? S (eV y Wess LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap..te.! Copyright Nox. Shelf ae aa —s| “a OS tA wa \¥ IR OCK te Sie Nes BAS OID ESS GRR) RR ‘@ SS si << Bor Z UNV AGNYVS LY SSVd AO HOLVO SUDOHOML ANGLING IN THE Lakes of Northern I[linois HOW AND WHERE TO FISH THEM. INTERSPERSED WITH NUMEROUS ANECDOTES. Profusely Illustrated by Descriptive Charts of the Various Waters of the Fox River Lakes, Showing the Locations of the Fishing Grounds, and the Best Method of Fishing Them. ¥ By CHAS. F. JOHNSON. s CHICAGO: THE AMERICAN FIELD PUBLISHING CO. I< P 1896. 7134h- a: \ le COPYRIGHT, 1896, 7 BY : ; ; THE AMERICAN FIELD PUBLISHING CO. - CHICAGO : ’ i . . ‘ 4 - ne » . Ey Fi a ; at — yt ’ ’ Se The Blakely Printing Co., Chicago. GON TENTS. CHAPTER I. Sand Lake—Slough Lake—The Irishman and the (Or eis aes nie ee ee OOo eae Oo CI GOT CHAPTHR TI: Fourth or Miltimore Lake—My First Catfish...... CHAPTER Ti: Grooked Lake—O’Leary’s GOOSe......... .+-+-+e-+ CHAPTHR IV. Cedar Lake—Tubby’s Second Run—A Patriotic Lob- CHAPTHR V. Deep Lake—Sun Lake—Tommy and the Goat...... CHAPTER VI. Hastings Lake—My Poetical Fishing Friend— Angling for am Otter. ..........-eeseeeeee reece CHAPTER VII. Huntley’s Lake—Swallowing a Fishhook........ CHAPTER VIII. Lake Marie and Bluff Lake—Shell Fish and Clam Chowder—The Colonel’s Photograph............ CHAPTER IX. First or Gage’s Lake—An Embarrassing Position— The Incident of an Iron Pot.......... Siayecaiee CHAPTER X. Chittenden and Druce Lakes—Sandy McGree’s Hel CHAPTER X11. Long Lake—A Lesson in Bait-Casting—Toby Snuf- fles and the Little School Marm—Up-to-date Bar- (OlGDAGEMEI DIES SUE Round Lake—A Queer Advertisement and a Mronbplesome Came. «<0 ss cketataereeie avetaré CHAPTER NIII. Taylor's Lake—A Legend of Limburger Cheese. ... CHAPTER XIV. Gray’s Eocneaeee First and Last Experience in | FRENTE INUINO t eps tecetarss = rap estatere ee wise Mste talatene ace Ys) CH APTE Re XV. Channel Lake—Lake Catherine—Loon Lake—Loceat- ing Strange Waters—How and When to Strike a MUST, ais sana SW Bow Sua. ceave caaue Rous Ree NaG cone ene lceuemetaritebs 105 CHAPTER XVI. Fox Lake—Petite Lake—Observations on Skitter- tie and) Bait Castine Tec ecie science seis) cer cleerne ciarcericme kal ILLUSTRATIONS Smith Wright, the well-known Sand Lake guide and expert angler........ Si adievdiys ss Sve), He easy lees th Sand Lake and Slough Lake. Rite wholes atinersie se eeelale iP Ourthy or Malimone Wales ces crerevcieistclen sino Shore see 17 “T was so paralyzed at the sight of my capture as to immediately drop everything”............. 2 “Tt’s a dogfish—why, you can’t eat that thing’”’.... 2: Crooked ake. dic eee ochre Siatane afoot esata a cians ice Maes 26 “That dhoul of a bird w aS harder than rock itself” 29 “And erected a mound to his memory” ......... . oa “Hagerly eae, his rod with wrapt attention”... 39 Cedar Lake. pha esc ch weep eS Srleq nakeyacevadelels cee Aad “Ye gods! what an . avalanche of lobsterian “matter descended? in. Our sildStiteee as wares wt ese) ae ere 43 Deep. Balses sve US Wales vec ascis. 5 here oe term oie eae 44 “And commenced a most malignant assault upon LE OUUEUINY Gace Srorchwysl census: Spanale sen enapeaersy stensy ta) A ky Suatonaia irene 47 “T managed to crawl and cling to ‘the slope clear Olt Maye SG ooo oer otearselts ecko Re axe aie ce aioue are, race OL Astin Ss: MMAISC: Sense Sa ora ere 73 Chittenden and “Drice, Walkese2 obama oe eee 76 VOUT CO aa evince fo sagen Bie dele pealiays Gr aitaenelecn eee ee 83 ECO UWI Trae e tre edna aie le ue enretene sacs. Soe erste nie cena 86 Taylor's» Wales ./.. tee Y ZAA 24 FOURTH OR MILTIMORE LAKE. “Been fishing, Mr. Johnson?” he asked. “Had any luck ?” “Well,” I said, “I hardly know. I have got a fish in this bag, but what it is or if it is good to eat I cannot tell.”’ A look of covetous surprise went around the group when I exhibited my fish, and the foreman, after recovering from his astonishment at the sight of so big a fish, remarked, indifferently: “Well, I guess you had better bury that fish right away.” “Bury it!” I exclaimed, “why, isn’t it good to eat?’ “Good to eat!” he answered. “Good for nothing! Why it’s a catfish, and deadly poison!” I was sadly disappointed at this intelligence and was turning dejectedly away, when the foreman hailed me, saying: “Here, Johnson, I tell you what I'll do; that fisb has got an uncommon fine head, and would look well mounted, I’ll give you a dime for it!’’ “Here’s the fish,” I said, “I don’t want your dime; I’m glad you saved me the trouble of carrying it two miles farther in the hot sun!” It was two days after that when I heard what a scrumptious fish supper the gang had eaten at my expense, and for the next few days I could never pass the gang of section hands without a broad grin dis- playing itself upon the features of the Swedes, and hearing a bantering inquiry from the foreman as to whether I was going fishing or had another catfish to sell. However, 1 made up my mind to get a catfish, and one morning—rigged up with a strong pole and suit- able tackle—found me again at the same pool. I fished hard all day and was about giving up in disgust when, sure enough, I had a good strong bite, but nothing to compare with my previous one. After about ten min- utes’ fight I landed him and this time it was a long, snaky looking fish with small wicked eyes, weighing FOURTH OR MILTIMORE LAKH, 25 about eight pounds and looking something like a pickerel, but I knew it wasn’t a pickerel. Triumph- antly I bore my prize away, down the track, until I met the section gang. Every one of them suspended work immediately I arrived, and clustered around with great interest. “Well, I'll be goldarned if Johnson ain’t been and got a big dogfich this time,’ the foreman exclaimed. “A what?” I asked, in indignant protest. “Tt’s a dogfish, sure, and the rottenest kind of fish that swims; why, you can’t eat that thing!” “Come, now,” I exclaimed, getting angry, “this is too stale; here, the first fish I showed you you tell me isa catfish, unfit to eat, yet you fellows have the treat of your lives making a supper off it, and now you think you can kid me again. Not much! But, now see here, boys, you can’t do it, for this fish, no matter what kind of a fish it is, a dogfish, cowfish, horsefish, or any blarsted animal fish you like to call it, no matter what funny name you like to give, I’ll take that fish home, cook and eat a couple of pounds of it if I die five minutes afterward. No, no!’ I muttered, as I shoul- dered my fish and walked away, ‘“‘you ‘conned’ me once, but you can’t work that old game on me again.” When I arrived at my bachelor establishment, I cut a good, generous three-pound steak from the shoulder of the fish, boiled it and on principle made the fish gorge of my life. For the next two weeks the medical gentleman from the nearest town called regularly at “Johnson’s shack,” as my little frame house was called; and, during that time, the many neighbors who came to inquire how I was progressing never got further than the door—the everlasting retching which greeted their ears leaving them in doubt as to whether Johnson was in the last throes of hydrophobia or re- linquishing his intestines piecemeal. 26 CROOKED LAKE. PEEP WATER - a e re SN (© o D ' i eae : CO % Ri Sie Oe e ai Ne Y Me Sas ‘ ae e { TROLLING 7) 3 Se xt ¢ WATER WO s ES COP + Bee ? aa Va f/f ““AND ERECTED A MOUND TO HIS MEMORY’’ consented to take the birds, and Andy went away happy with instructions to kill, draw and deliver the geese to the tenants and call up at the big house a week later for his money. It was about two weeks afterward that one of the tenants, Mrs. McCarty, called to see Aunty on some af- fair of trifling import and Aunty casually asked her 34 CROOKED LAKE. how she had enjoyed her New Year’s goose. At this query Mrs. McCarty became terribly embarrassed. “By all the saints in hiven, Ma’am,” she replied, ‘“ ’tis an onmintionable subject in our house; and the tough unholy baste lies this minit on the top shelf of the cabin, unaten.” “Why, you surprise me,’ said Aunty, “for Andy O'Leary assured me his geese were all young and tender!”’ “Andy O’Leary!”’ screeched Mrs. McCarty; “and is it to that murthering rascal I’m _ risponsible for me throuble? Why, Mrs. O’Dowd, Ma’am, begging your ladyship’s humble pardon for spaking of it, I boiled that blaggaard of a goose for one whole night and two blissed days, before ever so much as the prong of a fork could make a dent on his leathery old carcass; and it’s roasted and well basted before a slow fire it was for jist another day, by little Mickey; and then I thought, ‘surely ’tis tinder and atable the bhurd should be now!’ But, Mrs. O’Dowd, dear, thrue as I'm shtand- ing here in your prisince, that dhoul of a bhurd was harder than rock itsilf! Wasn’t it me husband who at- timpted to gnaw a bite of mate from the terrible thing and broke off short the only three teeth in his face; and wasn’t it little Mickey, who’s now at home wid his jaw eracked and me best woolen scarf round his innercent little skull to keep his little face straight at all, at all, because the unthinking little gossoon imagined he could chate the bhurd’s leg of a bite of grissle? Oh, Mrs. O’Dowd, ’tis sorra the day you prisinted me wid that garralikin of a bhurd!” As Aunty had received no complaints from the other tenants, she felt sure that some mistake had been made by Andy, and finally persuaded Mrs. McCarty to go over to Andy’s cabin and find out the facts of the case; at the same time counseling her to make the necessary inquiries in a peaceable and neighborlike manner. Mrs. McCarty started on her errand and soon arrived CROOKED LAKE. 35 at the O’Leary residence, where she was welcomed in the most cordial manner by Mrs. O’Leary and informed that Andy was not at home. After the first greetings were over and a little preliminary chat had been broached, Mrs. McCarty came straight to the matter in hand. “Mrs. O’Leary,”’ she said, putting on her most per- suasive smile and best company manners, “Oi would loike to know where Andy found that devil of a goose he left at my cabin two weeks ago?” “Shure, darlint, I'll tell you,” the other replied, “ ’twas old Patsy; me husband, the Lord forgive him, killed the bhurd by mistake, and ’tis mesilf that haven’t done crooning and lamenting for the loss of my old favorite yet!” “Old Patsy!” ejaculated Mrs. McCarty; ‘‘who’s old Patsy ?”’ “Why, Mrs. McCarty, dearie, ’tis yoursilf that’s aware me maiden name was Patsy before I married that unthinking gossoon, Andy O’Leary; and, bedad, ‘tis thrue that Patsy and I were gossoons together. Me father prisinted me wid the bhurd for a playmate whin I was jist a year old, and I’m jist sixty-three years this coming Michaelmas!” “Holy Katie!” yelled Mrs. McCarty; “tell me, is it thrue I attimpted to cuke and ate a goose sixty-three years old?” “Indade and ’tis,’ sorrowfully acquiesced her old neighbor; ‘“‘sorra the day such a terrible mishtake hap- pened. But, Mrs. McCarty, darlint, shure ye can sym- pathize wid me loss. I know ye have never aiten the poor, stringy old darlint; send me his ramanes, if ’tis only his bones, and take a sorrowing lone woman’s blissing and the fattest and best goose in the pig-stye home wid yees!” The upshot of the matter was, Mrs. McCarty de- parted with a plump green goose, and well satisfied with her old neighbor’s explanation. Old Patsy’s re- 36 CROOKED LAKR. mains were duly forwarded to the disconsolate Mrs. O’Leary, who buried her defunct favorite behind the cabin and erected a mound to his memory. CHAP TAR IV. CEDAR LAKE. TUBBY’S SECOND RUN. A PATRIOTIC LOBSTER. There are some persons of so peculiarly receptive temperament that, once an idea finds lodgment in their brain, it remains to the utter exclusion of. everything else. Cedar Lake is always associated in my mind with such an individual. His name was Perey Regi- nald Plantaganet Tubbs. It follows without saying that an individual bearing so luxuriant an appendage of given names was of British extraction. According to his own version he was a dark, dark, blue-blooded aristocrat, tracing a direct lineal descent from King Alfred of burnt cake renown; but according to the re- port of his bosom friend and fellow refugee, Jimmy Smith, Tubbs, or Tubby as we always ealled him, was the result of a common-law marriage between a Bill- ingsgate fish girl and a Shoreditch bogle jerker, or in other words, one of those industrious individuals in- digenous to all large cities, who tind pocketbooks before they are lost. However, it is not of Tubbs’ pedigree I would speak, but rather of his angling exploits. The first time I fished Cedar Lake I took Tubby with me, intending to initiate him into the mysteries of pickerel fishing. The first day I had to run over to Waukegan on busi- ness. But, before doing so, I took Tubby down to the lake, rigged him out with suitable tackle, and a big bob float beneath which dangled an unusually large, lively chub. My principal instruction to Tubby was the following: “When a pickerel takes the bait, let him have it un- til he makes the second run; then strike him! But, on (87) 38 CEDAR LAKE. no account, strike him until he does make the second run.” After fixing him up all right and telling him what time to expect me back, in the evening, I jumped into the buggy and was about to start, when away went Tubby’s big float with a terrific rush, evidently tugged at by a large fish. On looking at my watch I found there was barely time to catch my train, so calling to Tubby to remember my directions, and on no account to strike until the fish made the second run, I drove away. . It was late in the evening when I returned to the hotel and Tubby had not come in from the lake. I ealled a couple of the boys and we hurried off to the spot at which I had left Tubby in the morning. There, in the gathering gloom, we found him, eagerly watch- ing his rod, with rapt attention, oblivious to everything around. “Hallo, Tubby, old man, any luck?” I asked. “How the bloody blazes do I know yet?” he answered pettishly. “Well, old chap,’ I said; “if after fishing for fourteen mortal hours in one spot, you are unable to answer my query, you must be a bird of a fisherman.” “Oh, rats!” he jerked out, ‘‘the blarsted fish ain’t made his second run yet!” ‘What!’ I roared, in amazement; “do you seriously mean to say this is the same bite I left you with this morning ?”’ “Course it is,” he replied. We took a boat and by the aid of a lamp followed the line through the weeds (for to budge it an inch by the hardest pulling we found to be impossible), until we ultimately reached the spot at which the line term- inated in a large bunch of weeds, weighing about a hundredweight. This we lifted into the boat and rowed ashore, where we commenced to examine it. There, in the very center of the weedy mass, was Tubby’s hook, and attached to it the gills only of what had recently CEDAR LAKE. 39 been an enormous pickerel, which, judging from the size of the relic on the hook, must have weighed at least thirty pounds; but where the rest of the fish was the Lord, or more correctly speaking the turtles, only know. Cedar Lake is reached from Lake Villa Depot, on the ‘ : Guu Woy ip egress ¢ ?, “BAGERLY WATCHING HIS ROD, WITH RAPT ATTENTION’”’ Wisconsin Central, is a trifle over fifty miles from Chicago, and affords excellent bass and pickerel fish- ing. The fishing in Celar Lake is at its best during September and October. The deep pickerel hole marked A on the chart contains large fishes, but I have never had much success fish- 40 CEDAR LAKE. ing in the deep water, but rather on the “ground” ad- joining the deep water and leading to the fringe of weeds north of the deep hole. I am of the opinion that large pickerel, when they retire to the deep waters, do so for privacy and concealment, and are not in a feeding humor. The shallow pocket north of the island is one of the best bass grounds for evening fish- ing in the lake. The rocky bottom between the island and the rush bed on the west point of the island will at times yield fairly good sport to the fly fisherman, small and me- dium-sized bass being very plentiful. It is rarely that fly-fishing for bass is productive of large fishes, half a pound to three-quarters, with an occasional pounder; but the sport that can be enjoyed with a half-pound bass upon the fly-rod is fully equal to that of a two- pounder upon the bait-casting rod. Of course, the smaller bass should be returned to the water, and nobody who claims to be a sportsman would think of retaining a bass under a pound weight (unless the fish is so injured as to render its living uncertain), and this is small enough in all conscience. K very fine bass ground for early morning and late evening fishing is that off the weed bed on the east end of the lake, and thence around the southern shore of the island. This stretch of fishing ground, if fished carefully when the bass are feeding there, will gen- erally give the angler a big catch. I have generally found frogs to be the best bait for evening fishing in Cedar Lake, on those bass grounds adjoining the shore line. The deep hole on the northeast spur, marked B, is another excellent bass ground. ‘The fishes corae out to feed in the shallower water surrounding it. The finest eatch of bass I have ever seen taken by an individual angler, from Cedar Lake, at one time, was that taken six years ago by my old friend George Wilberforce. He came down on the early morning train one Saturday, started in fishing at 11 a. m., and left again for Chi- CEDAR LAKE. 41 cago by the evening train; altogether he was uot ac- tually fishing more than four hours, and two hours of this tinie he wasted in locating the ground. His catch was nine black bass weighing thirty-six pounds, and a finer and more equal-sized lot of fish I have never seen, considering the circumstances of the catch. His bait had dwindled down to four frogs, an imperfect frog bag, during his journey down, having allowed the remainder of a dozen to escape. He carefully econo- mized on his bait, using only the leg of a frog instead SHALLOW POCKET Good BASS CROUND oes £0 Go) pease Goud? CS or ee Liiklas of the whole, and with these four frogs he caught the nine bass mentioned. George, poor fellow, is now no more; but many were the delightful outings I enjoyed in his company. He fell a victim to his love of salmon fishing, three years ago, when wadiog a particularly dangerous, precipi- tous-bordered, salmon pool in North Donegal, Ireland. He inadvertently stepped into a deep hole, his waders filled at the waist, and unable to extricate himself he drowned. The first time I met George was on the Furnesia dur- 42 CEDAR. LAKE. ing an ocean trip from Moville to New York. He was making a fishing trip to the Pacific Coast, in company with three other Englishmen. One of them was named Fitzgerald, and the names of the others I cannot re- member. It was their first visit to the United States, and Fitzgerald, like most Englishmen on their first visit, viewed the customs and manners of the country in a somewhat supercilious and contemptuous light. George stood a dinner in New York before we sepa- rated, at some hotel, I think as near as I can remember it was the Bryant House. I shall never forget the look which the head waiter gave our party, when Fitzgerald, after we were seated at the table, putting on his mono- cles and most killing, languid air, and after looking at the bill of fare, remarked that a freshly boiled lob- ster would be just the thing; adding in a contemptuous manner he supposed it would be impossible to obtain such a luxury in America. The waiter, with blood in his eye, told him he guessed he could be accommo- dated, so Fitzgerald added a lobster to the already varied order. We started in with soup. It was vermicelli, and re- markably good; but Fitzgerald found fault with it. The wait between the soup and the fish was some- what protracted, fully twenty minutes, and during this interval Fitzgerald indulged in sarcastic remarks about the country. However, presently the lobster made its appearance, and such a lobster! Never before and never since have I seen such a remarkable crustacean. It appeared to weigh fifty pounds, and I think the waiter, out of pure patriotism, must have scoured the country for miles around to obtain the largest lobster in existence. It made its debut on an enormous platter, and ye gods! what an avalanche of lobsterian matter descended in our midst when it was placed on the table. First was the body cut carefully in sections, each section pur- posely placed in a position calculated to display its mammoth proportions to the utmost; piled crosswise CHDAR LAKE. 43 above rose the smaller claws and crossing the whole were the two huge claws, each one a feast for a dozen hungry men. We all sat dumfounded at the spectacle! Hven Fitzgerald was mum, unable to say a word, while the waiter stood by with the most serious countenance imaginable, and glibly apologized for having to serve us with such a small lobster, stating that the house was out of large ones; but aS we appeared so anxious “YE GODS! WHAT AN AVALANCHE OF LOBSTERIAN MATTER DESCENDED IN OUR MIDST”’ to have lobster he had heavily bribed tne cook to send that one to the table, it being a standing order of the hotel that no lobster weighing less than two hundred- weight was ever to be put on the table, as a lobster weighing less than that lacked the peculiar delicious flavor and piquancy so much. sought after by epicures. “Holy smoke!”’ was all the astounded Fitzgerald could gasp, “if this is a small American lobster, what in the world are the big ones like?” 44 DEEP LAKE AND SUN LAKE. \ SUN LAKE, Y Y *. pUSHES.. wn EXCELLENT. Ssh BASS GROUND CEU ass @RouMD ee stele [ com rami ( LARGE BASS ) } \ & PICKEREL x ee X — A lo a Ly sy ig ote Se ¢ Ve x of 9% See fel wae Hih8 Y Sy My 6 é o 1CE HOUSE DEEP LAKE CHAPTER. DEEP LAKE AND SUN LAKE. TOMMY AND THE GOAT. Instead of teaching the young idea how to shoot, I have endeavored to instil into the mind of Johnson Junior a due appreciation of the delights of fishing. A trip for perch, three weeks ago, so enthused my oldest son Tommy that he has since been able to think and speak of nothing but fishing. At the present moment Tommy is laid up for repairs, is in the deepest disgrace, and bears the general ap- pearance of a small boy who has inadvertently run up against a thrashing machine. This state of affairs is all due to Tommy’s attempt to prematurely enjoy the pleasure of playing and killing a large fish, or, more correctly speaking, a big goat of the William species. It appears that Tommy was so brimful of the day’s sport he had with the pereh on his memorable fishing trip, that he talked the matter over with a neighbor’s boy, and they mutually agreed it would be splendid fun to hook something big, to chase it around in turns, and hold the rod alternately, just to see how it would feel to have something big pulling at the top of a fish pole. After much confab it was decided the some- thing big in this instance should be an old billy goat belonging to one of the neighbors. Tommy and his fellow conspirator, by the judicious presentation of a plug of tobacco, succeeded in de- taching the goat from his usual pasture of odds and ends, and inveigling him into our back lot when the rest of the family were away. They thoughfully bor- rowed my favorite Bethabara casting rod, fixed up the reel, and having rigged it up with an extra strong running line and big hook, Tommy took the rod for the first innings. The neighbor’s boy fixed the hook (45) 46 DEEP LAKE AND SUN LAKE. firmly in the goat’s hindquarters and commenced to do the chasing. The ungrateful goat, unable to appreciate the humor of the situation, refused to be chased, for after one swift run, and the emittance of one heartrending bleat—during which he made almost superhuman efforts to extricate the hook—he returned at express speed and commenced a most malignant assault upon Tommy. My beautiful Bethabara rod was reduced to splinters, and Tommy—when the goat was through with him—was the most dilapidated small boy for many miles around. The tribute of the neighbor’s boy to the goat’s fit of indignation was the quickest sprint of his life, and one of the neighbors who hap- pened in at the finale informed me confidentially that he never saw a kid make better time in a flat race in his life. " I am deeply thankful I have never encouraged Tommy to go gunning. His nature is so imitative and, withal, so extremely ardent in everything he under- takes, that I feel sure he would have taken my shotgun and borrowed a few of the neighbors’ babies to practice upon. Deep Lake and Sun Lake are two others of the several lakes located in the near vicinity of Lake Villa Depot, on the Wisconsin Central, whose waters afford good pickerel and bass fishing. Many of the best fishing grounds in Deep Lake are comparatively open and free from surface weeds, en- abling the angler to use a spoon to advantage; in fact, several of the oldest frequenters of Deep Lake, who are noted for their big catches, fish principally with a spoon and short, bait-casting rod. There is quite a knack in using a spoon with the bait- casting rod in those places where surface vegetation occasionally appears. The spoon has to be east lightly (great care being taken that the reel does not over- run), and then recovered quickly and brought toward the angler before it can sink and catch the weeds. DEEP LAKE AND SUN LAKE. 47 Fishing with the spoon is much more exciting sport than fishing with minnows, insomuch that the spoon is used near the surface, and the fish when striking it is obliged to break the water. This also applies to fishing with live frogs in the patches fringing the rush beds. The bass ground, marked A on Sun Lake, is an exceptionally fine fishing ground whenever the fishes are feeding. From the icehouse on the south point of Deep Lake, Ape Z ole LEE gn OE “‘AND COMMENCED A MOST MALIGNANT ASSAULT UPON TOMMY’’ on both sides of the bank of bass weeds and grass, is fine bass fishing. The best pickerel ground is found on the east side of the lake, as shown on the map. The deep hole in the north end of the lake contains large bass and pickerel, but unless the weather is somewhat chilly it is best to fish the surrounding rush beds immediately adjoining. 48 HASTINGS LAKE. ‘TT MANAGED TO CRAWL AND CLING TO THE SLOPE CLEAR OF THE WATER’’ Ciera ER Vic HASTINGS LAKE. MY POETICAL FISHING FRIEND. ANGLING FOR AN OTTER. When but a callow youth, [ used to go a-fishing with a young man of the same age as myself. He was a gentle, lamb-like creature with large bovine eyes and long, black hair; uncut from the day he was born. His facial expression reminded one of an old cow who has long ceased to trouble herself with the cares of maternity. He was a poet, and used to seek my com- pany and the pleasant waterside to contemplate loveli- ness and compose poems. He stuck to me with a per- tinacity that was truly embarrassing, and the only reason I could not rid myself of him was due to the fact of being too tender-hearted to kill him. He once wrote an ode to his fishing rod which he re- cited to it one morning just previous to using it, and the rod was so utterly demoralized it snapped into thir- teen pieces the first cast he attempted. I merely men- tion this fact to show how atrocious his muse must have been. The only time I ever licked him was when he at- tempted to read me some verses. He called them “Crumblets of Angling Reminiscences.” They were as follows: “The little streamlet on the bill, Within the village church, From which, three weeks ago to-night, I collared that wall-eyed perch. “Away beyond the hamlet’s reach, With many a pout and pucker, Meanders the tiny rivulet Where I cinched that eight-pound sucker. . “And just below the garden patch Of Mickey Doolan’s shanty, Is the alder tree that sheltered me While I made the bullheads ante.”’ The method by which at last I rid myself of him was (49) 50 HASTINGS LAKE. an introduction to a sweet little girl cousin of mine, at the same time hinting he was a young gentleman of wonderful parts and great expectations. She bit right away, and married him three days afterward, thus earning my everlasting gratitude. I am aware the above is not in any manner con- nected with the avowed subject of this article, and I merely introduce it as a warning to those weak-minded brothers of the angle whom the delightful environ- ments of their pursuit might seduce from the dutiful path of angling to that of the sinful and unpardonable practice of bad verse making. Hastings Lake lies about half a mile east of Crooked Lake, and although fairly well fished of late years, it still holds its own in the matter of sport to the angler. There are plenty of good-sized bass and pickerel within its waters, and big catches are often made by those fishermen acquainted with the locality. Hastings Lake is a trifle further from Lake Villa Depot than most of the lakes in the vicinity, hence comparatively few of the anglers who stop off at Lake Villa ever fish it. There is but one slight bar in the lake; it is in the deepest water, leading to the rush line on the east side. The lake, all round inshore, affords excellent bass fishing. Off the point of the bar is good perch ground. The pickerel ground is all around the lake line leading to the deepish water. Small frogs are the best bait to use when fishing for bass near inshore, and minnows when fishing for pickerel in the deeper waters adjoin- ing. The best trolling water will be found on the north and east shores. The sportsman who has never hunted or fished in the vast tangled wilderness of the Far West can form no conception of the arduous work and appalling diffi- culties he has to surmount in his journeyings. My old friend Cap’ Riley of Portland, Ore., one of the best known elk hunters in the state, has often remarked it was worth a hundred dollars to get a pair of elk’s horns out from the wilderness into the confines of HASTINGS LAKE, 51 civilization; and I fully agree with him in this asser- tion. The foothills and mountains are one mass of tangled underbrush, immense treefalls and sinuous in- JAMES KING Uh, RS se SF SS .= ee can hus array Un : UNEETTEROM RGN OK : CROOKED Lake, f 5 ON we ) & eeu ua, gS ARH oh torre t\s re 9 OY ; / iN) Ae ye, uy y i) OM © ig pl BASS fo! tal Cen HASTINGS LAKE tergrown vines, through which the sportsman must pick and creep his way in the slowest and most tedious manner. Here a mammoth butt of fallen pine to sur- mount; there a thicket of intricate and seemingly im- 52 HASTINGS LAKE. passable vine maple to crawl through, varied by vast mounds of upturned soil and deep holes. It was early one morning, in 1893, I left my ranch on a spur of the Bear Mountain, in Cowlitz County, for a day’s salmon fishing in the Kalama River, four miles north. The nature of the surroundings necessi- tated my taking even this short distance a two days’ trip if I wished to spend a few hours on the stream. A short bait-casting rod, revolver, hunting knife, and a few pounds of beans, with a morsel of salt pork, was all I dared to load myself with. My object on this trip was to satisfy myself whether a salmon would take a spoon bait. I started in at the Kalama Creek, which ended in the Kalama River, and fished the larger pools on my way down, picking up a half a dozen large rainbow trout and returning the Dolly Vardens and cutthroats, as this species of troutare called, to the water; I reached the Kalama River about three in the afternoon, and after fixing up camp started in for the evening fishing. The spot I selected was a spacious rocky basin, shaped not unlike a huge bowl, with precipitous rocks rising either side several hundred feet in height, the sides studded with a scant growth of stunted under- brush and here and there spanned by the huge trunk of some fallen pines. The pool was probably fifty feet wide in the center, ending some forty yards below in a fall of about fifteen feet. The current was unusually strong and rapid. I intended to skirt this pool on its shallowest side, hugging the rocky wall on my left until I reached a big rock which stood out high and dry overlooking the fall. I donned my waders, strapping them tightly around my waist, and slipped over my head an old inflated air cushion to provide against an accidental submersion. Experience has taught me the value of this precau- tion, and I would advise every angler who wades rapid streams with deep holes to wear either an inflated col- lar or a light collaret of cork around his neck when HASTINGS LAKE. 53 wading, for if a deep hole is inadvertently stepped into and the waders fill (which in nine cases out of ten they will do), the buoyancy of the collar will keep the head above the water until a foothold can be reached. After rigging up my rod I found I had left my spoon at home. This was a poser. There I was, on the most magnificent stretch of water that ever greeted an angler’s vision, without the means of fishing it. How- ever, I concluded to try something; so rigging up a large pickerel gang of four treble hooks mounted on a twisted snell of salmon gut, each treble about two inches apart, I selected the biggest of the rainbow trout from my creel—a fish weighing nearly a pound— and rigged it with the pickerel gang in just the same manner as though I was about to spin for pickerel with a small minnow. When all was ready I cautiously waded into the pool almost to the top of my waders, and swaying the heavy bait made so long a cast that, instead of entering the water, it lodged on a ledge of rock a little above the surface on the opposite side. I allowed it to remain there a few moments and then gently pulled it off into the water, which it entered in a quiet, noiseless man- ner with scarcely a splash to mark its submersion. I commenced to reel in gently, and almost before I had made half-a dozen turns of the reel handle a long brownish object appeared to rise from the bottom like a lightning flash and seize it, tightening the line and bending my rod nearly double. Almost simultane- ously with this happening, the brownish object sud- denly ceased its pull, and before I could sufficiently collect my thoughts it shot across the pool toward me and came full tilt against my legs, knocking me head over heels into the wate. I was next aware of a sharp prick in the ealf of my leg, of something hanging thereon and frantically struggling to detach itself, and when I recovered a precarious foothold at the end of the pool to which I had been swept by the rapid rush of water, I looked 54 HASTINGS LAKE. down and discovered the largest dog otter I have ever seen firmly hooked through my waders into the flesh, struggling like a very demon to free himself, and ap- parently as scared as I was myself at the novelty of the situation. I attempted to scramble up the steep sides of the pool with my captive, but was so flurried and scared that little headway was made. My waders were full of water, and this and the weight of the otter made it hard work for me to obtain any secure hold. How- ever, after what seemed to me to be hours, I managed to crawl and cling to the slippery rocky slope clear of the water, but could get no farther, having by this time, by the combined efforts of my fright and scram- ble, become pretty well exhausted. Just at this critical moment the snell broke, leaving one set of hooks in my leg, and the other in the otter, who dropped into the water with a loud splash and disappeared immediately. Rid of my burden, with much labor I managed to erawl to a more secure resting-place. I took off my waders and found that such was the force of the struggle the strong Mackintosh of my waders had been torn some’three inches down, and the hook was so deeply imbedded in the flesh that, instead of resorting to the old method of turning the barb out- ward and bringing the shank through after it, I had to cut quite deep into the flesh to extricate it, making quite a good sized wound. However, I stopped the bleeding with some tobacco leaves, and limped home, wondering whether it was possible that I could ever meet with a more strange happening than that which had just occurred. CHAPTER: VIL HUNTLEY’S LAKE. SWALLOWING A FISH-HOOK. I remember some three years ago fishing Huntley’s Lake with Tom McGee. Tom is now somewhere in Canada, whither he went in search of health. He was an individual who lived under the impression that a portion of his liver was missing, a thin-faced, jaundice- complexioned little fellow, always suffering from some imaginary complaint or another and at the same time huuting for a remedy for that disorder. Every few weeks he would make the appalling discovery that one or another of his internal organs was either hopelessly deranged, missing altogether, or else turned topsy- turvy. When I first knew him he had run the whole gamut of his internal economy, from his gall to his sweetbreads, and was then arriving at the firm con- viction that an accident at birth had deprived him of his proper share of liver. The amount of medicine that Tom always traveled with was immense. I have many atime seen him while playing a large fish suddenly recollect himself, lay down his rod, look at his watch and solemnly remark: “Exact time for medicine, Charley,’ and after deliberately measuring out and swallowing the required quantum resume his rod and pull in his fish. On the day referred to, when Tom and I were fishing in Huntley’s Lake, nothing was biting but the perch and they were biting furiously. They recalled to my memory the novel punishment our old schoolmaster used to inflict on us when I attended school as a small lad. How the old villain would task his ingenuity in this direction! Latin grammar was a stumbling block which always tripped me up, my conjugation of the verbs being abominable. I would “amo, amas, amat,” (55) 56 HUNTLEY’S LAKE. ete., until I fairly got sick of the whole thing and knew less at the end than I did at the commencement. ‘Old Pepper,” as we boys called our pedagog, would set some offending boy in a corner, after school hours, and selecting some absurd word would compel him to con- jugate it in all its known and unknown moods and tenses. There was an old colored aunty living next door to the schoolhouse who did the cleaning, and one afternoon (owing to some misbehavior on my part) the word masticate was given me by Old Fepper to prac- tice the usual grammarian gymnastics upon. For two mortal hours I declaimed: “I masticate; thou masti- cates; he masticates; she masticates; it masticates;” ete. The old darky, coming along, listened outside the schoolhouse window to my edifying ranting for about twenty minutes, and then lifting her hands in wonder- ment, exclaimed loudly: “For de Lawd’s sake, when- eber will dat der boy hab done eating?” It was the same thing with the perch on the oceasion of which I am writing. If the old lady had been there I am sure she would have lifted her hands and said: “Wor de Lawd’s sake, wheneber will dem dere perches hab done feeding?” Never before or since have I seen perch feed so voraciously, they fairly jumped out of the water for our bait. One particularly large perch (it must have weighed quite two pounds, and I have never seen a larger one), which Tom caught, swallowed the hook almost before the bait touched the water. Tom was in a hurry to resume fishing, and in attempt- ing to disgorge the hook the snell broke off short, leay- ing the hook away down in the gullet of the perch. Throwing the fish on one side, Tom remarked: “By Jove, Charley, I'll have that all to myself for supper to-night,’’ and went on fishing. Two hours of such sport satisfied us, and selecting about a dozen of the largest fishes, we gave the re- mainder to some youngsters who were fishing near, packed up our traps and went home. Mrs. Tom cooked our fishes that evening, and, after HUNTLEY’S LAKE. 57 a very hearty supper, during which Tom had appro- priated for his sole benefit the large perch as he had promised he would, we sat down outside the veranda. and while Tom’s wife did some sewing Tom entertained me with small talk on his innumerable ailments. All at once, without a moment’s warning, Tom bounded about six feet into the air, let out a yell that scared “T’M A DEAD MAN; I’VE SWALLOWED THAT FISHHOOK’’ everyone within the ward, and approaching me with a white, scared face, exclaimed: “Charley, I’m a dead man; I’ve swallowed that fish- hook! Oh, what a cussed fool I was to eat that big perech!”’ “Stuff and nonsense,” I answered, “you couldn't have swallowed a No. 4 fishhook without noticing it.’’ “But I did! I did!’ he moaned. “Oh, what a miserable wretch I am! Think of the agonizing death in store for me! Oh, Charley, why didn’t you eat that perch 58 HUNTLEY’S LAKE. instead of myself?” he whined, pathetically; “nothing ever hurts you.” His wife and myself tried to reassure him, telling him how utterly preposterous his conduct was, but all to no purpose. Tom persisted he had swallowed the fish- hook, and as a careful search of the heads and entrails of the fishes we had eaten for supper failed to reveal the missing hook, nothing could convince him to the contrary. After a little while Tom began to feel a seyere pricking pain in the abdominal region, which gradually grew worse and worse, until, at last, about two hours after, he was stretched upon a bed with three doctors in attendance, and periodically uttering the most heartrending shrieks and eries, which he averred it was impossible to stop, owing to the pain he suffered. The doctors could do nothing, and plainly intimated to Tom’s wife and myself the only thing the matter with their patient was an excessive imagination, scouting the idea of his having the hook as perfectly ridiculous. In about another hour Tom got so bad that I plainly saw unless something was done to drive the idea out of his head he soon would become a subject for the eoroner. I called Tom’s wife aside, and made her bring me Tom’s tackle-box. After a search I found an old hook of precisely the same size and pattern as the one Tom had been using when he caught that unfortunate perch in the morning. From this hook I broke off the snell as near the shank as possible. After some search- ing I selected the biggest perch’s head I could find, and although it was not the head of the big fish he had caught in the morning, yet it might pass for it. I fixed this hook firmly in the back of its gills, saw that everything looked natural, and assuming a joyous ex- pression of countenance, burst into the bedroom in which Tom lay, now seriously ill, and yelled out in an exultant voice: “lve found that confounded old fishhook, old fellow; you never swallowed it at all, for here it is!” HUNTLEY’S LAKE. HUNTLEYS LAKE 59 60 HUNTLEY’S LAKE. Saying this, I held up the perch’s gills with the fish- hook firmly embedded therein. Tom gave one look, bounded off the bed, seized my prize and examined it carefully, the color meanwhile returning to his face. “Charley Johnson,” he exclaimed, tragically, “you have saved my life!” Twenty minutes afterward Tom was _ perfectly re- covered and making a hearty meal of tripe and onions, and unblushingly I was relating how and where I found the missing hook in the fish’s head. Three days afterward an old Thomas eat, the par- ticular pet of Tom’s wife, began to visibly pine away, and within a week was a mere wreck of skin and bones. Shortly afterward it died and Tom, thinking it had been poisoned by some of the neighbors, insisted on making a post mortem examination on its remains. The first incision Tom made revealed to his astonished gaze the identical fishhook which was supposed to have caused him so much internal turmoil a week previously. Really, I couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of the situation when Tom, turning slowly round to me, gazed with unaffected surprise, and said, solemnly: “Charley Johnson, I will never believe you again, sir, as long as I live.” Huntley’s Lake is about four miles north and slightly > east of Hastings Lake, and is reached from Lake Villa depot on the Wisconsin Central. The lake is deep water off-shore all around. The bar shown in the northwest is very slight, and runs to the deep hole. Around this hole, during chilly days and also late in the season, is the best fishing ground of any. The lake contains large bass and pickerel, but during the last few years it has been little fished, owing, prob- ably, to its being farther away than the other lakes. IT am convinced a trip to-this lake will well repay the angler. The best way to reach and fish it is to procure a rig and Smith Wright as guide, from the Sand Lake Hotel, driving over in the morning and returning in the evening. This would give plenty of time for a good HUNTLEY’S LAKH. 61 day’s sport. Smith Wright knows every hole and cor- ner of Huntley’s Lake, the best places to fish and how to fish them. There are two kinds of bait casters, the one who uses a fine casting line and very light minnow, frog, spoon, or whatever the bait may be, without shot or weight of any description to assist in casting; the other uses a heavy line, big minnow, weighty frog, or other bait proportionately heavy. The man who casts a light bait is apt to look with disdain upon the fellow who practices the heavy ecast- ing tactics, but there are times when heavy bait-casting is absolutely essential to successful fishing, particularly in lake fishing where weeds are general. The ideal fishing of the expert is to make long casts with a small frog, light minuow, or spoon, placing the lure before the fish with hardly a perceptible splash. In other words, fine and far-off fishing. This style of angling is necessary to successfully fish some waters, particularly those where the water is abnormally clear and free from weeds; but in many of the lakes of the Fox Lake region the light style of bait-casting would be productive of more bites than fish. Most of the fishing is done, if not actually in the weed patches, still so near that the fishes, when they make their runs after seizing the bait, will have to be pulled out from them, thus making a strong running line absolutely necessary; and to get out a stout casting line to any distance a heavy bait is imperative. Personally, I always fish as lightly as possible, and obtain more true enjoyment from deli- cately placing a small frog upon a dock leaf with a good long cast, and thence lightly flicking it into the water with the slightest splash possible, than from any of the heavier methods of casting which I am often compelled to pursue. Ww NSuil 3:3 ok yy ng b> || Ne. is aN ——iN ‘*sND THE COLONEL TOOK THE PICTURE CHAPTER. VII. LAKE MARIE AND BLUFF LAKE. SHELLFISH AND CLAM CHOWDER, THE COLONEL’S PHOTOGRAPH. _ The first time I fished Lake Marie was with my old friend, George Murrell. George and myself had made a trifling bet as to who would catch the most fish. Tlad I been as well acquainted as I am now with the astute diplomacy of which Master George is capable, I would never have gambled with him at all, under any con- sideration. However, after fishing all day without a bite, the shades of approaching evening found us both fishless and disgusted: “Well, old man,” I chuckled to myself, “there’s one consolation; you haven’t won, anyhow!” Premature joy on my part! Tor the crafty rascal had deliberately placed a small worm on his hook, and coolly dropped it into the gaping shell of an unsuspect- ing clam that happened to be airing its vitals in a shal- low puddle near by! The clam shut up mighty quick when it felt the worm, and George hauled it up and demanded the bet. I have often thought since what a fool I was not to find another clam and make the bet a tie; but, there, I never could think of the right thing to do until it was too late. Speaking of shellfish reminds me of Tom Jennings. There was a fellow in New York who had opened an Wnglish ale house and shell oyster bar in connection. The oysters were opened ‘by an attendant and given to the patrons on the half-shell. One day Tom Jennings strolled into the bar and noticed a Nrenchman holding a huge half-shell in his hand, staring hard at an enormous oyster which lay on it, with an air of wistful longing. Tom was always ready to be agreeable, and thinking the Frenchman was in a quandary, politely 5 (63) 64 LAKH MARIN AND BLUR LAK, suggested that the proper way to eat an oyster was to swallow it whole. The Wrenchman turned round to Tom and asked him if he could swallow the one he held in his hand, “Why, sure thing,” said Tom; and suiting the action to the word, he took the proffered bivalve, and, with a tremendous effort, managed to gulp it down. The renchman held up his hands in admiration at the feat, and exclaimed: “Mon Dieu! et es vonderful; nine times have I myself el tried to swallow, and et alvays comes back!” Two minutes after Tom had acquired this informa- tion, the oyster again came back; and Tom, while endeavoring to soothe his insulted stomach with some- thing warm, swore softly to himself that he would be parboiled before he would ever attempt to be polite to a Vrenchman again, Tom seemed to be unlucky in his feeding, for it was only three weeks before that he had strolled into a Bowery restaurant and ordered clam chowder, After he had eaten quite a considerable portion, a certain qualnish feeling in his stomach warned him something was wrong; so he called the darky who ran the place, and said he: “You black rascal! what confounded tilth have you been feeding me upon?” “Dat dar am clam chowder, sah, and berry good chowder, too,” “Chowder, you dusky villain,” answered ‘om, his gorge rapidly rising as he discovered a bunch of fungus in the bottom of his plate, “how long has it been made?” “Dat chowder was made last Spring, when I resumed dis hyar bisness; and ef de folkses on dis hyar street don’ dun eat hyar ot’ner, it am berry likely some ob dat chowder will be on han’ nex’ Spring!” The licking which Tom inflicted on that unfortunate darky cost Tom forty dollars and costs, Lake Marie and Lake Bluff are reached from Antioch depot on the Wisconsin Central, ‘The two lakes are LAK MARIN AND BRUT LAR, 0h Joined Dy ® narrow channel bounded on each alde by an expanse of fonting sod, There tn good pereh, bane nnd plekorel fahing, Thin tile In very miieh exposed (oO (he wind, and but on alight breege ta required to Cnune alton wives and an choppy surface, The fahor Will food tn Lake Marie tn tough water, where (he anine surface conditiona on tinny of the other taltos would be fitnl sport, yet there in no plece of water in the whole gunna BLU} LAKE teglion where fine nnd fareot! feline in so necesmary to secure mn food catleh aa in Dales Marie, The lakes for many yenta pial bas been a partloularly favorite resort for the angler, and although the fishes ave falely plentiful they are extremely aly and hard to caleh, The presence of nm boat, announced by the dip of the seulia, will chume every fah within a hundred and fitly feet lo weurry for shelter, and the only method of approaching them with any show of succesa in by 66 LAKE MARIE AND BLUFF LAKE. drifting in a boat, using fine tackle and making long casts, casting a minnow in the more open stretches of water and frogs for evening fishing in the lily pads. There are several hotels in the immediate vicinity of the lake, most of which send buses to meet the trains at Antioch. There are plenty of boats, but the angler had better take his own bait as the supply at the hotels is uncertain. Even to an experienced angler Lake Marie would prove a deceiving piece of water. There is so much apparently good fishing ground, bearing those unmis- takable fishy signs by which likely spots are ordinarily located—in the shape of bass and pickerel weeds, lily pads, with favorable formations of bottom and re- quired depth of water—that unless a man is thoroughly posted or knows the water he can waste much valua- ble time in fishing those spots which, although of an inviting aspect, are barren of fish. The points marked on the chart are the best spots to fish; and where the angler’s time is limited he will find it best to fish one of these points, and thence row to another without wasting time on the intervening stretches of water. The best bass ground is at those spots marked A, B, C, D, E, f and G. The largest fishes are generally caught in the bass weeds and rushes of the deepish stretch of water at C, and the spots B and G are exceptionally fine yielding pieces of water for bass. The pickerel hole just outside the channel is the best spot of any in the lake for pickerel. Both sides of the channel leading into Grass Lake are favorite resorts for pickerel also, particularly at those spots where weed beds and rush patches are found in the middle of the channel. I recollect some four years ago fishing this channel with Colonel Budd of San Francisco. We caught seventeen pickerel, all good-sized fishes. The Colonel photographed them, hanging the fishes up in a row by LAKE MARIE AND BLUFF LAKE. 67 their gills, with myself in the picture; but owing to the position in which I stood the fishes looked twice as large as I did. I recollect another picture, which the Colonel took with his camera once in Idaho, two years ago. There were three of us in the party—the Colonel, Judge Mere- dith and myself. We were on a trout fishing trip on the Snake River. The Colonel never traveled without his camera, for he was a regular kodak fiend and missed no opportunity of getting a snap shot at anything that struck his fancy. We were staying at Squire Mattson’s house, one of the finest residences in the state. One morning just after breakfast all of us, including the Squire, were lounging and smoking outside the front of the house discussing plans for the day’s sport, when a procession hove in sight that made us all wonder what in the world it could be. It consisted of an old, mop-haired granger and his wife—a thin, hatchet-faced, sour-visaged female in a bunehy calico gown—with seven children, the youngest about three, the eldest apparently nine, with a year’s difference in the age of each, coming down the road, ranged symmetrically according to size and look- ing like an animated stairway of seven steps. The party stopped when the family reached us, and the old man, after gazing admiringly around, said to his wife: “Mighty purty looking place, ain’t it, Mariah?” His wife, who was evidently out of temper, snapped out some answer, and addressing the bunch of small fry, told them that if their Pap wasn’t such a doggoned lazy ignoramus they could all be living in a better house themselves! “Say, Mariah,” the old man continued, without taking the least notice of his wife’s slanderous speech, “wouldn’t your old Pap down East be mighty tickled to see you and me living in a swell place like this? Why, here’s one of them picture taker fellows,’ he went on, as he espied the Colonel’s camera standing 68 LAKE MARIE AND BLUFF LAKE. by the gate. “Say, mister, how much would you charge to take us all in first-class, bang-up style, just like Benny Burton had took last Fall to send down South to a gal he was kind of hankering to get hitched to?” The Colonel entered into the humor of the thing, and offered to give them a picture for nothing. “Jee whiz!” the old chap said; ‘that’s real good of yeu, and say, Mariah,” he added, turning to his wife, “we'll be took right here, and send the pictur away back East to yer old Pap, and he’ll surely show it to the neighbors and they’ll think as how the house be- longs to us and we are right smart fixed!’ His wife, who commenced to take some interest in the proceedings at this stage, began to fix her hair and tidy the youngsters. They were certainly the merriest, healthiest and dirtiest looking lot of little urchins I have ever seen. “T’ll tell you what we'll do,” the Squire remarked to me; “we'll fix the whole crowd up in style, and give the old fellow a chance to ring in the biggest bluff of his life on his folkes away back East.” Saying this, Mattson went into the house and shortly returned with a plug hat, frock coat, and some female finery which, although slightly the worse for wear, was good enough for the purpose. With these in his hand he escorted the whole crowd to the barn, took them in, and telling them to rig themselves out, left them. About ten minutes afterward the old fellow and his wife, with the children, made their appearance, the children gazing with open-mouthed awe on their transmogrified parents. “Say, Squire,” the old man remarked, “this is real good of you to cotton to us in this fashion; durn me ef I don’t feel as ef I ain’t sole proprietor of everything on the place.”’ Mattson got out his best gig, mounted his driver on the box, the couple took their places with the kids ar- ranged according to their age in the front, and the LAKE MARIE AND BLUFF LAKE. 69 Colonel took the picture. The old man told us they lived on a small ranch about seven miles up the river. He and his wife had settled there about twelve years previously, and with the exception of the large family of youngsters they were as poor as when they came. The Colonel promised to send them the picture when it was finished, and after disrobing themselves of the borrowed finery away they went. About five weeks afterward I was walking down the main street of the little town six miles from the Squire’s house, when I came across the old man driving a pair of dilapidated mules with an old broken wagon attached. He stopped at once when I hailed him. “Well, old chap,” I said, “how did the photograph come out?” “Gol darn the pictur, anyway,” he answered, testily; “Mariah and I sent it to her Pap, with a letter saying as how we had more stock and land than we knew what to do with, and money to burn, thinking it would kind of make Mariah’s folks think how smart we wus; and threw in a hint that in writing back they ought to address the letter to Squire Gawk instead of calling me plain Jimmy Gawk as they was used to. Sure enough, Mariah’s Pap writ back, and said as how now we was so well fixed he would leave the farm to Mariah’s brother Tom; and that Mariah’s old Uncle Abe, who had died three days after he received our letter, had altered his will directly he saw it and left as fine a section of grazing land as could be found in the state to Mariah’s seventh cousin, sayin’ he guessed we wouldn’t need it, anyhow. And there’s a huil pile of my old neighbors wrote to tell me they’re all coming on here, and looks to me to stake ’em until they gets fixed, sayin’ that ef an old galoot like me can get so well fixed as I am they reckon they’ll be runnin’ for gov’nor before they’ve been here six months. And the worst of it is, that since the news has came, there’s no livin’ with Mariah, she’s so pesterful and mean and, of course, woman- like, lays all the blame on me. Well, well,” the old man 70 LAKH MARIE AND BLUFE LAKE. said, moodily, as he drove away, “I guess everyone makes a doggoned ass of himself sometime or another; but of all the ornerest, softest, bedrock old jaybirds that ever was, that indoovidual is myself!’ CHAPTER: LX. FIRST OR GAGE’S LAKE. AN EMBARRASING POSITION. THE INCIDENT OF AN IRON POT. I have been in several embarrassing positions in my life. Once when a young man just emerging from my teens, while bathing in what I considered a sufficiently sequestered spot to insure perfect privacy, a young lady came along and sat down on the rock under which my clothes were concealed. She had a novel which she commenced to read, and the work must have been of absorbing interest, for she read for fully half an hour without any signs of letting up or moy- ing on. Meanwhile I had taken refuge in a rush bed, about fifty yards away, from which I was anxiously awaiting her exit. The water was cold and I was at last in sheer desperation obliged to acquaint her with the fact of my presence. She was a young lady of quick discernment, for grasping the situation in an instant, simultaneously with the piercing shriek which evidenced her discovery of my proximity she vacated the spot with the celerity of a frightened hare. Another time, when doing the fatherly act at Pudgy Stickel’s wedding, I was chosen as the most proper person to donate the bride (pretty little Arabella Wil- kins) to my old friend Pudgy. Things got so mixed up that the ceremony was all but performed before it was discovered that, instead of giving the bride away, I had been mistaken by the purblind old parson who performed the ceremony for the bridegroom, and was receiving her instead. However, things were set right at the last moment, and Pudgy—who was un- earthed from behind a pew in a complete state of nervous prostration—was put in my place and received his bride with the last line of the marriage service. (71) 72 FIRST OR GAGEH’S LAKE. These are but two of the many times in which I have been what a society person would call “de trop,” but the worst of all was an incident that happened to me at Gage’s Lake last year. I was experimenting with the fly when a young lady came along, and before I was aware of it I had caught her securely in the leg with a No. 4-0 Johnson Fancy bass fly. Poor little thing! She sat down and boohooed and sobbed as though her heart would break, beseeching me in one breath to take the horrid thing away, and immediately afterward indignantly repelling me when I offered to take her at her word. Eventually we compromised, I breaking off the leader and escorting the badly scared and half fainting little miss to the hotel; whence, having delivered her over to the care of the landlady, I made an ignominious sneak for home. Ilirst or Gage’s Lake is not to be found on the or- dinary maps which are supposed to contain the lakes of the lake region. It is located half a mile south and slightly east of Second Lake, and is reached from Gray’s Lake Station on the Wisconsin Central. There is good bass and pickerel fishing to be had in these waters, providing the weather is favorable. But it’s all or none, when fishing Gage’s Lake; in fact, of all the lakes I know there is none which is so uncertain in regard to sport. My experience of Gage’s Lake is that minnows are the best all-round bait that can be used. The water just outside the lily pads on the-northern point is one of the best spots for evening fishing on the lake. Nearer in-shore on the spot marked A is the best bass ground during the colder months, and just outside the fringe of bass weeds is good pickerel water at all times. The extreme northern point is also fine holding ground for bass, and also the spot marked halfway across on the west shore. One of the most remarkable sights I have ever wit- FIRST OR GAGH’S LAKE. 73 nessed happened while fishing Gage’s Lake this Sum- mer. Smith Wright, of Sand Lake Hotel; Mr. Charles Hamilton, of Chicago, and myself were in the voat together, Mr. Hamilton rowing, Wright and myself casting, using minnows as bait. We came across a small GAGES LAKE pocket within the rushes where the water at no place exceeded nine inches in depth. The appearance of this spot indicated bass, and Hamilton placed the boat, with searcely a perceptible ripple to disturb the water in the vicinity, in the most favorable position to com- mand it with our casting rods, about eighty feet away. 74 FIRST OR GAGEH’S LAKH. Wright made the first cast, and simultaneously with his minnow lightly reaching the surface four big bass, from as many different corners, dashed to the center of the pool in a mad race for the minnow. The lucky winner of the race, or rather the unlucky one as it turned out subsequently, had no sooner seized the bait than he protruded his head aud shoulders fully one- third of his length from out the water and commenced to gulp the minnow down, while the other three bass literally climbed over him in their frantic efforts to take the minnow away from him. We plainly saw the whole proceeding and Wright giving him but little time for deliberation struck, and as the surroundings admitted of no delay laid his rod down and by the aid of the line yanked him away from his quarrel- some companions, and had him in the boat before he could realize what had happened to him. I made the next cast and the same scene was re- peated with three bass, instead of four, the fishes, owing to the slight depth of water and the stillness of the surface, making a wake like that of a muskrat swimming across. This fish I hooked and he also came in hand over hand. Wright made another cast, and the two remaining bass went for his minnow. He hooked one, but at the last minute lost him. Again I tried the remaining bass with a frog, which one took and after hooking him I lost him in just the same manner that Wright had the previous one. The two bass we had captured weighed four and a half pounds and five pounds, respectively, the larger one falling to Wright’s rod. This day’s fishing was an eventful one, for shortly afterward, when making a cast in rather deepish water, my hook befouled something and after about fifteen minutes’ patient wriggling and judicious pull- ing we unearthed from the bottom a small iron pot— heavens knows how many years it had been buried there—with my hook firmly fixed in the curl of the FIRST OR GAGH’S LAKE. 75 handle. However, there were no rare old coins in it or valuables of any description, only some mud and shells, and we threw it back again to bother some other fisherman later. Speaking of iron pots reminds me of the last time I visited Ireland, three years ago, when Billy Jackson and myself found ourselves in a little shebang near KXilmacrean, in North Donegal. We met four English tourists on the same errand as ourselves—trout fishing in the neighboring burns. We spent a most convivial evening together, and during the early part of it, as the company had been at a loss for a spittoon as the Britishers called it, Billy had slipped out into the kitchen and surreptitiously brought in a large iron pot; and into this improvised cuspidor the entire crowd had during the evening paid ample tribute. Just before going to bed, Billy called me on one side and warned me not to eat any of the chickens which would probably appear at the breakfast table in the morning, as he had seen the hired girl while picking them about equally divid- ing her attention between the fowls and her olfactory organ. So we made up our minds to stick to plain potatoes, and the next morning made our breakfast solely on the contents of the huge collander of jacketed Murphies which graced the center of the board. The potatoes appeared to me at the time of eating to have a smoky flavor, and to be of a rather darker hue than usual, Breakfast finished we retired into the little red- curtained parlor at the back, for a smoke preparatory to setting out for the day’s fishing. Billy looked for our cuspidor of-the previous night; and at last, not seeing it, he asked the red-haired Irish servant wench what had become of it. “Sure, an’ is it the big iron pot ye be afther?” she queried. Billy nodded. “Well, it’s just outside now,” she said, “an’ afther bein’ hardly cooled since cukin’ the praties ye ait for breakfasht this mornin,!” 7 JOHN CHITTENDEN OHITYTONDHN AND DRUOH LAKHS. H-MAALLORY Second or Druce Lake Third or Chittenden Lake CHAPTER X. CHITTENDEN AND DRUCE LAKES, SANDY M’GREE’S EEL PIE. A friend of mine, a Mr. George Wallace of Chicago, told me last week that he took a silver eel weighing about three pounds from Chittenden Lake last July. Ilis cateh was somewhat unique, for I have since asked many anglers who have fished the lakes for years whether they have ever seen or caught an eel in its waters, and their answer invariably has been: ‘No.” It is strange that eels are not found in great numbers in these lakes. Wverything is favorable for their exist- ence—plenty of feed, a muddy bottom in which to secrete themselves during the colder months, and gravelly shallows in which to scour at nights for food. Added to this the eel is a most delicious eating fish, propagates very rapidly, and will travel long distances at night through the wet grass from one piece of water to another. Speaking of eels reminds me of the time when I was in Wdinburgh, Scotland, some ten years ago, L was stay- ing with a Scotch friend who had undertaken to escort me around and show me the sights. He turned round to me one evening, just as we were coming out of the theater, and with that solemn air of dispropor- tionate gravity with which only a Scotchman can pro- pound some trifling query, said: “Mon, ha’ ye ever eaten one o’ Sandy McGree’s hot eel pies?” “An eel pie,’ I answered; “what the deuce is an eel pie?” “An eel pie,” my friend asserted, “is the most luscious and delicious combination o”’ pastry and fish ye ever tasted! Gang along and we'll baith buy one.” (77) 78 CHITTENDEN AND DRUCH LAKES, Saying this, he seized my arm and hurried me through several tortuous small passages and by-streets until at last he stopped at the entrance of a small, dismal- looking shop, lighted by an oil lamp. Into this shop we went and an old, shriveled-up specimen of humanity, Whom my conductor addressed as Sandy, dived his hands into a tin resemblig a hot tomale can and pro- duced two small double-crusted pies, which he handed over to us in exchange for a fourpenny bit. “Wait until we got on the ’bus,”’ my friend said, “and we'll eat them.” A few moments after we had climbed to the top of one of the many double-decked buses at the corner of a badly-lighted thoroughfare thronged with people anxious to get home for the night. ‘The seat I occupied overlooked the street and the pie in my hand certainly smelled so tempting, if the gravy which was dripping from it was any criterion, that I prepared to eat it. The pastry was a soft, doughy pie evidently somewhat underdone. As I raised it to my mouth and prepared to take the first bite, a tall, well-dressed Scotchman stand- ing directly underneath me looked up to hail our driver, and at the same instant the hot juice from the interior of the pie burst forth and sealded my fingers so badly that involuntarily I let it drop. That eel pie landed squarely on the tall gentleman’s upturned visage, bespattering him with the almost boiling con- tents. The surprised look he wore when the pie struck him was followed by such an intermingled torrent of horri- bly anguishing howls and Scotch profanity that the whole neighborhood was aroused. ‘Two policemen hurried up, but before he could wipe his face sufli- ciently clean and collect himself to explain, the driver— who was unconscious of my escapade—whipped up his horses and we were hurried away; for which it is needless to say | was profoundly thankful. My friend, after devouring his pie in silence and wiping his whiskers, simply turned and coolly remarked: CHITTENDEN AND DRUCE LAKES. 79 “Wh, mon! it’s a great peety ye wasted your pie; it’s four bawbees clean gone. But, if that chiel had only caught ye wouldn’t he have given ye fits?” Chittenden and Druce lakes are about a mile in a southeasterly direction from Fourth or Miltimore Lake. They are reached from Rollins Depot on the Wisconsin Central. Plenty of buses and conveyances meet the trains, and an abundant supply of boats will be found on the lakes. A good point to start from is the Mallory Hotel on Druce Lake, rowing from the landing below the house, following the shore northward and around the lake until the channel is reached which leads into Third Lake. The waterway between the two lakes is generally dry in the Summer, necessitating a portage of about a hundred yards, hence it is advisable to take the lighest boat that can be obtained. The north shore, just outside the rush bed, is good bass fishing right into the mouth of the channel. The best pickerel ground is just off the deep water, outside the rushes, on the east side of the lake, south of the hotel. There is also some good bass water in the rushes south of the channel. Starting into Chittenden Lake from the channel, it is as well to row south to the end of the shallow blank bottom, which stretches some distance inshore, until the deepish water and bass weeds in the southern portion are reached. At this point there is some splendid fishing ground, bass and pickerel being ex- tremely plentiful. Minnows are the best bait that can be used. From there on down to the outlet, on the extreme southern end of the lake, is the best ground in the lake during chilly weather. Try the bass weeds in the deepish water, and if not successful there try within the rush lines. Sometimes the fishes will lie farther out than at others, and a hundred geet nearer in or farther out from shore will make much difference to the angler. Proceeding in a northwesterly direc- tion, a long stretch of rushes will be found extending quite a distance from the shore, with moss and silk 6 80 CHITTENDEN AND DRUCE LAKES. weeds undergrowth in the shallower water inshore and bass weeds in the deeper stretches, dotted here and there with patches of pickerel weeds. This is fairly good bass ground, but unless the angler has plenty of time before him it will hardly pay him to linger and fish it, but rather to go farther north until he finds the rush line diminishes in distance from the shore with deeper water and bass weeds on its margin. In the northwestern corner is the inlet from Fourth Lake, and from there on all around the north shore is as good pickerel and bass ground as a man could wish for. When fishing among the lily pads in the northwesterly point of the Mourth Lake outlet, at even- ing, frogs will be found far preferable to minnows. CHAPTER XI. LONG LAKE. A LESSON IN BAITCASTING. TOBY SNUF- FLES AND THE LITTLE SCHOOL MARM. UP TO DATE BARBERING. Once on a time, when I did not know any better, I offered to initiate a friend of mine into the myste- ries of bait-casting. He was an alderman, and as I was depending upon his influence to obtain a goy- ernment position for a distant and aged _ relation, namely, that of scrub lady in the county dog pound, I felt I could ill afford to jeopardize her future pros- pects by being anything else than immeasurably cor- dial and blind to any questionable conduct of which he might be guilty. Beyond saying my pupil was a genial, good-natured, fat man, I will not further dis- close his identity. We selected Long Lake as the scene of our opera- tions, and at the end of three hours he had so far advanced as to occasionally make a cast without im- paling one or another of those odd portions of my anatomy which everlastingly appeared to get in the path of his hook. My ears in particular appeared to bother him, for it seemed an utter impossibility for him to make three consecutive casts without stick- ing his hook into one of them. In fact, whenever he missed his hook, it got to be the recognized thing to search my ears before looking further. However the lesson was over at last, and together we came ashore; he jubilant at his proficiency, and I mentally calculating the time which would have to elapse before the ragged edges of my ears would cease to resemble a broken mushroom. The amount of dodging I was forced to keep up during this trip reminded me of my first sweetheart (81) 82 LONG LAKE. and the difficulties I encountered when courting her. She was a demure little schoolma’am, as pretty as a peach, just seventeen years old, and the eldest of a family of sixteen brothers and sisters, all of whom had come into the world with unfailing annual reg- ularity. Her ma and pa were great people for fried chicken, and it was their practice to let the seven or eight younger members of the family lie around the floor, gnawing a greasy drumstick or dirty wing bone to keep them quiet until their turn came at the table. Whenever I visited my charmer these kids were the terror of my life; for it is needless to state I always wore my best Sunday clothes, and it can macy was required to keep my trousers unspotted and pet the youngsters at the same time. The chil- dren were of an affectionate disposition, very fond of me, and used to select my Knees as the vantage ground on which to discover hidden morsels of gristly sweetness. I confided my troubles to a particular chum of mine, one Toby Snufiles by name, and he generously offered to keep me company, wearing a suit for the occa- sion, and to amuse the kids while I talked sweet nothings to my inamorata. He was a chuckle-headed, pan-faced and most uninteresting individual, entirely lacking in the refined disposition and intellectual at- tainments which I possessed; yet, strange to Say, on his first appearance the young lady treated my fur- ther attentions with cold disdain, and before the even- ing was fairly over had unblushingly appointed my rival as her future daily escort from the schoolhouse to her home. Toby eventually married her. He was a gardener by occupation, working at Squire Brown's. The Squire was a noted horticulturist and most of Toby’s work was on the Squire’s flower beds. When Toby asked the old man’s consent to marry his daughter, he made up his mind to attempt it in a neat little figurative speech of his own, and getting the old man into a merry mood one evening, took the LONG LAKE 83 little schoolma’am. by the hand, and stepping boldly up to the old gentleman asked his permission to trans- fer his daughter from the parental bed into his own. The old man surveyed the embarrassed couple for a few moments, in thoughtful silence, and then said: “Well, young man, I have no Ee provided you marry her first.” Long Lake is best reached from the Lake Villa depot on the Wisconsin Central. It is an excellent fishing lake, and in my estimation ranks next to Fourth or Miltimore Lake. Some of the ground in the south- PICNEREL G#, ue ae Ja iv; Go, 0, : > Bass oP Bo XD Rae 5 ? yeh / ONG LAKE east corner is exceptionally fine and contains very large bass; in fact, it is no unusual thing for an angler to catch a string of a dozen fine bass weighing from two to four pounds each. But this kind of work is usually the result of expert bait-casting, for there is no lake in the whole chain where the novice or bungler is more apt to meet with disappointment than at Long Lake. In this respect it is somewhat similar to Lake Marie. Hither a good surface ripple is re- quired to cbscure the keen vision of the fishes, or extremely fine and far-off casting is requisite to catch the larger ones. Of course, all my observations are intended to apply to large fishes only, or, in angler’s parlance, “sizable 84 LONG LAKE. fish.” Any bungler can catch small ones, hence I con- sider them unworthy a good angler’s notice, and as such I do not include them in my comments beyond stating that I have always found small game fish extremely erratic in disposition, eagerly seizing anything edible without regard to time or place. In fact, similar to all smaller members of any family—fishy or otherwise —unformed in character, consequently irregular in behavior and possessing no settled habits from which to deduce data of value. The best evening fishing during the hotter months of the year is among the lily pads on the western shore, north of Graham’s Hotel, using a medium-sized frog as bait. There is no better water in the lake for good all-round pickerel fishing than that on the southern shore, in the deepish water just outside the fringe of bass weeds. ‘There is excellent bass ground in the water just outside the rush line on the eastern shore; fishing the various depths of water according to the temperature—on a warm day in the rushes and on a chilly day in the deeper water. I used to fish Long Lake with old Peter Quincy. Peter used to row me, and probably he knew more fishy spots in the lake than any other man living; in fact, it was entirely owing to his good generalship that I used to make the big catches I did. In his younger days Peter had followed barbering, and away back in the fifties found himself in a small Western min- ing town where, while being shaved in the principal barber’s shop of the place, the eternal loquacity of the man who shaved him caused him to think that a deaf and dumb barbering establishment—with a few other needful modifications—would prove a paying venture. Within a week he had carried his idea into exe- cution, and his employes, in consideration of extra salary, were solemnly sworn to converse only in the deaf and dumb alphabet, and under no consideration what- ever to speak a word to the customers. Peter him- LONG LAKE. ; 85 self followed the same line of conduct and placed a large placard in the window bearing the following announcement: ALL OUR EMPLOYES ARE DEAF AND DUMB, BAT BAKERY LUNCHES, AND HAVE WARM HANDS. Within three weeks he had closed up every other barber’s shop in the town, and was on the road to accumulate a rapid fortune, when one day an old, seedy-looking pothouse bum, possessing a flow of ar- gumentative discourse on the then political question of the day which nothing short of a dynamite bomb could destroy, sat down in his chair and began to belabor the opposite party—to which Peter belonged— in such a torrent of unearthly profanity and biting sarcasm that Peter, unable to stand it any longer, clean forgot he was supposed to be deaf and dumb and talked back. A stormy argument followed, in which his employes and a crowd of citizens took part. The shop was dismantled and wrecked, and it was only the oppor- tune arrival of the entire police force of the town which prevented bloodshed. At the finish just be- fore he surrendered himself into the hands of the big constable who arrested him, Peter thoughtfully kicked over a naphtha lamp which happened to be burning on the counter, and within three minutes the shop was in ashes. Two weeks afterward Peter collected his insurance and came back East. ROUND LAKE, WSIOM Lerog SYSIMM LIT WS yILYM Vz3zgd LUM TISIV 21q = vF gM Ss be... wieca a hg ae INVS 4° . s Cay WSezsmissvg\d - os GAs ee hate ROUND LAKE CHAPTER Xi. ROUND LAKE. > av? wee 65 SANDY DHORE LOON LAKE 110 CHANNEL LAKE. in deepish water where the rise and strike of the fish are not visible on the surface, the sharp, business-like double snap of a large bass is easily distinguished from that of the steady, sweeping clutch which at- tends the bite of a large pickerel. It is not so easy to distinguish between the bites of the smaller bass and pickerel; they both seize the bait with a sharp, worrying movement similar to that of a large perch. The bait-caster really requires two kinds of casting rods, one for weedy waters and another for those waters which contain but few weeds. A six-foot six- inch casting rod, not exceeding seven ounces in weight, is an excellent all-round tool for river fishing and in those lakes where heavy surface vegetation is not en- countered. But such a rod, if used in many of the lakes described in these articles, would soon come to grief; in fact, a stiffer and slightly heavier rod, with plenty of backbone, is an absolute necessity, because the angler to get fish must fish not only in the imme- diate vicinity of the weed beds but often in the weed beds themselves. I am’ aware there are many really good fisherman who decry this style of fishing, in fact, I am sure if everyone had their choice they would much prefer to fish in open water. But if the fishes are in the weeds and rushes what can you do? You have either got to go for them in the weeds or catch nothing. Loon Lake is reached from Loon Lake Depot. There is good bass fishing all around the eastern portion, particularly during the latter end of the season, when the fishes will be found to frequent the outer fringe of bass weeds more than the rushes inshore. The deepish water, all around the western shore, is good fishing water at all times. CHAPTER XVI FOX LAKE. PETITE LAKE. OBSERVATIONS ON SKIT- TERING AND BAIT-CASTING. Fox Lake is reached from the Lake Villa Depot on the Wisconsin Central Line. It is fifty miles from Chicago, and although plentifully stocked with pickerel and bass is the most difficult lake of any in which to make a good catch. There are a few old-time fishermen who occasionally make good catches by skittering and trolling, but for the average bait-caster who possesses no special knowledge of the ground the outlook for a good catch is not very encouraging. If a man is con- tent to engage a boat and the services of one of the several experienced guides who live in the neighbor- hood, to row him cautiously within reach of the best pieces of water, and will skitter a minnow or a spoon with a long bamboo pole, yanking the fish into the boat without play or sport, such an individual—providing he strikes a favorable time—can often make a big catch. The lake teems with natural food of every descrip- tion, and this is probably one of the chief reasons the fish do not feed readily. Although the lake contains some magnificent bass and pickerel ground, as far as appearances go, little of it is worth fishing. The space of really good fishing water, for such a large area as that which Fox Lake contains, is extremely small. Starting from the Hastside Hotel, the best thing to do is to row directly to the spot marked H on the chart. The best bass ground in the whole lake is that em- braced within the triangle formed by the letters P, D and H, directly facing the Eastside Hotel. The bottom of this portion of the lake is all that could be de- sired, rush patches with bass weed and a heavy ground Broth of silk weed. This piece of water contains sey- 112 FOX LAKE—PETITE LAKE, eral fine, deep pockets. There is enough good water in this space to occupy a bait-caster a half day if he fishes it as it should be fished. With a trifling breeze he can drift over the ground and fish it thoroughly, the rushes being just thick enough to delay the drift of the boat sufficiently to allow thorough combing of the ground. Proceeding north from the point marked P on the map, an open space free from rushes and weeds is crossed until the rushes are again reached at the point marked M. This is fine perch ground, and when the fishes are feeding a man can easily catch a hundred of these gamy little fellows in a very short space of time. They run in schools of about a couple of dozen to fifty, and providing the angler is careful and draws his fishes in as quickly and quietly as possible, he can catch half the school before the rest take the alarm and go off. The next point worth visiting is the rush bed at A, in the northwest bay. There is good pickerel water here, and large fishes are frequently taken just out- side the fringe of rushes running north and south. From the point marked A to the channel at B is good trolling ground, following the shore around about two hundred yards out. A man who likes still fishing can probably do as well among the bass if he should anchor out in the deepish water about two hundred yards, directly opposite the Howard House. On the west side of the island lies good bass and pickerel ground. Irom the island, coming south, the next point of ex- cellence is the spot marked Z. This is fairly good bass water, but the fishes appear to run small. There is good pickerel water at the point marked O, and fairly good bass ground at the point marked K, in the bay east of the Eastside Hotel. The fishing in all these grounds is very erratic. Some days the best pieces of water, or those that are gen- erally considered the best, will prove a blank, and other portions which are considered poor fishing will reward the angler with a big catch of fish. The best thing the 118 LAKE—PETITE LAKE. FOX V6 cree alt 5G vie = moat gt & =F Toy ‘ Vv “4 SS Caner Oe ph = <3 See Ae "rl. Y Se — oO 4a MEO Cc ss _— *RICE AND RUSHES ~~ ~~ ayo — VES J a, WITH POCKETS LAL hs Ey OE Qc Mfrs oo eee oo — i i 0/E ~ CHANNEL “ER = nese SF Gn ke Bx 2 ws os \% { BAST SIDE (si nace sas Z e") as PASSA. . ua Sg On > SS ; HOTEL ts ah F eR PICKEREL eM Uf fn ‘ i Bie v_\s Se - Ri OR AG > xaz VBE MEAS Sy HARD Borrom > | ee ley OSS CLEAR 2» SSeS ; = He oe as Ses Cig Q sS ee = ot w S TH\ 9 os Nonrsee We = SG = wee es d ar & z= PICHEREL ‘ Sy - Wo i ay > 1 Vly = TROLLING +S sa es S Me ee ae Sy Sinai rphnea D S A MA Peg AMS SS (<4. 8) ond SEO A Mies Pe ee ag Liao a one 25 s 114 FOX LAKE—PETITHD LAK. fisherman can do is to try all the grounds in turn, or at least as many as his time will permit. Sticking to a piece of water in the face of non-success, just because at some previous time a good catch of fish was taken there, is only a waste of time. If you don’t find the fishes willing to take your bait in one supposed good fishing spot, move around to the next and keep on moving until you find a piece of water where they are feeding. In any large body of water like that con- tained in most of the lakes I have described, there is generally some particular portion more favored than the rest and in which a few fishes will be found to respond to the angler’s attentive persistence. One day this Summer, while casting on Fox Lake, I came across a boat in which were two persons. One was a gentleman whom I recognized as a well-known Chicago business man; the other was an old boatman who has fished the lakes for many years. The gentle- man was skittering with a minnow, the boatman row- ing, and although I have my own private opinion re- garding skittering, yet, after watching the method pur- sued, it was impossible to avoid admiring the artistic manner and the amount of positive science displayed by the boatman when placing his patron within reach of the weed bed they were skirting. The sculls were moved with scarcely a perceptible motion, most of the rowing being done from that side farthest from the weed bed. Wach time the angler would east his bait among the weeds and rushes, the sculls were suffered to remain perfectly stationary during the whole of the time the bait was in the water; and what progress was made in shifting the ground was done between the casts, yet so delicately and skillfully that, with the slightest ripple to assist the boatman, it was possible to fish within ten yards of the boat without scaring away the fish. I recognized at once how it was possible to make the big catches of fish which are so often taken by skitter- ing. The bait was working almost all the time. Each FOX LAKE—PETITE LAKE. 115 spot of water could be thoroughly searched, and what was more important still there was no necessity to hurry the bait through the water. I can quite under- stand a man who has fished in this manner for any length of time being unwilling to give up the skittering style of fishing and take up with the practice of bait- casting. The art of bait-casting is becoming better known and appreciated every year. Hight years ago the number of PETITE LAKE bait-casters that could be seen on the lakes were few, but now one cannot help noticing that the bait-casters form a large majority of those who leave each Satur- day on the Wisconsin Central for the lakes of Northern Illinois. There are two things required in catching fish. First, to know where to look for them, and then to place the bait before the fishes without letting them sus- pect that you are at the other end of the line; and there is no method which accomplishes the latter so well as the bait-casting rod. 116 FOX LAKE—PETITE LAKE. Petite Lake is reached from the Antioch Depot on the Wisconsin Central. The rush line is comparatively secant. The best bass ground is found around the rush and flag patch in the point marked on the chart. The best pickerel ground is just outside the weeds, on the shallow portion, on the western shore. For even- ing fishing with frogs the lilypads in the northeastern point is the best ground of any. Petite Lake is fairly good fishing water, and during the season has its fair share of angling visitors. There are plenty of good boats to be had, and experienced boatmen who know the water thoroughly will accompany the fisherman at a reasonable charge. THE SPORTSMAN’S JOURNAL. PUBLISHED WEEKLY—NEW YORK AND CHICAGO. 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