Aug. 6, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
217 
In this present instance neither way was pos¬ 
sible. I could not get below the fish for I could 
go no further into the water either by wading 
or canoe, and the second method was impossible, 
for the light was so bad that the exact position 
of the salmon was unknown, and a carelessly 
thrown rock might break my cast. It was a 
peculiarly disagreeable situation, a heavy and 
apparently tireless fish somewhere out there in 
the black water, dark night all around me save 
for the uncertain wavering fire light, a shaky 
and treacherous footing ' on the beach of the 
islet and two wrists that were becoming de¬ 
cidedly weary. 
However, I must fight it out in the only pos¬ 
sible way. Once more I put on every ounce of 
strain the cast would stand and once more the 
rod quivered. My casts were tested to a dead 
weight pull of nine pounds, and though with the 
action of the reel it was of course impossible 
to reach that strain, I must have exerted a pres¬ 
sure of nearly four pounds. 
For fully five minutes the battle lasted. Then 
just when I was about to give it up in disgust 
the fish yielded. Slowly he rose from the depths 
and slowly I drew him toward the bank. With 
a spatter and a heavy surge he broke water and 
once more came within the radius of the fire 
light. But he was too far away to attempt to 
gaff. Bring him nearer I could not, and just as 
the cook arrived, the salmon buried his nose in 
the water and bored down once more. It was very 
discouraging and my wrists were almost numb. 
The cook boiled tea and toasted bacon and 
Abe fed me like a child, for I had resolved that 
no other hand than mine should touch my rod 
that night. Once more I got the fish up; once 
more he broke and once more I brought him 
toward the shore. A little nearer this time and 
then—slowly he fought his way back to the 
deeper water. 
“He’s tiring fast,” said Abe. “Stick to him, 
sir, ten minutes more and I’ll have the gaff in 
him.” But it was a long ten minutes, nearer 
twenty, before Abe had his chance, and when it 
came it was a slim one. I had brought the fish 
to the surface for the third time; for the third 
time I turned him in and he was just a little 
closer than before. The cook heaped dead wood 
upon the fire until it roared and crackled and 
illuminated the black, rushing water before us. 
The fish lay stationary just below the surface 
and Abe had to gaff from a bad place. Hip 
deep in the water, he could barely reach the 
salmon. Steadily the gaff went out, but just at 
the moment when Abe made his quick, steady 
stroke my captive flopped, made a half turn, 
the gaff slipped off the moving body and with 
a splendid effort the desperate fish bored away 
once more. I could have cried from sheer ner¬ 
vous vexation, and from the bank came the in¬ 
terested “Hoo” of that confounded owl. 
Abe uttered an exclamation and scrambled 
ashore like a big water dog, while the cook gave 
vent to an oath that was awful in its profanity. 
“Sorry, sir,” said Abe, “he was just about 
out of reach. I barely touched him. Stick to 
him; he’s a sick fish.” 
I gritted my teeth and the fight was resumed. 
“I’m goin’ to make a torch,” sang out the 
cook. “Sech as the Injuns use when they ‘burn 
the water.’ This fire is too flickery to gaff by.” 
The idea was a good one. The man hunted 
among the driftwood and in a few minutes had 
fashioned together a rough-and-ready torch or 
flambeau. The birchbark and the resinous twigs 
sprang into instant flame and another light flared 
over the water. 
Again the salmon came to the surface and 
came slowly in, exhausted and half dead, but 
fighting to the last. What a grand, plucky fish 
he was! ’ In he came, and helpless and almost 
motionless he lay upon the surface within reach 
of the gaff. But it was an awkward place to 
administer the cotip dc grace. With his legs 
wide apart Abe went into the water. Beside 
him, sidling like a crab and almost squatting on 
the water, went the cook with his flaring torch, 
and back of them I stood with rod bent and 
every nerve on edge. Behind us the fire roared. 
I heard the cook utter a hiss of excitement 
and saw him bend still lower. I saw Abe steady 
himself and the gaff crept slowly out. The 
A JERSEY COAST PRIZE. 
torch moved a fraction of an inch and then— 
my taut line was taut no more. The strained 
rod uttered a “whish” of relief and sprang back 
to its normal shape, for one little red flame from 
the torch had lapped itself around the leader, 
the tightly drawn gut had parted and the salmon 
was free. That was the bitter moment. 
An oath went up to the high heavens and Abe 
lunged with the gaff, but it was too late. A 
little friendly wave, a kindly eddy had slipped 
across the still water and reached that plucky 
fish. For a moment he lay moving gently just 
beyond our reach and then slowly he floated out. 
“A spear!” screamed the cook. “Oh! for a 
spear; I’ll rig up—” but I stopped him. 
“There will be no spear for that salmon,” I 
said. “If ever fish fought for his freedom that 
one did. He deserves it—look!” and I pointed 
over the water. 
The torch was dead and the fire was dying, 
but in its fast fading glow we could see the dim 
outline of the fish and a little sheen of white 
side and belly against the black of the water. 
One feeble struggle, another, another, and he 
was gone. Abe drew a long breath. 
“That was a fish.” quoth he. 
John Law Dallam. 
The Rod and Reel on Salt Water. 
IV.—The Weakfish. 
Perhaps no variety of our salt water fishes is 
more familiar to anglers than the weakfish, 
known also as squeteague, squit, drummer and 
chickwit. Of these names three at least are of 
Indian origin, showing that the aborigines knew 
this fish, as they did most of those which are 
now familiar to us. Of how the Indians effected 
its capture we know little beyond the fact that 
they did so. 
On our coast the weakfish is represented by 
three species. First, the common weakfish so 
abundant at different periods; second, the spot¬ 
ted weakfish or sea trout, and third, the silver 
weakfish. a small and unimportant variety with 
an extreme Southern range, and rarely found in 
any considerable numbers in our waters. The 
sea trout, while at times quite abundant with us, 
is but seldom taken on the hook north of the 
Delaware capes. I have taken only two speci¬ 
mens and have never seen taken more than a 
dozen all told. The ocean fish pounds frequently 
take them in abundance, however, a fact which 
seems to show that they are not as a rule in¬ 
shore feeders. 
How or when the name weakfish originated is 
open to conjecture. Many theories have been 1 
advanced in relation to the matter; among them 
that the term is a corruption of “wheatfish,” in¬ 
ferring that they are usually abundant about 
harvest time. But the obscurity of the origin 
of the title of the weakfish does not detract 
from his splendor, nor lessen his importance in 
the estimation of the angler. 
Weakfish usually move in large schools, and f 
if undisturbed by enemies will remain in one 
locality for a long time. I have known them to 
stay (at one point for weeks, running close in 
along the beach at flood tide and chopping back 
of the bar on the ebb, thus affording the finest 
of fishing directly from the beach. The tackle 
described for kingfish will answer for weakfish, 
save that the hook should be a 6/0 Limerick. 
Now, in fancy, I hear a chorus of voices, each 
declaring his preference. Says one, the Aber¬ 
deen is the only hook for the weakfish, while an¬ 
other declares the sproat to be the only one 
practical. I have tried them all and have re¬ 
ceived full satisfaction from the use of a high 
grade, hollow point Limerick hook. 
The leader should be at least two feet in 
length and on the end next the hook should be 
adjusted a small cork. This can best be done 
by splitting a cork half way through length¬ 
wise, slipping the leader into the opening and 
then pinning through with a small piece of wood. 
A match will answer every purpose and is better 
than any metal fastening, as when wet the wood 
will swell and hold 'firmly. The object of the 
float is to buoy the bait a short distance from 
the bottom. It serves a two-fold purpose, one 
of which is to keep the bait from the ever an¬ 
noying calico crab, but the chief purpose is that, 
so kept from the bottom it is more readily taken 
by the weakfish, which is not a bottom feeder. 
The best points for the angler are not the 
points of bars usually chosen for many varieties 
of shore fish. Instead, the deepest water is to be 
sought, for the food of the weakfish differs en¬ 
tirely from that of the bass and kingfish. 
The weakfish readily takes a variety of baits. 
