i 
| 
iE 
Wet 
ih. 




Ne 









Skittering 
The Sport of Catching Pickerel on a Long Cane Pole 
luxuriously. The first rays of the 
sun were filtering through the 
trees on the shore of the lake and be- 
ginning to take the night chill from 
the camp. From the surrounding 
grove of young pines came the in- 
cessant chatter of two red squirrels. 
Somewhere back in the big timber a 
mother cow was feeding her young as 
evidenced by the series of gargling 
squawks and caws that suggested 
garroting rather than feeding. 
Far down the lake came the 
shrill scream of an eagle; prob- 
ably the old bald-headed fellow 
who always browsed around the 
shore looking for crippled perch 
that had paid their penalty for 
stealing bait, and had _ been 
flung ignominiously to their 
doom by some disgusted fisher- 
man. 
I rolled over and_ fished 
sleepily for the tail of a recal- 
citrant blanket. Should I get 
up and start breakfast, or take 
another nap? JI mused com- 
fortably over this momentous 
problem. What time was it? 
By reaching down under my cot I could 
unearth a watch, carefully housed in a 
tin box, but that was too much effort. 
I didn’t care what time it was. I was 
perfectly and absolutely comfortable. 
The blankets were nice and warm at 
my feet where the sun was coming in. 
I drowsed again. 
] OPENED my eyes slowly and 
f bese: sound of whispering came from 
the next tent. A stifled giggle and 
a grunt of exasperation told me that 
The Twins were awake, and that 
Charlie was getting in some deadly 
work on Dickie. I heard Bill in the 
TINUANUUEIU 
and can of worms? 
sport. 
this story discloses. 
By DR. HENRY PLEASANTS, JR. 
cot next to me roll over, and out of the 
tail of my eye saw his ‘curly head peer 
out of the tent. An impatient whine 
sounded, and Pick, the big Airedale, 
poked his head in, his stumpy tail 
wagging, his ears laid back, and his big 
brown eyes saying plainly “Aren’t you 
ever going to get up?” 
“Hey, you Twins, get out of that, 
and start the fire,” I called. 
More commotion in the next tent 
followed. ‘“Where’s my shirt?” came 
Do you recall the angling days of your youth, 
spent on lake and stream with a cane pole 
The tackle you used 
then would surely suffer in comparison with 
your present day equipment. 
the cane pole still offers possibilities for fine 
thrills 
Try it this summer. 
Skittering is full of 
MUUUTIVUINVUTEUUTU UT OUATOTTOUT ETT 
the mournful voice of Dick. 
“Where you left it last night, you 
poor simp.” 
LG een te 
here.” 
“This’n’s mine. 
“Tt ain’t yours. 
band.” 
“There, Dumbell, I told you this was 
mine.” 
By this time I was fully awake. 
“You Twins cut that roughhouse and 
get out of that tent. Put on the water 
for coffee, and the water in the double 
boiler. Bill, you get up and straighten 
You got it on. Give it 
Leggo my arm.” 
Lemme see th’ neck 
HUDDUNLTUUIYRUTRUITSEVEUU UYU 
Nevertheless 
those little rascals out. Ill be with 
you as soon as I wash and have a 
shave.” 
N fifteen minutes we were seated 
around the fire sipping our coffee 
and alternately swallowing a spoonful 
of cereal and turning the fish broiler. 
Pick was browsing around among us, 
occasionally filching a bit of corn bread 
from some unguarded mess kit or 
lapping from the pail of fresh water. 
He never will eat from his own 
pan or go to the lake for a 
drink. Finally the breakfast 
was consumed, and I lighted my 
pipe. Bill settled himself to the 
task of putting away the stock 
of groceries, and the Twins 
foraged for firewood and lined 
up the dishes for washing. 
“The lake looks pretty good 
this morning, kids,” I observed, 
glancing through the trees to 
the broad expanse of gray-blue 
water. The sky had become 
slightly overcast, and the wind 
was just strong enough from 
the southwest to raise a slight 
ripple. The fishing had been 
very poor for several days, and a 
change of luck was about due. 
as 
I M going to take Dick this morning,” 
I announced. ‘“He’s the only one 
who hasn’t had any luck on this trip.” 
The Skipper and I fixed up skittering 
tackle on one of the long poles last 
evening. I used some extra Scotch Mist 
line for the Skipper’s pole since he lost 
those big ones the other day by having 
the line break twice. 
Dick’s eyes sparkled, and he sailed 
into the pile of dishes. I rose to my 
feet. “Come on, Kid, Bill and Char- 
Page 264 
