660 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 22, 1910. 
and a half. After gaffing this fish a third one 
was hooked and held for about ten minutes, 
when the larger tuna already in the boat had 
quite a death flurry, and in my anxiety to keep 
him in the beat I released my hold on the rod 
with one hand, and at that moment the tuna I 
had on sounded and the resulting jerk in some 
way pulled the rod out of my hand. This fish 
we saw plainly and estimated his weight at 150 
pounds. 
Four days ago I caught another tuna weigh¬ 
ing thirty-three pounds one ounce. All these fish 
were played with the engine moving full speed 
about six or seven miles an hour. E. Saunders, 
of Asbury Park, one of the most experienced 
surfmen on the Jersey coast, was of great as¬ 
sistance to me in landing these fish, he handling 
the boat perfectly in every instance. I am going 
to try the next one with the engine shut off, but 
I am not very confident as to result. I will send 
the next tuna caught there to the New York 
Aquarium as you suggest. I sincerely wish you 
could see as I have seen a school of big tuna 
leaping in a school of moss bunkers. It is a 
sight not soon forgotten. I have certainly seen 
tuna offshore here weighing not less than four 
or five hundred pounds. You know they have 
been caught here in the pound nets weighing 
between eight and nine hundred pounds. 
E. T. Townsend. 
West Coast Fishing. 
San Francisco, Cal., Oct. 10. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: A number of San Francisco sports¬ 
men have been visiting Southern California of 
Jate, and they report some splendid fishing off 
Avalon. Colonel John E. Stearns, of this city, 
has achieved the honor of making the record 
catch of swordfish, having taken one weighing 
292 pounds. This fish is very much in evidence 
in Southern waters this season and fishing for 
tuna has been rather neglected, all desiring to 
capture one of the oddities of the deep. Fish¬ 
ing off the piers of the various summer resorts 
has also been very fihe, and at Redondo there 
was recently a run of yellowtail that broke all 
records. The water was simply alive with the 
game.fish, and it is estimated at this place that 
in one day more than 20,000 pounds of the fish 
were taken with hook and line. The fish weighed 
from twenty to thirty pounds. 
The salmon season has closed and local ang¬ 
lers are paying most of their attention at the 
present time to striped bass which are now run¬ 
ning well. The lagoon back of Tiburon has 
proved to be a favorite ground for this fish, but 
no very large ones have been taken there, a 
twelve-pounder being the largest to date. In 
the vicinity of Rodeo the fish are commencing 
to run, and during the latter part of October 
it is anticipated that there will be some excel¬ 
lent sport there. The lagoon at Wingo is also 
well stocked, and it is here that the largest fish 
are being taken. 
Late trout fishing has been very good in the 
sierras, especially in the McCloud River district, 
and a number of anglers made belated trips 
there last month. Although the streams are 
very low, there are deep pools filled with fish, 
and there has been no lack of sport. Steelheads 
are running in the Eel River, and this stream 
has been visited by a number of late visitors, 
notably by Governor Gi'llett and party, the Gov¬ 
ernor being an enthusiastic angler. A. P. B. 
Week-End Rambles. 
I.—My Lady's First Game Fish. 
In order that oui^ culpable disregard for con¬ 
ventionalized Sabbath customs may be satisfac¬ 
torily explained to those who look with disdain 
upon all forms of Sunday recreation, let me say 
that early in January of the panic year it be¬ 
came apparent that I should be compelled to 
forego my annual spring vacation trip. For sev¬ 
eral years I had made a pilgrimage into the 
very heart of the mountain fastness and pitched 
my tent on the forks of a little Adirondack 
trout stream where for two weeks I pitted my 
skill against the cunning and caprices of that 
sterling game fish, expunging the city air and 
rejuvenating in the rarified spring atmosphere 
of the forest. 
Long before the south wind’s welcome roar 
in the hilltops heralded the last dying struggle 
of winter, I could feel that mysterious call of 
nature coursing through my veins, beckoning me 
to the trout streams of the north country, but 
alas I was chained to my desk. For weeks busi¬ 
ness conditions had slowly gone from bad to 
worse. The stringency of the money market, 
coupled with the incessant worry of keeping em¬ 
ployed men who had grown gray in the com¬ 
pany’s service, and who had families dependent 
on their weekly wage, added two-fold to my 
daily cares. Spring found me sadly in need of 
a jaunt to the woods. No one realized my con¬ 
dition more than My Lady, and her anxiety to 
get me far away and out in the open as much 
as possible led her to suggest the first of the 
week-end trips. 
Man-like I scouted the idea, but My Lady 
wheedled and persuaded until I reluctantly con¬ 
sented. Now as I sit by the fire of an evening, 
recalling many pleasant holidays, I look upon 
these trips with particular pleasure and resolve 
to repeat the experience next summer. 
As this was to be My Lady’s initial camping 
experience and she had yet to master the art 
of fly-casting, it was deemed wisest to resort to 
a little commonplace fishing, so we concluded to 
pitch our first camp on the shore of a little lake 
in the Catskills. Both of us were familiar with 
the surrounding country and knew the lake to 
be abundantly stocked with pickerel, perch, bull¬ 
heads and black bags. As fishing for the latter 
was prohibited then, our equipment was .designed 
mainly for pickerel. 
Broad smiles greeted us as we boarded our 
train one Saturday afternoon ip May. Never¬ 
theless there was one sympathetic soul aboard. 
From across the aisle a tall, gray-haired man let 
his eyes rest yearningly on the little axe and 
frying-pan secured to the outside of the seventy- 
pound pack I was to carry, and leaning over, 
said: “Pardner, I've the same kind of fishing- 
fever and would I were to tote a pack along 
with you instead of hurrying West.” “Ah,” I 
thought, “an old-timer,” and so he proved to 
be. For the next hour he regaled us with anec¬ 
dotes and incidents that covered a range of fish¬ 
ing experience from the little lafayette of New 
York Bay to tuna fishing off the coast of Cali¬ 
fornia, from deep-sea angling at Bermuda to the 
pursuit of salmon in Alaska. He proved such 
an interesting conversationalist that before I was 
aware of our whereabouts a brakeman called 
our station. 
Leaving the village we swung along a high¬ 
way winding up the mountain side. April 
showers had effaced the last vestige of snow and 
covered the debris of winter with a carpet of 
green. Under the influence of the warm May 
sunshine, gray tree trunks were struggling into 
their leafy summer trappings. The pungent per¬ 
fume of freshly turned earth mingled with the 
delicate odor of apple blossoms, dogwood and 
shadblow. Surrendering to nature’s influence we 
trudged up the mountainside, pausing now and 
then on the higher crests to gaze on the pano¬ 
rama spread out before us, until the first glimmer 
of the lake roused us from our reveries and 
quickened our steps. A cattle path across a 
pasture to the lake shore tempted us to scram¬ 
ble over the fence and follow its crooked course. 
At the lake shore we sought a camping place. 
A group of pines surrounded on three sides by 
scrub, crowned a slight elevation close to shore, 
affording ample room for stretching the little 
balloon silk shelter tent. 
After pitching camp and a lunch of tea and 
toast, My Lady was ready for her first lesson 
in the art of angling. Full of hope she began 
casting, determined to master the knack of keep¬ 
ing the spoon moving speedily enough to prove 
deceptive and free of entangling weeds. Sud¬ 
denly a dark form darted from beneath a mat 
of lilypads, straight for the spoon. My Lady 
felt the strike and involuntarily jerked her rod 
upward, imbedding the hook. The psychological 
moment that has thrilled and fascinated ang¬ 
lers from the barbaric days of the bone hook to 
the present time was at hand. Her flushed face 
and trembling hands betrayed her excitement, 
and for a moment it looked as though she was 
about to invite disaster by attempting to haul 
the fish bodily from the water, but she played 
him until he exhibited the white feather, and 
showed no signs of exultation over her first suc¬ 
cess—a noble prize fully twenty-six inches in 
length; however she emerged from the encounter 
an enthusiastic angler. 
“ It’s we two, it’s we two for aye. 
All the world and we two, and heaven be our stay; 
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride; 
All the world was Adam’s once with Eve by his side. 
What’s the world, my lass, my love—what can it do? 
I am thine and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. 
If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by. 
For we two have gotten leave, and once more will try,” 
sang My Lady as she busied herself cooking the 
evening meal. 
After the last scrap had been eaten and fuel 
provided for the night fire^-the mountain air is 
seldom warm enough to insure comfort before 
the middle of June—My Lady and I fell a prey 
to the potent spell of the dream spirit, and the 
plans for other vacation trips were hewn from 
the air castles we built that night. It was nearly 
midnight when we retired, resolved to spend 
the forthcoming day in exploring the surround¬ 
ing woods. Carl Schurz Shafer. 
So Many Trout they Trip Fishermen. 
Salmon trout fishing in the Sandy River is 
the leading sport just now, says the Portland 
Oregonian. The fish have been running in 
great schools in such numbers that fishermen 
wading in the riffles were thrown off their feet. 
Settlers are salting large quantities for winter 
use. 
