

540 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

[Ocr. 5, 1907. 


Trout, Bass and a Rattlesnake. 
AFTER a hard day’s work, a good supper and, 
last, but not least, a pipe of good, fragrant 
tobacco, has started my thought backward over 
a trip made about two years ago to Potter and 
Clinton counties on a fishing trip along with 
four other companions. We landed at Trout 
Run, sixteen miles from the P. & E. railroad, 
about 6 P. M., on a beautiful July evening, and 
I need not say that after a drive over mountain 
roads we were all ready to eat supper. After 
supper, the first question asked of the very 
genial landlord was, “How is it for fish?” His 
answer was, “Good if it don’t rain.” And sure 
enough it did rain and hard enough to muddy 
the bass stream, too. This of course was trying 
on the whole crowd who had slipped the business 
chains for a few days’ pleasure along the stream, 
And the next questions fired at the host was, 
“How long will it take the stream to clear?” 
He replied, “About a day; but you can fish for 
trout while the river is clearing.” And we did, 
starting just back of the stable. Knowing that 
some of the boys had never fished with fly for 
trout, and after having some good hearty 
laughs at their efforts, I told them to catch a 
few grasshoppers in the old meadow, and then 
hooking one on the tail fly of one of their 
casting lines, I went up to the head of a good 
stiff riffle, cast the ’hopper out with a free 
running reel, and just as soon as that ’hopper 
reached the right spot, there would be a swirl, 
a flash of gold and a rush. One or two lessons 
was all they needed, and when evening came, they 
came in with forty beautiful trout from 7 to 10 
inches in length. The more experienced anglers 
came in with their catch, and all were well satis- 
fied with the day’s sport. 
Daddy Short, the landlord, put fat on the 
fire that evening, when he said, “If you want 
to catch trout, go to Hammerley’s Fork—there 
are fifty there to one here.” That was enough. 
A team was engaged for 5 o’clock the next 
morning, and away we went for Hammerley’s 
Fork. After a six-mile drive, we found the 
place, and a very beautiful stream. We started 
to fish at the mouth of the stream, and fished, I 
judge, about seven miles up the stream; and say, 
I saw more trout in that stream than I ever 
saw in any stream in Pennsylvania or any 
place I ever fished. Think of walking up to a 
large clear pool and counting as many as fifty 
to sixty good-sized trout from 7 to 13 inches. 
On our way up the stream I had crawled over 
some very rough ground to get to a splendid 
pool, and after having fished the pool, I said to 
the driver, “Hank, this looks as though there 
might be snakes here.” 
“Yes, there be some around here.” 
“What kind?” 
“Rattlers.” 
After that I kept on the lookout, but failed 
to see any. Noon time arrived, and we spent 
considerable time eating and cleaning fish, and 
the writer fooling an occasional good trout 
that was foolish enough to be jumping just at 
that time. 
Before leaving this point, I having a pocket 
level with me, we leveled the stream, and found 
it to have about three feet of a fall to every 
forty feet. No wonder it roared when it struck 
a large boulder. From this point we started 
to fish down the stream, it always being our 
custom to fish the stream in sections when there 
are more than two fishing. I started ahead fly- 
fishing, the rest of the crowd following. I had 
not gone very far until I came to a piece of 
rough water, so rough that I did not care to 
wade it, and the banks so thick with brush I 
could not get through. But just to one side 
of this thicket was a piece of low ground on 
which a heavy growth of long weed had sprung 
up, and during some heavy rain the stream had 
overflown its banks and the rush of water 
pressed these weeds to the ground, making a 
fairly good path around the thicket. Without 
a thought of a snake, I took this path, and had 



only gone a short distance, when I felt a 
stinging sensation in my limb just above my 
shoetop. The first thought I had was briers; 
but the stinging sensation was too great, and 
the next thought was snake! I had just made 
two steps after feeling the sting, and casting 
my eye over my right shoulder, I saw him 
coiled ready for another attack. My first 
thought was shoot him, and I at once reached 
for my revolver and had it partly out of the 
holster, when I thought of how another one 
that I shot performed after I shot it—it bit 
everything within reach of it. I felt sure some 
one of the bunch would follow the same path 
I had taken, and would be bitten by it. I called 
as loud as I could to lookout for a snake, then 
leveled my gun to the spot; but my calling 
frightened the snake, and it was fast disap- 
pearing in the brush, and I assure you I did 
not run after it, but ran as quickly as possible 
to an opening into the water. Pulling up my 
trouser leg, my first thought was that he had 
not broken the skin, yet that awful stinging 
sensation was going on. I gathered a handful 
of water, splashed it on the leg and gently 
pulled or’ pressed the skin in opposite directions, 
when, lo! a little trickle of blood started down 
my leg. 
My feelings can better be 
expressed—seven miles in the mountains from 
public road and seven miles from a house 
or the place we were stopping at. It was no 
joke. The next thought was act. I at once 
took my knife, and was diligently hacking away 
at the old tough skin on my shin, when Snooks 
came up to me and looked at me as though he 
thought I was crazy; and when in answer to 
his inquiry of what I was doing that for and 
being told, I thought he would have a fit. 
Fortunately, there was a big log handy for him 
to fall on when he dropped, or I think he 
would have sunk into the ground. Next came 
Bill, and he almost fainted. Next to come was 
Gimes, “Well, what’s wrong?” Being told, he 
also dropped on the log with the wind 
knocked out of him. And last to come was 
cool-headed Dory: “Hello, old man, what’s 
up?” Being told, he asked, “Have you cut it 
and squeezed the blood out?’ On being 
answered in the affirmative, he said, “Cut again 
and I'll help.” 
The next question 
imagined than 
asked, was there any 
whiskey in the crowd. Yes, Gimes had a haif 
pint. We poured part of it into our hands and 
rubbed it into the wound, and I drank the rest 
of it at one gulp. The next move was to get 
a poultice of some kind, and a plug of “green 
goose tobacco” answered the purpose; and if 
you don’t believe tobacco will draw when used 
as a poultice, just try it. There being nothing 
more to be done just then, we started down 
the stream, I taking to the water, nor did I 
leave it until I reached the road where the team 
was, a distance of about seven miles. 
In a short time after leaving the point where 
we dressed the limb, all the flesh about my 
breast, throat, tongue, cheeks and nostrils seemed 
to me to be alive with creeping microbes or 
small worms, and the pain in my limb, together 
with the tobacco poultice pulling, made me feel 
very miserable. By the time we reached the 
team and took a look at the limb, it had turned 
a greenish-yellow all over, and around the bite 
there was a spot as large as a man’s hand 
that looked as though we had pasted a piece of 
red flannel on it, and if you put your finger 
against the flesh, the print of the finger re- 
mained in it, just as though it was putty. On 
reaching the hotel, the landlord took charge 
of the patient, and about every half hour 
he administered a large dose of whiskey until 
bed time. 
The following morning when I awoke the 
pain in my limb resembled a very bad attack 
of rheumatics. The limb was swollen very 
much, but just as soon as a dose of whiskey 
was taken, the pain stopped, and the swelling 
almost entirely stopped. Thinking I had drunk 
almost entirely stopped. Thinking I had drank 
enough whiskey, I concluded to go with the 
crowd bass fishing, but was compelled to get 
some whiskey by noon, as the pain was more 
than I could bear. 
While down the stream I found a 
rattler some party had killed, and I made a 
close examination of its mouth, and will say 
that it is worth any one’s time to make an 
examination of a snake’s mouth. After listening 
large 




to quite a number of stories about snakes, one 
of them impressed me, and that was that they 
cannot get their fangs out of wool or silk; so 
before returning that night, I examined my 
trouser leg, and sure enough there was Mr. 
Snake’s fang. I removed it and put it in a glass 
vial. After getting home, I placed it under a 
strong magnifying glass and found that it was 
covered with little whiskers not visible to the 
eye. 
The following season I returned to fish at 
the same place with the same crowd and one 
more, that person being Gimes’ daughter, a girl 
of fourteen summers. On this trip we found 
the water low and clear, and had great sport 
catching bass with flies in the dusk of the 
evening; and it was amusing to see how that 
girl enjoyed the sport. She was dressed in blue 
flannel bloomers, heavy high-laced shoes, and 
just waded the stream with the bunch. 
One afternoon we were lounging along the| 
stream, some fishing, some sleeping. The| 
young lady announced the fact that she must 
have some crabs, and after some demurring, we 
succeeded in getting one or two. She took’! 
them, went up the stream about a hundred 
yards above us, baited her hook and waded in 
mid-stream, stooped down and stuck the crab 
under a large, flat rock in the stream, ran off 
a lot of line, waded back to shore, sat down and 
waited for a long time. Finally we heard a 
yell. Looking her way, we saw the girl hand-| 
ling her rod like an experienced angler; and 
after we saw the fish, we were astonished. She 
had landed a bass that would weigh about two 
pounds. Then she told us how she had watched 
that old fellow go under the rock and was de- 
termined to catch him. Sw ae 


















































































































































Striped Bass for English Waters. | 
THroucH the efforts of Mr. R. B. Marston| 
and other English anglers, and with the co- 
operation of the officers of the White Star Line 
and of the United States Bureau of Fisheries, 
it is quite likely that the striped bass of our 
Atlantic coast waters will be introduced into 
British waters in sufficient numbers to warrant 
the success of the experiment, provided they 
adapt themselves readily to the changed condi- 
tions. 
It is proposed by the United States Fisheries 
Bureau to secure a large number of fish. if pos- 
sible, from their spawning grounds at the head 
of Chesapeake Bay, and to send these to Great 
Britain in charge of an attendant. The steam-| 
ship people have promised free transportation 
for both fish and man from New York to South-| 
ampton, they only stipulating that the shipment 
be made after the end of the present heavy) 
travel between Europe and America, when better 
care can be taken of the striped bass. 
It is not certain that a sufficient number can 
be obtained on the Atlantic coast to make the’ 
effort worth while, and Mr. Marston seems to| 
think the Pacific coast will have to be tried. | 
He favors a large number of bass from two to) 
four inches in length rather than a lesser num- 
ber of adult fish, and thinks it will be best to) 
make the shipment during cold weather. 
The Old Guard. | 
Curcaco, Ill., Sept. 25—Editor Forest and| 
Stream: Iam not exactly one of the Old Guard, 
still I have been reading the dear old paper for| 
quite a few years. A few weeks ago J. P. T.,| 
of Boston, remarked that he would like to see| 
a reprint of the “Camp of the Kingfishers,” and 
now comes another old timer, G. W. Bunnell, ask- 
ing the same thing. I will second the motion, | 
as nothing would give me more pleasure than| 
to have a few copies. 
On my last visit to James Mackerel he and I! 
talked this over; in fact, I had been after him 
ever since Fred Mather’s “Men I Have Fished| 
With” was printed, and the old fellow said, 
“When I get on my feet again I’ll take this 
matter up with the editor,’ but alas! we all know 
his death ended all this. You can count on me 
for a copy regardless of the expense. 
Tom L. Swan. 



