely guarded line will be a keen regret. 
Suddenly a rod with tip well into the air 
goes down like lightning until it is buried 
deep into the water. A fish has struck and 
is rocketing away for release. Fifty, per¬ 
haps seventy-five feet of line are taken in 
a straight run. The weakfish rarely make 
long runs, but under the boat he goes. 
Now mark well he does not foul the line 
with the anchor rope or the prize will be 
lost. Wide circles are cut, but each one 
narrowing as the fish drowns down into 
weakness, until after a game display he is 
gradually brought around to the gaff. Then 
all the glories of the captive begin to dawn 
on the mind, for of all the fish which in¬ 
habits our waters few if any are as sub¬ 
limely beautiful as the large weakfish when 
the cooling autumn water imparts to them 
the most gorgeous hues. They have to be 
seen, however, immediately after being 
taken from the water to get an idea of 
their beauty. We exult, yet almost pity 
the captive as we lift him over the side 
of the boat. There is at least ten, pos¬ 
sibly twelve pounds of him and as royal 
as any salmon which ever graced the rod 
of man. 
The fun goes on for perhaps two hours 
with someone at battle all the time, when 
of a sudden it stops—not a strike to be 
had. A shark has made its appearance and 
w r e must seek another school, or give it up 
as a good day’s work. My greatest catch 
in three hours was thirty-five fish, each a 
monster, ten of which weighed one hun¬ 
dred and six pounds and not an ounce 
wasted. Old Ocean is indeed rich in her 
gifts she bestows upon man. 
ANGLING FOR MINNESOTA MUSKELLUNGE 
THE FIGHTING MUSKIE, GAMEST OF ALL FRESH WATER FISH, 
CAN FILL A DAY BRIMFUL OF SPORT, EXCITEMENT AND THRILLS 
By THOMAS H. SLONE 
C HARLIE was our guide, the best ever, 
and he loved to see the big muskel- 
lunge strike. 
“Minn” is my wife. She can cast a bait 
and successfully land her share of the fish 
from the time the boat enters the exciting 
water until we return to camp, without 
■even a whimper, unless I give an Indian 
yell just when she has hooked her fish and 
succeed in scaring him off. 
Minn and I had secured Charlie for our 
guide after we had found the place to 
spend a few days up in Northern Minne¬ 
sota. We three had just spent enough 
time together so that each of us could re¬ 
ceive a joke with the good humor that 
any could give it. We had spent just 
enough time to begin to know the water 
before the day that I am going to tell you 
about. Every thing was right for the fishing. 
The night before we decided to leave 
camp about 8 A. M. and make a day of it. 
Right on the dot we pulled out with pro¬ 
visions and cooking outfit with which to 
prepare our dinner along the shore, wher¬ 
ever we happened to be when hunger came. 
It chanced that the day was ideal. It 
was cloudy with just enough mist in the 
air to give promise of rain and the mois¬ 
ture in the air that the constant wind blew 
first in our faces and then to our backs 
served to act as a tonic, keeping us ex¬ 
hilarated until we were satisfied with our 
-day’s sport. I like a damp day for fishing 
as the fish seem to bite better. 
I believe the muskellunge is the gamest 
fighter of all fresh water fish and we were 
out after him. Frequently a big mouth 
bass would pilfer the bait that we had cast 
out for our favorite fish, but even so this 
tended to make every moment exciting. 
We decided to fish Little Sand Lake 
that day. This lake is one in a chain 
of five lakes, one as good as the other, 
leaving the choice to the angler. 
To reach Little Sand we had to row 
about 80 rods from our camp out of Big 
The 22-pound muskie gives up the fight 
Sand, then through the shallow connecting 
creek to Ida Lake, then across Ida Lake 
about one mile, through another shallow 
creek, in which the wild rice was trying to 
take possession, through which we entered 
Little Sand where we looked for good sport. 
As we pulled through the wild rice and 
into the first Bay, all. three of us were on 
edge, Minn- and I contending for honors 
in catching the first muskellunge (bass 
didn’t count) and Charlie watching the 
sport with a judicial eye. 
Minn had the back of the boat and I the 
center, giving me the advantage of the 
front cast each time, but I found that the 
gamest fish don’t always want the first bait. 
We had caught a few bass in this first bay 
and just as we were leaving I made a cast 
of about 40 yards landing near the reeds, 
when the first “muskie” rushed from below 
and leaped out of the water fully four feet 
in the air. He had struck just behind my 
bait and the double flipflop that he turned 
in his effort to get back in the water 
brought each of us a thrill and hearty 
laugh. The day was just right and we be¬ 
gan to believe that we were going to do 
the business. 
A little further around the sand bar the 
mate of the first “muskie” took a wallop 
at Minn’s bait and missed again. We were 
casting, using surface bait altogether, and 
could see whether eVery strike hit. 
T HINGS quieted down then for awhile 
with only an occasional bass strike 
and catch. We had circled about one- 
fourth the distance around the lake and 
were entering another bay that was lined 
near the shore with a perfect weed bed, 
when a big vicious muskie made up his mind 
to finish Minn’s bait. My opinion is that 
he was sauntering around something like 
twelve feet under the surface when he saw 
her bait rushing along on top of the water. 
It is also my opinion that he gained speed 
in his rush for it. When he reached the 
surface he didn’t stop, but he surely did 
get the bait. In mid-air we could see him 
shake that bait like a mad colt shakes the 
bits for the first time. 
That didn’t do him any good so he de¬ 
cided to go to deep water and tear things 
up, but all the time the determination on 
Minn’s face and the almost breaking bend 
in her rod told Charlie and me that the 
fight was on in earnest. Charlie started 
for deep water when Mr. Muskie broke 
water and went into the air again repeat¬ 
ing his initial performance. Minn held on, 
giving line and forbidding the slack that 
he wanted. He was game and fought with 
every ounce of his big body for fully thirty 
minutes; but the odds were against him 
