THOMPSON 
Gradually I worked him toward the landing net 
'‘age 19 
In writino to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. It will identify you. 
CANOES, $45 up. Speedy, beautiful In line, 
graceful in action—yet strong and durable. Stable 
in a choppy sea; steady as most rowboats. _ Respon¬ 
sive to the paddle—less liable to "drift.'* 
ROWBOATS, $40 up. Roomy, handsome rowboats 
—with trim lines. Finely built of choicest woods. 
Finished down to the last detail. Stand years of 
wear and tear and still loolt good. 
FISH and HUNTING BOATS, $32 UP. For oars 
or outboard motor. Sturdy, stable—won’t ‘‘roll’’ 
when you stand to cast or land a whopper. Light 
draft for the shallows. Easy on the oarsman. 
STRANGE BASS WATERS 
HOW SOME HARD-FIGHTING SMALL-MOUTH 
WERE CAUGHT IN A SURPRISING LOCATION 
SPECIAL BOATS for Outboard Motors, $58 up. 
Special seam construction resists vibration. Unique 
hull design, combined with just the right clear¬ 
ance, gives speed without sacrificing safety. We 
handle leading outboard motors also. 
MOTOR BOATS, ENGINE INSTALLED, $200 
UP. The feature of this full line is the Beach 
Model—the ‘‘Wonder Boat for 1923.’’ Propeller 
does not project below keel—cannot be injured if 
run hard aground or amid lurking logs or rocks. 
Light-weight motor enclosed in rainproof hatch. 
Women or children can start and operate it. Two 
men can carry it. Four other motor boats to 
choose from; 16 to 26 feet in length. 
State the kind of boat in 
which you arc interested 
Thompson Bros. Boat Mfg. Co. 
93 ELLIS AVE., PESHTIGO, WIS. 
By ROBERT P. LOWRY 
HAVE fished for 
bass in Adirondack 
lakes and rivers, in 
Maine ponds and in 
that most beautiful of 
hill country streams, 
the Loyalsock Creek 
in northern central 
Pennsylvania. I have 
fished in good weath¬ 
er and bad and with 
varying success, but 
an experience I had 
last August in southern Massachusetts 
has furnished a new and unique chapter 
in my piscatorial pursuits. If any fisher¬ 
man had told me that he had caught bass 
in the place where I subsequently found 
them, I would never have believed him. 
This is the way it came about: I was 
spending' my vacation on a farm near 
New Bedford and had been promised 
bass fishing of the best by cheerful but 
totally irresponsible relatives by mar¬ 
riage. Each day I went out hopefully 
to places they suggested seeking that 
most noble of fresh water fish and I re¬ 
turned with pickerel, perch, both white 
and yellow, and horned-pout, a name 
which the misguided Yankees apply to 
the bullhead or catfish. 
I was in despair, when a supposedly 
truthful medical man told me of a place 
called Sawdy Pond and asserted that he 
himself had caught bass there. Ac¬ 
companied by John G., a youthful farmer 
of the neighborhood who is always ready 
to take a day off and go fishing, I vis¬ 
ited Sawdy. It is a pretty place. There 
are rocks, lots of them, and the nicest 
lily pads and pickerel grass imaginable 
and there is plenty of perfectly lovely 
water. There may be bass there too, but 
no one can prove it by me. 
“I know a pond where we can get 
bass,” insinuated John G. as we rode 
home in the twilight. 
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I chal¬ 
lenged. 
“But this is real,” he insisted. 
“Where is it?” 
“That’s a secret. Wait and see.” 
And that was all I could get out of the 
exasperating young man except that I 
was to be ready in three days for the 
trip. 
Early on the morning appointed I met 
John G. and a lanky youth in hip boots 
who smoked infinite cigarettes and an¬ 
swered to the name of Harold. Behind 
Harold’s runabout was a trailer and on 
the trailer was an eighteen-foot skiff. 
Thus equipped, we set out and the end 
of fifteen miles of lovely roads found 
us going down a hill at the bottom of 
which appeared no less a body of water 
than the Atlantic Ocean. 
“What’s coming off?” I asked. “I 
thought you meant fresh water bass, oris 
the pond on Cuttyhunk Island over 
there ?” 
“Look over that way,” John G. ad¬ 
monished, pointing to the right of the 
road. I saw a pretty little pond about a 
mile across. A thin, a painfully thin, 
neck of land separated it from the At¬ 
lantic. 
‘Don’t tell me there are bass in there. 
I’ll bet it’s salt,” said I. 
Harold ran the car and trailer down 
on the sandy neck. It was not an inch 
over one hundred and fifty feet in width. 
Big breakers were dashing up on the 
ocean side and there was a fishing 
schooner in the offing. We ran the 
trailer down to the edge of the pond and 
slid the skiff into the water. I scooped 
up some of the water in my hand. It 
was not even brackish. 
In a little gut we put down a seine and 
soon had enough minnows to make a re¬ 
spectable showing in the bait bucket. 
Then we pushed the boat through some 
pickerel grass and started fishing. Har- 
“—bet your life you’ll 
get a Thompson!” 
“Joe, listen—any old time you want to 
peg it up here in the woods for a real 
outing you can bet your life you’ll get 
a Thompson Boat! You’re right —fishin’ 
ain’t fishin’ without one, and that’s all 
there be to it.” 
Write for Beautiful Free Catalog Today! 
There’s a Thompson Boat for every pur¬ 
pose—and every model is a dandy. 
The skill of master designers—men who 
have specialized In this one art alone— 
is reflected in every one of the 19 differ¬ 
ent models described in Thompson's new 
1923 catalog. Handsomely illustrated in 
full colors. Write today for your copy! 
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