UC-NRLF 
 
 MY BOY 
 and 
 
 THE 
 
 fcr 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 GENERAL 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 
ME 
 MY BOY 
 
 and 
 THE BASS 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD SYLVESTER 
 
 of 
 
 GAME 7WD riSH PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION 
 DISTRICT Or COLUA\BIA 
 
 Illustrations bv 
 C. K. BCRRYMAN 
 
 BOOK for the Bov and for the rather of the Bcv 
 
COPYRIGHTED 1915 
 
 BY 
 RICHARD SYLVESTER 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 These lessons, rhymes and misfits were prompted 
 by experience within the basin of the beautiful 
 Potomac River, which, with its magnificent and 
 attractive tributaries, drains the wonderful Blue Ridge 
 Mountains. 
 
 This effort is dedicated to my piscatorial friend 
 
 WALTER S. H ARE AN 
 and his fellow associates 
 
 of the 
 Blue Ridge Rod and Gun Club: 
 
 Each and every one of whom is a hunter or a 
 fisherman, and, all of whom have done much to 
 preserve the beauties of the Potomac. 
 
 M844771 
 
My Boy and the Bass 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 My son, according to well-known authorities, 
 fishing with rod, hook and line was first undertaken 
 immediately following the flood. It was common 
 pastime in the Trojan age and prevailed in the time 
 of the Romans. 
 
 Several hundred years ago the jointed rod, wooden 
 reels, and home-made lines were used by those devoted 
 to the art of angling. There were not so many 
 enthusiasts then as now, our ancient friends having 
 among them the humanitarians who decried the 
 killing of fish. As the world progressed and man 
 became broader in his ideas and students of the art 
 gave out the virtues which it possessed in book form, 
 the devotes became more numerous. As their number 
 increased and the interest in angling became more 
 intense, it was established that long life, pleasure and 
 skill, followed its indulgence v and improvements in the 
 implements employed were manifest. In this advanced 
 age, when the individual is inclined to live at a rapid 
 pace, endeavoring to do in a day what was formerly 
 accomplished in a month, the exhaustion, nervous 
 depression and impaired condition physically which 
 follow, prompt him to seek for that relief which will 
 rejuvenate. The desire to shun the crowded city, to 
 drive away business cares, to play wth nature in her 
 simplicity, has, in fact, enlisted a mighty army of 
 anglers. They camp by the river, lake, or sea, and 
 include men, women and children. The mother of 
 invention has provided material alike for the use of 
 those skilled in the art and the novice who "fishes for 
 
fun." Rods of many kinds are available, and the 
 clock-like mechanism of the modern reel makes some 
 of them luxuries to own. Experts provide fish hooks 
 of wonderful strength, beauty and finish. Lines are 
 braided from the poorest linen to the costliest silk, 
 and even baits which would deceive the trained eye 
 are manufactured. 
 
 If you would grow up a strong, courageous, 
 intelligent, generous, honest man, I invite your earnest 
 attention to the few simple lessons bound within this 
 little volume. They may include some things which 
 will afford you comfort to that end. 
 
Isaak Walton 
 
DE CLICKIN' OB DE REEL 
 
 I's hear'd de bullfrog bellow, 
 De fatty 'possum squeal, 
 But dat's no music like unto 
 De clickin' ob de reel. 
 Fs hear'd de locus' singin', 
 De Kildeer's noisy peal, 
 But dat don't wake de heart up 
 Like de clickin' ob de reel. 
 I's hea'd de farm bell ringin' 
 De call fer fiel' han's meal, 
 But dat don't have no 'traction 
 Like de clickin' ob de reel. 
 I's hear'd de fox houn barkin' 
 He'd scent de rabbit's heel, 
 But dat wer' mighty dullness 
 'Gin de clickin' ob de reel. 
 Is yer eber bin aboatin' 
 In de ship widout de keel, 
 And seen de rod abendin' 
 To de clickin' ob de reel? 
 De trow dey call de "castin"', 
 En when dey strike ye's feel 
 De line she go a sizzin' 
 To de clickin' ob de reel. 
 Ye begin ter wind 'er in den 
 Wid all ye's nigga zeal, 
 Fer ye's like ter cotch'd a bass 
 Wid de clickin' ob de reel. 
 From ebery nook en corner, 
 Natur's mel'dies roun' me steal 
 But non' ob dem ain' in it 
 Wid de clickin' ob de reel. 
 
 RICHARD SYLVESTER, 1905. 
 
Clicking of the Reel 
 
ME, MY BOY AND THE BASS. 
 
 THE upper Potomac and its tributaries flow 
 through deep gorges and mountain passes, 
 sandy and rock bottom alternating. My son 
 and I were happily located near the confluence of 
 the former river and the Shenandoah. Rocky walls 
 standing almost perpendicular, with lofty layers and 
 rugged croppings on the surface all the result o'f 
 some great convulsion of nature, on the faces of 
 which were pictured fantastic designs bearing the 
 names ascribed to them by the natives of the locality, 
 hemmed in the clear, swift and sparkling waters of 
 these two streams. The former presented a dark 
 blue tint the color of the sky, the latter a greenish hue 
 caused by the reflection of the verdure which grew 
 along the upper mountain sides. Innumerable rocks 
 and boulders lifted their heads above the surface of 
 these waters, the romance of the picture broken by 
 artificial dams and runways which harassed the power 
 of the streams for milling purposes. Along in the 
 fifties, so the legend goes, a locomotive engineer 
 transported several thousand small-mouthed black bass 
 in the tank of the engine tender to the head 
 waters of the Potomac, and there gave them their 
 freedom. These multiplied, increased in numbers to 
 thousands more, coupled with time, caused them to 
 develop not only in size but in extreme viciousness 
 as well. 
 
 Nowhere in the world can there be found a fish 
 which possesses the fighting qualities, the gameness, 
 
 15 
 
the brilliant marking and delicious flavor of the 
 small-mouthed black bass of the Potomac and its 
 tributaries. No such perfect development of this 
 species has been attained elsewhere by those engaged 
 in the study and propagation of fish, though one or 
 two writers give the large-mouthed black bass 
 credit for possessing the same attributes under similar 
 environments. 
 
 Yearly the government contributes a new supply of 
 miniatures to these rivers which have so roundly 
 proved and proclaimed themselves as the best adapted 
 of all others for the propagation of the most perfect 
 specimen of fish for the sportsman and the epicure. 
 
 The small-mouthed specimens inhabit these upper 
 streams, while below the falls in the Potomac River, 
 on south below Mount Vernon, the large-mouthed 
 variety are captured in great numbers, but they are 
 sluggish as compared with the variety with the small 
 mouth, are not as desirable food, and do not demand 
 that skilled attention of the gentleman who handles 
 the rod while being taken into captivity. Actual 
 experience prompted me to explain this contrast to my 
 son and to teach him the several "points of the 
 compass" regarding the small-mouthed bass, that he 
 might readily distinguish the same. I took occasion 
 to locate for him the dorsal fin on the back, pectoral 
 fin on the side, ventral fin at the rear of the breast, 
 anal fin underneath, the caudal fin at the extreme of 
 the tail, cheek behind the eye, snout, breast, and lateral 
 line, and to inform him of the readily distinguished 
 features in the smaller mouth of the gamiest species 
 their characteristics are striking; that the small- 
 mouthed is slender, the larger deeper through, a 
 heavier fish for its length; that on the latter may be 
 
 16 
 
counted from sixty-five to seventy scales along the 
 lateral line between head and tail, while from seventy 
 to eighty are inclined in the same distance on the 
 smaller subject. Between the dorsal fin and lateral 
 line but eight horizontal lines of scales are included in 
 the larger fish, eleven in the other. The scales on 
 the breast of the upper river fish are smaller than those 
 of the lower, and the rays of the spinous portion of 
 the dorsal are higher and more even than on the 
 large-mouthed. The small-mouthed bass is not always 
 black, but the color changes according to the shade 
 of the water, condition of the weather and extent of 
 the field wherein the fish may domicile. I gave it to 
 my son as a fact that while these things were known, 
 the more the small-mouthed bass was studied the less 
 was known about it, for no rules laid down for finding 
 the fish, how and when it will take a bait, what 
 will be its color and appearance, have, as a general 
 proposition, held good. Here is where one may exert 
 his patience, science and skill to ascertain a knowledge 
 that no other fellow possesses. Every boy and man 
 will have his own distinct experiences, and yet 
 Benjamin Franklin is attributed with having said that 
 fishing consists of a rod and line with a bait on one 
 end and a fool on the other. 
 
 THE FIRST LESSON. 
 
 The rising sun was just breaking the outlines of 
 Maryland Heights, a moderate mountain breeze fanned 
 the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass glistened 
 with the early morning dew. The hammock I occupied 
 was actively manipulated by my ten year old son, 
 who was equally brisk and energetic with his tongue 
 
 17 
 
in propounding questions. While thus engaged, the 
 old wooden gate, which furnished the only entrance 
 and egress through a picket fence surrounding several 
 acres of lawn, swung to with a bang which attracted 
 our attention and a handsome specimen of young 
 manhood appeared, carrying a grip and bait bucket 
 in one hand and a fishing rod in the other. He was 
 quick of action and <wore a look of pleasant anticipation, 
 a "new arrival" at our mountain inn. He nodded and 
 smiled a cheerful "fine morning/' and sought out 
 the landlord to secure board and lodgings. As he 
 disappeared my boy remarked, "another fisherman." 
 "Yes," said I, "and when you see a fellow come 
 through the gate with a fishing rod over his shoulder, 
 always remember there's something good in him." 
 "Why do you say that, father," came from my son? 
 It would not do to fail of response to such a question. 
 All boys ask them, and should do so, for it is in 
 that wise they become informed, and the answers given 
 by older persons should always be accurate, clear 
 and satisfactory. Misleading information given to an 
 inquisitive boy in the earlier days may result in 
 embarrassments, if not discouragement, later in life. 
 "Well," said I, "the study of nature is the primary 
 incentive for action in the field of the true fisherman, 
 and when I say fisherman I do not mean the man who 
 plows the sea or draws the stae to replenish the stalls 
 of the market or fishers of men, but that individual 
 who for pleasure, recreation and general improvement 
 wades the mountain stream, crosses fallen trees, 
 scrambles through briars, pulls a boat on the open 
 river, investigates as to depth, clearness and temper- 
 ature of water, predicts the weather, experiments with 
 different bait, judges hooks, reel and rod, learns the 
 
 18 
 
haunts and species of fish, their habits and seasons, 
 who believes and practices in their propagation and 
 growth and who does not endeavor to capture them all 
 at one sitting. The fisherman thus inclined must find 
 contentment in the music of the water, joy in the 
 warbling of the birds, beauty in the coloring of the 
 leaves, grandeur in the rocks, rest in roaming through 
 the woods, refreshment in the trickling spring, delight 
 in all about him. Trials, tribulations and burdens 
 incident to the hours of daily labor must be forgotten. 
 His mind must be in the abstract, the air that he 
 breather pure, the food consumed be plain and his bed 
 rugged and one whereon he must early to rest and 
 early to rise. While the average fisherman may not 
 embrace all these qualities or enjoy all these gratifying 
 experiences, the majority of them do, and if so, there 
 follows some good in them. My son, the tendency of 
 the age is to excess in everything, but the chances 
 for it in this direction are fewer than in any other. 
 Athletic exercise should not be depreciated, but to 
 believe that padded pants, a wind bag and broken 
 collar bones are essential as part and parcel of a college 
 education cannot be argued to a correct solution. The 
 old astronomer teaching geometry once said, when the 
 pupil was in fault, "You may put such ideas in 
 a basket and they will all leak through." Golf is 
 commendable sport, but when contest for supremacy 
 involves great expenditures of time, money and wager, 
 it must in a measure detract from the simplicity which 
 involves all the real values in outjdoor recreation. I 
 do not wish to be misunderstood. The game itself 
 is clean elevating and helpful, builds the physical 
 man, and, as a general proposition, the participants 
 are loth to indulge to that extent which demoralizes, 
 
 19 
 
but it is readily susceptible of being carried about the 
 circuit professionally. Baseball is the American game, 
 but during the past score of years it has been placed 
 on the stage with all the embellishments, settings 
 and accompanyments which draw large audiences, 
 transform the contests from friendly matches to money- 
 making affairs with high-priced actors managed by 
 financial syndicates. Men skilled in twirling the sphere, 
 with muzzles to save their noses and spiked shoes for 
 leg security, have reduced the sport to mechanical 
 perfection. The aim of the school boy who is enthusi- 
 astic about the game is to become a professional tosser. 
 As a result the participant is inclined to excess, wagers 
 wax warm, and shattered heads and fingers as well 
 as bats become prominent features. Foot-ball embraces 
 all the characteristics which lead to over indulgence 
 and risk. I do not mean in that sense which detracts 
 from the moral standing of those who make up the 
 teams, but the rushes carry with them injuries which 
 at once make the undertaking hazardous. Fractured 
 jaws, legs and heads, demanding the attendance and 
 attention of corps of well-trained doctors and efficient 
 nurses and comfortable ambulances are interesting 
 accompanyments of this delicate pastime. The anxious 
 mother with a son on the college team is frequently 
 in evidence. The ambitious boy, whose desires run 
 to foot-ball, as a usual thing makes life a burden for 
 those nearest and dearest to him, and who are disposed 
 to the belief that a diploma must depend upon his 
 ability to tackle. 
 
 The pool room should not be reckoned with as a 
 proper place to gain what some fathers believe are 
 accomplishments. To be sure skill is required to make 
 plays which win, but it is far better to acquire such 
 
 20 
 
skill after the boy has become a man than to expose 
 him to the influence which predominate about the 
 average pool room in our towns and cities. The 
 summer gardens and country clubs, with their many 
 alluring attractions, profit from the patronage of the 
 boys, but the round table and dancing pavilion belong 
 to both, and the company and amusements which charm 
 the patrons are not always of the kind which tend to 
 long life and prosperity. The boy in the city has 
 opportunities of this kind which, it is to be regretted, 
 are far too numerous, inviting and accessible. Such 
 indulgence does not develop the mind or the muscle. 
 The world is full of enticing pleasures for the 
 boy which should not be fostered by his patronage, 
 because his body will be dwarfed and his mind retarded 
 thereby. It is the disposition of boys to concentrate. 
 Association is their natural bend. This should not 
 be discouraged, but when it follows older heads 
 should throw around those safeguards which will 
 maintain the higher principles and influences. Nature 
 provides for these when the boys would 'a fishing go/ 
 Now, my son, take the grub-pick and a tin can, go 
 into the stable yard, raise an old log or a board, 
 where the ground is black and moist, dig a couple of 
 dozen red angle worms and then return and I will 
 prepare to go with you to the river." 
 
 21 
 
Fishing for Henry-Small-Mouthed. 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Dat pick, dat spade, 
 Dem he consult, 
 Dat can, dat worm, 
 Dem am result. 
 Dat rod, dat reel, 
 Dem bes' he wish, 
 Dat hook, dat line, 
 Dem he did fish. 
 Dat s-.var, dat walk, 
 Den he did took, 
 Dat grub, dat sleep, 
 Wid ugly look. 
 
THE SECOND LESSON 
 
 My son, it does not add to a fisherman's luck or 
 ability if he attires himself in a fishing suit, although 
 there are people who will tell you that clothing made 
 after the coloring of the rocks and trees is not liable 
 to attract the attention of the bass. The hunting 
 jacket, with pockets for everything, facilitates the 
 pleasure, but does not necessarily add to success. Those 
 who would, prefer knee breeches and stockings, and 
 for the feet have laced shoes with hobnails in the 
 soles, or cloth-topped shoes, which lace tightly, fitted 
 with rubber soles to prevent slipping. As to head gear, 
 a cap or felt hat is to be preferred, or for boat fishing 
 the best adapted is a cambric hat with broad brim, 
 green lined for protection to the eyes and which folds 
 up for the pocket. Woolen goods should be worn in 
 the shape of a shirt and a belt is preferable to sus- 
 penders, it allowing freedom of action and relief for 
 the shoulders. 
 
 There are many kinds of rods, and while there are 
 those who will tell you of the wonderful catches made 
 by the plain country people on common poles cut for 
 the day, these fishermen lose as many bass as they 
 catch. The bass must have some leeway and elasticity 
 in order to turn and take the bait, therefore a rod 
 without guides and a line to run from a reel, is not 
 the most desirable. There are many varieties of rods 
 manufactured and there are fishermen who are adepts 
 in their construction. The bamboo is most generally 
 used. It is made short, long, stiff or elastic, and is 
 perhaps the most delicate in workmanship. It is 
 usually made of three joints, with a fourth or extra 
 tip for use in case a tip is broken. The lancewood 
 
 26 
 
rod is employed by many fishermen and is similarly 
 arranged as to joints, guides and tips as the bamboo. 
 These rods are employed by experts as they afford that 
 opportunity for delicate work which cannot be realized 
 or accomplished by any other. For shore fishing a 
 long rod is required, measuring from nine to ten feet, 
 while in fishing from a boat a much shorter rod should 
 be employed. This opinion is ventured from the stand- 
 point of bait fishing for bass. The modern rod for 
 boat fishing is made of steel with three joints, trumpet 
 guides and agate tip. Its length should not be over 
 seven feet and great care should be exercised in 
 observing that it is of proper weight and balance and 
 not too elastic. The steel rod should at all times be 
 kept well cleaned and dry and the joints be oiled 
 before and after use. Of reels there are many makes 
 and patterns, skillful mechanics exercising wonderful 
 ability in the construction of the parts. There are 
 reels in use which possess the intricacy and delicacy 
 of a good watch, every part hand made, with the 
 capacity of multiplying many times in taking or giving 
 out the line. These reels have drags and clicks, some 
 on the side, others in front, for the purpose of regulat- 
 ing the lines and giving alarms. In casting the line 
 from a reel, the effort should be made with the right 
 arm and over-running or back wind of the line should 
 be prevented by the right thumb. Every fisherman has 
 his own peculiar method of casting, however, and 
 practice alone will establish proficiency, which is 
 made up in distance and accuracy. Reels may be 
 bought for a small price or a high figure. A reel 
 should always be kept in good condition by rubbing, 
 oiling and tightening of rivets and screws. A dark 
 silk braided line, from seventv-five to one hundred 
 
 27 
 
yards in length, is proper for use in Potomac bass 
 fishing. Besides a good rod, reel and line, an assort- 
 ment of hooks should be included in the well equipped 
 outfit, and there is no question but what a four or 
 six foot leader gives live bait a freedom for play which 
 adds to its alluring features. A double nought hook 
 with dark snood, for spring and summer, and a three 
 nought hook for fall fishing in the small-mqtuhed black 
 bass waters, are favorites. Above all things, next to 
 frequently replenishing your live bait with running 
 water, my son, give close attention to the care of 
 your rod, reel, line and! hooks. Keep them clean and 
 dry when not in use. After a day's sport oil rods and 
 reels, and expose your line from pillar to post until 
 all moisture is gone. Carry your hooks neatly arranged 
 in a pocketbook, where they -will be readily accessible 
 and where they may be quickly replaced. Have a 
 separate place for your leaders. In arranging your 
 rod for work first join the tip and second joint, being 
 careful to align the guides, then join to the butt or 
 handle. It is a safe rule to carry your rod over your 
 shoulder, otherwise you may break your tips. See 
 to it that you have a stringer or two in your pocket, 
 and string the fish through both the lower and upper 
 lips. A pair of pincers, water-proof box of matches, 
 thread and bottle of witch-hazel are good things to 
 carry on a trip. If you carry bait^ in a bucket, have 
 it so large as to give them plenty of room to move 
 about. If helgamite or worms you use, a tin box with 
 punctured tight-closing lid is convenient to carry them 
 in. All these things you have. Well, you are duly 
 prepared for business and we will get in a good night's 
 rest and take an early start for the river in the 
 morning. 
 
 28 
 
Yon Can't Hood Wink Me. 
 
THEY ARE BITING. 
 
 Git dem tings a' ready, 
 
 Fer we's gwine ter take er trip, 
 
 Dey am bitin'. 
 
 Be'n workin' mighty ste'dy, 
 
 Ter cotch 'em in der lip, 
 
 Dey am bitin'. 
 
 Ye's can take no seat, 
 
 All owin' to der heat, 
 
 Dey am bitin'. 
 
 Golly we 'ill fetch 'em, 
 
 See da how we catch 'em, 
 
 Dey am bitin'. 
 
 What? M'SKEETERS! 
 
v:f/' Ai ^ 
 
 I Had A Great Many Bites Tumulty. 
 
ME, MY BOY AND BAIT. 
 
 MY SON returned in a short time, his broad- 
 brimmed straw sitting on the back of his head. 
 The prespiration rolled down his rosy cheeks 
 their color somewhat marred here and there by the 
 barn-yard dirt which formed diminutive puddles about 
 the dimples in his chin .where the small rivulets of 
 perspiration came in contact with it. Said he, "I've 
 got a can of angle worms here, supposin' you wanted 
 to catch chubs for bait." "Yes," said I, "worms are 
 good for chubs, but in this latitude where the sun 
 shines warm and swift running iwater races over 
 thousands of loose rocks, you find plenty of helg^a- 
 mites which afford a better bait for chubs and a very 
 good morsel for bass." My son crossed his legs and 
 began a discussion of the bait question. I had to 
 enter into a full explanation. "The helgjamite," I 
 explained, "is an insect varying in length from a 
 quarter to three inches, with a pair of pincers for 
 defense- It is made up of a succession of joints 
 with a rim or collar immediately back of the head, and 
 a body gradually diminishing in size to the tip of the 
 tail which is pointed. He moves rapidly upon small 
 crawlers and is very evasive of the light. The proper 
 manner to handle the little subject is to pick it up 
 just back of the head between the thumb and the 
 forefinger, and to bait with it the hook is passed 
 directly under the collar. The easiest way to capture 
 this kind of bait is to take a yard of mosquito netting 
 
 35 
 
and sew either end about a broom stick, the net 
 stretched between the two sticks, the handles of the 
 latter serving as such. With the net stretched the 
 full length, one party places it into shallow swift 
 water below a large well-planted rock, which a second 
 person displaces. The rapidly washing current conveys 
 sand, mud, and helg^amites, which usually rest under- 
 neath the stone, into the net which is quickly raised 
 and the captured insects are taken from the meshes 
 to which they adhere. When the weather is clear 
 and the water warm the helgjamite makes an excellent 
 bait for bass, but it should always be alive and 
 kicking and not allowed to remain on the bottom of the 
 stream, as it will make for the rocks or rubbish and 
 hide itself securely. The idea is to keep it moving 
 by using a line with a very light sinker, if any, while, 
 if conditions are good, it can be used for casting as 
 with the fly. The best all-around live bait for the 
 Potomac bass is the chub, a small scale fish, keen of 
 vision, and as wild and difficult to capture as the 
 brook trout. At the shade of a rod or shadow of a 
 moving figure the chub will dart away or under the 
 stones. This pretty and hardy little fish makes up 
 stream usually in the morning or evening in shallow, 
 rippling, swift water, hence the name "Swift Water 
 Chub." An expert with a short elastic rod, thread 
 line with small shot sinker and the most diminutive 
 hook made, a joint of hel^amite or piece of worm 
 for bait, will catch a dozen chubs in a short time. 
 Great caution must be practiced to hook them. The 
 bait should be moved from place to place, just beneath 
 the surface of the swift rippling water^ the sports- 
 man being quick to snag the fish when it strikes at 
 the hook. The chub is long-lifed and very active, 
 
 36 
 
and is an excellent bait for bass at any season of the 
 year. Minno.ws are used by most of the Potomac 
 River fisherman because they are plentiful. They are 
 usually caught with the old-time bow net, fed with 
 corn meal or dough, attached to the end of a long 
 pole. They do not survive captivity any length of time 
 and easily succumb to the piercing of the hook. When 
 used they should be run through the tail. The smelt 
 are taken in large numbers in the lower Potomac and 
 transported by rail in buckets for bass fishing. They 
 perish rapidly, requiring frequent replenishing of 
 water to keep them from dying, although if a piece 
 of ice is allowed to melt slowly an'd drip into a bucket 
 it tends to keep up the supply of oxygen and maintains 
 the fish alive. There are buckets made with air pumps 
 attached for reviving this delicate bait, but they are 
 not a general success. In the fall of the year the sand 
 toad, which comes forth in great numbers on sandy 
 bottoms after sundown, makes an excellent bait for 
 the still fisherman. That is the individual who sits 
 on a rock and waits for a strike. The toad must be 
 weighted with a sinker in order to keep it beneath 
 the water. There are periods when the river is clear 
 and low and fly fishing may be had, but opportunities 
 for this kind of sport are not many and it is not 
 readily taken ^by the younger class of fisherman of 
 the Potomac. The man who casts has generally 
 abandoned the spoon with its gang hooks. It is 
 regarded as unfair and unsportsmanlike. The single 
 hook and spoon are used to some extent. The most 
 modern device invented by the man who casts, is made 
 from fat pork, the rind of the pork furnishing the 
 outside of a bait cut in the shape of a minnow, the 
 eyes and fins being marked thereon in ink. A small 
 
 37 
 
puncture is made through that part intended for the 
 head of the bait, where the hook is inserted. This is 
 thrown with great effect by the enthusiastic wielder 
 of the rod and some creditable catches have followed 
 its use." 
 
 My son listened attentively to what I had to explain 
 regarding bait for the bass, which he amusingly said 
 reminded him of the experiences of Uncle Scott 
 Lightner, who always had a hard time getting bait. 
 On one occasion the latter had gone fishing with a 
 bucket of toads for bait. He had waited and watched 
 the greater part of a long hot day for the bass to 
 strike, but was not rewarded by any captures. Taking 
 a board from a farmer's fence, Uncle Scott drove 
 four nails into it, to each of which he fastened a 
 fish line two feet long. On the end of each line he 
 tied a hook and baited them separately with toads. 
 Placing the board thus prepared into his boat, he 
 pulled out into the middle of the broad part of the 
 river and put it overboard to float down stream, 
 expecting surely that each toad-baited hook would 
 have a bass on it when the board had floated down 
 a couple of miles. Uncle Scott then proceeded far 
 below the point of starting and waited until nearly 
 dark, when, tired and discouraged, he rowed the boat 
 out to meet the floating board .with its lines, hooks 
 and fish. Instead of finding a bass on each hook 
 as anticipated, as he approached the object of his 
 genius he spied the four little toads, with hooks and 
 lines attached, all sitting up on the raft happily and 
 contentedly floating down the placid river. With the 
 light heart and gentle nature that belongs to the 
 true fisherman, Uncle Scott laughed heartily at the 
 funny sight which met his gaze, and in the face of 
 
 38 
 
disappointment hastily beat a retreat for home. My 
 son wondered how it was that so good a fisherman as 
 Uncle Scott should have forgotten to place sinkers 
 on those short lines to keep the toads from taking 
 passage on the upper deck of the plank. While the 
 boy's story ; was laughable as it was true, it was not 
 half as serious as another experience had by Uncle 
 Scott some weeks afterwards, which my son fully 
 appreciated. Uncle Scott is a charitable, Christian 
 gentleman and frequently enjoys himself when 
 fishing at the expense of others by ridiculing the 
 younger enthusiasts, so one day the boys determined 
 to have some real fun with him. He started out iwith 
 rod, reel, bucket, and a sandwich, for an afternoon's 
 bass fishing. After much difficult wading and climb- 
 ing he found himself on a large rock in the middle of 
 and when ready for a bait picked up an old 
 canteen, which was represented to contain a choice 
 selection of helgamites. Uncle Scott methodically 
 took off his coat and hat and laid them gently aside 
 on the rock, preparing his rod and line for action, 
 and when ready for a bait picked up the old canteen 
 to extract one for his hook. He pulled out the stopper, 
 shook the vessel a minute, when, to his horror, an 
 army of vicious yellow jackets flew out of the muzzle 
 of the receptacle, and alighting on his head and hands 
 made him dance to his heart's content on that lone 
 rock in the middle of the river. Though somewhat 
 worn and excited, with several respectable swellings 
 as a reminder of his experience with the new bait the 
 boys had provided, he ha-ha-ed at the practical joke 
 and carried it home with him that evening as the 
 most enjoyable part of the afternoon's trip. 
 
 39 
 

 I Will Bait My Appetite Stellwagen. 
 
WAIT AND WAIT. 
 
 E'se guine down de ribber 
 
 To try en git some bait 
 And fro dis line o'board, 
 
 En wait, en wait, en wait. 
 E'se guine to tie the boat loos, 
 
 And straddle cros de sete, 
 Den fro de line en hook out, 
 
 En wait, en wait, en wait. 
 De cat fish, he gis nibble, 
 
 Den run at libely gait, 
 Dis nigga den '11 pull 'em 
 
 En wait, en wait, en wait. 
 Jis den de line am en dar, 
 
 De hook it hab no freight, 
 Dat fish, he laf en stay dar, 
 
 En wait, en wait, en wait. 
 Dis Nigga's feelin bad den, 
 
 En go home very straight, 
 For eas'r ter get der chicken-hen, 
 
 Den wait, en wait, en wait. 
 
 43 
 
PATIENCE AND BAIT. 
 
 THE rising sun induced us to move a few feet 
 further under the shade of the locust for con- 
 tinued discussion.. "My son, you take that can 
 of worms and hide it under the steps and we'll use 
 them for catching chubs in the morning. The other 
 sun is now high up in the heavens and bass don't 
 bite well after nine o'clock, during August. We'll 
 postpone going to the river until tomorrow, and 
 arrange our equipment." These words I addressed 
 to the boy and they fell heavily upon his high hopes 
 and anticipations. He didn't care for the heat and was 
 quite willing to test the theory that the bass ceased 
 biting after a certain hour. He was obedient how- 
 ever and after depositing his can of worms according- 
 to instructions, returned to find consolation in talking 
 more about bait. 
 
 I began to realize that my son was undergoing a 
 disappointment and so proceeded to impress upon him 
 the fact that poor success attends any undertaking 
 incomplete in preparation and understanding. That 
 as we journeyed through life our way would be made 
 rugged by greater or less obstacles and that the 
 obstructions would be fewer if they were clearly 
 understood as we proceeded. I endeavored to have 
 him comprehend that patience is a great virtue which 
 is more firmly impressed by the gentle art of fishing 
 and preparing for it than in any other way. When 
 it was explained that the instructions and information 
 
 44 
 
advanced regarding bait was not only intended in 
 that light but also to serve as a lesson in patience and 
 to realize the monotony of the study, it was happily 
 and fully appreciated. It was important too that my 
 son should become enlightened as to the truthfulness 
 or falsity of fish stories, and to this end I explained 
 that they were generally told in a spirit of fun, to be 
 accepted with many grains of allowance. That there 
 were fish stories that were true and fish stories that 
 were never intended to be accepted as truth. That 
 they were more generally repeated to kill time, to 
 add merriment and interest to the sport; a harmless 
 diversion, throwing aside of seriousness, proper trim- 
 mings for the recreation they always accompany. 
 What better antidote for "the blues" and melancholy, 
 and what more glorious food for tired and worn out 
 man can there be than a wholesome, clean, interesting, 
 fish story properly delivered ! They should come from 
 gentlemen, be untarnished wtth vulgarity, free fromj^y 
 profanity and unaccompanied by rudeness. 
 
 On this subject good Father Isaac Walton said: 
 "He is not to me a good companion, for most of 
 his conceits were scripture jests or lascivious jests; 
 for which I count no man witty, for the devil will help 
 a man that way inclined to the first ; and his own cor- 
 rupt nature, which he always carries with him, to the 
 latter; but a companion that feasts the company with 
 wit and mirth and leaves out the sin that is usually 
 mixed with it, is the man, * * * * but for such com- 
 pany as we heard last night, it infests others ; the very 
 boys will learn to talk and swear as they heard mine 
 host and another of the company that shall be nameless. 
 I am sorry the other is a gentleman, for less religion 
 will not save their souls than a beggar's. I think 
 
 45 
 
more will be required at the last great day." Walton 
 would be seen in no man's company twice he did not 
 like, and he liked none but such as he believed were 
 honest and clean. 
 
 The bait subject, not being a limited one, was 
 resumed. MusStes, cock roaches, worms of all kinds, 
 branch minnows, stone rollers, cat eels or wall-eyed 
 cats, small cat fish, sun fish, locusts and soft crabs 
 were each mentioned an acceptable food to the black 
 bass. The cat eel is a favorite in clear water during 
 warm -.weather and is usually used after his horns and 
 fins are clipped. This bait has a habit of going to 
 the bottom of the stream and often a cork, just 
 sufficiently bouyant to keep him from lodging among 
 the rocks, is attached to the snood a few inches above 
 the hook. The soft crab is quartered after being 
 fresh killed and the meat being stringy is frequently 
 and properly tightly tied about the hook with sewing 
 thread. When I spoke to my son of cats, he laugh- 
 ingly remarked "You dont' mean to tell me that cats 
 real cats are used for bait? I made reply, "I can't 
 vouch for the story, but it was told me. Tom Dawson 
 was a railroad employe, and when not braking on the 
 road spent his hours on the river fishing. He took 
 an early start one morning and as he was about to 
 leave home, carrying his rods, bucket and lunch 
 basket, his good wife remarked, 'Tom, as you are 
 going to the river today, take that small litter of 
 kittens our cat gave birth to yesterday and drown 
 them.' Tom did as requested. He carefully placed 
 the kittens in his pockets and proceeded over the 
 railroad bridge and up the tow-path to the island 
 for a quiet days sport. Arriving on the ground, he 
 located on a rocky projection and in the course of an 
 
hour landed several nice bass, which he placed upon 
 his stringer. These he caught with minnows for bait. 
 Just as he turned around he spied two city sportsmen 
 in full regalia, standing within a few feet of where 
 he was. The gentlemen had new rods and tackle 
 and in fact every modern device for luring the bass, 
 but they lacked experience as will be shown. One of 
 them addressed Tom, wishing him a 'Good morning, 
 what luck?' Tom replied, 'Oh, not much, got these 
 're,' at the same time showing his string of bass. The 
 city lads were charmed and ventured to ask, "What 
 bait did you use?/ 'Kittens/ replied Tom, at the 
 same minute thinking of the kittens his wife had 
 charged him to drown, and pulling one from his 
 pocket. Said he, see, these is what I use/ The novices 
 eyed each other and then looked at Tom, perfectly 
 dumbfounded. 'You don't mean to tell us you use 
 kittens, said the principal spokesman, 'Yes/ said Tom, 
 'got 'em all on kittens/ With this the city lads, with 
 less enthusiasm than they had started out with, moved 
 on in quiet to first try the worms they had provided. 
 They had no success, and after an hour's absence 
 returned and said, 'Mister, where did you get the 
 kittens?' 'In Harpers Ferry/ said Tom, emphasizing 
 his words by pulling up his line and apparently placing 
 a kitten on the hook, which he threw out into the 
 stream. 'Well I'll be dog on/ said one of the unini- 
 tiated, and with lowered spirits the two proceeded to 
 Harpers Ferry, a mile away, and enlisted some of the 
 small boys to hunt up kittens, for which they rewarded 
 them. What success followed may be well imagined. 
 Suffice it to say that Tom went home with a big 
 string of bass, he had disposed of the kittens, and 
 Mrs. Dawson joined him in enjoying the practical 
 
 47 
 
joke he had played on the innocents from the city. 
 
 The small-mouthed black bass, it has been well 
 established, is so ravenous at times that any moving 
 object in the water will tempt him to an attack. Many 
 instances are known where the fish has jumped into 
 open boats, where he has pursued a bait for long dis- 
 tances to make a lunge for it close under the oars. On 
 one occasion, while fishing in the Potomac just below 
 the mouth of the Monocacy, at a spot where the 
 branches of the trees overhanged the quiet waters, 
 I surprised my boatman, George Walter, by landing a 
 pound-and-a-half fish from the mouth of which pro- 
 truded a tail which at first sight looked like that of a 
 rat. We were both of us puzzled and proceeded to 
 make a close examination, and forced the fish to 
 disgorge a field squirrel. It was partially digested, 
 the acids of the fish's stomach having eaten away most 
 of the hairy covering of the animal. There was 
 enough of it intact, however, to enable us to identify 
 the creature, which had evidently fallen into the river 
 from an overspreading tree and been devoured by the 
 bass. At another time during a visit to Shenandoah 
 City, situated on the river of the same name, I captured 
 a bass with a half swallowed water moccasin protrud- 
 from its jaws. 
 
 To more fully illustrate the savage propensities of 
 the fish, and to show that he will partake of its own 
 kind, a specimen may be seen in the National Museum, 
 which was placed there through the courtesy of Col. 
 Richard J. Bright, where a small-mouthed bass is 
 hanging to the hook while a few inches above on 
 the snood is a more diminutive specimen of the same 
 species, and preceeding that a minnow bait. The 
 Colonel reasoned that the smaller bass had jumped 
 
at the minnow and hanged itself, and that the larger 
 bass had struck at the smaller bass and landed on the 
 hook. If the Colonel's theory is correct, there remains 
 no doubt but what the species will destroy its kind, 
 and the several experiences conclusively establish the 
 fact that the small-mouthed bass will endeavor to 
 capture anything alive that comes within his reach, 
 even if it chokes him to take care of it. No less 
 startling was the discovery made by my boatsman 
 Walter, when, while dressing a bass, he took from 
 its stomach the perfect shell of a small turtle, which 
 in time the fish would have disgorged as it is fully 
 capable of doing. 
 
 49 
 
Patience of the Kauffmann Kind. 
 
REAL LIFE. 
 
 He casts the bait, 
 
 He strikes the hook, 
 
 The distance well is measured, 
 
 He winds the reel, 
 
 He bends the rod, 
 
 The prize he lands is treasured. 
 
 He wades the stream, 
 
 He climbs the rocks, 
 
 With nature's charms delighted, 
 
 He loves the flowers, 
 
 He knows the woods, 
 
 All earthy cares are blighted. 
 
 53 
 
ME, MY SON AND UNCLE SCOTT. 
 
 BEFORE retiring my son had carefully arranged 
 his fishing clothes on a chair, while a pair of 
 rubber-soled tennis shoes peered out from under- 
 neath. The short bamboo rod with reel, line and 
 hook, the last mentioned hanging from a swivel, which 
 he was to use on the morrow, stood up in the corner 
 of his room at such angle from the pillow on which 
 he lay his head as to be the first article to meet his 
 gaze on awakening. As a precaution against noise 
 which might disturb the household at the early hour 
 we proposed to go a fishing, he placed a tin bucket 
 close to the foot of the bed where he might not fall 
 over it on arising. 
 
 The near-by barn-yard rooster gave the break of 
 day alarm which aroused my son, who, full of happy 
 anticipations and with that boyish energy which 
 follows undisturbed rest, jumped from his couch and 
 fell over the tin bucket which had been so well placed, 
 its rattling over the bare floor arousing the sleepers 
 throughout the house, including myself. This unin- 
 tentional disturbance caused us both to giggle until 
 dressed, when on tip-toe we gathered up rods and 
 sought the kitchen, where Mary gave us each a fried 
 egg, warm cakes and coffee, together with a pocket 
 lunch. Mary was the colored cook who merrily wished 
 us "good luck" as we hastily and enthusiastically 
 started on our mile walk to the river. It was down 
 hill and through a street of an old town which had 
 
 54 
 
stood the brunt of the rebellion. I answered innumer- 
 able questions, whistled broken melodies and hummed 
 familiar tunes, and my boy did exactly as I did, 
 except that he asked questions, didn't answer them. 
 The birds were chiming and flitting from cedar to 
 cedar, and the roar of the Shenandoah River as it 
 rushed over a bed broken with immense boulders added 
 to the music of the bright crisp morning. At the foot 
 of the trail, beyond the town limits, we came to the 
 water's edge and underneath an overhanging brush 
 pile we found a bucket of bait. The bucket had been 
 placed there the night before in sucli position as 
 permitted the water to percolate through the holes 
 which had been punctured in it. My son opened the 
 tin bucket with which he had awakened the family 
 that morning and into it I transferred the wiggling 
 chubs. This done we proceeded to the dam, a half 
 mile away. There we climbed down the stone wall, 
 crossed over through the willows, stubbing a toe on 
 projecting rocks here and there which tested my son's 
 endurance and capability to suppress bad words. 
 Crossing over the river on the dam, we were joined 
 by an old fisherman, Uncle Scott Lightner, who ac- 
 companied us along the path which skirted the 
 mountain until we reached Bull's Falls. Here our 
 companion waded out onto a high rock which lifted 
 its head above the swift raging water and proceeded 
 leisurely to fish for the small-mouthed bass, while 
 my son and I trudged on across an island covered 
 with tall oaks and entangling undergrowth, until we 
 reached a narrow branch of the river known by the 
 mountaineers as "Sylvester's Run." It ran over 
 shelving flat rocks, the water now deep and the next 
 step shallow. We waded up stream. I led the way 
 
 55 
 
and my son followed dragging his bait bucket through 
 the water by a string. As I proceeded I cast my 
 bait ahead, and at every throw nearly it would be 
 jumped at by the bass that lay hidden behind the 
 ledges of the rocks. It was only necessary to cast 
 eight or nine yards of line right, left and to the 
 center. As the bass were reeled in they were run 
 onto the stringer which soon became burdensome for 
 my son to carry and I was compelled to relieve him. 
 One end I fastened to the ring in my belt while the 
 bunch of pretty creatures would swim around in my 
 wake. So ravenous and vicious did the fish become 
 that I captured as many as three on a single bait. 
 My son laughed and halloed until the mountain 
 chain fairly echoed with his delight. After landing 
 nine bass, I proceeded to instruct my son as we 
 retraced our trip down the stream. The strikes were 
 less frequent of course, but we picked up one now 
 and then in pools which we had missed on our upward 
 trip. Relieving my son of the bait bucket, I cautioned 
 him to place his thumb on the reel so as to gauge the 
 play of line, and casting with two hands he was 
 enabled to add to our already heavy string. It was a 
 pleasure to instruct him. "Give your line a slight 
 jerk. Now you have him. Let him play. Keep 
 your line taught. Reel it slowly. Be careful. Raise 
 your rod so as to keep the line tight. Reel again, 
 Rod up a little. Now I'll get him." These were some 
 of the directions. Then reaching down I would get 
 the fish between the gills and mouth with thumb and 
 forefinger, dislodge the hook and string it. Said I to 
 my son, "We have taken a big catch, let us not be 
 hoggish. A man should not continue to fish when he 
 has enough. There is reason in all things." Tired 
 
 56 
 
and hungry, we waded onto the island and devoured 
 our pocket lunches. We selected a swift running 
 place to drink from, which we did by lying flat on our 
 stomachs and dipping our noses into the water. Our 
 bucket we emptied, and taking our reels and lines 
 from the rods, the latter were unjointed and put in 
 their coverings. Procuring a six foot sapling, the 
 string of nearly twenty pounds of fish we tied to it. 
 My son took one end of the spaling and I the other, and 
 thus carrying our catch between us we journeyed 
 through underbrush under the broad spreading trees 
 across the island in search of our companion whom we 
 had left on the rock in the morning. Emerging 
 through the thickly wooded highland with some dif- 
 ficulty, we crossed over a deep fall on the trunk of 
 a dead tree to reach the mammoth rocks, which made 
 a natural dam two-thirds of the way across t he 
 Shenandoah River. Through crevices here and there 
 the water rushed into the basins below with the 
 appearance of a great boiling stream from so many 
 hot^ water pipes. Doubled up on the rocks, his rod 
 resting on the forks of a willow stick planted in the 
 sand, his line set for a bass, Uncle Scott awaited the 
 clicking of the reel. We startled him by our quiet 
 and unheralded arrival, only broken by my son hallow- 
 ing "What luck?." Leisurely he looked around and 
 replied, "Bad luck, only one fish and no lunch, 'cause 
 you fellows carried it with you." So we had. The 
 extra bite for our friend we had carried off with 
 us in the morning. When Uncle Scott sighted the 
 fine string of fish we carried he was startled. Though 
 not given to excitement or enthusiasm under any 
 conditions, he marveled at the catch, asked all kinds 
 of questions, and sorrowed because he had not gone 
 
 57 
 
with us over the island. Throwing the string into the 
 bubbling stream to keep the fish alive, we expressed 
 our regrets at his poor luck and apoligized for allowing 
 him to go hungry. We gave him a left over sandwich, 
 however, and during the devouring thereof he 
 philosophized to my son. "It only goes to show that 
 a man should think twice before he decides upon a 
 place to fish, and even after that, in order to be 
 successful, my son, there must be some work done. 
 Like makin' a living, the more pluck, energy and 
 intelligence you put into it, the better off you will be. 
 Patience is a good thing, but there are other ingre^ 1 
 iients such as I named should go with it. A wise 
 man, attired in fisherman's clothes, was discovered 
 sitting on the bank of a small muddy pond one day by 
 an ignorant colored boy. The man was fishing, 
 watching the movements of a float which showed as a 
 brilliant buoy upon the dusky water. Said the boy, 
 'Mista, what is yer got fer bait?' 'Patience,' replied 
 the man, 'En wha' is yer fishin' fer?' the boy asked, 
 '.Kor recreation' came the response. 'Ugh!" grunted 
 the boy, "pay-chance may be er good bait, but yer can't 
 ketch no recreation in dis yer pon' kase dere's nothin' 
 but er tader-poles en frogs in er heah! M Like me, 
 you see, my son, the man had patience and had the 
 judgment to select a spot where he couldn't catch 
 even 'recreation.'" Uncle Scott had now begun to 
 reel in his line and my son and I arranged our fish and 
 in a few minutes we three were plodding homeward 
 along the narrow mountain trail, which was grown 
 over with willows and high grass. We were tired and 
 wet, and by the time we recrossed the dam were quite 
 hungry. Having to rest our catch every now and 
 then made our return trip a slow one. My son was 
 
 58 
 
light hearted over the sport of the day and the bag 
 of beauties he could show and talk about. Before 
 making the final slow climb to our domicile, I took 
 occasion to remind him that the true sportsman should 
 be charitable, and it would not be becoming in him 
 to criticize Uncle Scott before others on his poor 
 luck fishing. I told him the rule was to divide the 
 string among the party, and to speak of them as 
 l 'Our fish." This instruction he followed out in the 
 presence of his mother, sisters, and friends who 
 crowded about the front porch on our return to view 
 the specimens and to take "a snap shot" of them. 
 He did not, however, in thoughtless glee neglect to 
 tell them all how he had protected the sandwiches 
 intended for Uncle Scott and as to how the latter 
 went without his lunch. 
 
 Retiring to our room, wet shoes, stockings, under- 
 drawers and breeches were soon off and swinging 
 on the porch in the mountain breeze to dry. This 
 move was followed by cold sponge baths and clean 
 linen, as well as a careful putting away of materials 
 and implements. Our good cook Mary prepared the 
 fish for our breakfast and after a hearty supper my 
 son and I prepared for that night's rest which should 
 follow a laborpus day's sport. Our eyes closed to 
 the world after going over the details of the trip 
 with Uncle Scott, who finished a cigar, not forgetting 
 the ridiculous features, arid my boy had his eye teeth 
 cut in bass fishing. After thanking God for bed, 
 the boy made a last remark in slow, measured, half- 
 distinct words, "Fa-ther to catch bass you've got to 
 hustle, haven't you, and so you must do to make a 
 success at anything." We both of us regretted in the 
 morning that we had not seen the cook bleed the 
 
 59 
 
fish the evening before by cutting their gills, and at 
 not seeing her hang them up one by one on a hook, 
 cut them through the skin around the back of the 
 head, carve out the dorsal and other fins and then pull 
 the skin off with a pair of pincers. This would have 
 been a new lesson to each of us. No less interesting 
 was the way the old negress told us how to prepare 
 and boil a bass, by sewing it up tightly in a linen 
 cloth, then covering with water and allowing to boil 
 slowly in a biscuit pan on the top of the stove. 
 
 60 
 
RED ROCK. 
 
 Ise gwine down ter Red Rock, 
 Wha de water's smoove en deep, 
 Wha de shoa am low en sandy, 
 Wha de bluff am high en steep. 
 De ribber et makes en da, 
 En runs er mighty ben. 
 It's de place dey call de eddy, 
 Wha all de colors blen. 
 Hea' ol folks lub ter picnic, 
 En sing de low Ian' songs, 
 De gal en beau dey pull da, 
 De place ter dem belongs, 
 Bu' when de leaf am fallin' 
 En de fros' et glis'en roun,' 
 De fish'man he drop in da, 
 En call et lucky groun'. 
 Da de bass dey gedder, 
 En make er mighty flock, 
 Ef wan'ter know wha's fishin', 
 Jis try de ol' Red Rock. 
 
 61 
 
BIG MEN AND BIG FISH. 
 
 AMERICAN history is replete with anecdotes of 
 distinguished men, who not only cleared the 
 forests, fought the savages, and established 
 boundary lines as pioneers, but who for scientific and 
 commercial purposes followed the trail, hunted the 
 forests and fished the streams. These citizens of 
 early and modern times have contributed much to the 
 history of our country and the welfare of civilization. 
 It is a great fortune that we enjoy today in being able 
 to hold out to the growing boys the example of their 
 industry, perseverance, hardships and principles as 
 most worthy of emulation. It has become firmly 
 established as a fact that hunting and fishing, the 
 study of nature in mountains, meadows and streams, 
 are prime factors contributing to the betterment and 
 years of mankind. Grover Cleveland, statesman and 
 citizen, embodied those qualities of heart and hand 
 which placed him in the front rank of American 
 sportsmen. He upheld the good there was in it and 
 was always ready to condemn the wrong. High- 
 minded and honorable in the conduct of affairs which 
 effected his country, he was likewise forward in 
 protecting the interests of the game and fish, and in 
 so doing enjoyed the advantage of long practical 
 experience. 
 
 I have hunted in the mountains of West Virginia 
 where the mountaineers laid down to that distin- 
 guished sportsman the law, "if you miss your shot at 
 the first deer which crosses your path, you must 
 suffer the penalty of having your shirt torn into 
 
 62 
 
strips and divided among your colleagues." The 
 penalty, happily for the distinguished guest, was not 
 enforced. 
 
 It was Mr. Cleveland's pleasure and that of his ac- 
 companying friends to fish for small-mouthed black 
 bass in the Potomac River. Mr. Cleveland made 
 several trips for such sport upon that stream during 
 the years he was President. On one of them he 
 encountered rainy, inclement weather, yet, true to his 
 character, he stood up in a boat, covered with a 
 rain coat, and cast, with rod and reel ,until satisfied 
 that he could catch no fish. Mr. Cleveland no doubt 
 encountered that disappointment which follows to 
 any devotee of the rod who fails of success after a 
 hard trial and, appreciating what must have been his 
 feelings while on a trip to the Monocacy the day 
 following, I told my son that we would have to catch 
 the President a big bass because of his ill luck the 
 day before. 
 
 The river was clear, the wind calm, the water just 
 right as to temperature and depth, and anticipating 
 everything pleasant my boy and I were boated up 
 that stream, which of all others gets muddy the 
 quickest and clears the slowest. The day had long 
 been spent and our spirits drooped like the limbs of 
 the willows along the shore. I had told Boatman 
 Walters to take us home. As we trolled along indif- 
 ferently, with nearly every foot of line out, there was 
 a splash and a great commotion, which brought us to 
 realize that I had struck a large fish. Such it proved 
 to be, after ten minutes struggle in bringing it into 
 the boat, being without a landing net. My boy was 
 proud; so was I, and the boatman began to feel that 
 he had earned his hire. 
 
 63 
 
We reached the City with our five and a half pound 
 bass that evening and my boy and I had planned to 
 keep it alive in a tub at home all night, if it 
 survived the train ride of an hour and a half. 
 All the fresh air possible was afforded it, and it soon 
 had full vigor when turned under the spigot. The 
 water was allowed to drip upon it all night long and 
 to run off proportionately, so that the bass was alive 
 in the morning. About noon I sent a novice as a 
 messenger to take the fish down to the White House 
 for Mr. Cleveland. When the messenger reached our 
 home and discovered the enormity of the fish and with 
 instructions to "bring it down alive," he was at his 
 wits end how to secure it. He and the servant girl 
 worked for an hour trying to catch the fish so as to 
 lift it out of the tub. As their arms would extend 
 the fish would splash and dash ferociously. Finally 
 it occurred to the messenger to permit the water to 
 run out of the temporary lake. This he did and then 
 he had no trouble to land his fish. He brought it 
 to me wrapped in a clean towel, well dampened with 
 water all in a deep new straw basket. Thus it went 
 to Assistant Secretary Pruden at the White House. 
 Mr. Pruden told me he immediately proceeded with 
 the package to the Cabinet room where the President 
 and his advisers were seated, and that on entering 
 he remarked, "Mr. President, a friend sends you a 
 fine bird," at which the fish jumped out of the basket. 
 It was captured and turned over to the President's 
 driver with instructions to have it knocked in the head 
 and prepared for dinner. My son's importance was 
 more apparent after this catch than formerly, and I 
 suggested that if he lived and did not forget the 
 incident and Mr. Cleveland lived he might pay him 
 
a friendly call someday and remind him of the big 
 small-moiled bass of the Monocacy. 
 
 While President Cleveland was an adept in the 
 use of the gun and rod, to President Rosevelt, the 
 sportsmen of America pay high tribute, but this dis- 
 tinguished gentleman has given more attention to the 
 shooting of large game than to the field and fishing. 
 Not that he is unfamiliar with bird hunting and 
 fishing, for he is an expert in all lines as a sportsman, 
 but as a historian and scientific writer, he has found 
 in the heavier pursuit the necessary material for the 
 entertainment and enlightenment of the student. Pos- 
 sessing the superior accomplishments of a great hunter, 
 he embodies those high attributes which go for the 
 protection of game and fish, forjests, and streams. 
 Well equipped as a man from every point of view 
 his work furnishes a magnificent study for every 
 young citizen of the Republic. His earlier years were 
 spent on a ranch in the Northwest and there he 
 learned to master the horse and the gun. The 
 saddle affords him the luxury of a couch and the 
 bigger the game the greater his delight to pursue it. 
 The last few years have recorded him as a "mighty 
 hunter" and his admirers have found him equal in 
 skill and Durance to any man who ever followed the 
 trail. Many trophies emphasize his wonderful work 
 with the rifle, and in bringing down big game he has 
 always followed the precept of giving his foe a fair 
 chance. History is already replete with many interest- 
 ing pages of the work of Theodore Roosevelt, the 
 hunter, the student of nature, and the boys of the 
 land will profit by its reading. The following fishing 
 experience of the President proves a delightful morsel 
 for any one: 
 
 65 
 
George W. Powers and Franke E. McCourt spent 
 their vacations on Long Island and a fishing trip 
 took them to Oyster Bay. They had indifferent luck 
 and little to compensate them for their trouble in the 
 way of incident or sport until young Powers hooked 
 a dogfish. 
 
 Strive as both could, it was beyond their efforts to 
 get the prize into the boat. They exerted every means 
 within reach and tried every expedient in vain and 
 were about to give up the task when their trouble 
 attracted the attention of two men and a woman in 
 a boat. ^ 
 
 They pulled overrule boys and one of the men, 
 encouraging the youths to hold on, coached them and 
 lent a hand, and in a few minutes the big fish was 
 splashing and flundering in the bottom of their boat. 
 With many thanks for the assistance given them the 
 boys rowed ashore. 
 
 Afterwards in talking the incident over, it occurred 
 to young McCourt that the face of the man who had 
 assisted them was familiar. The broad smile that 
 showed the gleaming rows of teeth, the eye-glasses 
 and commanding figure, convinced the boys that their 
 unknown friend must be President Roosevelt. Once 
 suggested, they determined to make conviction sure 
 and wrote a joint letter to Oyster Bay asking Mr. 
 Roosevelt if their surmise was correct. In answer to 
 the message this letter came back. 
 
 WHITE HOUSE, Oyster Bay, 
 
 July, 1904. 
 Dear Young Friends: 
 
 I am glad to hear from you, and congratulate you 
 upon the fish you caught the other day. I was pleased 
 
 66 
 
we were able to help you with the dogfish. With best 
 wishes, believe me, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 
 
 To say, in the President's favorite expression, that 
 the boys were "delighted" at this would but faintly 
 convey an idea of their pride and pleasure. Their 
 fishing adventure was told and retold scores of times 
 to companions and friends, and, of course, the part 
 President Roosevelt took in it was not lost in the 
 recounting. His personal message was exhibited in 
 triumph and the young fishermen were the heroes 
 of their part of the country in the eyes of their 
 associates, not to mention their proud relatives. 
 
 My son and I on several occasions after capturing 
 specimens of the small mouthed variety of bass were 
 afforded much pleasure in sending strings to the 
 President, and having attained the proud distinction / 
 of having his catches thus erjpyed my boy feels that 4f 
 his exploits among the streams of the mountains were 
 of the loftiest character. Such recognition of his 
 skill and industry made impressions upon him as will, 
 I am sure, encourage him to continue to participate 
 in recreative pursuits of a kind that develope the 
 mind, muscle and morals. 
 
Grover Cleveland Big Fisherman. 
 
BOATING ON THE CANAL. 
 
 John drives the mules from morn till night, 
 And often later when the moon is light, 
 His bed is hard and his food the same, 
 Both run short when the power is lame. 
 John cracks the whip and all things move, 
 That he's not happy you can't disprove, 
 No cares of business, trials of state, 
 No fear of collision when the ship is late. 
 John plods along and pushes the mule, 
 For he has no studies and knows no school, 
 The warble of the birds, the crispy air, 
 Give joy to his heart and curls his hair. 
 It's his only home and without a mother, 
 But a sister fair gently turns the rudder, 
 She delights to respond to the name of Sal, 
 They Captain a boat on the old canal. 
 
 The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal keeps company 
 with the Potomac River as it winds it way from 
 Washington west through the Blue Ridge Mountains 
 and in its day ivas a great transportation way. 
 
A 
 
 TROUT FISHING IN UTAH. 
 
 LL boys are interested in wholesome stories 
 told in a manner that they can comprehend. 
 The narrative should always be keenly alive 
 to the subject, however, and select it with a view of 
 attracting close attention, and demeanor, manner 
 of delivery, and earnestness must be so studied as to 
 be effectual. When a young man my experiences 
 on the frontier afnong the Ute Indians, were of a 
 character that might have been woven into dime 
 novels, but there was much more satisfaction in giving 
 , them to the boys first-handed than to have them 
 
 jl prepared with embejishments and devoured through 
 
 yellow covers. They should be told in such a way as 
 not to make the boys want to wear belts, bowie 
 knives and revolvers. It afforded me much amuse- 
 ment to relate stories to the boys, to be followed by 
 explanation of disasterous effects that would detract 
 from the usual inclinations to go and do likewise. 
 
 A fishing experience had while going from Camp 
 Douglass near Salt Lake City through Strawberry 
 Valley to the South was much appreciated by my 
 son, and was re-told to him several times in order 
 to afford him the desired satisfaction. Our party 
 on that trip comprised several Government Commis- 
 sioners, myself, and thirty-five United States soldiers 
 as guard, under Lieutenant Penney. Two ambulances 
 and two military wagons, drawn by four mules each, 
 made up the Caravan. We had traveled through 
 Echo Canyon, crossed the Provo River, tipped over 
 
 72 
 
our supplies, encountered Indians, and had other 
 adventures, when from the high mountains we looked 
 down upon the beautiful valley of Strawberry, its face 
 broken by the serpentine windings of a stream by the 
 same name. We were told that this stream was full 
 of fish and that it would furnish water for our coffee 
 and tired mules. When we reached the low lands 
 early in the afternoon we went into camp, and mem- 
 bers of our party sought to catch some fish for the 
 evening meal. There were many of them, but so shy 
 that with all the ingenuity we could devise but few 
 were caught. About this time when our pleasant 
 anticipations of a few hours before began to vanish, a 
 hearty looking ranchman appeared with a bucket full 
 and they were quickly purchased and almost as soon 
 on the fire. The native had repaired our shattered 
 hopes and we all wondered how he managed to provide 
 the trout in such quantities after our skilled anglers 
 had failed. Twenty years later it was my pleasure 
 to meet the same plainsman who had sold us the trout 
 by the bucket full in Strawberry Valley. He had 
 become a bond holder in New York. Laughingly 
 he related that he had engaged his cow-boys with 
 picks and shovels, to turn the direction of the stream 
 which watered Strawberry Valley. A point in the / 
 stream had been danjed so as to alter its course. This tHY 
 left the old channel below the dam barren of water 
 except in pools, where the trout had swarmed in 
 great numbers, and from which he had shoveled the 
 fish into the bucket which he had brought to us. This / 
 
 would be regarded as a d/stardly trick in these days & / 
 and it would have been condemned in those no doubt, 
 had we then known the truth, but we were all awfully 
 
 73 
 
hungry and hundreds of miles from civilization. 
 
 This story of the pot hunter, while it possessed 
 rather a humorous side when fully learned, met with 
 disapproval by my boy, which should be shared in by 
 all modern sportsmen. 
 
 A BLUE RIDGE SNAKE STORY. 
 
 It was a night of substantial rest . A brilliant ball 
 of fire creeping over the mountain heights announced 
 the opening of another charming day and the ringirg 
 of the six o'clock bell on the village church awakened 
 us. This was to be given to reading, writing and 
 tales of the sport. An hour after breakfast found 
 our little company beneath the accustomed shade. The 
 seasoned hammocks and trampled grass were occupied 
 and lounged upon as usual. An incident which 
 was given publicity the day before, was related, and 
 it made a pleasant chapter for my boy to add to his 
 growing volume. It fell to my lot to repeat it as it 
 had come to me. Doctor Harban a well- known 
 expert with the rod and reel found entertainment 
 in the Blue Ridge section of the country, where he was 
 one of a party of several who owned a pleasant retreat. 
 Their camp, which included a rustic house, was located 
 near the summit of the mountains. It was a difficult 
 road which led up to it, and the Doctor six months 
 before was engaged with several native workmen 
 cutting, filling and making it passable for pedestrian 
 and team. While busily engaged with shovel and pick, 
 a workman astonished the Doctor and others by cry- 
 ing out, "There goes the biggest rattle snake I ever 
 saw, but he's gone." With this, the Doctor remarked, 
 "If you come across that snake again, you get him 
 
 74 
 
and bring him up to the house to me and I'll give 
 you a five- dollar bill." The good Doctor never for 
 a moment thought there would be a response to his 
 generous proffer, and the topic was dropped and lost 
 sight of, until, as I have stated, six young summer 
 months had passed away. 
 
 It was a cool, snappish evening. The air was crisp, 
 the owl hooted and the distant screech of the B. & O. 
 locomotive sounded shrill and clear, the only sound 
 of civilization. A party of friends occupied the broad 
 veranda of the rustic club house. Their laughing and 
 singing was interrupted suddenly by the approach of 
 a tall, long, lean individual attired in humble clothes 
 with pants in his boots, and who carried a box under 
 his arm. Stepping from the gravel path onto the 
 porch he said, "Gemmen, is der docta hea" ? "Doctor 
 who," was asked by all. "Doctor 'Bin," responded 
 the stranger/ "Doctor Harban is here," said one of 
 the party, "Well, dat's der man." At this the spokes- 
 man for the party proceeded to find the doctor and in 
 a few moments returned with him. "Well sir, what 
 will you have? I am Doctor Harban." "Wall, doctor 
 I hea' yer givin' five dollers fer rattlers and I brought 
 yer up a couple." "Rattlers," remarked the Doctor 
 with emphasis, at which time the entire party of 
 associates and friends began to beat a retreat. "I 
 don't want any rattlers." "Wall, I was tol' so by der 
 man on der road." Explanations followed and the 
 Doctor compromised matters by remunerating the 
 stranger for his trouble and the further burden of 
 carrying the box of snakes as far off as he could 
 to complete the job by killing them. 
 
 It is useless to say, congratulations were in order 
 and the doctor has never been charged with having 
 
 75 
 
acquired "snakes." This is but one of the experiences 
 a fisherman in the mountains is liable to meet with, 
 and my son and our company all begged to be excused 
 from such an introduction. 
 
 I said to my son that there were many unpleasant 
 experiences to be encountered in every walk of life, 
 and that they often arise as if to test the thought- 
 fulness, ingenuity and courage of a man. Not that 
 encounters or meetings with snakes are frequent, but 
 with other subjects, some of them far more disagree- 
 able. "Yes," said he, "snakes in the boots." "Well 
 yes, "I responded, "such are known, and they con- 
 stitute a most dangerous class, the most undesirable. 
 It is not uncommon, however, for the fisherman while 
 wading streams or prowling around rocky or rugged 
 shores to meet with reptiles. On one or two occasions 
 it befell my lot to kill moccasins and in the foot hills 
 of the Blue Ridge where some of the finest fishing 
 places are located, and the copperhead and other 
 venomous snakes are occasionally encountered. In 
 such a meeting the sportsman wearing low shoes is 
 somewhat exposed. 
 
 THE LOST WATCH. 
 
 "Difficult River" within those fields where was 
 fought the war of the Rebellion is a deep, winding 
 stream which flows into the Potomac River. Here 
 my boy was proud to fish, because it brought to him 
 thoughts of the Battle of Bull Run and the defense 
 of Washington. Many times he would put questions 
 to me regarding the scenes enacted in that vicinity in 
 war times. Most of the boys have an interest in such 
 matters and fishing was almost a secondary con- 
 sideration when we would make a trip to "Difficult." 
 
There was a friend of ours who was instrumental in 
 stocking the stream with fish, and he had many rough 
 experiences along "Snake Den" and "Little Difficult" 
 when he went out on a recreation trip. On one of 
 these tours he journeyed for miles through the dense 
 underbrush, and up and down the foot-hills, which 
 make up the country through which the stream I have 
 mentioned flows. A plain every day citizen, not an 
 expert fisherman, but nevertheless devoted to the 
 art, he would relate with much pride his travels, 
 tribulations and pleasures. On this occasion he took 
 a vacation from his labors and fished the creek 
 earnestly with poor success. Not only did he capture 
 few fish but the morning following a hard day's trial, 
 a heavy gold watch which had been worn by his 
 grandfather was missing. Great was Mr. Hall's 
 sorrow and chagrin. To think that a prize relic was 
 gone was enough without giving thought to the bad 
 record he would have as a sportsman, should the tale 
 of the travel become public property. It can well 
 be imagined he was not long in returning to the scene 
 of his exploits. An early train, after a short run, 
 landed him at Hunter's Mills, and he soon had all the 
 boys who lived in the surrounding country, upon 
 promise of reward, searching for the missing watch. 
 His last trail along the stream was still fresh in his 
 memory and he earnestly followed it from start to 
 finish without success. With sa|d heart and tears in 
 his eyes he proceeded to retrace the course he had 
 followed. The day was nearing its close ; the warbling 
 of the birds had given place to the music of the frogs 
 and the world to Mr. Hall was said and dreary. As 
 he carelessly walked along he peered into the pools 
 he had crossed or fished. One of these was several 
 
 77 
 
feet in depth, and the water as clear as crystal. A 
 mossy bank overhung it. Stooping down, with a 
 stick he carried he pushed away the brush and grass 
 which shaded the spot from the bank, and a glistening 
 object, or bright rock, at the bottom of the pool 
 attracted his attention. He went into the water and 
 down as far as it went and picked up the lost time 
 piece. It was uninjured, that is, the water had not 
 gotten into it. Great was his joy, in fact, so great 
 that he heralded the news of his good fortune and 
 rewarded those who had joined him in the search. 
 Our friend was not long in seating himself to a good 
 country supper, and he wears the gold watch of his 
 grandfather today and points to the incident of its 
 loss and finding with great interest. This story was 
 listened to with much enjoyment by my boy, who has 
 since had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Hall and view- 
 ing the watch, which for many hours ocupied a place tf 
 among the fishes. 
 
 THE UNSUCCESSFUL HUNT. 
 My boy was so persistent that I ventured to relate 
 to his friends, who had gathered under the usual 
 shade, the experience of a fishing and hunting party 
 that had encamped opposite Cotoctan on the Potomac 
 River during the preceding autumn. It was under the 
 guidance of my personal friend, Mr. Milton, who was 
 a most generous host, and being thus renowned he 
 had endeavored to sustain that reputation by provid- 
 ing every equipment for comfort and every luxury 
 in the shape of provisions. The party numbered eight 
 congenial souls, who at home were engaged as Bankers, 
 Lawyers, Florists and Merchants. None of them were 
 masters in the use of the rod and reel, and each 
 
 78 
 
possessed a limited knowledge of fire-arms. Not- 
 withstanding neglected education in this regard, they 
 were willing to learn and partake of the disappoint- 
 ments which might follow a week's study in the open. 
 There was no lack of industry and wit in the crowd, 
 and attired in new hunting suits they all worked hard 
 in unloading their equipage and supplies from the 
 local passenger train and transporting the same across 
 the river in boats. Before the sun had set tents were 
 up, water was boiling and necessary camping imple- 
 ments unpacked. Efforts to obtain fish for the evening 
 meal were only partially successful, but after the first 
 night's rest the fishing was renewed with better 
 results. At an early hour of the second day out Mr. 
 Milton uncoupled his gun, brushed up his hunting 
 suit, and announced that he would proceed to bag 
 squirrels enough for breakfast. The remainder of the 
 party busied themselves about the camp. After climb- 
 ing over rocks, crawling through bushes, looking up 
 into high trees until his eyes were sore, the would-be 
 huntsman became disappointed at finding no squirrels 
 and sat down on a log to rest his weary limbs. While 
 thus engaged varied scenes of younger days flitted 
 through his mind, and, dishearted, on the verge of 
 retracing his steps to camp, he was approached by 
 three country lads. The elder carried a dozen or 
 more squirrels from his belt, and as he saluted the 
 discouraged Mr. Milton, he drawled a "how are ye," 
 and asked "do ye know them thar fellows in camp 
 down thar, end would they buy eny squirrels." No 
 more joyful notes could have been wafted to the ears 
 of Mr. Milton. Eagerly he replied, "Do you want to 
 sell 'em, "and how much do you want?" A Dollar 
 and a quarter paid for the bunch and no time was lost 
 
 79 
 
in parting company with the traders, But, said Mr. 
 Milton, I must show to my associates some evidence 
 of wear and tear and expended energy, and let them 
 hear shots from my gun ring out. This brilliant 
 thought was put into execution. He walked into mud 
 holes, besmeared his new suit, fell over logs, scrambled 
 down short precipices, fired his gun off a dozen times, 
 and finally exhausted after a mile's tramp, dropped 
 into camp apparently more dead than alive. Resting 
 his gun against a tree, he tossed the string of 
 squirrels onto the ground in front of his companions 
 and remarked, "there, I have killed food for the break- 
 fast." Delighted over the apparent success and smiles 
 of Mr. Milton all joined in complimenting him as a 
 marksman and a hunter. "Good boy," "Bully fellow," 
 "You are no tenderfoot," were some of the expressions 
 freely given. The next evening long after the squirrel 
 feast had been forgotten, when the whole company was 
 quietly partaking of supper, Mr. Milton suddenly 
 showed signs of great agitation, which was beginning 
 to alarm his associates. There was shouts of laughter, 
 and loud poking of fun, when a moment later, the 
 country lad whom Mr. Milton had bought the squir- 
 rels of the day before walked in upon the scene and 
 remarked "does the man who bought dem squirrels 
 yesterday want ter buy eny more today?" The jig 
 was up and all the congratulations which had been 
 showered upon Mr. Milton a few hours before were 
 withdrawn. 
 
 The anecdote amused the boys, but carried with it 
 the moral, "Be sure your sins will find you out." I 
 told my boy and his companions that deception might 
 prevail in fishing and hunting for awhile, but the truth 
 would sooner or later come to the surface and embar- 
 rassment might follow. 
 
 80 
 
What Ailes The Bass. 
 
A PLEASANT DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 My boy was an attentive listener and had early 
 been instructed not to say anything of anybody unless 
 it was something good. I often told him of the mag- 
 nificent accomplishments of would-be fishermen, some 
 of whom he had come in contact with during our 
 rambles. If he heard of their omissions or short- 
 comings he would always view them from a charitable 
 standpoint and remark, "Well ; he'll become an expert 
 like me some day." My own early disappointments 
 while being educated in the p^catorial art afforded him 
 much interest and at times merriment when related by 
 friends or myself. An original companion was Tom 
 Irwin, who would discard boots and socks, roll his 
 pantaloons up to his knees and wade pools, jump from 
 stone to stone, and stand on a sun-heated rock with 
 perfect indifference. My legs were so much softer 
 than his that there were many swift places in the 
 river over which I would jump after he had given me 
 a hand, or reached me the butt of his rod. Tom was 
 very fatherly and instructed and cared for me as he 
 would a son. When wading across or through a heavy 
 and rapid volume of water he was always careful to 
 see that I was not washed down, my weight being only 
 about one hundred and thirty pounds. Tom was a 
 laboring man, but honest, active and fearless, and 
 possessed the best ideas of when, where and how 
 to fish for small-mouthed bass. Now and then he 
 would take a day off to accompany and instruct me 
 in the art. My son was all eyes and ears when I 
 told him Tom and I had traveled over four miles 
 one bright morning to try fishing at a place called 
 
 83 
 
"Millville." There the Shenandoah came down over 
 several miles of rocks forming- a young Niagara, 
 and a race or run-way supplied abundance of water 
 to operate ^n old but picturesque flour mill. The 
 Superintendent of the mill had constructed a mammoth 
 and substantial fish pot in connection with it, where 
 he caught hundreds of eels and suckers. It was in 
 this direction we took our way. When within a mile 
 of the mill, the river changed from a beautiful clear 
 green to an ugly yellow color, the result of showers 
 along its upper course, and our spirits fell to a very 
 low ebb over the changed condition. We concluded to 
 complete the journey however, and after reaching the 
 mill found the fish pot full of small suckers. There 
 were at least two hundred of the fish jumping around 
 in the wooden pot. With permission from the Super- 
 intendent of the mill, big hearted James Gore, we 
 took out about a hundred of the fish and run them 
 on a string, arranged in the order of their size. The 
 neatness with which this was done made the fish look 
 attractive. Then refreshed with a glass or two of 
 good country milk and a sandwich, we made the 
 return trip to town, and the country hotel where 
 fifty guests assembled to gaze upon the mag- 
 nificent string of "trout," as it was given out, 
 that we had captured. The string was presented to 
 the proprietor, who with much promptness and hap- 
 piness accepted the mess. They were cleaned, soaked 
 over-night in salt, and fried brown for the breakfast 
 of the guests, some of whom to this day delight in 
 referring to the beautiful trout and treat which was 
 afforded them on that occasion. 
 
 I explained to my son that the guests had named the 
 fish, and while there was a color of deception in the 
 
presentation, it was not an unhealthy meal, carried no 
 unpleasant results with it, and therefore became a 
 legitimate fish offering. 
 
 A SHORT SERMON. 
 
 My son you will find the fraternity of fishermen 
 embraces the good, the better and the best of men and 
 their influences tend to elevate and improve those who 
 partake of its pleasures, and who are not so good. A 
 recreation which is followed by all classes and which 
 works to the betterment and refinement of mankind 
 must be worth the while. You will find others who 
 decry the art of fishing, some because they do not 
 enjoy it, those who are ignorant of its pleasures, 
 and a few cranks who justify their non-participation 
 because they believe it cruel. A year or so ago while on 
 a trip with my friends Doctor Henry Fry and Rev. R. 
 H. McKim, the former a prominent surgeon, the latter 
 a talented Divine, a railroad brakesman remarked to 
 the Reverend gentleman "Do you not think it is wrong 
 to shoot quail?" The good man replied about as 
 follows: "The suffering of a bird when shot is 
 probably no greater than that of a fish when taken 
 out of the vital element to die; and if our Saviour, 
 Jesus Christ, gave his approval, as He repeatedly did, 
 to taking fish out of the water, it is not likely that 
 He would disapprove of killing birds that are fit for 
 food, provided the destruction be not wanton or 
 excessive." 
 
 This brief, but pointed, sermon should be read and 
 regarded by all fishermen. It means that fish are 
 intended to be caught for food, but not in numbers 
 
 85 
 
more than are necessary. There are men who display 
 their destructive character and greed by taking all 
 the fish they can without regard to necessities. Such a 
 practice is reprehensible and the perpetrator does not 
 deserve to be recognized as a legitimate sportsman. 
 The individual who will criticize and lament such 
 tactics in the presence of a "pot hunter" will soon bring 
 him to a realization of the error of his way and 
 accomplish his reform. If good results do not follow, 
 such a sportsman should be drummed out of the Camp 
 of the reputable. 
 
 86 
 
Harban Has Two of a Kind. 
 
STORIES OF LARGE BASS 
 
 It matters not where you go along the Potomac 
 River and its tributaries you will meet some one 
 who has captured "the largest bass that was ever 
 seen." Those who come home with fish will often 
 tell you how the biggest one got away. Some times 
 their stories are true, not as many of them perhaps 
 as are those told by the class I first mentioned. Old 
 settlers who have lived and boated along the river 
 delight in rehearsing early experiences, and while 
 some of them repeat their tales so often that the fish 
 grow to enormous size, they must have occasionally 
 come in contact with enormous bass. George Walters, 
 at the Monocacy, told me about fishing off the 
 Aqueduct which crosses the river near his home, and 
 of having caught bass weighing five and six pounds, 
 and hoisting them with hook and line twenty and thirty 
 feet in order to land them. 
 
 John Miller, the Newspaper correspondent, took in 
 one which broke the heavy rope with which he had 
 the fish tied to the rear of his boat, and the bass is 
 estimated to have weighted over six pounds. 
 
 A year ago, in the month of October, the writer, 
 while fishing near the Red Rock, landed one which 
 weighed exactly six pounds. The fish did not take 
 the bait ferociously but gently, then began to "walk 
 off with the line. That was reeled in and then relaxed 
 as the fish began to make frantic efforts to haul the 
 boat from its anchor. By degrees the mighty specimen 
 was drawn nearer the boat and finally Mr. Walters 
 was enabled to place the landing net under the fish 
 and hoist him into the boat. That was the largest 
 fish of the small-mouthed variety that was caught 
 
 89 
 
during the season, but thejiextjiay William Locraft, 
 not to be outdone, while fishing near the same place, 
 secured one which weighed six and a half pounds. 
 After placing it on view for several days he had a cast 
 made of the giant specimen, which has since been 
 colored, and which now adorns the National Museum 
 as an exhibit. 
 
 H. Joseph Hunter, who enjoys an enviable reputa- 
 tion as a fis^man, tells how he lost a big one. The 
 water was in good condition, and with his family 
 boatman, Charley, he ploughed along over his favorite 
 water. He had caught sixteen bass that weighed one 
 to four pounds, when the espied a sunken log. It was 
 about six inches under the water, which was four feet 
 deep with a muddy bottom. "Hold up Charley," he 
 said, "I see a log and a good one must be at home." 
 Dear Charley, always on the alert, brought the boat 
 to a standstill. They were about one hundred and 
 forty feet from the spot, just the right distance. He 
 reeled in and examined his artificial bait, made of 
 fat pork, in imitation of a minnow, called by him 
 the "Zulu Queen" and found it in perfect condition. 
 "Well !" as he Statesjto sooner had it struck the water 
 when the biggest swirl you ever saw was made. I 
 exclaimed, "Charley, he is at homeland at once struck, 
 and then a terrible lunge was made. My game not 
 being able to reach the log, started up in the air, and 
 went higher than any sycamore on the Potomac. 
 When it came down, off down the river it starfed, 
 and went through the water so fast that the suction 
 drew the mud from the bottom of the river and made 
 it so muddy jhat fishing was broken up for ten days. 
 This is the last I ever saw of him, but Charley said 
 he would have weighed as many pounds as he went 
 
 90 
 
feet in the air. Charley and I just looked at each 
 other with amusement. I finally exclaimed, we'll 
 try it again, as there is a larger bass in the Potomac 
 than has ever been caught." 
 
 Mr. John M. Kenyon, of Toledo, Ohio, informs me 
 that in 1883 he caught a bass which was the largest 
 small-mouthed specimen he ever saw. It weighed 
 seven pounds and two ounces, and was twenty-three 
 and three-quarters inches long. He had been a per- 
 sistent fisherman, and uses the same rod for bait and 
 fly casting, a nine and half foot, six- ounce bamboo. 
 In bait casting he uses the same leader without sinker 
 and cast as with a fly only with slower motion. 
 
 A. F. Dressel, of Baltimore, Md., an expert with rod 
 and reel, some years ago took a small-mouthed bass 
 from the Potomac River, between Knoxville and 
 Brunswick, which weighed seven pounds and one six- 
 teenth ounce. 
 
 THE PICTURE IN THE WA/VE. 
 
 There are few fishermen who do not witness at 
 one time or another movements of the bass which 
 would induce the belief that they possess the senses 
 which belong to the human being. When the rivers 
 are clear and the wind down the bass are frequently 
 seen listlessly running about, and if a bait is thrown 
 almost within their mouths it will be avoided. Such 
 inaction may be observed during the spawning season, 
 or when the water is very warm during a heated 
 period. The fish have at other times been noticed 
 racing to overtake a minnow or in making warfare 
 upon the small minnows along the shore. Not infre- 
 quently does he jump into the open in an attempt to 
 
 91 
 
capture a fly or bug which may be struggling on the 
 surface of the river. 
 
 These movements furnish food for study and should 
 be noted by the boy who wants to learn all he can 
 concerning the creatures. Of the many instances which 
 interested my boy and I, one occurred in the Potomac 
 near the Monocacy River an evening in July, which 
 would have made a picture for an artist, and which 
 will never be forgotten by either of us. The sun 
 had gone down and our boatman was slowly pulling 
 us in the direction of home. We were moving up 
 stream and I had run out about fifty yards of line 
 with a live bait at the end. The boat crossed a 
 ripple, about the middle of which was a continual 
 wave with a high crest, which, after we had passed 
 over, appeared like a sheet of glass rising from the 
 surface of the water. My trolling bait, at the end of 
 a modernately slack-line, reachefd the wave and was 
 lifted up into it so that we could distinctly observe the 
 chub as if in the middle of a glass in a frame, the 
 bait parallel with the surface of the river. At that 
 instant a one- pound, small-mouthed bass attacked the 
 chub, face to face with it, and hung to the hook. The 
 whole picture of the floating bait and bass, one after 
 the other, was clearly and distinctly portrayed as if 
 behind a glass on the wall. It was over in a moment, 
 but it could have been snapped by a camera had it 
 been anticipated. It was a most remarkable and 
 inspiring presentation, and my old boatman, George 
 Walters, never forgets to relate the incident to 
 interest willing listeners. The "Picture in the Wave," 
 as we named it, was worth all the fish we had caught 
 and its like will never be seen again. 
 
 92 
 
THE NET WITH NO BOTTOM. 
 JOHN AND THE LAWYER. 
 
 On one occasion T. Walter Fowler and several 
 gentlemen were fishing and the elder of them was 
 desirous of trying one of his inventions in the form 
 of a net for keeping fish alive. This net was of tubular 
 form and about three feet long, with a draw string at 
 the bottom and a wide mouth held open by a ring. 
 The catch that day was above the average and some 
 good fish were taken; and as soon as removed from 
 the hook the fish were dropped into the open mouth 
 of the net, which was hung over the side of the boat 
 and was all submerged except the upper end. When 
 the day's sport was over and the boat put to shore, 
 the net was lifted from the water when to the amaze- 
 ment of both men not a fish was to be found. The 
 explanation for this was apparent when it was found 
 that the old gentleman had forgotten to close the lower 
 end of his trap net when he put it overboard, and 
 censequently as he put his fish into the top end they 
 at once passed out at the bottom; and it is still a 
 mooted question whether the fish caught that day 
 represented a number of fish, or the same fish caught 
 a number of times. What was said when the empty 
 net was lifted from the water was more forcible than 
 delicate and should not be repeated. 
 
 The trials of a fisherman are many and varied, 
 and was it not for the particular pleasure of antici- 
 pation" the sport would lose some of its most ardent 
 admirers. Then again it is often the case that the 
 trials do not come singly. An instance of this is 
 well remembered by a party of adherents of Izaak 
 
 93 
 
Walton, who went out for a few days sport to Goose 
 Creek, Va. Profiting by pervious experience, it was 
 determined by two of the party to take along with 
 them a supply of live bait, and accordingly a large 
 crated shipping can was obtained, likewise a liberal 
 supply of smelt; and after much care and the loss of 
 many fish the party finally arrived at the little country 
 station and "Devery" like promptly patronized a 
 pump, for fresh water for the bait still remaining alive. 
 A springless farm wagon was soon engaged for the 
 five mile trip across the country, over rough roads 
 and through thick woods. Progress was slow and 
 painful, but after the shipping can had bursted one 
 of its seams by the pressure of water and the severe 
 jolting which it received, and after the transfer of 
 the smelt to a milk can obtained from a friendly 
 farmer along the way, and the overturning of this can 
 and the spilling of the bait and the picking up of the 
 same from the bottom of the wagon, the tried and 
 somewhat disheartened party finally reached Uncle 
 Henry's comfortable farm house and, after depositing 
 the remaining live bait in a live box in the river, 
 were soon ready for supper. The next day two of 
 the party, a Doctor and a Lawyer, concluded to "lay 
 off" for the day while the others tried their luck. 
 The Doctor had brought his personal supply of bait 
 in his bucket and had sunken it from the stern of a 
 boat at the river landing, and with a satisfied calmly 
 air, though somewhat impatiently, waited for the 
 coming of next day when he would "try his luck." 
 As time dragged somewhat slowly for the two good 
 sportsmen, it was suggested by the lawyer late in the 
 afternoon, that they stroll down to the river to await 
 the return of those who had gone out to fish, a 
 
 94 
 
suggestion which the Doctor readily assented to. After 
 a short walk the boat landing was reached, when, 
 much to the dismay of the Doctor who had tied his 
 bucket of bait to a boat and sunken it in the stream, 
 the discovery was made that boat and bait were both 
 missing. No greater misfortune could have occurred, 
 for the prospect of starting fishing the next morning 
 without a supply of bait was not a pleasing one, 
 especially when all "the other fellows" were well 
 supplied with this important and necessary adjunct 
 of a fishing trip. Prompt and vigorous search was 
 made for the missing boat and bucket of bait, but 
 no trace of either could be found; and neither of the 
 returning fisherman, who had spent the day on thfe 
 water, could give any clue or offer any balm to the 
 unfortunate Doctor, but with that generosity which 
 is a part of the stock in trade of a true sportsman, 
 it was arranged that some of the others would give 
 the Doctor a supply of bait to start out with the 
 following morning. Upon the return of the party 
 at twilight to the farm house a report was made of 
 the missing boat and bucket of bait, and many theories 
 were advanced as to their disappearance. There was 
 employed on the farm for various light chores a 
 diminutive negro, of about ten years of age, by the 
 name of John. After inquiry it developed that John 
 and a stable companion, somewhat his senior, had been 
 allowed a few hours off that Sunday afternoon and 
 had concluded to take a spin on the river. When 
 this fact was made known suspicion naturally rested 
 upon John and his companion, and to ascertain what 
 had become of the boat and bait, the lawyer member 
 of the party took John in charge and subjected him to 
 a rigid cross examination. John first denied any 
 
 95 
 
knowledge of the boat, but upon a threat to take him 
 to Leesburg and put him in the lock-up he weakened 
 and tearfully admitted that his companion had removed 
 the bucket of bait from the boat and had hidden it in 
 the bushes on the shore near the landing, intending 
 to call for it later. Further cross examination failed 
 to weaken John's former statement, so the matter 
 was considered explained ; and upon request that John 
 go with the Doctor to where the bucket was hidden, 
 the two set out for the river with a lantern to light 
 their path, it being now after dark. Upon arriving 
 at the River bank John pointed out the place where 
 the bucket was hidden, but upon search no bucket was 
 found, and the two returned to the farm house with 
 negative results. John was again taken in hand by 
 the lawyer and further questioned, and he was taken 
 to the barn yard and told to get in a buggy already 
 there with the horse hitched, as he must go to Lees- 
 burg and be jailed. Here in the stillness of the night 
 and away from all others, John began to weep and 
 finally confessed that his companion in the boat had 
 taken up the bucket of bait and hauled it far out into 
 the stream, and then pushed the boat adrift and made 
 for parts unknown. This was the most likely tale and 
 was accepted as a fact and John was threatened with 
 all sorts of dire things and sent to bed. The next 
 day the Doctor had to depend on the generosity of 
 his other friends for bait and all hope of recovery of 
 boat and bait was given up. However, the farmer not 
 wishing to lose his boat started out the following 
 morning for a search of the river, and when near 
 Seneca he was told by a boatman that an empty boat 
 with oars had been seen floating down stream, but 
 had not been caught by the boatman because the latter 
 
was afraid it contained a dead man. Continuing his 
 search, the farmer soon found his boat and hanging 
 over the stern was the bait bucket, with the bait all 
 in good shape and none the worse for the five-mile trip 
 with the abandoned boat. Great was the joy of the 
 Doctor when he returned that day to be told of the 
 success of the farmer's trip ; and the laugh was on the 
 lawyer, who confessed that John was, for his age, 
 the most polished story-teller he had ever met with." 
 
 97 
 
It's Not a Fish Story I Catch 'em Everyway. 
 
NOT INTENDED TO DECEIVE. 
 
 The late Elphonzo Young an accomplished sports- 
 man, related for the edification of the boys this 
 interesting narrative: 
 
 It is a habit with some thoughtless persons to cast 
 slurs upon fish, and to ridicule fishermen and fish 
 stories, and some even go so far as to question the 
 veracity and truthfulness of fish stories in general.. 
 Having this in mind, I have always made a point of 
 adhering strictly to the truth in speaking of fish. 
 
 Some hold that it is cruel to catch a fish upon a 
 hook, and assert that to hook a fish in the mouth 
 gives the fish great pain, but I am convinced that the 
 average fish does not suffer as much from being 
 hooked and drawn out of the water as it does in 
 thinking of the lies that will be told about its size 
 and weight after it is dead. 
 
 Fish as a general thing are affectionate, and I 
 mention an incident that came under my personal 
 observation that proves to me that they are grate- 
 ful and appreciate kind treatment. 
 
 A gentleman in New York State had a large and 
 well-stocked trout pond, and his little daughter, six 
 years old, took great pleasure in feeding the fish. 
 She went regularly every day and threw the food into 
 the pond, scattering it on the surface of the water, 
 and took great delight in seeing the fish jump after 
 it., sometimes they leaped entirely out of the water, 
 and the little girl would clap her hands and shout 
 in childish glee. The fish got to know her, and when 
 she ran along the bank and called them, they came 
 to the edge of the water in great numbers, and 
 
 101 
 
wagged their tails with delight. They would eat from 
 her hand, and follow her all around the pond. 
 
 One day as she was running along the bank she 
 caught her foot against something and plunged head- 
 long into the water. Instantly the fish rushed to her 
 rescue. They formed a solid mass under her and 
 held her above the water until her father ar^ved and 97 
 rescued her from her perilous position. Her life 
 was saved, and her kindness to the fish was re- 
 warded." 
 
 NO GOOD TO CUSS. 
 
 A short story with a big moral for Anglers was 
 delivered to us by my late friend, Doctor William P. 
 Young. 
 
 Around the bend of the deep hole near the boat- 
 landing of the Hampshire Sportman's Club, on the 
 beautiful South branch of the Potomac, four miles 
 above Romney, West Virginia, half-a-dozen natives 
 of the neighborhood watched the long poles to which 
 were tied their toad-baited lines. The patriarch of 
 the party, a sturdy six-foot septusgenarian, wearing 
 a long white goatee of the well known "Uncle Sam" 
 pattern, with pole stuck in the soil, squatted, and 
 chawed, and watched. 
 
 Aroused suddenly by "a big bite," he grabbed the 
 fifteen foot pole (not an inch less), that was bent 
 almost to the surface of the stream, and gave a power- 
 ful jerk. As a big bass floundered in the shallow 
 water near the shore, and broke away, we listened 
 from our point of vantage in a boat nearby, for the 
 lurid expletives which certain ( ?) city folks indulge 
 on such occasions. Without exhibiting the least 
 
 102 
 
excitement, he exclaimed, in a deep, drawling tone, 
 "That must 'a bin a fi-pounder!;" and called to a 
 boy, "Aw aw Jim ! Bring me another toad." 
 
 Meeting him the next day, at the same place, we 
 said ; "You didn't let out a single cuss word yesterday, 
 when you lost that big bass." With a grim smile he 
 replied: "That wouldn't 'a done no good." 
 
 103 
 
Hamilton's Short Line. 
 
WHO CAUGHT THE FISH. 
 
 The enthusiastic Walter S. Harban, was relating 
 some of his remarkable experiences, and said that a 
 few years ago in company with several other gentle- 
 men, after breaking Camp on the Shennadoah, near 
 Bentonville, Va., he boated down the river as far as 
 Harper's Ferry, West Virginia, making the trip in 
 three days. The first night out they stopped at a farm 
 house ten miles below Riverton, Virginia. Upon 
 approaching the shore of the place, the water being 
 shallow for some distance, a Common Cur Dog was 
 standing well out in the stream. As he paid no 
 attention to them, nothing was thought of him until 
 when leaving the boat for the night, the dog appeared 
 and had with him a wriggling bass. The next morn- 
 ing while sitting on the porch talking to the pro- 
 prietor, the dog appeared on the front lawn, this time 
 carrying in his mouth a fine Black Bass, weighing 
 not less than two pounds. They weie then reminded 
 of the incident the evening before and the natural 
 query was, where in the deuce he got them. The owner 
 of the dog informed them that since a puppy, when 
 hungry, he would go to the river several hundred 
 yards away and catch fish and eat them, that it was 
 not unusual for him to bring in much larger fish, and 
 upon depriving him of them he would return to the 
 river and catch more. They were also informed that 
 a well known Angler of Washington, often visited 
 his place, and as this same Angler has reported many 
 large catches in the Shenandoah, it can well be sur- 
 mized who caught the fish, Angler or the dog ? 
 
 107 
 
QUEER CATCHES. 
 
 Henry Talbott one of the Inter State Commerce 
 authorities is also known to many as a sportsman of 
 rare ability, not only with rod and reel, but with 
 pen and ink said to my boy : 
 
 "A modern writer on angling commenting on the 
 stories of queer catches with the artificial fly is dis- 
 posed to be very humorous at the expense of the 
 awkwardness which could catch a haystack, yet it is 
 safe to say if the author never caught anything on 
 his fly but the trout, his experience had been limited 
 to northern rock waters and probably limited too 
 as to occasions. 
 
 The fly on wooden shores is like to fasten in the 
 back cast to an inaccessible limb and, as evidence the 
 occurance is common enough, there is a patent knife 
 on sale to be attached to the rod, to release the 
 tackle ; from a canoe in like waters he is lucky who 
 never fastens to a cat tail or ledge far behind him. 
 A friend walking along a retaining wall trying for a 
 bass at dusk heard a yelp behind him as he retrieved, 
 and found he had caught a favorite setter in the 
 nose. Birds and bats are occasionally attracted by 
 small flies and taken, and may often be seen to start 
 for the flying lure. 
 
 But the catches in front are occasionally as start- 
 ling. The dogfish is a bottom feeder, yet an eight 
 pounder has been taken in shallow water with a 
 number six fly. Cat fish are bottom feeders as well, 
 but a comrade enthusiastic enough to fish early and 
 late, has taken not only cat fish, but eels upon number 
 twelve flies. 
 
 Perhaps the strangest and most unlikely, therefore 
 
 108 
 
hardest to believe is the statement that on more than 
 one occasion the common river mussel has closed his 
 shell upon an intruding fly and been brought to land. 
 Luckily the hooks are light and the feathers offer 
 such resistance to the air that they never have 
 momentum enough to sink the barb in the flesh and so 
 one rarely heard of anglers being injured with the 
 whipping bait. One occasion which is recalled was 
 where a friend finding his hook caught on a reed 
 in front gave an angry yank, and the line being short, 
 the spring of the rod was sufficient to set the point 
 of the hook in his own forehead. In his rattled haste 
 to release it, he evidently pulled the hook the wrong 
 way and buried the barb, which had to be cut out. 
 In ten years fishing this is the only remembered 
 experience of blood drawn with the fly. 
 
 A GOOD STORY. 
 
 This is an Angler's predicament said I. Walter 
 Sharp : 
 
 Every "Brother of the Angle" has, during his 
 career, a few more or less startling experiences of 
 which the world never hears, and which if written up, 
 would furnish much interesting reading, not alone 
 to the fraternity, but to the public at large. Usually 
 the Angler is the hero of his story, but in the follow- 
 ing incident he came out a very slow second, 
 humiliated, bleeding, sore, and beaten. 
 
 My old Indian friend and fellow-camper, Machel, 
 and If were spending one of our annual outings in the 
 Cascade Mountains of Oregon, on the head/waters of 
 the wild and turbulent Clackamas River, where thou- 
 sands of Salmon breed yearly, and where mountain 
 
 109 
 
trout of several varieties fairly swarm ; in a region fifty 
 miles from a wagon road and where I never saw sight 
 of other white men. In spite of the fact that the river 
 was full of trout there were times when they would not 
 rise, so we often wanted trout when we could not 
 get them. Therefore fishing did not become monot- 
 onous, as we all know that, the uncertainty is one 
 of the greatest charms of the sport. 
 
 So it was on the occasion of which I am about to 
 relate. The trout had not been rising through the 
 day, and I spent several hours endeavoring to get 
 trout enough for supper and the following breakfast. 
 It was growing late in the afternoon, and the sun 
 had disappeared behind a lofty spur of mountains. 
 The "salmon flies" were beginning to feel the chill 
 of the evening and were helplessly dipping down on 
 the rapid surface of the water. This proved too much 
 for the sly old trout and they began to rise. I had 
 Creeled a half dozen or so nice ones, and feeling 
 comfortably about having secured the necessary "pro- 
 vender" was taking chances on losing a good one 
 which I had hooked, and who was making a very 
 determined fight for liberty. The water in which I 
 was standing was nearly waist deep and swift, while 
 a few steps below was a very deep pool, and it was 
 in thpwater that my fish was doing his acrobatic 
 stunt, some twenty-five yards from where I stood. 
 So suddenly that I was dazed for a moment, a great 
 eagle swooped down like a flash and seized my captive 
 just after he had made one of those beautiful breaks, 
 so characteristic of his species. Seeming entirely 
 unmindful of my presence, or the strain on the line, 
 he settled upon a big rock which reared up out 
 of the river. My efforts to pull the fish away from 
 
 no 
 
him were unavailing against those great talons which 
 held it. The bird was about to eat his supper at 
 once, but was suddenly arrested, as, with a terrible 
 scream, another eagle shot out of the sky and attempted 
 to take it from him. The two birds immediately 
 
 /began to "mix things," and an awful battle was on. 
 The breeze earned away myriads of downy feathers 
 as they were torn from their roots; the air was rent 
 with piercing screams; first one bird was down and 
 then the other. I could feel the constant tugging at 
 the line, but could not get it clear. The fight lasted 
 several minutes, and then one of the huge birds 
 suddenly left the rock, carrying the trout with it. 
 The other rose to follow, but during the struggle the 
 hook had fastened to one of its feet. Here was a 
 novelty indeed. I would have willingly released him, 
 but of course was entirely helpless in the matter. 
 You may know that fishing lines were scarce in that 
 particular locality, and I realized the danger of losing 
 my best one. The strain on the line, as well as on my 
 nerves, was something only to be realized by a like 
 experience. The eagle's angry cries tore the air 
 wide open. The rod bent and recovered as from 
 time to time the pressure varied. The bird struggled 
 in the air for some time and then settled back on the 
 rock from which he had not at any time gotten ^away. 
 I want to say here that a fish don't put up any kind 
 of a fight at all as compared with a big eagle. This 
 
 old fallow then triea to free hinwelf from his 
 i earnestly nopeu nc uugm. ^. ^ .. 
 
 pause at this point and consider the feelings of the 
 man at the rod end of the line he will realize that the 
 eagle was not the only fellow who was in a pickle. 
 I did not want to break the line, nor could I reach 
 
 ill 
 
trout of several varieties fairly swarm ; in a region fifty 
 miles from a wagon road and where I never saw sight 
 of other white men. In spite of the fact that the river 
 was full of trout there were times when they would not 
 rise, so we often wanted trout when we could not 
 get them. Therefore fishing did not become monot- 
 onous, as we all know that the uncertainty is one 
 of the greatest charms of the sport. 
 
 So it was on the occasion of which I am about to 
 relate. The trout had not been rising through the 
 day, and I spent several hours endeavoring to get 
 trout enough for supper and the following breakfast. 
 It was growing late in the afternoon, and the sun 
 had disappeared behind a lofty spur of mountains. 
 The "salmon flies" were beginning to feel the chill 
 of the evening and were helplessly dipping down on 
 the rapid surface of the water. This proved too much 
 for the sly old trout and they began to rise. I had 
 Creeled a half dozen or so nice ones, and feeling 
 comfortably about having secured the necessary "pro- 
 vender" was taking chances on losing a good one 
 which I had hooked, and who was making a very 
 determined fight for liberty. The water in which I 
 was standing was nearly waist deep and swift, while 
 a few steps below was a very deep pool, and it was 
 in th^pwater that my fish was doing his acrobatic 
 stunt, some twenty-five yards from where I stood. 
 So s ' [ ' -~ 
 
 eagl , 
 
 just after he had made one of those beautiful breaks, 
 so characteristic of his species. Seeming entirely 
 unmindful of my presence, or the strain on the line, 
 he settled upon a big rock which reared up out 
 of the river. My efforts to pull the fish away from 
 
 no 
 
him were unavailing against those great talons which 
 held it. The bird was about to eat his supper at 
 once, but was suddenly arrested, as, with a terrible 
 scream, another eagle shot out of the sky and attempted 
 to take it from him. The two birds immediately 
 
 /began to "mix things," and an awful battle was on. 
 The breeze caried away myriads of downy feathers 
 as they were torn from their roots; the air was rent 
 with piercing screams ; first one bird was down and 
 then the other. I could feel the constant tugging at 
 the line, but could not get it clear. The fight lasted 
 several minutes, and then one of the huge birds 
 suddenly left the rock, carrying the trout with it. 
 The other rose to follow, but during the struggle the 
 hook had fastened to one of its feet. Here was a 
 novelty indeed. I would have willingly released him, 
 but of course was entirely helpless in the matter. 
 You may know that fishing lines were scarce in that 
 particular locality, and I realized the danger of losing 
 my best one. The strain on the line, as well as on my 
 nerves, was something only to be realized by a like 
 experience. The eagle's angry cries tore the air 
 wide open. The rod bent and recovered as from 
 time to time the pressure varied. The bird struggled 
 in the air for some time and then settled back on the 
 rock from which he had not at any time gotten ^away. 
 I want to say here that a fish don't put up any kind 
 of a fight at all as compared with a big eagle. This 
 ^ was fishing predicament by pecking at the hook, which 
 I earnestly hoped he might do. If the reader will 
 pause at this point and consider the feelings of the 
 man at the rod end of the line he will realize that the 
 eagle was not the only fellow who was in a pickle. 
 I did not want to break the line, nor could I reach 
 
 ill 
 
ft. 
 
 shore without doing 1 so, for the river was wide and the 
 line not long enough to permit it. As I stood braced 
 against the current on that treacherous bottom, with 
 its glass-smoothed- bowlders, considering the situation, 
 my bird once again rose into the air. It struggled 
 a few moments, and then seeming to realize that I 
 was responsible for its plight, with a terrorizing 
 screech it darted straight at me. I realized it meant 
 to attack, and tried to dodge the blow, and in doing 
 so lost my footing and fell, but not in time to escape 
 the claw which reached for me. It caught my flannel 
 shirt at the shoulder, curing the flesh badly. I had 
 lost my hold on the rod, arid the current had carried 
 us into deep water. I tried to sink, but old eagle 
 would not have it so, and savagely pecked at my 
 head, scoring blood at every blow. I succeeded in 
 getting hold of its neck once, but those awful claws 
 of its "off" foot embedded themselves into my hand 
 so that I gladly let go. There was no telling how this 
 strange battle would have ended had not Machel, 
 hearing the unusual racket, come to the rescue. He 
 seized a stick and waded out on the lower riffle, toward 
 which we were rapidly drifting, and as he approached 
 the bird saw him and flew off as suddenly as he had 
 attacked, much to my relief. He settled on a 
 limb overhanging the water and surveyed the 
 scene. He then began pecking at his foot, 
 and then soared away. The line had wrapped a 
 branch and he had torn the hook free. The rod, reel 
 and line were recovered intact, except the leader, 
 which still hangs from the branch. My^reel was 
 firmly strapped to me, so that I lost neither it nor 
 the contents. Machel the "Good Samaritan" bathed 
 my wounds, which soon healed, but he was not over- 
 
 112 
 
generous in his banterings, and has many times since 
 laughingly prodded me in his good-natured way about 
 having saved me from the eagle." 
 
 STIPES' DOG. 
 
 There lived in the ancient and historical town of 
 Harpers Ferry a Mr. Stipes, who caught more fish 
 and knew more men who could and who could not 
 fish than any other boatman in the country. Mr. 
 Stipes related to the writer an incident which he 
 vouched for as correct, but be that as it may, it is 
 interesting. He said that he owned a very nice little 
 water dog, and on one occasion while trying his luck 
 in the Shenandoah, it occurred to him that a dog 
 might be made to fish. Fastening a short line, with 
 sinker and bait, to the dog's tail, he baited the hook, 
 tossed a stick into the middle of the stream, and the 
 dog true to his nature, swam out for the floating 
 stick. It was then a large fish grabbed the bait 
 which was floating suspended from the dog's appen- 
 dage, and the animal successfully swam shore and 
 landed a two pound bass. The dog, he said, was 
 drowned afterwards while making a similar experi- 
 ment. 
 
 THERE WAS NO HOLE. 
 
 My son began to doubt the value of fish stories 
 as they grew more doubtful, but his confidence was 
 most forcibly shaken after a friend had related the 
 incidents attending the catching of a tarpon in 
 Florida, which he said weighed 256 pounds. "Yes," 
 said the relater, "All of my many listeners on the 
 hotel plaza scouted the truth of my statement on 
 the day of the catch, and strange to say would have 
 no faith in me whatever, when I invited them down 
 
to the river to see the large hole that was left in 
 the water by the monster fish after I had pulled him 
 out." 
 
 IT IS TRUE. 
 
 Whenever the waters that contribute the fish life 
 exist there may also be found colonies of fishermen 
 who delight in displaying their accomplishments. The 
 individuals who comprise them take pride in contesting 
 for honors by displaying their skill with rod and reel 
 and what they accomplish is always accepted without 
 much discussion ; the fellow who is defeated finding 
 satisfaction in knowing that another opportunity will 
 offer to undo his rival. There is of record, a 
 feat performed by that earnest disciple Walter S. 
 Harban of Washington; which will long stand as a 
 leading accomplishment and it cannot be fully disputed 
 because the well known guide John Leipold was an 
 unexpected witness to the remarkable exploit. The 
 Doctor was casting for small-mouth black bass with 
 that beauty and touch which characterizes his work, 
 when he hooked on he supposed a tremendous fish. 
 Allowing ample play for security and sport, reeling 
 slowly and playing first to right and then to left, he 
 finally brought to mouth of the landing net not one, 
 but two good sized fish, one of which was hooked to 
 the two naught sproat hook and the other to the 
 swivel hook from which his leader was suspended. 
 This was an occasion when the experienced bass artist 
 doubted at once the wonderful luck that had come 
 / to him. It was nevertheless a fact and has afforded 
 all his fearers to whom he relates the fact of genuine 
 interest. While doubt is for a moment in evidence 
 on the part of the listening ones, the dignified force 
 with which the affair is always related dispels all 
 doubt as to the genuineness of the catch. 
 
 114 
 
Been A Fisherman All My Life Loeb. 
 
THE LITTLE BROWN BULL. 
 
 The magnificent dining hall of the Blue Ridge Club, 
 wherein song and story have entertained some of the 
 most distinguished Americans, including Joseph 
 Cannon, of Illinois, Nathan B. Scott of West Virginia, 
 the members of the celebrated Gridiron Club and 
 others, has hanging on its walls pictures and speci- 
 mens from the waters, fields and woods, numbering 
 among them, a rich and attractive deer hide, in which 
 is penciled in superb large lettering, the following 
 lines, as musically and frequently rendered by the 
 owner, the late Col. Daniel Ransdell: 
 
 Oh the little brown bull 
 
 Came down from the mountains, 
 
 Shang, rango, whango, whey, 
 And as he was feeling salutations, 
 Chased old Pratt a mile by gracious, 
 Licked old shep and two dog Towsers, 
 Then marched back home with Old 
 Pratt's Trousers, 
 
 Whango, Whey. 
 
 117 
 
We Are Wardens at the Club. 
 
LEST WE FORGET. 
 
 My son, you have been an attentive listener and 
 become a skilled practitioner in the art of bass fishing. 
 You have no doubt observed that it is not necessary 
 to belong to a fishing club in order to be a successful 
 fisherman, and, it is true that all members of fishing 
 clubs do not fish. Some of them do not care, others 
 are short in patience, many don't know how ; and 
 fishing clubs possess other winning attractions which 
 too often spoil the making of a rod and and reel expert. 
 The sportsman out and out makes a hammock in the 
 forest or the near-by shore his bed, and the blue 
 sky his covering. He cooks by the camp fire and 
 washes his own utensils. Enthusiasts of this school are 
 not so numerous in these days as formerly, but 
 Vandergrift, who has duck hunted all the fields of Ohio 
 and, who visits many game and fish sections with regu- 
 larity, enjoys high rank in this class. With the gunning 
 season closed, the St. Lawrence River and Canadian 
 Lakes open up to him glorious opportunities for fish- 
 ing, his captures ranging from black bass to musca. Mr. 
 S. H. Vandergrift, who has his home in Washington, 
 goes beyond indulgence with gun and rod for pleasure, 
 adding to it by seriously and energetically doing those 
 commendable things which make for the protection 
 of game and fish in season. 
 
 There is another prominent man in the world's 
 affairs, William Loeb, Jr., who was private Secretary 
 to President Roosevelt and who would not serve in the 
 same capacity after his chief quit the White House. 
 "Billy" Loeb as he was called in early New York 
 state days, used to fish in the big lakes, with over a 
 hundred feet of line and dragging a pound sinker 
 around on the bottom. These boyhood experiences 
 
 121 
 
he did not forget nor did the habit quit him, for, he 
 has whipped all the fine streams of Colorado, Wyom- 
 ing, Montana and Minnesota. Two trout at a time was a 
 continued occurence, but when he hooked a two pound 
 lake trout in the side while out on a lake in Minnesota, 
 which required two hours drudgery on the part ot 
 himself and boatsman to bring in and discover, he said, 
 he learned a great deal about the weight of fish fooling 
 people at times. 
 
 Howard Brooks a capital newspaper youth who can 
 write fish stories better than he can tell them and who 
 can excel in cooking and eating fish, persists in 
 using a sixty foot hand line in catching Potomac 
 perch. He does not believe in new methods nor 
 artificial bait, but, my son you must not expect every 
 fisherman to take your advice, because there are many 
 of them who would rather give it, and, John C. 
 Walker, said, "yes sir, and they always want to tell 
 you how to catch the fish when you're got him on the 
 hook and the advice scares him off, and for that reason, 
 while I've caught bass, blue fish, cat fish and other 
 species, I don't take much interest in fishing !" 
 
 My friend Albert S. Muhlhausen of the DuPont 
 Powder Company, in Delaware, is a member of the 
 George Washington Bass Fishing Club in Wilmington, 
 and, will not tell his associates any of the hundred of 
 piscatorial anecdotes he has treasured, because as he 
 puts it, "I cannot tell a lie," but he did say : 
 
 "I have six dogs and six cats, 
 
 All I could wish, 
 And every last one of them, 
 
 I've taught how to fish." 
 
 122 
 
"You probably won't believe me," began Muhl- 
 hausen when he was interupted by a sepulchral voice, 
 "You've SAID something!" 
 
 "It's a fact just the same, and if the eight black 
 bass were alive I could prove it by exhibiting them. 
 It was this way, I was spending the summer up in New 
 York State, " 
 
 "What place?" came the interruption. 
 
 "Never mind the place, it isn't on the map. You 
 have to go in by stage and I forget the name anyway. 
 It's a queer Indian name, all full of g's and c's. You 
 couldn't pronounce it if I spelled it for you. Well, 
 anyway, I took a small cottage up on the top of a 
 hill opposite a big estate where an ugly cuss lived 
 who had a lake on his place, and this lake was full of 
 black bass, but this chap was so blamed selfish he 
 wouldn't let anybody fish there but just himself. Queer 
 how selfish some people are. 
 
 "Well, I decided I was going to get some of those 
 bass. It took me a long time to figure it out, but I 
 finally did it. This lake was in a little valley just at 
 the foot of the hill opposite my front porch, may~be 
 about half a mile away. I went to work and in two 
 days I had made one of those Blue Hill box kites 
 such as Arthur Rotch used to fly when he was making 
 tests of air curents up at Blue Hill Massachusetts. 
 Rotch is dead now or I'd ask him to tell you the 
 shape of the kite. Anyway, I built the kite, and 
 underneath it I rigged a little pulley and ran through 
 this pulley another string, separate from the one 
 controlling the kite. On the end of it I fastened a 
 bass hook with a sinker heavy enough to pull the 
 string down to the water. Would you believe me, " 
 
 123 
 
Norment and a Group of Fisherman. 
 
"We would NOT!" shouted a man in the back of 
 the room. 
 
 "Jealous," said Muhlhausen. 
 
 "Would you believe me, I baited that hook with a 
 
 minnow," 
 
 "Whereja get the minnow?" came the interruption. 
 
 "Out of a pail," said Muhlhausen. Then he con- 
 tinued, "I sat on the front porch and flew that kite 
 out over the lake, let go the string and dropped the 
 minnow right over in the middle of the lake. I bet 
 you the bass that jumped for the bait went up in the 
 air nearly twenty feet and grabbed the minnow, hook 
 and all. I hauled in the kite and that bass with it, 
 and he weighed six pounds. He was THAT long. 
 I flew the kite out six times and each time I brought 
 in a bass. I figured I had about enough for a good 
 mess, for each fish weighed from four to eight pounds. 
 1 tried again, and that time I had a bass that must 
 have weighed between ten and eleven pounds, but 
 by this time the ugly cuss who owned the lake saw 
 what I was doing. He came out with a rifle, and 
 just as I got the bass up over his pasture he shot 
 and cut the string which carried the bass. It fell on 
 dry land and he went over and picked it up. He 
 swung it around and put his thumb up to his nose 
 and wiggled his fingers at me. It's a pretty blamed 
 mean man that will steal a chap's fish that way isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "How much did that last bass weigh?" said the 
 interrupter. 
 
 "Somewhere between eighteen and twenty pounds," 
 said Muhlhausen. 
 
 "How large was the box kite?" some on asked. 
 "I don't remember," said Muhlhausen. 
 
 127 
 
"Well, you've got a polka dot memory all right" 
 was the rejoinder. 
 
 "How's that?" said Muhlhausen. 
 
 "Good in spots" was the answer. 
 
 John F. Storm of St. Louis is Secretary of the 
 famous Jim Lewis Fishing and Sporting Club, an 
 organization of National repute, that holds an annual 
 meeting at Petoskey, where Judges, Doctors, Lawyers, 
 Bankers, Senators and Representatives and plain every 
 day gentlemen gather to fish, dine and sing. The 
 author in' grateful to the Secretary for attention given 
 by the Globe-Democrat at his suggestion and as 
 follows : 
 
 Sylvester's New Poem on Jim Lewis Club. 
 
 Maj. Richard Sylvester, of Washington, D. C, who 
 years ago was a St. Louis newspaper man, has burst 
 into song again. It was Sylvester, by the way, who 
 composed the famous fish poem, "De Clickin' of the 
 Reel," and it is fishing that has inspired his muse this 
 time. The latest product of his divine afflatus is 
 entitled "Storm at Petoskey," and is dedicated to the 
 Jim Lewis Fishing and Sporting Club of which Maj. 
 Sylvester is official punster. Here it is: 
 
 Hear that storm you know so well ! 
 
 It scatters like the shot and shell ! 
 
 It blows around here every year, 
 
 And brings the gathering luck and cheer. 
 
 It blows the hookworm on the line, 
 
 And makes one's eyeballs brightly shine. 
 
 When it comes the reel must run ; 
 
 Then the bass has lots of fun. 
 
 Look to the left, then to the right, 
 
 128 
 
Now it's up, then out of sight. 
 
 Dips that net beneath the wave, 
 
 That mighty fish you've got to save. 
 
 For the Lewis Club has come once more, 
 
 Camping on Petoskey's shore. 
 
 That's the story you often read, 
 
 Now the storm has gone away, 
 
 To come again some other day. 
 
 Nothing but the truth it tells, 
 
 As the membership it swells, 
 
 Again the fish are fancy free, 
 
 Alone in glory, as they ought to be. 
 
 129 
 
Bready of the Dam. 
 
The Blue Ridge Rod and Gun Club. 
 
 This organization was incorporated under the laws 
 of Virginia and its attractiveness is shown in some of 
 the illustrations, my son, but there are some features 
 that the camera did not get. Located in a prohibition 
 state, springs from the high capped Blue Ridge 
 Mountains, quench the thirsty while the Potomac 
 washes the mountain base. 
 
 The distinguished membership limited to fifty stal- 
 wart Isaac Waltons or Daniel Boones, is given in these 
 closing pages and the names of those who are 
 expert with rod and gun, are marked with an asterisk. 
 
 *Mr. Milton E. Ailes 
 *Dr. George N. Acker 
 *Mr. Alexander Britton 
 *Mr. Conrad Becker 
 *Mr. Evans Browne 
 *Mr. Charles E. Berry 
 *Mr. John H. Clapp 
 *Mr. John M. Culp 
 *Mr. Joseph Cranford 
 *Mr. Henry D. Crampton 
 *Mr. G. Thomas Dunlop 
 *Mr. J. Maury Dove 
 *Mr. Daniel Eraser 
 *Mr. Thomas M. Gale 
 *Mr. Herbert A. Gill 
 *Mr. Frank C. Henry 
 *Mr. James F. Hood 
 *Mr. Charles E. Hood 
 *Mr. William F. Ham 
 *Mr. James H. Hayden 
 
 *Mr. Phelan C. Hawn 
 *Dr. Walter S. Harban 
 *Mr. Frank J. Hogan 
 *Mr. Philander Johnson 
 *Mr. William C. Johnson 
 *Mr. Rudolph Kauffmann 
 *Mr. Victor KaupfFmann 
 *Mr. Charles Linkins 
 *Dr. T. N. McLaughlin 
 *Mr. James D. Maher 
 *Mr. H. C. McKenney 
 *Mr. E. S. Marlow 
 *Mr. William H. Moses 
 *Mr. Harry C. Moses 
 *Mr. Benjamin S. Minor 
 *Mr. William A. Mearns 
 *Mr. Clarence F. Norment 
 *Mr. Harry Norment 
 *Mr. Wm. R. Stansbury 
 *Mr. J. Henry Small 
 
 133 
 
*Col. Richard D. Simms *Mr. Irving Williamson 
 
 *Mr. Ewd. J. Stellwagen *Mr. Charles P. Williams 
 
 *Mr. Charles A. Safer *Mr. Allan E. Walker 
 
 *Mr. Theobald J. Talty *Mr. Henry L. West 
 
 *Mr. Benjamin Woodruff *Mr. E. J. Walsh 
 
 'A DREAMIN'. 
 
 I jes' set here a dreamin' 
 
 A-dreamin' every day, 
 Of the sunshine that's a-gleamin' 
 
 On the rivers fur away. 
 
 An' I kinder fall to wishin' 
 I was where the waters swish; 
 
 Per if the Lord made fishin', 
 Why a feller ought to fish ! 
 
 While I'm studyin,' or a-writin,' 
 In the dusty, rusty town, 
 
 I kin feel the fish a-bitin' 
 See the cork a-goin down! 
 
 An' the sunshine seems a-tanglin' 
 Of the shadows cool an' sweet; 
 
 With the honeysuckles danglin,' 
 An' the lilies at my feet. 
 
 So I nod, an' fall to wishin' 
 I was where the waters swish; 
 
 Fer if the Lord made fishin', 
 Why a feller orter fish ! 
 
 Frank L. Stanton. 
 
 134 
 
A CONTRIBUTION. 
 
 In the year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred, a lover 
 of Sir Izaak Walton, joined the Blue Ridge Rod and 
 Gun Club. He had heard so much of one Walter 
 Harban, of his wonderful bass fishing, and of his 
 wonderful catches, and how, when he got out of bait, 
 he would send his dog into the river to catch bass, he 
 determined to become a regular fisherman and pur- 
 chased a complete outfit, engaged a boat and boatman, 
 and started out. Having heard so much about these 
 wonderful, wily fish; how strong and sporty they 
 were he thought it advisable to get a rather strong 
 rod and line. The day was fine, water perfect, bait 
 good, and he had a competent and experienced boat- 
 man, by the name of one Riley, "one of the finest 
 fisherman that ever came down the pike." Mr. Riley 
 could not tell our subject anything about fishing. 
 Phelan put on a "mad-torn", and also a rather "hefty" 
 sinker, (only about four ounces of best lead), and then 
 began to cast. Things didn't run very smoothly at 
 first ; line would "back-lash" ; couldn't get bait out far 
 enough, but by perseverance and after a "good pull" 
 at some of the finest Braddock Spring Water, 
 he got up nerve and started again. The rest 
 of the story as told by Phelan was as follows: 
 I noticed my friend, Mr. Riley, was getting 
 nervous and would duck and dodge every time I made 
 a cast. It looked to me like he would prefer taking a 
 swim, but nothing daunted me, so I got ready and 
 gathered all my strength gave one mighty swing (with 
 both hands) and I want to tell you, that certainly was 
 some cast, for our friend, Mr. Riley, not being a good 
 dodger or prize-fighter, missed dodging that "hefty" 
 
Bear, Deer, Turkey and Bass. 
 
four ounce sinker. I soaked Mr. Riley with that sinker 
 right in the forehead ; between his two "headlights" 
 and he certainly was some submarine expert (don't 
 know which nationality) for he came up right under 
 my boat, amid-ship and I performed a most beautiful 
 "loop the loop", but the most wonderful and marvelous 
 thing happened ; when that hefty sinker hit Mr. Riley 
 it was severed from my line, recochotted and hit a 
 man on the canal at Sandy Hook (clear across the 
 river), whom I am told thought a meteor had fallen 
 from Heaven, but the mad-torn remained upon my 
 line and landing in a beautiful eddy or pool, my reel 
 began to sing and with one strong pull, I jerked out 
 of the river the most beautiful five and one-half pound 
 "small mouth" black bass you ever saw. / certainly 
 did jerk that bass. I landed him up in a sycamore 
 tree, dangling on my line about thirty (30) feet up in 
 the air, so being a "dead shot" from Tennessee, I took 
 out my revolver and cut the line first crack. Mr. 
 Riley seemed to be so highly amused ( I don't know 
 about what) that he fell over-board again and very 
 nearly drowned. He said, "You certainly are some 
 fisherman, but if you don't mind, I'd just as soon as 
 you'd keep off that there sinker, not that the like's o' 
 me would presume to give a sportsman like you any 
 advice about fishing, but these here fish up here in these 
 here waters don't like no lead." "Guess they have been 
 shot at so much they aint got over the war yet." So 
 I put on a fresh mad-torn, left off the sinker, and by 
 avoiding a back-lash every other cast, I had one of 
 the best days sport of my life. "On my honor as a 
 fisherman", I caught that day, sixty-five bass, the 
 smallest weighing three and one-half pounds. Of 
 
 139 
 
course, I don't mean to brag; never bragged in my 
 life, but they do say all over the world that Colonel 
 Hawn of Tennessee, is one of the finest. 
 
 Here's hoping I'll soon meet you and some of the 
 boys at our beautiful club ; have an interview with 
 "Col. Braddock", embellished with some of Old Vir- 
 ginia's finest grass, and gather around the "Round 
 Table", where I will tell you of some of my really 
 wonderful experiences and adventures on my per- 
 sonally conducted tours on the tributaries of the 
 Potomac. 
 
 Mr. Rudolph Kauffmann being jealous of my repu- 
 tation as a fisherman and wishing to get in "my class" 
 was permitted to accompany me on a little fishing trip 
 on the South Branch. He can tell you all about it. 
 What I did to the fish and Mr. Kauffmann "was a 
 plenty." Rudolph says, "He never will forget it; 
 is was marvelous." Modesty keeps me from writing 
 more. 
 
 140 
 
FISHIN' FEVER. 
 
 There is one disease which cannot be cured by 
 innoculation and that is "Fishing Fever." My 
 piscatorial friend R. R. M. Carpenter, distinguished 
 as the Director of the Development Department of 
 the Du Pont de Hours Powder Company has not 
 introduced his product to the catching of bass and 
 trout, but abandons the trade to partake of exceptional 
 opportunities at week ends, to capture "prize winners." 
 He is an apt scholar and sings : 
 
 "I don't go often, but when I do, 
 I catch the big ones, 
 I would go often, if I knew, 
 I'd always get the big ones." 
 
 No one of the Blue Ridge Club people has done 
 more to advance the interests of that organization that 
 J. Maury Dove, many years the President. He didn't 
 do it by fishin', but by keeping house and having 
 things right when the boys came in from a days 
 outing on the river. 
 
 141 
 
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