r ‘~ ** • *-**“.-*- 
Landing a Double Catch 
A Trout and Bass Story 
I WAS fly-fishing for bass and trout 
one evening in that grand, deep 
pool known as the “Fork” formed 
by the junction of the Beaverkill and 
Willowemoc streams. In one position, 
in the slow-moving deeps, there were 
large bass; the other, quick - running 
part, contained big rainbows and 
browns.' Waist-deep, I had caught sev¬ 
eral small-sized bass when I observed 
across the stream my old friend 
Bill Keener with rod tip in the 
air, walking briskly towards me 
along the pebbly shore. When 
he came near I inquired, 
“What’s your tramp stunt, 
Bill?” “Got two on,” says he, 
“and they’ve raced abreast up 
and down this G. darned pool 
for twenty minutes like a pair 
of wild steers hitched to a 
plow; but I shall get ’em, if I 
have to walk here without food 
for a week—unless that left one 
which pulls hardest makes a 
break like a sun of a gun.” 
Bill’s a silent, taciturn sort of 
man; he doesn’t holler out, “I’ve 
got one” upon landing a big 
fish—he treats fishing entirely personal 
to himself. Asks no questions, tells 
no lies, but he swears awful at times. 
I said nothing more, but waded across, 
taking a seat to watch him turn back 
on his silent beat, muttering, doubtless, 
those fearful oaths he coins so glibly, 
a habit, harmless indeed, to him very 
consoling under most tantalizing con¬ 
ditions. 
I always use a net for a large fish. 
Bill doesn’t. He scorns a net, wades a 
mile, holding the nose of a big fish 
above the surface in order to find a 
Page 687 
By LOUIS RHEAD 
suitable place to slide it up the beach— 
and I never knew him to lose one. 
Experience of Bill’s methods convinced 
me he knew exactly the right time, the 
right way to beach the brace of “tar- 
ters” he had then in tow at the end 
of his line. So, then, I sat, watched, 
smoked and waited. Darkness had set 
in; neither of us spoke. Complete 
silence reigned about us, except the 
Two decades ago, the Beaverkill was seldom 
fished by other than native anglers. In its 
brawling riffles and shady pools, gamey bass 
and great brown trout swam side by side. 
Bill Keener, at that time, gained a reputa¬ 
tion as an extraordinary fly-fisherman be¬ 
cause of keen observation and persistent 
effort. . . . Reminiscent of those days is 
this tale by Louis Rhead, who was his com¬ 
panion on many of his days on the stream. 
casual “plop” of a fish, the rippling 
laughter of the waters at the head of 
the pool. 
After Bill had made several more 
turns I could see in the water the white 
upturned belly of one fish, but the other 
was still game, swimming slowly some 
distance from shore in deep water. 
Those two fish were too old to be fool¬ 
ish—too wary for jimcracking with the 
master hand and firm wrist that held 
them fast with bulldog tenacity; no 
getaway for them; strength was gain¬ 
ing against cunning. 
I was just thinking Bill was there 
for the night, so I started out, prepar¬ 
ing to leave, when I saw him stop half¬ 
way down the pool. Walking towards 
him, I saw in the water both white 
bellies now upturned, just as quiet and 
peaceful as if laid in a coffin, side by 
side. Muttering to himself, Bill gently 
led them to a little shallow cover, as 
tenderly as a mother tucks her child in 
bed, till the pair barely touched 
the sandy shore. Then he step¬ 
ped into the water, and with 
ponderous brogan gave a mighty 
kick which sent both fish flying 
up into the bushes. With a vol¬ 
ley of choice epitaphs he placed 
his rod against some bushes, 
and we started for the fish that 
were kicking about in the grass. 
We each grabbed one, unhooked, 
and dispatched both to “King¬ 
dom Come” in a jiffy and placed 
them on shore, side by side. 
One was a fine four-pound 
small - mouth bass that had 
taken the end fly and was the 
last to give up the fight. The 
other, a three-pound nine-ounce 
brown trout, took the upper fly after 
the bass. We then went home, carry¬ 
ing the gamy brace of “tarters” slung 
on a willow-withy, being too big for 
the creel. 
I have caught many “doubles” on 
the fly, of bass, trout and ouananiche, 
but never have nor heard of others 
catching two different species of fish 
on one cast of flies. 
Mr. Keener does not fish now so much 
as formerly. With advancing years, 
somewhat around 70, and a well- 
(Continued on page 722) 
