His leaps were truly magnificent. 
He made three in his fight for freedom 
and each one was clean; his entire 
body was in the air at once, a rather un- 
usual occurrence for a fish his size. 
Fully twenty minutes passed before 
the old warrior gave any signs of 
weakening and even then he did not 
seem to lose his power; rather he be- 
came less active. Then he made one 
last attempt to leap, and I knew then 
that the battle was mine, for the best 
he made of his effort was a surge that 
brought his head out of the water 
about five inches. 
Meanwhile yours truly was also get- 
ting played out. My wrist was begin- 
ning to ache like sin and I was wish- 
ing that the darned trout would give 
in. He did, after one half hour of 
steady, hard fighting. I slipped the 
net under him with a big sigh of re- 
lief, rapped him on the head until he 
stopped struggling (which was a task 
in itself) and then sat on the raft look- 
ing at the largest trout I had ever 
killed. As I got buck fever after kill- 
ing my first deer so I got it now after 
killing my big trout. Bov! I was sick 
for about ten minutes. Strange how 
that disease takes a hold of me, but 
thank goodness, it always comes after 
the deed is done! 
Of course I received a great ova- 
tion when I brought the big: trout home 
and naturally “Where did you get 
him?” and “What did you get him on?” 
was flung at me from all sides. 
The first question I could answer 
very readily, although most of my hs- 
teners looked very skeptical when I 
told them about the last question. Well, 
I started to say “Wickams Fancy 14” 
and caught myself. Did I? Did I 
set the hook in the lip of the brown so 
slightly when I felt that first light 
strike that the trout was unaware what 
had happened? Had he gone swim- 
ming unconcerned around the pool as 
I carelessly laid my rod down on the 
raft? Or—did a chub really take the 
fly as I thought in the first place and 
while he was swimming’ around the 
pool, did the big brown come along 
and swallow him? All I can say 1s 
that the big boy was hooked through 
the lip. Reader, I leave it to you. 
RAY BERGMAN, 
Nyack, N. Y. 
A Large Jew Fish 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
HE enclosed photograph 1s one 
that will no doubt be of interest 
to the readers of FOREST AND STREAM. 
This 500 pound Jew fish was caught 
off Point Reyes in San Francisco Bay 
414 
last Winter. The gentleman on the 
left was the successful angler, and 
took this monster with rod and line 
after waging a two-hour battle. Old 
time fishermen here estimate the fish to 
be about fifty years old. The Jew 
fish seldom gets this far north, and it 
is the first one caught here in many 
years. How would some of you “Wal- 
tonians” like to tie onto this fellow. 
with your five ounce rods? 
HowarpD SLATEN, 
San Francisco, Cal. 

Photo of large Jew fish sent in by 
Howard Slaten. 
One Way to Fool a Weasel 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
THINK that the Forest AND STREAM 
letters are one of the most interest- 
ing corners that this wonderful maga- 
zine can boast of. 
In regard to unusual facts and inci- 
dents relating to the tactics of wild 
life, of which I am always an interested 
reader, the FOREST AND STREAM letter 
department is wonderful and very use- 
ful because in this way one can hear 
from many hunters from different coun- 
ties and* states who discuss conditions 
of wild life. 
In the April number of FOREST AND 
STREAM I read the article of ,Chas. 
Tatham, Jr., of Cambridge, Mass. 
I am going to relate a strange ex- 
perience which JI once witnessed while 
following my trap-line. 
One Sunday in December with six 
inches of snow covering the ground, I 
was mushing over my trap-line which 
extended along the foot of a mountain 
for about four miles. 
The object of my trapping was to rid 
this place of the blood-thirsty weasel. 
This stretch of land was quite full 
of rabbits, and I had termed it my 
hunting paradise, but throughout the 
cold winter months I had seen where 
the weasel had driven out many rabbits, 
So this Sunday morning I was mak- 
ing my rounds over my trap-line when 
I espied the tracks of a weasel, which 
I knew were freshly made. 
These tracks were heading directly 
toward a ridge about ten yards north 
of where I was standing. I could see 
where the animal had entered the rocks. 
A few seconds later I heard the sharp 
squeal of a rabbit as it emerged from 
the ridge; about a quarter second later 
it was followed by the weasel. This 
was quite an exciting scene so I followed 
in their wake. 
After trailing both for about three 
hundred yards, the rabbit swerved as 
if to make a complete circle, but the 
weasel followed a straight course. I 
also took the same course as did the 
weasel. 
To my surprise there lay Peter Rab- 
bit, with the weasel sucking at his 
blood-stained neck and making his last 
struggle for freedom. The first thing 
that entered my mind was how to cap- 
ture that renegade; to me he was worth 
$1.50. 
I then took my two hands and scooped 
them into the snow, and with that I 
formed a hard ball which I hurled at 
him with all the strength I could com- 
mand, but the crafty creature dodged 
and I missed him clean. He quickly 
scampered among the rocks and brush 
and for a few minutes I thought I had 
lost my quarry, but not so, for I saw 
his head pop out of a hole; in the 
mean time I had gotten one of my traps 
out. I also carried a stout stick with 
the intentions of cracking him on the — 
head, but in the latter maneuver I 
failed, for again he scampered over 
among the rocks. 
<= 
I then picked up the dead rabbit and © 
deposited it in the forks of a tree and 
placed the trap at the head of the rab- 
bit. In a minute the renegade was 
back on the job tugging at the hind- 
quarters of the rabbit. After making 
little progress, he climbed over to the 
head and stepped directly into the wait- 
ing trap. It was one of the largest 
white weasels that I ever trapped. 
BILL CALNON, 
Wisconisco, Pa. 
A Fish’s Sensibility to Pain— 
Is It Great or Small? 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
T has occurred to me that it might be 
interesting to start a column in the 
FOREST AND STREAM devoted to the nar- 
ration of extraordinary experiences 1 
the pursuit of fishes, of ultra normal 
expressions of instinct and reason 
among our piscifauna, or of aberrations 
