596 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[APRIL 14, 1906. 

Fishing on the Ice in Maine. 
STARTING in the morning early on a December 
day in the sleigh, or rather pung, as it is here 
called, we took with us a dozen lines and traps. 
These traps are a simple arrangement of three 
sticks, the main and heavier one having at its 
middle two lighter sticks perpendicular to it, and 
the two forming a right angle with each other. 
To one at the outer end is attached a pin or brad, 
around which a loop tied in the line may be 
passed and to the other a little flag, in this case 
of black. The trap is set with the line attached to 
the pin on one arm. When the fish bites he pulls 
down that arm, raising the other with the flag. 
In addition we ‘took some thirty shiners or min- 
nows in a covered tin full of fresh water to keep 
them lively, a sinker to sound the depth of water, 
some stout cord, an ax to cut holes in the ice, 
matches, a lunch and a jug of cider and some 
sacks to tie about the feet if found necessary, and 
in any event convenient for carrying lines, sinker, 
jug and other sundries to and from the pond, and 
especially for holding the catch of fish. 
We had dressed in warm clothing and particu- 
larly in foot covering warm and snow-proof. We 
wore stout woolen leggings made like a stocking, 
but heavily lined or reinforced at the feet, with 
high rubber overshoes buckling or tying tight 
around the ankle is a good rigging. If the snow 
and ice are dry, comfort and ease in moving on 
the ice can be gotten from plenty of socks and 
stout shoes, using gunny sacks to wrap around 
the feet and well up toward the knee, bound and 
tied with cord. If very cold, ear protectors are 
important. 
The jingle of our bells, the crisp morning air 
and the white sparkling snow looking diamond 
studded when a ray of sunlight struck, made us 
feel the joy of living, the exhilaration of high 
spirits. The horse dashed off perhaps in the 
same spirit. 
To reach the pond we had selected we were 
obliged to take little-used roads, and in the first 
half mile we found the road unbroken. A foot 
path narrower than a sleigh had been shoveled 
through drifts, but the road was thus made very 
treacherous for driving. It was up one side 
and down the other for our pung, till, in making 
a curve of the road, over it went, spilling us in 
the snow. Nothing else, however, was spilled, 
and we quickly righted the sleigh, examined our 
traps and stores, particularly the water on our 
bait, and, laughing, jumped in and started again. 
The road soon led us between forests of young 
pine, hemlock and birch, and here and there in 
the snow we could distinguish the print of the 
feet of hare, and grouse or partridge, as it is 
colloquially called, adding to the enjoyment of 
the ride. 
From this we emerge on a clearing and see a 
clump of buildings where a Frenchman and his 
four sons have established a farm on the edge 
of the pond for which we are bound. They are 
overhauling lumber sleds and greet us as we 
drive up, and learning our intention to fish on 
the pond, with cheerful hospitality offer us a stall 
for our horse. We take a little time looking at 
their animals and exchanging news, a portion of 
which is that a party has tried fishing on the 
pond within a few days and got nothing. This 
does not deter us. Jim, my companion, knows 
the pond and the likely places for fish; and laden 
with our implements, trudge through the deep 
snow to the pond. Here the glassy ice makes 
walking difficult till we get accustomed to the 
slippery surface. 
We see the holes cut by the recent visitors, and 
passing on to the other side of the pond, select 
a spot and cut our first hole. Hardly have we 
sunk our little shiner and set our line when up 
goes the little black flag, and while I cut a sec- 
ond hole Jim pulls up a pickerel. We continue 
to cut holes at distances of about 200 feet, all 
included in an elliptical space, till all our lines 
are set. At intervals up goes the black flag and 
the nearest person runs over the ice and slides 
up to the hole to pull in the fish, or sometimes 
the baitless line. 
Good sport continued all the morning, netting 
some twenty pickerel, a few of them quite large 
and an occasional perch. At noon Jim cut some 
wood and built a fire on the ice, which was soon 
burning fiercely and emitting a grateful warmth. 
Here we carried our lunch, made dry seats of 
wood and our sacks, warmed our cider, and set- 
ting some mince pie on a stick at the edge of the 
fire proceeded to eat, always keeping a lookout 
for the black flags. ‘Once we were interrupted; 
but the run to the line was fruitless. The feature 
of the lunch was the mince pie. On one side 
nearest the fire it was hot to scorching, on the 
other frozen. We had the experience of hot and 
iced mince pie in one mouthful. 
As we finished it began to snow and bites be- 
came few, though running on the ice became 
easier as the snow deepened. Toward 3 o’clock 
we began taking up our lines, and as we were 
about to take up the last, the black flag went up 
and a good-sized pickerel was landed. This 
aroused expectations of a new season of biting; 
but having wound up our lines we gathered to- 
gether our traps and fish, and, putting them in 
the sacks, slung them over our shoulders and 
started home pleased with our day’s sport and 
with a keener desire for fishing on the ice than 
we had ever had before. 
It was snowing hard and the scene from the 
surface of the pond before us was one to be re- 
membered. Tall, graceful, symmetrical pines 
showed green on the bank through the light cur- 
tain of falling snow, and between two of the 
most splendid showed the gable of the Frénch- 
man’s house. 
Soon (having divided the remains of our cider 
with our hosts) we were in our pung and on our 
way homeward. We took a different route lead- 
ing us through the black swamp, but here the 
Frenchman’s care, with hemlock boughs and 
snow had made the road good. We had one spil! 
near the scene of our former one, and toward 
sunset, which is around 4:30 at this season, we 
reached home somewhat proud to show our fish 
and happy as we told the incidents and misliips 
to a familiar little group of expectant listeners. 
There are few winter sports that can offer 
the quiet, keen enjoyment of fishing through the 
ice. D. G. Harris. 
Fly-Fishing Extraordinary. 
A FRENCH sportsman just back from India 
described tiger hunting in this wise, said he: 
“When ze Frenchman hunts ze tiger ze sport is 
grand—magnificent; but when ze tiger hunts ze 
Frenchman zere is ze very devil to pay.” 
It would indeed seem odd that anyone, while 
engaged in the simple sport of fly-fishing, would 
ever find a parallel to the Frenchman’s descrip- 
tion; but the little story I shall here relate would 
a to prove that there are exceptions to all 
rules 
Not far from Boston to the southward lies the 
little village of Ponkapog. I believe that this place 
has become famous chiefly through being the 
summer home of that much loved poet, Thomas 
Bailey Aldrich. From the large pond in this 
village a small brook runs past the rear of the 
poet’s house, and beyond through lovely meadows, 
thence finding its devious way through a half 
mile of swamp overgrown with bushes, and fin- 
ally on into Neponset River. Some fair-sized 
trout were formerly to be taken in this brook; 
therefore this story. 
One warm day in July, in company with my 
friend, Will B., | was enjoying a morning’s sport 
on that brook. We had reached the swamp 
aforesaid, and had made our way slowly through 
the mud and bushes until we came to a place 
where an old stone wall ran out from the upland, 
and well across the swamp through the mud and 
water, ending at the bed of the stream with which 
it made a right angle. This old wall was built 
of small round pasture boulders laid up singly, 
and the top stones were at that time barely above 
water at any point, while at the end of the wall 
they were below the surface. 
With careful steps Will made his way along 
to the end of this old wall, and carefully balanc- 
ing himself on the sunken stones he made a few 
casts on the stream below, but got no responses. 
As he stood there something down stream 
caught his eye and he beckoned to me to come 
out on the wall; and there lying on a little oasis 

of mud some thirty feet away we saw the dusky 
form of a six-foot black water snake enjoying a 
sun bath. 
Will’s eyes twinkled as he selected and at- 
tached a bright red fly, and he remarked: “There 
seems to be nothing else here; I wonder if I can 
get a rise out of that fellow? ” 
Now, during the years since that warm July 
day I have seen many a gallant fight made by 
lordly salmon and huge trout in the waters of 
the Canadian wilderness, but in all my fishing 
experience I never saw anything that was so ex- 
citing as what followed Will’s offer of a lunch 
to that snake—but I anticipate. 
Since that day I have seen somewhat of the 
stern realities of life—have learned through sad 
experience to what depths of deceit, ingratitude 
and dishonor selfish interests will sometimes lead 
those in whom we have placed our blind confi- 
dence, and the fruit of that tree of knowledge 
has been very bitter—but during all those years 
there has never been a time when I could not 
enjoy a hearty laugh over the memory of that 
bright morning when Will thoughtlessly “took 
a rise” out of that innocent looking reptile. The 
serious side of life claims us for the most part; 
we cannot avoid it, and any relief therefrom, 
even if it be only for the moment, is “as the 
shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” But I 
digress. 
Will had acted impulsively and he was a bit 
nervous as he daintily dropped his fly in front of 
that snake—and he was not long in realizing that 
ins pee that brief moment, made the mistake 
of tis life, 
‘Lhe bit of gay feathers was snapped up like a 
flash and with a quick turn of his wrist Will 
brought the rod into full play. In an instant 
that snake became a raging fury. He reared up 
to his full length, seeming to stand on the tip 
cf his tail for an instant before starting with a 
rush directly toward Will, churning the water 
as he came. 
Will braced himself as best he could and tried 
to check the rush and to hold him off; then tried 
to swing him to one side. All useless. On came 
that snake and there was no stopping him. 
As he came to close quarters Will used the 
light bamboo on him, thrashing vigorously. It 
only seemed to increase the snake’s anger. Finally 
Will broke the rod, then he threw up the sponge. 
“For God’s sake,’ he shouted, “let’s arbitrate. 
Here, take the whole shooting match,’ and he 
threw at the snake what was left of the rod. 
Then he tried to vacate his ticklish position in 
hot haste; a stone turned and slipped into the 
water, and Will went with it. Down he went 
alongside of that hateful thing, up to his shoul- 
ders in water and slimy mud. He frantically 
tried to climb out. Stone after stone yielded to 
his grasp, and he pulled down some ten feet of 
that old wall before he got a foothold. I leave 
to the reader to imagine the “blue streak” that 
came from his lips during that time—I don’t 
care to write it. 
I hastened to help him, but I was only in the 
way. When he finally got back on the wall I 
anxiously asked: “Do you think you are bitten? 
Did you feel him take hold of you?” Will re- 
plied in a faint voice, “Yes; he took hold—I can’t 
tell whether I’m bitten or not—it’s better to be. 
on the safe side,” and he reached for his hip 
pocket. 
His face fell as he pulled out the wreckage of 
a pint flask, wet leather and broken glass. 
“Every drop gone! I’m a dead man!” he ex- 
claimed. ‘“‘Routed—horse foot and dragoons! 
Holy Moses, what a Waterloo!” 
Let me say right here that an angler’s regard 
for the strict truth forbids me to add anything 
to what I actually saw of this incident. I have 
kept my story within due bounds for truth’s 
sake; but Will subsequently evolved the follow- 
ing as his own deductions; and he sticks to his 
version of this part of the story, and to his 
opinions where facts seem to be wanting. 
He says that in falling he came in contact with 
the stone wall and broke the flask, but that he 
did not realize this at the time. That statement 
might be allowed to go, but he further says that 
while in the water that snake seized him where 
it came handiest, and happened to get hold just 
