

A vista of the lake from the porch of the fishing lodge. 
How 
a 
Trout Angler 
Discovered 
the 
Black 
Bass 
Some Adirondack Bass Fishing 
fisherman and had most of the 
characteristics of the breed; he 
believed implicitly that the alpha and 
omega of angling was to be found sole- 
ly in the pursuit of trout, leaving the 
inference, per contra, that any other 
form of angling was, if not exactly 
crude, at least largely lacking in the 
artistic touch. A total stranger to us, 
we met him on the evening of our ar- 
rival at a camp in the Adirondacks, 
where he was recuperating from a 
touch of pneumonia. We ourselves 
were there after bass, and when he in- 
quired if he might go along with us 
on the morrow, we readily agreed, he 
being a very likeable sort of a fellow. 
We, of course, are broad-minded in our 
views. 
To us, the morrow was the day of 
days—the opening day of the bass 
season. Perhaps we are inclined to 
take our fun rather too seriously, but, 
black bass being our special hobby, 
our hopes and fears were wrapped up 
in the event to no small extent—the 
one because, having to work for a liv- 
ing, circumstances rarely combine to 
permit us to be on hand to celebrate 
the inauguration of the season, and 
the other because, after some fifteen 
years of it here and there, we have 
come to appreciate the black bass and 
to know how elusive and tempera- 
mental they can be. Most of this bass 
experience had been gained elsewhere 
—to be exact, in southern and middle 
western States, but here and now, 
thanks to information gleaned from the 
State Conservation Commission of 
New York, we were at a lake in the 
heart of the Adirondacks which was 
478 
C) s new-found friend was a trout 
By JOHN MAHONY 
reputed to abound with bass. To us, 
then, this was new territory, and we 
must admit, at the outset, that we 
found it wonderfully inviting with its 
combination of lakes, mountains, 
brooks and timberlands; even the 
superlatives of the guide books fail to 
do it justice. 
What follows, however, is not a 
tale of record fish or of enormous 
catches; rather it is a simple narrative 
of unimportant events, together with 
some observations on the uncertainty 
of fish in general and of fishermen in 
particular. 
The day of days was ushered in 
with a dull red glow over the range of 
hills on the other side of the lake—the 
first dawn we had observed since last 
year’s bass season. The old tackle box 
had been thoroughly overhauled dur- 
ing the course of a dull winter, and 
now, in the uncertain light of the 
dawn, its contents looked formidable 
and complete, for they included an ac- 
cumulation acquired over a period of 
many years. In addition to the old 
stuff, there were the usual new doodads 
which had been foisted on us from 
time to time as the season approached, 
with positive assurances of suave 
clerks that no _ self-respecting bass 
could possibly resist them. 
VERY factor of water, wind and 
weather looked promising for bass, 
and, pushing off, we decided to fasten 
our hopes on an old reliable plug, so 
old that it has acquired the character 
of an heirloom. It has brought us 
much luck, and, in short, it is our pet. 
The trout,,.fisherman agreed to row, 
the better, perhaps to enable him to ob- 
serve the niceties of plug casting as 
it should be done, and which we hoped 
would be duly exemplified by ourselves. 
VERYTHING being ready, we 
went forth with all the thrill of 
youth, and let fly. Cast after cast was 
well-nigh perfect, we felt, but after 
some little time it appeared reasonably 
certain that these bass, if any, cared 
nothing for our pet. Not a strike could 
we raise. Accordingly, we changed 
plugs and the trout fisherman changed 
places with us so that he might try 
his hand at what was a new game to 
him. In the meantime, as might have 
been anticipated, he had been holding 
forth in a desultory manner on the — 
fascinations of trout fishing, which 
somehow seemed about as appropriate 
as Bryan extolling other candidates at 
a Democratic convention. Likewise, as 
might also have been expected, plug 
casting cannot be learned in a minute, 
and to us it seemed that much precious 
time was being lost in untangling 
snarls, back-lashes, ete. Whether that 
made any difference or not cannot be 
proved, but the fact remains that when 
we returned to breakfast some hours 
later we were still without a strike. 
However, fish had been seen, and, re-— 
membering the peculiar uncertainty of — 
bass (which is not the least aggravat- 
ing of their charms), we derived a cer- 
tain amount of consolation from this 
fact. They were there, and it was up 
to us to find what they wanted. 
And so the battle of wits began. We 
fished conscientiously; fortunately, . it — 
was unnecessary to go far from camp, 
so the days were divided into four sec-_ 
tions—dawn to breakfast, breakfast to 
