/ 
breath—a sudden bound, and one was 
out of bed donning his clothing hastily; 
there was no lingering over one’s toilet 
then, he kept his circulation active 
by exercise. The ice film in the pitcher 
was broken with the heel of a shoe, and 
one’s face tingled for a goodly half 
hour after ablution. Downstairs hasti¬ 
ly to a breakfast of home-cured bacon 
and eggs, baking-powder biscuits and 
coffee, and then the guns and out. 
Such a day! Hoarfrost on the corn 
stalks, fence rails and the blackened 
pumpkin vines; in the east, the first 
pink tints of dawn—old Bill hooked to 
the buckboard, the guns stowed safetly 
on the floor, while on grain sacks lay 
Nero and Nell, two Irish setters—vet¬ 
erans of their craft. A four-mile drive, 
occupied with reminiscences of previous 
trips, and then old Bill stowed snugly 
in a neighbor’s barn, and Nero and Nell 
working off their wire edges in a near¬ 
by field. 
I can see it all in retrospect, and in 
the bleak winter nights I live it over 
and over again, and I thank an allwise 
Providence that I was permitted to 
know that phase of American history in 
its making. 
Half-way across the field, Nell picks 
up a scent—works it into the next, 
where she points staunchly and is 
backed by Nero some paces to the right 
rear. A sudden “whir-r-r” and a bevy 
of quail rise and scatter in all direc¬ 
tions. My friend makes a double while 
I make a kill with my first and a clean 
“muff” with my second. We work up 
the scattered birds, securing six, and 
then move on into the next field along a 
wood lot, where we scatter another 
bevy, securing eight more birds. The 
sun is several hours high by this time 
and is beating warmly on our backs as 
we move over to the wood lot to eat a 
“snack.” 
Luncheon finished, the dogs rested, a 
smoke, then we give the wood lot a 
look-in, with the result that three 
grouse and two woodcock are added to 
our bag. So the afternoon passes—the 
shadows lengthen—a bluejay screeches 
back in the woods, as a couple of be¬ 
lated crows fly over to their roosting. 
As we drive homeward the sun sinks 
behind the hills—its afterglow lighting 
the windows of home like huge embers; 
old Bill quickens his pace, and finally 
we drive between a double row of vener¬ 
able walnut trees to the barn, where he 
is fed and left to dream such dreams 
as beguile the equine people. Nero 
and Nell are brought into the house, 
where their eyes and noses are washed 
and the sand and briers removed from 
between their toes. We allow them to 
dose in the warm firelight before lock¬ 
ing them up for the night. A friendly 
game—then the clock is wound, doors 
locked, lights out, and then to bed, while 
outside the hoarfrost claims dominion. 
Men speak of wealth in sordid terms, 
And reckon their power in cent-percent, 
But Nature’s bourne is where one earns 
Both health and wealth, and calm con¬ 
tent. 
G. W. Beatty (Hackamore). 
CURIOUS FISHING 
EXPERIENCES 
Dear Forest and Stream: 
NE afternoon I was fishing for 
pickerel off the mouth of the Rob¬ 
bins stream at Belgrade and had sub¬ 
stituted a large fly for the ordinary 
bait. I had been casting for some time 
without any result when at length, 
about forty feet from the boat and 
close to a small patch of pads, I saw 
the wake and then roll of a fair pick¬ 
erel. At my second cast over the spot I 
hooked the fish, and upon finally netting 
him was amazed to find in his belly an 
ugly rip through which his intestines 
protruded to a length of about three 
inches; and yet, in spite of such a 
wound this fish rose as freely and 
fought as gamely as any pickerel of its 
size I ever handled. The wound must 
have been a very fresh one, as in all 
other respects he was a splendidly con¬ 
ditioned two-pound fish. 
I have long known that trout were 
exceedingly voracious at times, but 
three seasons ago I had this fact im¬ 
pressed on me stronger than ever in a 
rather remarkable manner. While fly 
fishing off the mouth of a trout stream 
in Maine a trout rose to my tail fly and 
missed. Three times this was repeated, 
but on the fourth rise the fish got foul- 
hooked on the outside of the upper jaw; 
upon finally boating the trout, great 
was my surprise to see protruding from 
his mouth the tail of a five-inch chub 
which he had evidently been trying to 
swallow. This had apparently kept 
the fish from closing his mouth and ac¬ 
counted for its being foul-hooked; but 
what was even further proof of this 
fish’s gluttony was the fact that on being 
dressed its stomach was found to be 
tightly packed with small smelt in vari¬ 
ous stages of digestion. It would be 
most interesting to know just what 
should cause a trout in such a stuffed 
condition to rise so persistently to an 
artificial fly; surely hunger could not 
have been the reason, but if not that, 
what? 
I have frequently been told by brother 
anglers that the remora or shark pilot 
is unable to attach itself to any of the 
ordinary scaled fishes, but required for 
his anchorage the rougher skin worn 
by sharks, sawfish, etc. I was there¬ 
fore much interested on two different 
occasions to capture redfish with one 
of these curious creatures securely 
fastened to its side. In both cases the 
redfish were of about twenty pounds 
weight, while one remora was thirteen, 
the other fifteen inches in length; when 
these redfish were beached their pas¬ 
sengers came ashore with them. At 
Clearwater, Florida, a remora took up 
his residence on the bottom of my skiff, 
where he stayed in apparent content¬ 
ment for more than a week; during this 
time he would frequently come out to 
feed on scraps of bait dropped over the 
side, but on securing these would at 
once return to the skiff’s bottom. 
While it is hardly correct to speak 
of the pelican as a game-fish, still on 
several occasions I have caught these 
big birds when trolling with a spoon 
for real fish. On only one of these 
times was the bird able to rise into 
the air after being hooked, and then as 
soon as any pressure was put on him 
he would apparently be thrown so off 
his balance that he would come down 
to the water much in the fashion of a 
side-slipping aeroplane. Their method 
of “striking” was a straight downward 
plunge from a height of twenty or 
thirty feet with beak wide open, and 
with the exception of the side-slipping 
bird the hook was always lodged in 
one or other of the mandibles; the “side- 
slipper” was hooked through the skin 
covering the wing joint close to the 
body, which must have accounted for 
his peculiar movements while trying to 
stay in the air. These birds were in¬ 
variably simply alive with lice, which 
made the unhooking of them a very 
unpleasant job, but fortunately this 
was always accomplished with no ap¬ 
parent harm to the bird. 
With the above freak catches I am 
tempted to include the following method 
of securing mullet for bait, which I 
learned from the captain of a small 
schooner that used to ply between Tam¬ 
pa and Ft. Myers. During November 
and December on this coast the mullet 
may be seen on almost any day in 
immense schools; and yet by night 
the number found traveling is vastly 
greater. Rowing over to a channel after 
dark with a lighted lantern in the bot¬ 
tom of my skiff I anchor and settle 
down to wait and listen. Usually in a 
very short time the mullet can be heard 
splashing around the boat’s sides; I 
then raise the lantern and with a small 
stick tap lightly on the seat. Immedi¬ 
ately the fish start jumping, and some 
of the nearer ones, either attracted or 
blinded by the light, will be found to 
leap into or over the skiff. To the 
angler trying this for the first time, the 
sight is a most remarkable one, as in 
the circle of light cast by the lantern 
it is often possible to see scores of these 
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